This Is Us Part 1

by airgloweffect

Brad and Nate are two firefighters at the San Diego Fire Department.

THIS IS US

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Summary: Brad and Nate are two firefighters at the San Diego Fire Department

The death of Brett Morel hit everyone at the station hard, it was like a sudden slap to the face that it could happen to anyone at anytime. But other than his wife and children it didn't hit anyone harder than his two best friends, Brad Colbert and Nate Fick. Torn apart, those two lost more than just a friend that day. They lost each other. Their friendship now nothing more than a bare fragment of their imagination.

The memories of that fateful day is a blur, all muddled together, puzzle pieces that don't quite go together- a moment here, a word there. Nothing concrete, just pain, grief and loss.

Fick remembered the comradery of the team; Brett was in some ways the glue, he got along with everyone and made everyone feel welcome. The way he lounged in the front seat, like being on a call wasn't at times the hardest thing he had ever done. Joking with Poke, provoking him into another spiel about the 'white man', then twisting in his seat to call him a clown. The laughter of his company was refreshing and made the mental anguish lighten.

He couldn't remember what Brett had said to make him laugh so hard.

Colbert remembered the lightness of his best friend's voice over the radio. The smile that had torn across his face that he hadn't bothered to hide. He remembered the static facsimile of Morel's laughter echoing over the radio at his chest in the background.

He never could remember what Nate had said to make him chuckle like that.

Fick remembered exiting the truck, adrenaline pumping. Taking charge easily, in a way that only a man not dragged down by the death of his best friend could. Barking orders and plans formulating in this head quickly.

He never quite got that feeling back. His legs now felt like lead.

Colbert remembered offering a bet and a smirk at Nate. A smirk that softened into a gentle smile that begged the Lieutenant to be careful and was quickly reciprocated.

He couldn't for the life of him now remember what that bet was.

Fick remembered joking with Morel as they climbed the aerial. The fission of panic as he realized that no one had vented the back of the building. Brett was heading towards it ignoring Nate. He always had been the bull in a china shop, act first and think later kinda of guy. It was supposed to be Fick's job to make sure that majority of scenarios were covered, but he couldn't stop it this time. This he hadn't anticipated.

He never could remember what the joke with Morel had been about.

Brad remembered busting through the back of the house, mind half on the job and half on Nate's lips as he smiled earlier. He was finally going to summon the courage to tell Nate how he felt. Now that's never going to happen.

Now he can't picture the smile- Nate hasn't smiled at him in so long.

Nate remembered the feeling of the treads of his boost unable to get a grip on the slippery metal. His hands already aching from clutching the side of the ladder so hard to stop him from sliding down as he scrambled after Brett. He remembered muttering prayers and apologies.

He could remember the feeling of the flames licking at the back of his neck. The searing heat burning his face.

He couldn't remember if he had said any of those thoughts out loud.

If he didn't he wished he had.

Colbert couldn't remember the final cries of Morel. Even years later when some details had become clearer. All he remembered was being dragged out of the building by some of the guys (can't remember who) on his team and struggling to breathe.

Colbert may not remember the final words of Brett but Nate sure as hell does. And he wished above all else that he couldn't. He remembered the agonizing wail of a man being burned alive. It haunts his dreams. The unadulterated fear in Morel's eyes, as they briefly met before the flames engulfed his entire being.

He wished that he could exorcise that part from his memory.

Colbert remembered the sorrow in Wynn's eyes. The sympathetic glances. The tear tracks on Ray's face. Nobody needed to tell him that he was gone.

He could remember looking up and finding the body of Nate Fick clutching the ladder like a lifeline. He remembers vividly the feeling of seething anger welling up inside him.

He was frozen in shock. He couldn't get his limbs to cooperate. Nate remembers Poke's voice gently coaxing him down, much like a father would speak to a scared child. He supposes Poke has a lot of experience with that.

He doesn't know how long he'd been on that aerial. It could have been minutes, hours or days. In the end it doesn't matter.

Brad remembers cutting through the crowd, everyone letting him pass expecting condolences shared between the two remaining best friends. He doesn't know how or why but he was just so angry at Nate that he raised his fist and let him have it. His whole Iceman persona cracked wide open for everyone to see. Normally, Fick would have taken it as he was calm and rational, but no Nate gave as good as he got.

Neither could remember how it ended. Both looking back realize that the anger they harboured for each other, was just misplaced. But they were too ashamed to admit it. And they wondered whether the wound they opened would ever one day heal.

Firehouse 43 in the months after the funeral were not the same. There wasn't as much joviality between the two teams. Truck and RT. There were more hushed whispers if he or Brad were around and more of a clear division between teams, rather than everyone mingling together- no one wanted to be under Brad's unrelenting gaze. It was like the heart of the firehouse had died along with Brett. Brett who could miraculously burn water but would always contribute to the mealtimes. He never realized how much he had come to rely on Brett.

He made his way in early, he couldn't handle it anymore every time he walked passed Brett's locker. It was just there this elephant in the room that was growing larger and larger. It was driving him mad. He chose now of all times because he wanted to avoid Brad. That is what his life has come to avoiding someone he had always countered on. He essentially lost two best friends that day.

He stood in front of the locker. It looked just like the rest of them, identical but it concealed memories. He unlocked it and held his breath bracing himself to open and the flood of emotions that he knew would consume him.

He methodically went through the belongings inside, knowing that allowing himself to feel would only inhibit him. He heard the shuffling of someone joining him in the locker-room but chose to ignore them.

"What the hell are you doing, man?"

He bristled at both the incredulous tone and the inquisitive inquiry. "Can't stand looking at this another day," he told Kocher coolly, his tone leaving no room for discussion. He gave him a hard look, but the other man turned away not wanting to get into it.

"Val might want it."

Fick's hand twitched, but he didn't slam it into the locker door as he so desperately wanted to, he just white knuckled it pushing down the urge to yell. Did his men think he was so cold-hearted that he wouldn't think to offer the contents to Brett's widow? He took several controlled breaths before nodding, "I'll call her."

Fick pulled the final photo from the door and tried to ignore the jolt in his stomach at the sight of his best friend. Up until a month ago it had been one of his favourite shots; in it he, Brett and Colbert were sitting around the table playing cards. It had been taken just after Colbert had transferred to 43. It had been a great day, with barely any calls and a lot of laughs shared between the friends. Fick felt both a pang of nostalgia at the memory and a jolt of bitterness at the fact that he didn't have anything resembling the friendship anymore. He felt alone; adrift with nothing anchoring him. He tucked the photo into the box he'd snagged from admin, repressing the urge to rip it up as he had done with his own copy. Val might want it.

He was just dumping the last hoodie stuffed at the back of the locker into the box when Kocher told him that the chief was looking for him. Fick sighed again and shut the door, hesitating before he pulled the masking tape bearing Brett's handwriting from the door and sticking it onto the front of the box. This was it, everything that was Morel was in the box. He would never be in the station ever again. The finality of that thought hit Nate so hard that he stumbled as a sob nearly broke free.

"You okay man?" Kocher grabbed his shoulder firmly, helping stay upright.

He couldn't look at the man, with a shaky breath he answered that he would be "Fine" in time was left unsaid..

Fick was planning to go see the chief after he put the box in his quarter's but Wynn caught him on his way and gestured for him to step into his office. He changed course and headed towards him.

"There's a rumour floating around you're going to box in the drop-a-cop," he said, voicing the question that had been on everyone's tongue for days. "Fight that guy who slept with your first wife?" he continued, when Wynn made no move to speak.

"We were in College" Wynn corrected, his tone unimpressed, but Fick knew he wasn't too mad. "And she's his problem now, not mine. So, no, I'm not boxing him. But Captain Schwetje is." Wynn's tone dry with amusement was indicative of how he felt about Schwetje.

Fick nodded and stepped into the office, hearing the click of the door behind him. He faltered slightly at the sight of Colbert perched on the arm of a chair. He was surprised to see him here so early, but not surprised enough to say anything. They pleasantly ignored each other as they took their place before the chief who sat at his desk. You could practically feel the air between them freezing over.

"The Mayor coming by on Saturday to mark the six months since Morel's death."

Both men shifted at that, uncomfortable with the reminder of the friend they had both lost. Fick fiddled with the box pulling at edge of the tape, preferring to focus on that than either man in the room.

Wynn sighed at the lack of reaction and gestured impatiently between them. "For god sake, this animosity has got to stop. You're both supposed to be leaders here. Lead by example. Otherwise, I will set Gloria on both of you." Gloria was Wynn's wife and see was not to be trifled with. Everyone thought they should just lock her in a room with San Diego's criminal element and there would be peace in within a few hours.

The pair shifted again at that although a shadow of a smile appeared on their faces. Both, however, had thought that they were hiding the fierce animosity towards each other, clearly, they weren't doing a very good job. They were stupid to believe that Wynn wouldn't notice the tension between the two company's.

"Look, I understand what you are going through. We've all been through it. Brett was a friend to all of us and we are all feeling that loss."

Apparently, the opportunity to snipe at his former best friend was too good to pass up "Yeah, he was." He kept his face neutral, but the words were like daggers.

Fick opened his mouth to retaliate before thinking better of it and taking the more political approach. "Excuse me? Something you wish to say?"

The men glared at each other while the chief huffed irritably. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. This." Wynn waved his hand between the two, making a point "The nasty looks, the hurtful words. It is affecting everyone's jobs performance. It. Ends. Now."

There was a long pause and the Lieutenants looked away.

Nate chose to speak, trying to take the higher ground and not be pulled back into the playground pettiness. "Sorry, sir. You're right. We're not setting a good example."

Brad mumbled under his breath and Nate could have sworn it was pussy liberal kiss arse.

"Brad" Wynn's voice was sharp and firm with admonishment.

"We're fine, sir," Brad added, although it was clear to all present that they were just words with not a single shred of truth between them.

Wynn glanced between the pair rolling his eyes and sighed dismissing them. He knew that they both had said whatever they thought was necessary to get out of his office and that it was going to take more than a few stern words from him for them to put everything behind them. But he didn't have the time nor the energy to lock them in a closet or knock their heads together until they got over themselves, so the thin truce would have to do for now. Now, he had weighing on him when the next blow out between the pair would be and he hoped it wouldn't be during a call out.

Colbert almost didn't want to watch, but the sight of the new candidate struggling through a tour was too good to pass up. It was like watching a train wreck about to happen, you just couldn't look away. It might seem cruel, but he'd seen new candidates be forced to do a lot worse on their first days. It was a piece of schadenfreude that he couldn't pass up. Sue him, he was bored. The RT men were either playing a card game and he no patience for them or checking their equipment which he had already done. Ray Person had pulled out with Tim "Doc" Bryan on an ambulance call ten minutes ago so there was no chance of entertainment from him, and the satellite was busted in the kitchen. He could fix it, but he wasn't in the mood. Plus, the tv was more in Truck's territory and he would stick needles in his eyes rather than deal with Nate right now.

Moreover, the candidate was actually doing well. After stumbling through the first few minutes, Walt had come up with the idea to haul out a set of gear, put it on and point out each part to the children. It wasn't the most original idea, but it had the children sitting quietly and watching so he figured that was the best he could expect of the little germ infested monsters.

Walt was just talking through the finer points of a PASS alarm and moving on to the function of a rescue squad when Colbert caught Fick's appearance out of the corner of his eye. He watched the kids purposely, ignoring the other Lieutenant who was intent on surveying his new candidate.

"They're, like, the best of the best," Walt finished and Colbert suppressed a proud smirk he didn't need to gloat.

"Why aren't you with them?" The question itself was innocent in nature, but was emotionally loaded. It was no secret that Fick got irritated when he trained a new firefighter into being one of the best just to have him transfer straight to rescue as soon as he was able. Back when they'd been friends it was something that they would rib each other about every once and awhile. But Colbert didn't think he'd be so nonchalant about it now.

"Well, I mean... my dad was a member of the rescue team years ago and I plan to follow in his footsteps." Walt spoke proudly and blushed quite profusely. Brad turned slightly so he could get a better angle of Fick's face.

The green eyes glittered angrily, and the lips disappeared as he frowned but then it was like a wave washed over his face, the face went blank, no emotion at all. But then Colbert saw that old spark in his eyes and knew instantly that Fick was going to hurl a verbal grenade in the dreams of newbie.

"Hasser right?" He said earning everyone's attention including his new candidate's. "Last in, first out. That's the rescue team."

Brad's hackles rose, bristling at the insult. Colbert noticed the recognition in Hasser's eyes when he realised just who Fick was. Fick had this authoritative air that Colbert mostly lacked. Well, that wasn't strictly true. Brad had authority just not in the same way as Nate. Nate was a natural, men wanted to follow him. Brad's was more born out of fear. It wasn't that either was a better Lieutenant, it was just when people looked at Fick they knew straight away that he was in charge. It had always irked Colbert but in all honestly if he didn't have to deal with these bozos he wouldn't and besides he liked where he was in the food chain. He had enough autonomy without being stuck.

Unable to just let it go, Colbert was quick with his comeback. "But you Nate do such a good job prepping everything for me…." He feigned nonchalance and shot a predatory smile at the other Lieutenant hoping to annoy him.

No such luck. Fick was, as always composed. "Right," he snorted back and turned to the group of kids on the ground.

"There are two types of firefighters. Those we are on RT, and those who wish they were on RT," Colbert countered, knowing full well that he was lying between his teeth.

He saw Hasser out of the corner of his eye staring wide-eyed between them, picking up on the tension between them. It wasn't that Colbert and Fick had never insulted each other before, they had; they'd been after all friends for so long since the academy, but there had always been some sort of love or affection behind the words. This however was just plain nasty, and both knew it. So much for the conversation in Wynn's office this morning.

Realising the situation could escalate Walt gathered the kids up and lead them away to show them something else.

Colbert waited until the last kindergartener was out of earshot spinning in his chair to plaster on an arrogant smile. "Bet I get an application from him by the end of the month." He couldn't help the smugness even though he just felt empty inside.

Fick, calm as ever replied, "If he wants to deal with your stubborn arse, he can have you." And with that verbal punch to the gut, Fick made his way back inside. Colbert sat in stunned silence for a moment before swinging back around in his chair staring vacantly on the brick wall. His thoughts were muddled and trying to find a solution to this problem that he and Fick had found themselves in. They were at an impasse and both to stubborn to give in.

Only a few weeks after Brett's death, rumours had started flying around the house that Fick had gotten back with his ex Marissa. Colbert had had to fight really hard not to flip the rescue table and destroy all the chairs.

It wasn't that he didn't like Marissa. She was actually a nice girl. It was just she'd been dating Fick around the same time he'd been first recognising that maybe he had more than friendly feelings for him. And that of course had made her the natural enemy.

Brett had told him to stop being an emotionally stunted asshole and tell Nate how he felt.

Of course, he never summoned the courage so he suffered in silence. Even when they had broken up he never did- he was just too afraid to lose Nate.

He and Marissa had consistently clashed during the intervening years she'd been with Nate. He'd always thought she'd suspected that he'd had a thing for Fick which was why she always wanted to get between them. Fick had chewed them both out numerous times for not being able to get along with each other. Not that Colbert had ever really tried. But he'd acted civil with her for Fick's sake.

So when a week ago, it had come out that Fick had proposed, Colbert he hopped on his bike and gunned it out of the city. He wanted the freedom the speed gave him, the calmness and a way for him to work through his muddled feelings. Of course he came off his bike, nothing too bad just badly jolted his shoulder. Which he was no paying for since he couldn't say any thing to Mike. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he emotionally boxed himself in. The next night he'd gone out drinking and picked up the first chick he could. He figured meaningless sex was all he could deal with right now.

The blare of alarms jerked Colbert from his ruminations, and he swung himself out of his chair, the apparatus floor suddenly alive with motion. Ray and Bryan who had just gotten back from their last call changed courses themselves back into their rig. Fick was striding along flipping the switches to open the garage doors. Everywhere protective pants and jackets were being donned, helmets and oxygen tanks being pulled from the equipment room. It was a flurry of activity, but a well-oiled machine.

Both the ambulance and truck pulled away while the RT members were still gathering their gear. Fick had been right in that RT had a little more leeway with their response time, but they still couldn't afford to waste time.

"Let's roll out," Colbert shouted, climbing into the truck and banging on the side to get their attention, Fick's words still rolling around in his head.

The scene Truck 32 pulled up to was fairly typical as far as accidents went. Fick spent the ride lecturing the new candidate, assigning Jacks to keep track of the kid and make sure he didn't get into too much trouble. The last thing Fick needed was a candidate getting under the feet of his men while they worked. Before he could think better of it, Fick finished with, "Just watch. Stay out of the way."

As expected they arrived well before the rescue squad but Fick didn't let that deter him. He'd never needed Colbert there to hold his hand. After checking in with the victims pinned in the car and trying the car door handles, Fick yelled for a saw and halligans, having to make do with the weaker equipment until the RT truck was there with the jaws. Not for the first time, Fick internally cursed his limited equipment. But as always "we make do."

They were still working on the first door of the car, crumpled in on itself from the shock of the crash when ambulance 58 screeched to a stop, the rescue truck right on their tail. Fick quickly updated Jacks and allowed him to step closer to the car to check the condition of the victim, while he circled the car looking for the best angle to get at the victims. He barely glanced up when he sensed Colbert's sudden presence behind him.

Half expecting an argument, it was shocking when Colbert moved off immediately when he requested the jaws. Fick instantly berated himself for being surprised. Colbert was one of the best firefighters he had ever worked with and he knew that the other man would never let his own personal problems get in the way of the job.

Most of the truck men had backed off, hovering near enough that they could be helpful if need be but far enough to allow the paramedics, the RT company and Fick to work. The metal of the car creaked and groaned in vociferous protest as Colbert worked with the powerful jaws on one side to pop off the front door. The metal on Fick's side too was screeching against the halligan has he tried to get the other door open..

Neither realised anything was wrong until they heard the chief's Texan drawl over the radio, "We think we got one in the river."

Colbert caught Fick's eye over the top of the car, a moment of silent communication passing between them the remnant vestiges of their friendship.

"Go. I've got this." Fick said as he dropped his halligan, rounding the car to take the jaws off Brad.

Colbert nodded shortly and hurried off leaving Fick to free the little girl from the backseat, the mother already being carried away by paramedics. The scene was a mess of confusion, behind him Fick could hear Colbert shouting orders at his men, Ray from inside the car was talking calmly but incessantly no doubt regaling her of stories about Disney princesses- Ray always had a way with the children. Nate just needed a moment to breathe and refocus.

He didn't get much of a chance however because the fuel that had been steadily leaking since their arrival suddenly caught fire, kicking everyone's movements into overdrive. The engine boys were quick to get a hose on the small flame and Fick finally wrenched the door from it's hinges and set it aside. Distantly he heard Hasser yell something about the driver and ran off but that was Colbert's problem now. He had to focus on the little girl and guiding her fragile body out of the car and onto the waiting stretcher.

"Cancel the dive, there is no one in the water." Now that the little girl had been taken away in the ambulance, Fick could finally tune into the drama and had to fight not to swear when he saw the driver being lead away by uniformed police. There was no way Colbert would be happy about being sent into the water after nobody. And he knew Colbert well enough to know he wouldn't just hold his tongue and simmer on it. Sighing and resigning himself to the fight he knew would go down back at the house, Fick ordered his men to start packing up.

The ride back to the house was quiet and sombre. Jacks, embarrassed by his mistake was completely silent and any attempts at conversation were shot down almost immediately. Not that it was a bad call, anyone of them could have made that mistake. They pulled into the driveway slowly and exited the truck lethargically. Although it had not been the worst call they'd ever had it had been unusually draining. It showed just how out of rhythm the whole Firehouse was.

Fick tried to head straight for his quarters after he'd hung up his gear, hoping to avoid both Colbert and the inevitable argument but he was caught by Q-tip before he could make it more than a handful of steps.

"Yo, Lt, now that we have a newbie, I don't have to be Q-tip no more."

To be honest, Fick had been waiting for this ever since Walt had arrived this morning so he didn't even have to think about his answer. "You're still Q-tip." He knew it pissed Stafford off, but it was a nickname that had stuck.

"But I thought I could learn to drive the truck and we could put Walt Hasser on the elevators."

Hoping to end this discussion as quickly as possible, Fick grabbed the closest firefighter - which happened to be Poke or Antonio Espera - to prove his point.

"Tony, what's this guy's name?"

"Q-tip," Tony replied instantly, sounding as though he thought Fick was insane for asking. "Did you whites boys hit your heads?" ignoring the possibly rhetorical question Nate ploughed on.

"No, his real name."

Tony frowned as he thought then returning a sly grin before taking a guess. "Stan?" Fick turned to Q-tip with a raised eyebrow, his point proven.

"Stafford," Q-tip corrected, calling after the retreating Poke. "Evan Stafford," he implored to his Lieutenant.

"You're staying on the elevators, which makes you Q-tip. Sorry," he offered when he say the other man's downtrodden expression. He clapped a consoling hand on his shoulder and made for the door, noting the still empty squad table. He made a mental note to let him rap Nelly's "Hot in Here" next time their out to cheer him up.

"Hey!."

Fick knew it had to be too good to be true. He wheeled around at the insistent call, ready for the ensuing argument. He closed his eyes momentarily bracing himself for the verbal spar.

"A guy in the water? A guy in the water? How the fuck did that buck toothed meat head come to that conclusion?" Colbert's voice was loud and challenging and Fick saw Jacks pause where he was undoing his boots and slowly straighten narrowing his eyes. Although Fick thought Colbert had a point, there was no way he was going to let the other Lieutenant talk about his men like that. It was his job to manage the firefighter's in his company as he saw fit.

"You handle your firefighters. I'll handle mine," he said, a hint of tiredness creeping into his voice. The last thing he wanted was to stand here and have another fight with Colbert. But apparently Brad was spoiling for a fight.

"The how about you start doing your god damn job."

The anger in Colbert's voice pushed him over the edge and Fick found himself answering before he could really think about it. "Know what Brad? I'm getting real tired of your emotional high handed bullshit" Fick had moved forward as he spoke, less than a foot of distance now separating them.

"I don't give a damn what you're tired of." Colbert took a threatening step closer, putting them chest to chest and Fick desperately tried not to notice how the other Lieutenant wasn't wearing a shirt. As much as he hated Colbert in that moment he grudgingly had to admit that the Lieutenant looked as good as ever. Regardless of his attractiveness, both men were wound up enough for the fight to soon come to blows so it was a relief to everyone in the station when Chief Wynn stepped in. The firefighter's were uncomfortable with the sudden shift in house dynamics but would do what they had to defend their Lieutenant's.

"Hey!"

Both officers looked around to see the chief pounding away at a punching bag.

Sure enough Wynn threw another set of punches at the bag before leaving it swinging to address his officers directly. "Or we could all just throw the gloves on right now, beat the hell out of each other. Maybe when the mayor comes on Saturday that's what he sees." He gestured to their close proximity with a glove. "Truck versus squad. It's as old as the SDFD, so deal with it." The chief glanced around at the gathered firefighter's to talk to them all. "We all lost Morel. Six months ago, Friday. And that ain't changing. So maybe we need to."

The words hit everyone deep and with the dismissal clear the men slowly dispersed. Fick and Colbert stood side by side, refusing to so much as glance at each other. Colbert opened his mouth, maybe to apologise or maybe to continue their argument, neither was sure. But before he could speak Fick had already stepped away, turning his back on the other Lieutenant. Colbert snapped his mouth shut again at the brush off and he too turned away, the moment lost to their own stubbornness.

Inside the station Colbert watched their conversation from the window. He watched on as Fick talked to Val for a few minutes before rounding her car to deposit a box into her boot. Fick waved her goodbye until the car was out of sight.

The change in demeanour was instantaneous; Fick's arms came up to wrap around himself protectively and his head dropped to his chest and Colbert knew he was hurting. Part of him yearned to go to his ex-bestfriend and comfort him, wrap his arms around him and promise that everything would be ok. But that part was small and easily overridden by the larger part of himself who relished the sight of Fick in pain and savagely thought it was good that it was him in pain for a change.

Colbert pushed away from the window and stalked away scrubbing a hand tiredly over his eyes. He was so sick of being at war with himself. So sick of being torn. When really he just wanted to kiss Fick senseless.

He'd almost made it to the locker room to collect his bag before leaving, ignoring the pangs of longing the entire way when it suddenly became too much and he doubled back the way he came, convinced that it was time to put his anger behind him. But as he turned he caught sight of Brett's graduation photo on the wall of fallen comrades and the anger he had pushed to the pit of his stomach came bursting right back up again. He wheeled back around and continued on to the locker room thinking miserably, that it was agonising to hate the person you had once loved so much.

He was pulled from his depressing thoughts by the sudden appearance of his room-mate. "Brad," he said as way of greeting.

"Yeah?" he asked, his exhaustion weighing on him.

"Come here?" he muttered and indicated the corner they were approaching with a tilt of his head. Ray waited until the pair of firefighter's passing through had moved on before withdrawing something from his pocket and pressing them into his hand. "Here," he said, accompanied with a long searching look.

He opened his fist to see a vial of strong painkillers and he quickly tucked it into his pocket.

"Thanks," he muttered and walked away, trying not to think about how much it felt like a drug deal every time they did this. Now that he had the painkillers burning a hole in his pocket, the steady ache of his shoulder increased and he headed towards the bathroom. God, he wished he'd never took that damn motorcycle ride.

He ducked into a stall, toiletry kit in hand. He sat on the closed lid of the toilet and flexed and clenched his right hand trying to work away the numbness spreading from his shoulder to his fingertips.

When it was clear that wasn't going to work he gently kneaded the spasming muscle while he popped the lid of the vial Ray had given him. He pulled a needle from his kit, drew the medicine from the vial and rolled up his sleeve, preparing to inject himself right into the source of his pain. The pinch and slide of the needle was barely noticeable anymore after weeks of performing this ritual. But it didn't matter how many times he did this, how many times he felt the relief spread throughout his body, it always managed to feel wrong and dirty. He could imagine the disappointment on Fick's face if he ever found out and that is why he's unworthy of Nate's friendship and love.

Brad had always thought of himself as a pretty honest guy. Often described as too honest, he could be relied on to be upfront with how he felt. Which was why it was so hard to keep this from the most important people in his life. Even Ray didn't know how seriously he was affected by the pain he was good at hiding when he wanted to be. How sometimes when he was out on a call, he could barely function through the pain. Or even worse, how sometimes the feeling in his arm left him entirely.

He sat on the closed toilet for sometime, slowly tensing and relaxing the muscles in his arm, slowly working the final bursts of pain the limb. It was only the bang of the door against the wall that had Colbert jerking from his stupor. He waited a few moments before flushing the unused toilet and leaving the stall, only to find Fick at the sinks. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before Fick looked down at his hands again.

Colbert approached the sinks casually, trying not to seem bothered at all by the sight of Fick. The tension between them was unbearable and practically tangible. It was clear that both were thinking of their argument the afternoon before but neither seemed willing to address it, that being a small miracle itself. Colbert only allowed himself a flicker of a glance as he moved to leave; Fick was washing his hands with methodical precision, obviously ignoring him. Colbert was glad to be finished in there and left as quickly as he could while still seeming casual, hoping to put as much distance as he could between them.

Finally getting to leave the station was a strange relief. Fick loved his job as much as the next man and considered the people there his second family. But there was something about getting to go home and forgetting about the horrors he faced daily, if just for a few hours.

He forced himself to stop however at the sight of Bryan, who looked a little lost as he leaned against the door of his car, staring into space.

"You okay, Doc?"

He jerked upright as though he hadn't noticed him approaching until he'd spoken and offered a tired smile. "Yeah, yeah. It's, just uh some days, you know? Don't worry about it," he added when he saw his worried expression. "Uh, listen, some of us are going over to Mulligan's tomorrow night if you and Marissa wanted to come."

Fick shifted uncomfortably. "We would, but we go a date night thing. Just us. But maybe we'll try," he added when he saw his downcast expression.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. That sounds nice."

Fick smiled thinly and said goodbye, ready more than ever to get back to the comfort of his own home. The ride back to his place was not too long, he tried to find somewhere close to the station. It was small little house that needed a lot of love and attention. In other words it was perfect. It was also a bone of contention between him and Marissa- she hated it.

He dumped his stuff just inside the door and mentally set a reminder to clean up around the place tomorrow. He was just helping himself to some cold pizza from the fridge when someone knocked on his door. He opened it, piece still in hand and his fiancee's face smiling back at him.

"Hi."

Her eyes found the pizza in his hand and her smile widened further. "Pizza? Again? You can't live like that," she said and held up a bottle of juice and a brown paper bag, presumably filled with food.

He just smiled and stepped back, silently asking her to come in.

"I've only got a few minutes before my shift," she told him as he took the food from her and turned away to deposit it in the kitchen. Fick had noticed the scrubs she wore and the brightness of her eyes had told him that she was going not coming.

He turned back around to see her pulling the engagement ring from her finger. Meeting his eyes, she dropped the ring apologetically onto the dining table.

"I- I can't still wear this if I'm not still engaged to you."

Fick sighed and dropped into the nearest chair. He'd been afraid that this had been coming but he still wasn't ready to deal with it. A night together the night of Morel's funeral had turned into a weekend together, which turned into a week and pretty soon they'd dropped back into the relationship they'd been in so many years ago. Which was why he'd proposed after just three weeks ago, something that he'd been planning to do before they'd broken up the first time. But that whirlwind romance that had been so exciting as it'd happened had caught up with them painfully fast and Nate had moved back to his house to allow some distance between them and all the arguments.

"You tell anyone you moved out?" Marissa asked softly.

" ?"

"No."

"So, what are we doing?" Fick asked. "It's clear we're both miserable."

"I don't think we can get past this Nate, not this time. We want different things." Tears were shining in her eyes. They both knew that this was the final nail in their relationship, they had been off and on so many times, it was time to finally let go.

Fick kept his face perfectly blank. "I don't know what you're talking about." He was in denial and she knew it.

Marissa smiled sadly, "I think you do. I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, but you don't want to face it. Just go be happy Nate." With one last small smile, Marissa stood from her own chair and left, the door clicking shut behind her.

Fick buried his face in his hands. Everything was such a mess.

---

Two days later had Fick back at the station on a slow Saturday shift. Although it was usually the candidate's job, Fick had offered to cook the Saturday lunch. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to lose himself and his problems in the chaos of the kitchen; a balm for his soul. He was listening, absently, to the conversation in the room as he put the finishing touches on the meal, the succulent smell of the corned beef in the oven wafting across the room.

"I can't believe we're gonna miss the fight tonight," Garza whined dejectedly.

"That's just as well," Chief Mike Wynn said appearing out of nowhere. "'Cause I just found out that he fought golden gloves."

Garza was quick to reassure him, "That was 20 years ago, chief. We gotta tape it or something." Garza wandered over to the kitchen counter and Fick heard him ask Poke what the he was doing.

"Said he wanted to cook the Saturday corned beef," Poke answered, just as Fick was pulling the finished meat from the oven. "Ah," Poke groaned appreciatively. "Look at that a white man who can cook juicy meat. Just don't tell Mallory that his is better otherwise she will hang me by my balls."

From the couch, Jacks inhaled longingly. "The Lt made the best chicken parmigiana I ever put in my mouth," he reminisced and Fick smiled at the memory. It was when he'd still been the candidate and he whipped up a particularly good batch. He'd thought Jacks was gonna keel over right then and there from the taste alone and had ended up delegated to the kitchen for quite some time after that.

Garza leaned over the bench, watching him plate everything up. "What've you got there, Lt?"

"Don't you worry about it," Fick answered with a smile. "Call everyone to chow."

Out on the apparatus floor, Pappy emerged from the doors, a bemused smile on his face. "Hey, Fick's in there cooking."

"The Lt?" Rudy asked, to make sure he hadn't misheard.

"Yeah."

Colbert scratched the back of his head as he thought. He was torn between the deliciousness of the food waiting for him in the kitchen and the pettiness that stemmed from the blame he still put on Fick for Morel's death. The desire for the first good home cooked meal in a month won out and Colbert lead the way into the kitchen.

The men already sitting at the table all fell silent at the appearance of the rescue squad, who hadn't eaten with them since Morel's death. Fick however didn't even flinch. He just moved the empty tray out of the way and slid a new one in front of Colbert.

"Have at it." A challenge.

Hell it wasn't even an offer of friendship. It was merely an offer to actually put the petty bitching behind them as the chief had asked and return to some semblance of a healthy working relationship. The whole thing was becoming toxic if he were honest with himself.

And it made a flare of irrational anger explode with in him. Because Fick hadn't even so much as looked at him. And then he was thinking about all the looks he'd received from Fick over the last few months. And how they'd all been the exactly the same, hard lips, clenched jaw and empty eyes, like he was so determined not to feel anything about him. The anger unfurled further and he knew it was illogical and a little insane to be so bothered by it, because he sure as hell didn't look at Fick the same way. But he was suddenly so piqued by the realisation of this change that he knew if he didn't get out of there soon, his mouth would takeover and say something that couldn't be unsaid.

So, he did what he does best and played it off like something else. He took a long look between the dish and Fick's face - meeting his eyes - before slowing reaching for a piece of fruit from the fruit bowl and leaving the kitchen, knowing the action would punctuate his point.

He should have known that Fick wouldn't let the brush off like that go. Especially in front of the whole house. And looking back on it, he was surprised that Fick had waited almost the entire lunch hour before coming to chew him out. But at the same time he'd been trying to quell his raging emotions with a quiet smoke so when Fick came out, demanding to know what his problem was, he'd reacted the way he knew would get rid of Fick the quickest. The sad thing was that he knew he could have just eaten the lunch and stayed silent, but no, his self-destruction was reaching critical mass.

"What the hell's going on Colbert?" Fick's question was loud and demanding to the point he nearly said yes sir. He had to bite his tongue, Nate's natural authority was overwhelming sometimes.

"You think I need your help?"

Fick sighed, his body visibly slouching which unintentionally showed Colbert the exhaustion he felt. "I'm trying here, Brad," Fick said, his voice small.

They were both trying, but at different times so the actions were lost on the other man. They couldn't quite get it together, nothing lining up they just didn't fit anymore.

The conversation turned as it so often did between them these days to their lost friend. "I cleaned out Morel's locker."

Colbert didn't need to be told that; it had been all over the station. People saying they thought it was too soon. People saying it was about time. All Colbert had been able to think was that if the circumstances were any different, that would have been something he and Fick would have done

together, lending each other their support. Colbert exhaled irritably. "You should have vented the back."

The words were quiet and had Colbert's head snapping around to stare at Fick for a number of reasons. Part of it was anger. Anger that Fick dare insinuate that Brett's death was his fault.

But it was also surprise. The accusations from Fick had always come after Colbert himself had thrown the first punch, spat the first hateful word. It was the first time Fick had volunteered to talk about that day.

Colbert decided to focus on the anger. "We're called the rescue team. We don't vent. Why did you let him go through the window?" Nate just shook his head in exasperation, like he wanted to scream in frustration. Welcome to the club.

He'd said this more times than he could count in the last month, including to the investigator assigned to Morel's case. He'd told them he thought it was Fick's fault. But Fick had testified that he'd told Brett to stop and too many firefighter's had backed up Fick's claim. Besides, Colbert had been around the back, what did he know anyway? The thought that they blamed Brett for his own death made his blood boil and fuelled his next words.

"I sleep like a baby. You?" His voice had unwittingly softened on the last word and he cursed himself for the weakness.

Fick didn't answer the question, choosing instead to just walk away, as Colbert had expected him to. The question hadn't been purely asked out of malice though, despite what Fick thought. Colbert was genuinely curious to how the other man was sleeping, spurned by his own lie.

Brad never slept well. It was a rare night these days that we woke up from a nightmare without Brett or Nate's name on his lips. His mind might hate Fick, but his traitorous body yearned for his calming presence. It was only when he drank himself unconscious was it that he slept deep enough to not dream. He was pathetic and it was his own fault.

The rest of the day passed mostly without incident. They were called out only once just before dinner to an out of control building fire but it was all the way across the city so they ended up being one of the last responders and the fire was mostly under control by the time they got there. By eight o'clock the excitement had wound down and most were lounging around waiting for the ring of the bells or the mayor's visit, whichever came first.

Q-tip and Poke were talking about the unfortunate incident of his house getting foreclosed over a card game while Fick refilled his coffee.

"What time's the mayor coming?" he wanted to know.

"I heard 2100," Poke answered, slapping his cards down in a fold.

"I heard he stops to take a piss at every house in the city, as a sign of respect," Q-tip put in smartly.

"Stopped here in June," Jacks added.

"Hey," Poke started, looking to Fick hopefully. "Chief Schwetje's fight from 49 is about to start in ten minutes."

Fick pulled back the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch. Sure, enough the chief's fight was scheduled for ten minute's time. He took one glance around the dead station and made up his mind.

"Screw it. Let's take a ride." He deposited his mug while the men whooped and hurried to get their gear. Fick figured that they could still watch the fight as long as they kept their radio's on and were ready to go at a moment's notice. He needed this brief interlude and just to get out of the station and away from Colbert.

The ride to the fight was lighter than it had been in Truck 81 for a long time. Bets were being placed on the winner, jokes were being made and overall the mood was fairly jovial. At one point, laughing at something Q-tip said, Fick twisted in his seat to say to Brett- momentarily forgetting that is best friend wasn't there. He slumped back into his seat, stomach twisting painfully.

Once at the scene of the fight, they raised the aerial over the glass roof with Q-tip climbing it so he could commentate. Even from outside they could hear the bellow of the announcer.

"Fighting in the red corner, for the Chicago fire department, Chief Schwetje."

" Hello, sports fans. This is Evan Stafford, coming to you live from the annual battle of the badges, " Q-tip started, using the radio in his hand to project his voice down to firefighters still on the truck.

Even back at the station the squad men had patched into their radio, clustered around the dispatch bay to listen. Colbert, on his way to refill his coffee, paused and leant against the wall to listen in.

"Firefighters versus the police."

"What's that?"

"I hope you all are ready for this."

"That's Q-tip," Pappy supplied.

Colbert walked closer and sat on the counter, pulling the radio closer to turn the volume up.

"Schwetje looks like a hot headed neanderthal as he climbs in the ring to take on Captain Hansen from the SDPD. Hansen, of course, looks like the quivering goat fucking corn husker that he is. Although let's be honest Schwetje's looks like a man on 'roids am I right?"

The firefighter's both at the house and at the fight laughed at Q-tip's description. Captain Schwetje, was built like a body builder, a large man, but had very little brains in between his ears. Most of them where thankful they didn't have to deal with him on a daily basis. Otherwise they may claim group insanity and kill him.

"Our own Chief first won back in 2000, when he was part of the esteemed Truck32, the greatest truck in all of the land of San Diego."

"There goes the bell, and here we go. Takes two quick jabs to the nose. Oh, he falls back into the ropes."

The men groaned appropriately at the hits.

"One, two, three. Oh! right to the chin. Schwetje's's in trouble already, folks."

Another collective groan went up from the firefighter's, particularly those who had bet on Schwetje winning.

"Wait. Here it comes the corn eater is lining – oh! three straight lefts- uppercut-"

Whatever else Q-tip was going to say was drowned out by the sudden ringing of alarms and emotionless voice of the dispatcher.

" Accident. Building fire. 2413 17th Street. "

Nate's firefighter's jumped to ready for instruction, waiting for the Lt's orders. "That's just down the block." Someone said.

Fick snatched up the radio. "Unit 32 responding."

Q-tip and Poke hurried down from the aerial, it was quickly withdrawn and the truck took off, sirens, lights and horn honking in sporadic bursts to get past the traffic.

Over the blaring of the horns, Fick listened carefully to the responses coming over the radio.

"Engine 43 responding," came from the Lieutenant in charge of 43's engine. Next came Ray's collected voice, "Ambulance 58 en route."

Finally came Colbert's voice, " RT 1 responding to 17th Street building fire." Fick ignored the clench of his stomach at Colbert's calm emotionless voice over the radio.

They screeched to a halt out the front of the building. "Wow! Damn man this is B.A.D."

Poke's words basically summed it up. The air was choked with the smoke spilling from the building, fire was visibly licking the edges of nearly every window pane and had even spread to the road in one section, setting a nearby car alight.

The firefighter's leapt from the truck, Fick barking orders as they went. "Q-tip, get to the elevator and give us a visual." Q-tip nodded, scrambling up to get the elevator raised.

"Hasser, help Garza vent the roof." He'll never forget to vent ever again.

"Tony, you and me to the top floor and work our way down. Alright let's move."

The men dispersed Fick was just heading into the building when he caught sight of Hasser' stunned baby face. He clapped a hand on his shoulder and dragged him closer, forcing the young candidate to focus on him rather than the roaring flames.

"Stick close to Garza, take deep breaths and don't freak out. This is what you've trained for. Okay? You'll be fine. I am assured of this."

He waited until Hasser had nodded shakily before letting go, he couldn't afford to hold his hand through this. He caught up with Poke who was waiting by the entrance anxious to get started. Inside was a mess of smoke and flickering orange hues, but he caught sight of some residents stumbling and coughing almost immediately. He grabbed a hold of them and guided them in the right direction.

Into his radio he said, "We have some coming out." He and Poke moved in. They cautiously made their way up the stairs, ducking down to move along close to the ground to escape the inescapable heat from above. Rats were scampering down the stairs also trying to escape the inferno. All along the hallway they busted down doors and called into their shadowy depths. They moved on, Fick listening to the reports on the elevators from Q-tip and Kocher. The creaking and groaning of the structure as they walked the hallways, was an indication of how much damage the fire had already done and how little time they had left.

"The elevator is stuck, the door is open" a voice crackled over the radio.

They reached the final apartment and kicked down the door. "Fire department! Anyone here?"

Unlike in the other apartments, the call this time was met instantly by a young cry. "Help us! Help us please!"

"We're under here."

He and Poke followed the hall down into a bedroom and followed the small voices until they found the two small children finding cowering under the bed. There was no time to check their bodies for injuries as Fick coaxed them out. "Come on we got you. It will be okay."

The little boy he handed off to Poke and lifted the girl himself. He heard over the radio as they hurried down the stairs, the yell of Q-tip as they found the cause of the elevator obstruction, an unconscious woman.

Fick and Poke exited the building and handed the children off to Jacks to take care of until additional ambulances arrived. They pulled off their helmets for the momentary relief the cold night air provided before pulling their masks back over their faces in preparation of going back in.

Inside it was sweltering and the higher they went the hotter it became until it was clear that searching was going to soon become impossible. Fick finally called it and ordered them to start heading out. They were on the stairs between the second and third floor however when the chief's calm voice came over the radio.

" Fick, you gotta go up. Black smoke. I repeat black smoke."

The Lieutenant paused at the base of the stairs, throwing an arm out to stop Poke from going any further.

"Chief?" he needed confirmation. It was hard to hear.

"Smoke's gone black. Head up to the roof and we'll get you out that way." He pointed to Q-tip and Kocher for them to turn around and go up. Making the hand gestures for them, without using words.

"Copy that," he responded and turned on his heel, his men having heard the conversation already moving. But their luck surely running out as a wall of flame erupted behind, they made a dash towards the stairs only to have the floor suddenly drop out from underneath them.

Colbert was suppressing the urge to swear at the traffic holding them up when Chief's voice came through the radio. No, fuck that he was mentally swearing up a storm at the sheer incompetence of people to move out of the way for emergency vehicles.

" Colbert, ETA?"

"Two minutes, as soon as these liberal yuppy Frappuccino drinking morons understand the basic social curtesy of moving out of the way of an emergency vehicle then we'll be there" he replied hoping it would be true. They'd left minutes after the call had come in but had run almost directly into a traffic jam, cars behind them sealing them in. Police assistance had arrived shortly after but they were already penned in. it was maddening. Colbert and his men getting more and more impatient as time rolled on by.

"What's happening?," he asked. He asked vaulting from the truck not stopping as he asked Chief Wynn.

"We've got two in the basement." By the look on Wynn's face he just knew one of them was Nate. Dread and anticipation coiled in his stomach like a snake. "Not moving." Fuck, he thought, Nate better be alive or he'll resurrect him just to berate him for dying then kill him again.

"We'll get 'em," he said as convincingly as he could and took off for the entrance, his men keeping pace the entire way.

Once inside the building he could hear the PASS alarms and it got louder every step further he took. He didn't have to move very far in before he got to the hole in the floor, a replica directly above. Colbert was reassured by the fact that while falling from that height would hurt, it wouldn't kill you.

Frantic shouting from above had him tearing his eyes away from the motionless bodies in the basement to see Q-tip and Kocher trapped above him on a small section of remaining stairway.

He told them to go up and then patched in an order for a ladder to the west side window to get them out. Once they were out of the way, he began working on getting into the basement.

Thinking on his feet, he rigged up a roping system and had his men lower him into the basement. He unclipped himself and stepped over to Fick who was beginning to come around. He was coughing and blinking dazedly and although he had lost his helmet and mask in the fall he didn't seem to have sustained anything worse than a couple of scrapes.

Colbert was so relieved he could have kissed him.

Instead, he reached down and hauled him onto his feet. "Come on, on your feet man. Nate you okay?" When Fick failed respond meaningfully, he pulled him so close that they would have been nose to nose if it hadn't been for the mask over his face. "Hey! Are you alright?" he shook him little to get him to look him in the eyes.

Fick managed a shaky nod and the shrill of Poke's PASS alarm seemed to pierce the bubble surround them at the same time because they jerked apart and hurried over to Poke's form.

Together they rolled him over and noticed his laboured breathing immediately. While Fick ripped the mask from Poke's face, Colbert tore his own off and held it over Poke's face, providing him with some much needed clean air.

Fick hovered over Poke while Colbert worked on getting them out of there, hooking Poke up to the rope he had come down on. "I need a second rope" Brad shouted holding his arm out. He created a harness to pull the semi unconscious Tony out of the burning basement. Once they lifted him over the edge of the hole in the floor they wasted no time carrying him out knowing every second counted and leaving Colbert and Fick in a precarious situation without O2 tanks in a building that could partially collapse at any moment.

"Alright, let's get out of here."

The pair surveyed the wreckage of the room, looking for anything that could help them get out. Finally they settled on a sturdy looking dining table. They quickly swept it free of the chairs stacked on top of it and dragged it over. They clambered onto it and even though they still couldn't reach the hole, they were much closer now. Colbert linked his gloved hands together and offered them to Fick wordlessly. Fick stepped up without argument, even though he didn't want to. With Colbert's help he was able to scramble up easily enough and slide around on his stomach to grasp Colbert's hands, all too aware of the steadily growing flames.

He slowly began to heft Colbert's weight and not a moment too soon because the table collapsed beneath him, weakened by both the fire and the two men's weight. Colbert was dangling by one arm and he was slipping in Nates hold. He clung desperately to Brad's arm, but he didn't have a good enough grip to be able to lift him further especially since he was slowly sliding back towards the edge. Colbert's weight pulling him down and they both knew it. If someone didn't come back soon both of them would be tumbling back into the basement and unlikely, they would survive that.

Nate grunted with exertion and tried to dig his boots into the floor to anchor himself but it was no use; there wasn't even a nearby piece of debris he could hook his foot around. Soon Brad stopped moving and just hung their limply. This surprised Nate so much so that he also stopped and just stared at Brad. "Nate," he said, voice surprisingly calm. Nate looked in confusion, then sudden realisation flowed over him understanding what Brad was saying without saying it.

Nate felt like he had been slapped before shaking his head frantically. "No. No way. You are not doing this."

Colbert grimaced, feeling like he should have expected this. "Nate-."

"Colbert, shut up. We don't leave anyone behind." If he said it forceful enough then it would be true.

Colbert swallowed audibly, having no idea what he wanted to say but knowing he needed to say something. There was no way he was ending it like this with their last conversation being an argument. He knew Nate would never get over it and the guilt would eat him alive.

"Fick, listen" he snapped before softening his voice, his eyes imploring that Nate listen.

"I don't want your goodbyes," Fick hissed. Colbert would have been offended if he hadn't known it was fear that hardened the other man's voice not malice. Colbert grimaced as the roaring of the fire increased in volume, signalling that the fire was getting closer and he knew he didn't have much longer to get this out.

"Nate" he insisted and Fick's breathing hitched, he felt discombobulated. "Everything that's happened with Brett? I don't want you to think that I still don't-"

He was cut off once again but this time by a yell from above.

"I got you, Lt." The voice belonged to Jacks who had leapt forward to grab at Fick's sliding ankles. Colbert couldn't see what was happening but soon other faces appeared over Fick's shoulders and hands reached down to haul him up. Throughout it all, Fick's hands never left his.

The pair thudded down on the dusty ground, coughing out smoke and gasping for breath. Somehow through all the dust and debris and firefighter's Fick and Colbert's eyes found each other and in that moment a new understanding and awareness came alive. The world shrunk to the two of them, all the background noise faded away. All Brad wanted to do was haul Nate close and hold on and never let go. But the moment was broken by their teams helping to escape the burning building.

The second they were outside they heard the hoses power up and the sizzle of fire being doused and Fick collapsed over his knees, trying to hack up the smoke that was burning his lungs.

Finally after regaining his breath he straightened and made a beeline for the chief, intent on finding out about his man.

"How's Tony?"

"On his way to Paradise Valley." The lack of details spoke volumes and Fick's stomach sunk. He knew there wasn't anything else he could do now other than hope and pray the doctors would take care of him but still it was hard. Fick nodded and turned away, accepting the bottle of water a passing firefighter offered. He dumped the majority of it over his head before using the rest to rinse out his dry mouth as he ambled back over to the truck where Hasser was climbing down from the aerial.

"Nice work, Hasser."

Hasser's smile showed his surprise but he thanked his Lt anyway. Fick allowed him that half a second before he, with a grin on his face, "Alright start packing the gear" Hasser just chuckled.

"Sir, yes sir" with a mock salute.

"Looks like we're gonna meet the mayor after all," Kocher said staring over Fick's shoulder. The Lieutenant turned just in time to see a face, familiar from posters around the city exiting a black SUV and approaching Wynn for a handshake and a smile.

Fick looked away with and glanced up at the still burning building. It would be hours at least before the fires were doused completely.

He was right and the sun was well up when the tired firefighter's of House 43 finally pulled back into the station. The next shift would be in within the next half hour and everyone was glad to see the end of a long day. Fick was just getting ready to leave, intent on dropping by his house for a change of clothes before checking in with Poke at the hospital when he stumbled across Bryan hanging up on what looked to be a very serious phone call.

"Union?" he asked, recalling what he'd heard around the house. Tim was a damn fine medic and he knew Tim wouldn't have done what he did unless he was confident that it would have saved the little girl's life.

"Yeah. They're starting a file on me." His voice was flat with irritation. Like he couldn't believe that he was being wrung out to dry.

Not knowing what else to say, Fick offered his company, "I'm going to the hospital to check in on Poke, if you want to come with."

"What do you know?"

He paused where he was bent over his bag and glanced over at Brett's old locker. "I know we can't lose another one," he said and walked out without another word.

Throughout the ride to the hospital Fick thought of Brett. And because he thought of Brett naturally that lead to thoughts of Brad. It was almost impossible to think about one without the other. But thinking of Colbert also meant thinking about those moments where the rescue Lieutenant had dangled over the fire and what had been said in that time. Fick couldn't think of anything he wanted to think about less. It just hurt too much, all the jabs and hateful words were now a cavernous gap that he didn't know if they could fill again. However, in the dark lonely nights he did think of Brad and how much he missed him. He missed his friend. But maybe that was just the loneliness talking. He was afraid to think that it could be something else. Marissa's words came back to him, "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, but you don't want to face it."

Colbert didn't know why he wanted to go to the hospital. Sure they all were in the same house but being the Lieutenant of Rescue meant that it wasn't expected he be there. He knew most of his men probably would go straight home, dropping in on Poke in the next couple of days. But Colbert couldn't stomach the thought of just going home while Ray and Bryan and Nate's men would wait around for hours.

On his way out of the house he stopped by the kitchen to grab one last cup of decent coffee. He knew from experience that there was nothing worse than the battery acid that constituted as coffee in hospitals. Drawn by some unnamed force Colbert found himself in front of the open fridge reaching for a piece of Fick's corned beef. The deliciousness flooded his mouth and Colbert tried to ignore the onslaught of memories it brought. Of a summer when this had been a regular occurrence. Of a year spent living with Fick and Morel back they were at the academy together. Of a better time. Of a simpler time. Colbert ignored it all, tucked the foil back around the plate and headed for the hospital.

Colbert tried to ignore all the eyes on him when he walked into the waiting room, taking the seat next to Bryan. But there was one gaze, whose intensity was burning a hole into the side of his face. Glancing around the group of firefighter's it wasn't hard to identify it.

From his place beside Wynn, Fick was unabashedly staring at him. There was surprise in his gaze, no doubt wondering why Colbert had decided to come but there was also a question there, asking if after everything that happened in that burning building, were they going to finally move on and resurrect some semblance of a working relationship. Colbert ducked his head in a nod, part thanking Fick for what he'd done, not that he needed to and part answering that silent question.

Fick nodded back an acknowledgment and that was where they should have looked away. Where it would have been appropriate to do so. But instead, their gazes remained firmly locked, and Colbert felt a twitching of a smile at his lips. The two were so engrossed in one another that it wasn't until a group of nurses went clamouring by did, they finally blink and look away.

Fick stood instantly and cleared his throat. "Come get me if there's an update," was all he said before walking out the front.

Once outside, Fick leant against the front of the building, taking in slow, controlled breaths of the cool air. He didn't want to admit it but whatever had just happened between Colbert and himself scared the hell out of him. A shift had occurred between them in that fire and Fick wasn't ready to find out what that meant. He hadn't realised how quickly things between him and Colbert would return to how they'd been before Brett. And if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure he was ready to open himself up to that type of pain again. It scared the shit out of him.

---

"Colbert, get ya thumb out if your arse and get movin'." Wynn barked out, his voice echoing in the garage.

Colbert knew he was getting off easily. Had this happened a couple of months ago he would have gotten reamed over his lateness and might have even been written up over it. But after the loss of Morel, Wynn was taking it easy on everyone but Colbert knew it that he was on Mike's last thread of good will, so the next time he fucked up he would get his anger.

He changed quickly and climbed into the rescue truck, Pappy taking off before the door was even closed. They sped through the streets of San Diego, alarm parting the traffic like a disjointed red sea and they pulled up at the scene to find they weren't needed after all. Already firefighters were making their way from the house and Jacks was climbing down from the roof where he had been sent evidently to vent.

Colbert leapt from his seat and asked the nearest firefighter who happened to be Jacks who was just stepping down from the ladder, "What's happening."

Jacks bristled slightly - seemingly still stung from Brad's verbal assault - before answering, "Just a grease fire, Lieutenant. Put it out with the extinguisher and Lt's just trying to get the tenant out."

"What's the problem?" Colbert asked, ignoring the blatant frostiness of his tone.

"Think he's going to get kicked out of his apartment or something. Lt's on it," Jacks replied gruffly.

Colbert repressed a vaguely amused snort at the thought, knowing it would do no good to further the animosity between the two companies. It was just so Fick to try and coax the man from the danger. Where he usually came across as intimidating and victims were scared into obedience, Fick managed to always be gentle despite the dangerous circumstances, voice quiet and soothing but firm at the same time.

Colbert shook his head of any thoughts concerning Fick as he had been doing since that afternoon in the hospital waiting room. He had noticed the odd shift in their relationship when Fick had refused to leave him to burn in the flames but it was too confusing to even think about it, so he had chosen to just ignore it for the time being. Not exactly healthy, he knew but with every other detrimental thing in his life, what was one more?

Colbert's thoughts weren't able to stray far however because Fick suddenly appeared out of the smoke billowing from the door, pulling an older man along with him, a supportive arm slung around his waist. He deposited the man on the sidewalk before turning to the woman who had been pacing a hole in the concrete and bad mouthing every firefighter that walked by.

"This your place, Ma'am?" Fick asked in his best Lieutenant's voice, something that Colbert used to tease the younger man about all the time. Colbert pushed the thought along with the twisting feeling in his stomach it brought, away quickly.

"You're damn right it is," the short, stacked woman answered testily.

"That your microwave down in the basement?" Fick continued, earning more attention from his strange line of questioning.

"Oh, what of it?"

"The frayed end of the electric cord started this fire. Place would've burned to the ground if not for this man. He's a hero." Fick had on his most charming smile which most women couldn't resist.

Colbert pursed his lips in attempt to hold back his smile. It was a thin lie and any firefighter who had paid any sort of attention at the academy would have caught it, but the woman would take his word as gold and Fick knew it. The woman's previously hard expression was already softening as she gazed at his tenant.

"Sir," Q-tip said, offering his hand for the bewildered gentleman to shake. "I just want to say, I've never seen a civilian act so bravely."

There were quiet snorts from both companies as Q-tip laid it on thick, but apparently it worked because as soon as Fick and Q-tip turned away, the woman was drawing the man into her arms and professing how worried she had been for him.

Colbert caught Fick's eyes, the green orbs sparkling with mirth and he was just opening his mouth to speak, lips upturned in an easy smile when he saw in his periphery the sight of the candidate leaning against the ladder with just his thigh and hip, both hands clutched around his axe.

Another burst of irrational anger flooded him as he watched the smiling Walt Hasser laughing carelessly without a hold on the ladder. The young man who took Brett's place.

"Hey! Hasser!" Colbert yelled, noting distantly that his tone and volume was perhaps too harsh for the slight, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His yell had caught the young firefighter's attention - as well as every other person in the vicinity - and he watched as the smile slid from the young man's face. "One hand on the beam at all times! No exceptions!"

"Ok Brad." And suddenly there was Fick, strangely enough watching him rather than baby faced Walt. "I think that's enough," he continued, voice calm but stern.

Colbert whipped back around to pin Fick to the spot with a glare, fury that he hadn't even realised he'd let go off, came rushing back in a second. "Yeah, he better," Colbert spat back before turning on his heel and stomping off back to his truck, swinging himself into the front seat while his men scrambled to follow.

He tried not to hear Fick's words from the other day as the truck peeled away from the curb, but they seemed to be echoing in his head, "Last in first out." He glanced in the side mirror to see Fick admonishing Walt who had his head ducked slightly in shame. Colbert let his eyes flicker away again but not before he saw Fick dismiss the man and turn to gaze after the retreating truck and Colbert swore he could feel the burning gaze right up until they turned the corner.

---

Later that afternoon the alarms went off again, the teams required at a construction site.

The trucks pulled to a stop in the industrial sector of Chicago, the Chief's truck and the ambulance right on their heels.

"What's going on?" Wynn barked, taking in the state of the construction site that resembled more of a bombed out war zone. "Foundation collapsed. There's three guys down in the basement hole."

Making a snap decision, Wynn ordered the Engine boys to prepare a 2½ hose before leading the way up onto the platform overlooking the collapsed area. Colbert hovered over one shoulder as Wynn crouched down to get a good look and saw out of the corner of his eye, Fick moved to his other shoulder.

Together, all three looked out over the site, each assessing a different part. Fick would be committing every abrasion he could see to memory, ready to tell Ray what to expect. Colbert, on the other hand, was looking at the structure of the cement and cataloguing the best ways to retrieve each person and Wynn would be putting it all together, thinking about how to best minimise loss of life without putting any of his men in danger.

Chief Wynn spoke first. "There's no fire, but let's drop the 2 ½ into the hole. From the ladder," Wynn said calmly. There was a clamour over the radio as the men still by the trucks hurried to do as instructed. "Garza get it up!"

The ladder whirred into action, Garza following Wynn's directions as he guided it out over the foundation collapse. The engine boys jumped into action as soon as it was in position, dragging the hose up and over the end, dangling it out over the sight.

"Now charge it."

On the Chief's command the firefighter's still down by the truck, pumped it full of air, causing it to inflate into a cylinder, stable enough for the men to slide down it. Fick was first, moving without hesitation, sliding down. Q-tip followed right on his heels and together they approached the closest victim, a white male surrounded on all sides by solid blocks of concrete. However other than a few scrapes on his face and neck, he didn't look all that injured.

Q-tip confirmed as much as he knelt down to get a closer look. "I don't think we should move him though," Q-tip said, glancing up at his Lt, both thinking about the potential injuries lurking underneath his skin.

Fick nodded in agreement and used his radio to talk to the paramedics. "Bryan, you down here?"

"Go for Bryan," came his muffled reply through the radio.

"Ray and Bryan are on their way down," Wynn informed them and just moments later Ray was landing lightly next to them. "That was sick, I so wanna do that again when…you know when not in a life or death situation."

Bryan came next and only spared a second to get his bearings and mutter, "That was a first," and joined them.

Once he'd made sure they were right with the victim, he moved over to help another victim he had noticed that was trapped under some debris, that was tittering on the edge of yawning pit. The man was covered in a fine layer of dirt and dust, making the striking gash across his face stand out that much more. But they had to be careful of the perilous edge while moving, one slip or a crumbling foundation and they could go toppling over.

"You have help my friend Peter, he's farther down," the man lurched forward groaning. "I heard him." He wheezed then started coughing violently.

Nate gently moved the man's arm he was supporting handing him over to Jacks and ordered him and Poke to get the man back onto the street where another ambulance would meet them. He took a few steps and dropped to his knees to glance down into the pit. Sure enough, with the aid of his flashlight, Fick spotted who he assumed to be Peter, an older man with greying hair possible in his late sixties. The spotlight from the torch only highlighted the man's rumpled face smeared with blood.

"Peter?" Nate shouted down.

"I knew this was gonna be a bad day." The man's voice was quiet and hoarse and he had to cough several times before he was able to continue. "Told my wife this morning when my pink toe itches it usually means something bad." Nate had to suppress the urge to laugh, because really the situation wasn't funny.

"Are you hurt?" Despite Peter's mental acuity, Fick was concerned about a possible head injury due to the randomness of his speech and his lack of panic. No victim generally under these circumstances are calm. To Fick's relief, Peter focused on the question and answered with what he hoped was with veracity.

"I can't breathe. Can't move." Fick trailed the torch beam over Peter's body, cataloguing the great slab of stone that was pinning Peter's leg down. He sighed, this was going to be a big job.

"All right Peter, I'll be done soon to get you, sit tight," he said, his voice steady.

"I ain't gonna run off on you" Peter cheekily replied, before coughing and patting his chest weakly.

Nate called out over his shoulder, "I need three pike poles and a saw."

The firefighter's jumped into action, trying to get the equipment down around the other two victims who were being lifted out of the construction site. Fick cursed the chaos and the lack of safe ways down. There was rebar poking out everywhere dangerously and random chunks of slab hanging precariously about their heads. Colbert joined him at the edge of the hole and it only took him one glance to arrive at the same conclusion as Fick: Peter's time was running out fast.

"How you doing down there, Peter?"

There was a long pause before Peter gasped back, "I've been better. Wish I was sitting on a beach in Tahiti."

"I'm going in," Colbert said immediately not wanting to waste anymore time.

"It's unstable," Fick said without looking away from Peter, who had started to gasp shallowly below them. But there was something about Colbert's silence that had Fick glancing over to find a small smile on Colbert's face, eyes glinting with adrenaline.

"Aren't we all?" He clapped a hand on Fick's shoulder momentarily and before Nate could protest Brad was swinging himself into the pit, using the exposed beams as footholds.

Fick fought the urge to curse all over again before calling out to the nearest firefighter's, preparing to widen the narrow entrance for when Colbert got the victim out.

The air down in the hole was choked with dust and dirt and Colbert had to take several deep breaths or he wouldn't be useful to anyone.

Peter watched Colbert's long appraisal of the situation quietly, only speaking once the firefighter's gaze had returned to his face. "Not so bad, right?" he joked.

Colbert didn't answer and shifted closer, tugging off his helmet and crouching down beside the man. "It's Peter, right?" he said, just for something to say. He received a shaky nod in return. "Can you move your foot?"

"No. I haven't even felt it for half an hour," the man said, stumbling over his words. Colbert grimaced and slid his hands under the concrete, trying to shift the unyielding stone. He huffed out a breath of exertion before finally leaning back, failing to move it even an inch.

"How about the rest of you? Any other loss of sensation?"

"My lungs hurt." Peter drew in a breath with a wheeziness that concerned Colbert. He gently prodded around Peter's chest feeling for any external injuries that he could deal with.

"Okay, okay." He pulled back after Peter release a painful gasp. As far as he could tell there was no external injuries but at that point that's what Colbert would have been hoping for. Bleeding where he can see it is much easier to deal with.

"Ju-just get my foot out, I'll be fine," Peter croaked.

"All right, we're gonna get you out of here."

"Do me one favour," Peter said with a sudden startling alertness.

"Yeah?" Brad asked uncertainly.

"No lies."

Colbert clenched his jaw but relented. "Fair enough. I think you're bleeding on the inside. If that's true, your foot is the least of your problems."

Peter nodded shakily and as he processed that Colbert glanced up to where Fick's face had reappeared.

"Nate we need this hole opened up."

"On it," he responded, nodding shortly and glanced away to someone Colbert couldn't see. "Go Garza."

There was the roar of a chainsaw starting up and Colbert braced himself for the debris was bound to come raining down on them. While Garza worked away at the beams above him, Colbert busied himself cleaning away the blood from Peter's face and chest. It was the least he could do while they waited.

"We'll get you back to your wife in no time."

"Yeah sure."Colbert couldn't help the grin that spread across his lips at Peter's disbelief.

"You saying I shouldn't play poker anytime soon?"

"I'm saying I'd be all-in on that one."

Colbert chuckled, having respect for anyone who could joke in a situation like this. "Well, you're breathing and talking, so that's good."

Suddenly the whole foundation shook which had debris raining down on them, creating plumes of dust and dirt. Startled and panicked yells from above drifted down. Brad knew that the whole construction site must have shifted. He hovered over Peter trying to shield him as best he could.

"Brad" he turned his head to look up back towards the hole. Nate had popped his head over the edge, voice was fraught with apprehension and his eyes glittered with an unnamed emotion that he had to force himself not to read too much into. Not here anyway. Maybe later in the privacy of his own apartment.

"We're okay" and concentrated on Peter's pale face in front of him, the one he had to get out of there. He tipped his head back and called out to Fick, "Get Ray over here!"

Ray's face, grubby face streaked white by dust appeared almost immediately after Fick's yell for him and his keen, dark eyes assessing the situation instantly.

"His lower leg is trapped and there's internal bleeding."

"No way to release it?"

"No." Not without time and equipment he didn't have.

"Everything's fine and dandy," Peter joked, before turning his head away overcome by a hacking cough.

"All right, I'll call for a trauma surgeon."

"How long?"

Ray's mouth pursed he had a wild look in his eyes, Brad wondered if he had been taking too many caffeine pills to keep him going again. "I'll call again and see what is taking their sweet arse time". And then he was slipping away, hurrying off to call the surgeon.

"I trust you to do your job" he felt blown away by Peter, the man's faith in him. Bile crept up his throat he hated in field amputations- it's not like he hasn't done a few, he knows what to do. He knew that at times it was the only choice to save the victims life. The first time he assisted, he could barely hold it together and he vomited straight afterwards- it haunted him for weeks.

Without warning there was another shudder that shook the building followed by enormous crash. Shit, time was running out. He looked up to see if he could see what was happening above and he caught Fick's eye again. The man was gazing at him and biting his lip in contemplation. A call echoed around them and Nate turned his head in the direction. He looked back down at Brad with a torn reluctance between staying to watch over him and leaving. He gave a small nod to Nate letting him know it was okay to go they'll be fine and they need you. It was the pitfalls of being a leader, you were always needed. He understood Nate's reticence, they were in a giant pit after all and the risk was a piece of the disintegrating building would descend. If positions were reversed he would be disquieted by the prevailing set of circumstances.

Colbert turned back to Peter but he could feel Fick's eyes on him for a few more seconds before he moved away. He focussed on Peter to find the older man watching him a inquisitiveness sparking in his eye.

"I forgot my manners and didn't ask you your name?"

"Brad"

"Do you have a special someone waiting for you?" He was a little off balance by the personal questions, but he saw no point in rebuffing the dying man.

"No," Colbert answered, resolutely not thinking of how much he wanted Nate.

Peter's eyes darted back to the movement above and back to Brad with a look Brad couldn't discern.

"I think those looks with that young chap would say otherwise. I've been around the block long enough to know you share a connection. The way you were staring at each other was intense; it was something special."

"We were best friends. We had a falling out."

Peter hummed suspiciously and his eyes leapt about as he read Colbert's face. "Well don't wait too long, Brad. To make things better with him," he added at Colbert's questioning glance. In other words don't be a dumbass and stop doing what you're doing. Throwing up unnecessary obstacles to protect your pride.

Colbert didn't answer, instead regarded the older man curiously. He didn't want to talk about himself so he changed the subject.

"You married?"

"To the love of my life Georgie. She was going to be called George but turned out to be a girl."

Colbert chuckled, thinking back to his childhood and the barbershop that had stood on the corner. "There was a barbershop on my street named Harris and Sons. Mr Harris named it when his wife was pregnant with their first; ended up having five girls."

The laugh that his story prompted quickly turned into a choking cough, sucking the breath from the old man's lungs. Colbert's face contorted trying not to react as he watched blood expel from Peter's mouth and ran down his chin. He placed a hand behind him to brace against the rock to stop him from moving too much. As he was adjusting Peter Ray shouted over the edge for him to prep a saline bag as the surgeon was on his way.

"How long?"

"Fifteen minutes give or take. "Colbert wanted to scream in frustration and worked on getting the saline into Peter's arm, trying not to think about how impossibly long fifteen minutes was going to be it may as well have been 50 years.

"Brad." Peter regarded him lethargically. Dread harshly tugged at him, sensing that Peter realised he wasn't going to make it. Brad tried looking anywhere but at him. Undeterred, Peter continued, "Brad we don't have time to wait do what you need to do. I trust you."

It wouldn't be the first time Brad has had to perform a field amputation and definitely wouldn't be the last. Watching as the saw slowly cur the bone and flesh was like some twisted reality-come-horror movie. It was difficult to remain detached and objective knowing you had to do it.

Peter's gaze was helpless mess of pleading desperation.

He could barely get out more than a few reassuring words when the pit gave an almighty shudder, reverberating from where the foundation was gradually cracking apart. Colbert glanced up, preparing for an update. Nate's face appeared over the edge of the hole, helmet thrown askew and covered in a dark grey dust, the effects of the building movement evidently hitting them even harder. It would have been comical if not for the dire circumstances.

Once again their silent communication gave way and the look of painful regret told Brad everything that he needed to know. The surgeon would not be coming and the teams above had to pull back.

He could sense Peter's eyes drilling into him wondering what was going on. Now he sort of understood what Peter meant about the intense connection, but now was not the time to think about that. Fick's expression turn determined and Brad sighed knowing that telling Nate to go would be pointless.

"If you have to go to be safe then it's fine. I don't you want you needlessly dying down here with me" Peter softened his gaze, seeming resigned and accepted his fate. Brad shook his head, nope he would give this one last chance.

"Nope not yet" he squared his shoulders and rolled his neck. He looked back up towards Nate, his jaw set in stubborn determination. Fick held his hand up, telling him to hold on, and disappeared for no more than a minute. Only to return brandishing a Sawzall; Brad thanked the fucking universe for whoever made the decision for Fick and him to work with each other. And for Nate being Nate. Wonderful fucking human being that sure as shit was a better person than he ever will. Who cared so bloody much and who could read him like an open book. Damn it he was acting like a teenage girl again with all these fluffy feelings.

Full body coughs racked Peter's chest, his complexion paler with thick dark blood creating rivulets pouring over his cracked lips. He looked exhausted and weary, slowly losing his remaining energy. Brad readied the tourniquet around the shin, he didn't want to waste any more time. Nate lowered the Sawzall into the pit and as Brad undid the knot in the rope Peter clutched his wrist halting his movements.

"A dying request?" Brad's heart plummeted in his chest. He knew of course, but he didn't want to think about it, he liked Peter.

"Anything."

The chuckle that that prompted was not much more than a whisper. "I," he paused as another body wracking cough overcame him.

"Can I use your phone?" Brad blinked and was about to question what for, but Peter managed to briefly explain what he wanted in between hacking his lungs up.

Brad patted his pockets realising he didn't have his phone. "Nate!" he yelled up shifting over towards the entry hole.

"Yeah?"

"Can I borrow your phone?" Fick moved around kneeling near the edge tentatively reaching out while Colbert climbed on some rebar to be able to clasp the phone securely in hand.

Brad brought up the video function not thinking that he unlocked Nate's phone without asking for the code.

"Here, can you hold it, or do you want me too?"

"You need too. How's my hair?"

---

Fick felt the dread build in the pit of his stomach when he didn't immediately hear the expected whirr of the saw and reaction from Peter. He peeked back over the edge and saw Brad holding the phone in front of Peter, before he could think to much on it Otis called him over.

His fears were confirmed when Colbert's hand dumped the saw over the side and the rest of his body followed quickly after, taking Fick's offered hand for support.

Colbert glanced between Fick and Bryan before saying shortly, "It's a recovery now," and walking away without another word.

Fick ducked his head briefly and dropped to his knee to peer over the side. Sure enough, with his eyes closed and the barest trace of a peaceful smile on his lips was the worker, looking strangely small at the bottom of the pit.

Fick heaved a heavy breath before signalling for his men to begin the recovery of the body, trying not to add the death to the mental tally inside his head. The tally of all the people he failed to save weighed heavy in the consciousness.

After losing Peter, the ride back to the station was oddly subdued, each man quiet and contemplative, getting over the loss in their own individual way.

Back at the station Poke had a surprise for them, or for Ray and Bryan at least. The appearance of his four kids perked everyone up after the hard call. The companies dismounted from the trucks and wandered closer, mostly out of curiosity, but Colbert found himself hanging back; watching from afar as he slowly pulled off his turnout gear.

However, his thoughts wandered back to Peter and his wife who would most likely be told that her husband had died. Which then his mind wandered to Brett and Val. Who he remembered crying, clutching at Wynn as he told her that her husband had died.

Colbert swallowed thickly and stepped backwards instead, slipping away unnoticed. He wandered through the mostly empty hallways of the house, dodging the stray engine firefighter as he went until he found a mostly empty hallway. He collapsed back against the cold stone wall just looking up at the ceiling. He sensed movement to his right and could immediately smell the scent that is distinctly attributed to Nate.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just thinking about Peter…can you..ah…can you send me the video and Georgie's phone number?"

"Sure" Nate didn't leave. Brad didn't know how he felt about that. But it was nice that Nate was offering support- silently- and willing to stand here randomly in the corridor. He was stalling, but he just wanted to enjoy this moment a little more not that he would ever tell Nate that.

He was nervous, it wasn't like he had never had to talk to grieving widows and families before. Ten plus years on the job meant that he had way too much experience in the matter. But it never got any easier.

At the other end of the corridor Q-tip was leading a group of truck boys, pontificating about the about the crest of the truck, which everyone had been hearing about since Q-tip had noticed it that morning, apparently, he wasn't too keen on the fact that it was a goat. Each time he tried to rally the boys and convince them that it should change, he would barely get more than a few words out before he was being shot down again and again. Finally, Poke out of mercy, fed him a outlandish story (that only he could do) about the crest being a talisman to reverse an old curse, after which they finally dispersed.

Colbert waited a few moments; he felt the vibration of the notifications from Nate. It felt sick, he really didn't want to do this, but for Peter, he would suck it up.

The call connected after just one ring and Colbert pushed away from the wall in surprise, scrambling to find something to say before he realised he had been sent straight to voicemail. Which apparently didn't make this any easier because as soon as he signalled to speak by the beep he choked on whatever he was going to say.

After a long moment of horrible silence he finally disconnected, shoving the phone deep into his pocket. He scrubbed a hand over his face and resolved to try again later when Wynn strode past, an older man in an officer's uniform, who Colbert easily identified as District Chief Ferrando, right beside him.

"Brad, Nate" Wynn said as he walked past with a expectant tilt of his head and a questioning eye.

Colbert followed wordlessly, hand absently drifting up to knead at his aching shoulder, sore from the climb out of the hole earlier, dreading what he knew was to come. He followed the Chief and Ferrando into one of the common rooms where he found his company and Fick's veered off towards his.

His throat went dry and despite having expecting this, for a moment he can't breathe. He can't stand the idea of sitting there and being lectured on how he could have prevented Andy's death, on what he should have done better, on whose fault it was that his best friend was dead. But then Colbert did what he always did, he disassociated and survived because it was what he had been taught to do. How else could he go running into burning buildings every day if he didn't know how to remove himself from a situation and look at it as an objective third-party onlooker.

He moved further in, keeping his face perfectly blank as he took in the room; a schematic of the house had already been drawn up, initials to symbolise each of the firefighter's who had been on scene, both companies were complete, no one daring to miss the mandatory whiteboard session, even the Candidate was in attendance, no doubt there to learn but something about it rubbed Colbert the wrong way.

Fighting back the urge to snap out a comment that he would later come to regret, Colbert took his place at the back of the room a few feet away from Fick, who true to his nature had given up his seat for a fellow firefighter and was standing by the door. Hand still absently kneading at the muscles of his shoulder, Colbert tuned back into Ferrando who was describing the setup of the day as if any of them needed a reminder.

"Morel was entering the attic window here," he was saying, slashing a red 'x' on the window of the diagram. "While Rescue 1 was conducting first floor search and rescue here."

The more Ferrando talked, the sicker Colbert felt and the worse his shoulder ached. He pressed at the trembling muscles more and more insistently until he was digging his thumb in with enough force to bruise.

"Fire started in the basement and spread up to the kitchen. Now, we all know fire is in a constant hunt for oxygen."

The room was getting hotter, Colbert was sure and the oxygen that Ferrando was talking about was slowly being sapped from the air. Colbert tugged at the collar of his shirt, fighting to control his rapid breathing and temper down the heat that he could feel rising in his cheeks. Colbert glanced over at Fick uncertainly, convinced that he couldn't be the only being so affected but Fick looked as unruffled as ever, eyes clear and attentive on Ferrando, mouth pressed into a straight expressionless line. Shaking his head to clear his rising panic, Colbert dropped his hand from his shoulder, clenched both hands into fists and focused back on the front.

"No vent and the fire's coming after us. What started in the basement, is now looking for a way out. A larger vent cut in the back of the house and the fire never would have make it upstairs," and to conclude his point he drew a line across the room, slicing right through the 'M' for Morel. At long last, Fick seemed affected as he shifted minutely but Colbert had hit the end of his rope.

With his shoulder now screaming in pain he moved away from the wall and walked out of the room without a word, barely hearing Wynn's call through the haze of pain. As he brushed past on his way past, Fick leaned out of the way, cutting of contact before it could really begin and in some part of Colbert's addled mind, he found himself wishing Fick hadn't, craving the contact, wanting to be wrapped in Nate's comforting embrace. Wanting things, he shouldn't.

He barely remembered the trip to the locker room, didn't know how he managed his lock left-handed with his right useless as it was, but the next thing he remembered was sitting on the closed lid of a toilet, waiting with bated breath and a racing heart for the other firefighter to leave. It felt like deja-vu all over again, but this time he was more aware of the fact that he needed help. Just when he thinks he's finally moving on the shit hits the fan again.

As soon as the door clanged shut behind the man, Colbert was unzipping his kit with shaking fingers and rummaging through his belongings for the small vial of painkillers. It took him several tries but he finally managed to get the thing loaded. He spared the syringe half a glance, remembering distantly Ray promising that this would be the last one, before plunging it deep into his deltoid with practiced ease, head thunking back against the cement with a dull thud as relief slowly inched it's way along his veins.

He chewed on the cap of the syringe lazily as the medication worked it's way through his body and tried to work up the energy to be worried. It was hard when the screaming of pain in his shoulder and neck had finally been reduced to quiet, occasional whimpers. He had been living with Ray as long as he had known him and if it had taught him anything, it was that the man was stubborn as a mule and hyper as a squirrel in nut season. If he had said that was the last one, then that was the last one. And Colbert knew he should be freaking out, wondering where he was going to get his next dose, but it was just a bit too much for him right now, so he let his eyes slip closed, lips still absently working around the plastic of the cap, content for the moment to sit there peacefully before he got his ass chewed out by Wynn for leaving the session early.

Ray was acting shifty which was never a good sign. The very sight of him twitching in his seat was setting Colbert edge so he thought he should be congratulated for waiting another five minutes before he finally barked at him to "out with it." Otherwise, Ray would probably explode in a shower of caffeine.

Ray narrowed his eyes at his tone and Colbert bit back a curse. It didn't seem to matter what he did these days, he was always hurting someone. Thankfully, Ray let it go without comment and settled more comfortably on his perch on the counter bench, adopting an expression that told Colbert that he was in for the long haul and he probably shouldn't have asked.

He gritted his teeth, counting backwards from 100.

"Ok, before I begin, I need to know one thing. You know that rule that we decided upon when I first moved in?" At Colbert's glare, Ray continued, "Well I need a brief, 5-minute reprieve from it." He fell silent, evidently happy to watch him squirm. It was only when he inclined his head in a silent "proceed" did he start talking again.

"So, I have these two best friends. And it's kind of put me into an awkward position. Now the first best friend was great. He was living here when I met him and his best friend - best friend number two by the way - graciously let me live here with them. And things were great. But then best friend numbers one and two rudely decided to break the friendship and now I can't really talk to number one because I still live with number two."

"If you want to talk to Nate-"

"Fick? Who? I haven't named anyone. I could be talking about anyone right now. I could be talking about Mrs Watkowski down the street who-"

"Ray" he was starting to lose his patience.

"Anyway dear Bradley," Ray cut across loudly. "It is what it is. I mean, yes I miss him but whatever, but this is what brings me to the awkward part. I'm pretty sure best friend number two is interested in number one or at the very least curious about-"

"I'm not-" he replied almost reflexively, which he should have known was as good as admitting in Ray's book- he was disgusted by himself that Ray could read him so well.

Ray just kept giving him a look and tapping his foot. He could feel his annoyance rise and was ready to shove Ray's foot up his own arse. He gritted his teeth resisting committing some sort of violence.

When it became clear that Ray wasn't going to continue, Colbert sighed. "Well, you're going to tell me anyway so you might as well get it over with."

Ray grinned devilishly behind Colbert's turned back, pleased that he had managed to get him to ask for it. It was a grand day in Ray's book when he made Colbert beg for it.

"I heard Fick moved out of his and Marissa's apartment. He bought himself a little house not far from the station."

"Oh." His throat constricted, emotion bubbling up that he would rather tramp down. He had wondered why Nate hadn't said anything. He felt lighter and hopeful, not that he was expecting anything and that really spoke to how fucked up over Nate he really was.

---

At the Friends of Fireman BBQ fundraiser, Brad watched with something akin to jealousy as he as Val smiled and laughed with Fick. Where she could barely stand to be in his presence for more than five minutes and had whisked her sons away as quickly as she could, one of whom being his godson, she had allowed Fick to comfort her. He couldn't even be really mad at Fick because they had been trying to do the exact same thing: be there for the wife of their best friend.

The anger that was bubbling deep within his stomach was momentarily put on hold as he watched Fick scoop Ben up with a laugh and a smile. He hadn't seen that smile since the day Andy had died. Granted he hadn't had much reason to but deep inside he knew he had missed it. Which immediately made him even more mad.

He blamed Fick for Brett's death, had been blamed by Fick for Brett's death. He had no right to be feeling anything towards Fick other than contempt and if he could manage it professional civility. That was wavering more and more each day, it was just getting too exhausting to keep up the anger.

Feeling particularly self-destructive Colbert waited until Val broke away from the group she was talking too, and then made a beeline for her where she was standing alone at one of the drink coolers. If he couldn't deal with one issue, then he could handle another.

"He loved his job. He loved helping people" It may not have been the best opening but Colbert did better when he was direct and didn't allow himself to get mixed up trying to express himself. "It was our dream since we were kids," he went on when Val's soft smile disappeared into a thin line and her eyes hardened. Clearly, she didn't believe that.

"He worshipped you" She looked disgusted by the very idea, before she let her face smooth out again in a neutral expression. "You caused this." She hissed before walking away without another word, leaving Colbert staring after her in her wake.

Fuck it he was leaving. He didn't need to feel anymore like shit than he already did.

Colbert made his way to the edge of the park, catching Wynn's eye as he went, tilting his head that he was leaving. Wynn just pursed his lips, raising an eyebrow that somehow conveyed coward and understanding all in one go. He stayed for a requisite time now all he planned was to get completely plastered.

---

Colbert managed to stumble up to bed hours later, the apartment still dark and empty without Ray there. God why was there so many stairs? Was there always this many? Desire for contact burned deep inside Colbert's stomach, the need to call someone - someone who had really known Andy - and reassure his alcohol addled brain that, that what Heather said wasn't the truth. His hands were sweaty, why was he sweating? His fingers slipped, making squeaky noises as he tried to bring up his contacts- looking for someone. However, a picture popped up startling him, it took him a moment to bring it into focus. It was a photo of him and Nate, smiling into he camera- man he missed that smile. He groaned, a low thrum of arousal coursed through his veins as he traced the curve of Nates lips, the apples of his cheeks, the faint lines next to his eyes and the curve of his neck and his Adam's apple, which he had the sudden urge to lick.

"Brad?" he startled and fumbled the phone not realising he had actually managed to call someone.

And of course because the universe hated him, his phone would choose that exact minute to go off. Fick really wanted to just leave it. But if there was an emergency and Fick actively ignored it, he would never forgive himself. He sighed rolling to his side, really just wanting to cover himself with a pillow and steadfastly attempt to go to sleep. But, alas the trill was becoming louder and the vibrate function sounding more like a jackhammer in the silence of the early morning.

The drunken slur that answered him was enough to have him blink in confusion and sit up to listen better. The realisation that it was Colbert's voice on the other end of the line had him on his feet and looking for shoes before he could even really think about it. After everything, Colbert wouldn't call this late unless something really bad had happened.

"Nate, I thought…I thought you would be asleep," Colbert sounded fine although exceptionally drunk so Fick could breathe a little easier. The silence stretched on as Brad just kept breathing and moving around; he could hear rustling.

"Brad where you going to leave me message?," he answered calmly. Because shit someone needed to say something.

There was nothing coming over the line but more rustling.

"Brad?" he demanded more forcefully. Because fuck as if he really wanted to deal with this shit at three in the morning. "If you don't answer in the next few seconds I'm hanging up", he didn't mean to snap but he was just so damn tired.

"What are we?" Brad quietly asked. Nate sucked in a breath because wasn't that a loaded question.

"Co-worker," he suggested quietly.

"Is that…is that all?" An upswell of guilt hit him, Brad sounded as broken as he felt.

"After everything?" he posed a question because really what did Brad expect? Contemplative silence ensued. Then an eruption of anger.

"God you're impossible you know that? What do you want from me?" Brad yelled into the phone.

"I don't want anything" he barked back. The muted seconds that followed that statement were almost tangible. Nate waited patiently, because it needed to be Brad that spoke next.

"I don't know what you expect from me. I don't know what to expect of myself" Nate was at a loss of what to say to something like that.

"I don't expect anything from you, Brad" and he didn't really because a certain someone had crushed all of those expectations.

"That's the problem isn't it? We don't….." he waited while Brad struggled to find the words to express himself, but Nate knew what he was trying to say.

"We don't trust each other on a personal level anymore?" Brad hummed seeming to agree. While they trusted each other professionally, their personal relationship was in tatters.

"Yeah. We can't just talk like…before…we're Nate and Brad and Brad and Nate." Their was a pause, where he could hear Brad take a shaky breath, "I…..god I miss you so damn much" the tremble in his voice took Nate completely off guard. He never had expected the conversation to take this turn.

"I was looking at a photo of you and…and…and I realised how beautiful you are…your lips and your eyes," Brad let out a throaty moan and Nate jerked back- Brad had effectively stunned him into silence. "Love listening to your voice when you are authoritative…god what am I doing? What am I doing this? I can't help it…he hates me" Brad muttered incoherent and Nate could tell he was touching himself. But when he heard the 'hate' word he cut off Brad's ramblings.

"I don't hate you" Brad stilled going silent, both just listening to each other breathe.

"Oh," Colbert finally mumbled then a cut off whine. Did he just?

Fick clenched a fist around his phone and bit back a curse and a sob because he knew deep down that Colbert would never be saying or doing any of this if he hadn't polished off whatever alcohol was in his apartment. He also knew that he definitely would never remember this in the morning and would hate himself if he did. He would be utterly mortified and Nate wouldn't be able to look him in the eye for a while.

"Why did you call?," Fick said, unable to stop his voice from turning cold and harsh. He was overcompensating for his own confusing arousal because of Brad masturbating thinking of him.

"It's something Heather said," Colbert started. "And I didn't want to think but I couldn't stop you know? It just kept going round and round and round."

"Brad," Fick interrupted, voice gentler this time. He was suddenly afraid of what a grief- stricken Heather could say that would send Colbert into such a tail spin that he would come to himself of all people. He knew how self-destructive Brad could get when pushed emotionally.

"And and you knew Brett well, like me, and there wasn't anybody to ask."

"Brad," he murmured again. "What did she say."

"Just you know that he never wanted to be a firefighter and that basically he was because I was because he worshipped me. Did I inadvertently kill him?" He could feel the worry and terror coating Brad's musings. If he didn't nip this in the bud now then there's no telling what Brad would do, if he ran into Heather again.

"Hey, hey. Don't go there okay? She's wrong. You didn't kill him and neither did I. it…it was just an unfortunate accident. No one killed Andy, okay? And can you honestly tell me that Brett didn't walk to the beat of his own drum? When did he do anything that was because of someone else?" Brett was headstrong and independent, he wouldn't have followed anyone around like a puppy.

That earned him a shaky chuckle from Colbert and Fick breathed a sigh of relief at the averted crisis.

"I'm sorry, really sorry about this," Colbert slurred, the copious amount of alcohol he consumed finally catching up with him.

"It's alright," Fick murmured back, sensing how close the other man was to dropping off to sleep.

"Will will…will you wait until I fall asleep?"

Fick hummed back an assent, thinking idly that if he did remember any of this in the morning he would probably just think it a hallucination his subconscious conjured up. He tried to ignore the itch of tiredness that was burning behind his eyes and listen to Colbert's final request. Just as Colbert had slipped closer to sleep as had Fick and his body was fighting hard with his mind to just go to sleep.

"Sure" it didn't take long for Brad to fall asleep the alcohol lulling him quickly and so he heard soft sores over the line. He lay there for a bit going back over the conversation, blushing at Brad's observations. He didn't know what to make of it.

---

The next morning found Colbert seated at the kitchen island, uneaten bowl of cereal in front of him and staring determinedly away from his phone where it was lying face down next to his glass of water. It was mocking him in silent judgement.

Polishing off the last of the vodka on top of the six pack of beer and a few shots of tequila may not have been the best plan ever.

He was just reaching for his phone for the thousandth time that morning when the sound of echoing footsteps coming down the stairs had him pausing him in his movement. He looked around in time to catch Maxine, Ray's latest, wander down the stairs absently tugging her top down over her stomach and reaching up to try to tame her serious bed head. Well good for Ray, at least he got some last night.

She walked over and snagged her purse where it had evidently been dumped on the counter the night before. "Have a good day," she drawled in her southern twang.

Colbert, he snorted, ungracefully, not expecting the day to get any better than this. She frowned but said nothing and left.

All Colbert could remember of last night was stumbling up the stairs and bashing his knee on the top step when he missed, and the feeling of his fingers haphazardly pressing the phone screen not really seeing what he was doing. The fact that he couldn't remember who it was that he called and what the conversation had entailed was the reason he was freaking out.

He knew rationally that he had probably just called Ray or his sister to rant about God knows what-ok- most likely his disdain for NASCAR, stupid tree hugging liberal dick suck politicians and the state of Arkansas. But he wanted to live in Schrodinger's conundrum- ignorance is bliss and all that. If he didn't look then he could add another denial to his bedpost. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he called Nate.

Ray appeared out of the corner of his eye, clad only in neon green boxers and nothing else. He did not need that visual assault afflicting his alcohol pickled brain so early in the morning. His watched as Ray dazedly reached out for a can of energy drink. He man was addiction to caffeine, not that he could comment to much about it. He gave out and slumped over his arms, his forehead resting against the cool counter top, leaving Ray to rummage in the slim pickings of the fridge.

"Man, did you eat my peanut butter?" His tone was accusing and Colbert didn't need to look up to know that he was glaring at him. He grunted in the negative trying to shake off the feeling that his drunk self had indulged in a midnight snack. He didn't even like peanut butter.

"Dude how drunk did you get last night?" Ray shuffled over, still sleepy but becoming more alert as the energy drink did its work. He groaned, he didn't want the reminder. Ray just poked his arm and then proceeded to get the coffee machine working. The metal clanging was like a car backfiring to his ears, he resisted to clamp his hands over them. His senses were in overdrive.

Slowly over the weekend parts of the conversation came back to him- he just wanted to hurl himself off a bridge.

---

Fick had woken up the next morning with an imprint on his phone pressed into his cheek and he felt well rested despite the lack of sleep. He decided not to think to much into that and the turn the conversation took. God, he groaned and tried to suffocate himself with the pillow- it was not so much more complicated than he thought. He didn't want to think about Brad doing that…it was just confusing.

Fick knew that he had to talk to him. Even if it was just to work out exactly how much he knew. It just might end up to be the most awkward conversation he's ever had.

Which was how Fick found himself bright and early Monday morning a few days after the barbecue shifting restlessly outside the open door to Colbert's office. He was surprised that Colbert hadn't noticed his hovering for the past ten minutes but the other Lieutenant seemed pretty intent on burying himself in paperwork.

Fick took a deep breath, convinced himself to man up and stepped forward to knock on the doorframe.

Colbert glanced up briefly, nodded an acknowledgment before turning back to his paperwork.

For unknown reasons Fick bristled at the clear dismissal and bit his tongue to stop himself from lashing out because then it would just devolve into an argument and wouldn't solve anything.

"So I uh, needed to talk to you about something- and I don't know, I don't know exactly how you're going to feel about it" Fick trailed off when Colbert finally set his pen down but turned to look at him like he thought he was crazy.

Truth to be told, Fick was acting weird. He never babbled, preferring to be clear, concise and succinct. Why fuck around when you can just get to the point? He sent him a look of what the bloody fuck are you on about?

But Fick thought he deserved this concession to act like a total idiot since they were probably going to get very uncomfortable soon. Deciding to go with another strategy, Fick asked, "So you got pretty drunk after the picnic huh?"

It was clear straight away that this was the wrong thing to say because Colbert's eyes narrowed to slits and when he spoke it was little more than a hiss. "Look, I don't know what the fuck your problem is Fick or why you think this is any of your business-" Damn it he knew he knew.

"You called me that night."

"Oh," Colbert said, voice strangled, he had never heard that from Brad before- embarrassment and shame.

"Yeah, so I just thought you'd want to know. And now that you know…I'll" Nate cleared his throat, referencing the door with his left hand, before making a move to leave.

"Wait," Colbert called, his voice half demanding, half pleading.

Nate paused in the doorway, eyes fixed determinedly away from Colbert's. "Yeah?"

"I didn't uh, did I…say..ah..-"Nate was even more surprised because he had never seen Brad at a loss for words, the man usually always had something to say. Colbert decided focusing on the wall was better than looking at Nate.

"No." he decided to just put him out of his misery.

"Oh… good," Colbert's voice was still off, mixed with the expression on his face, he seemed relieved but not quite believing Nate. Which made him wonder if Brad remembered the conversation more so than what he was telling Nate.

"Well I-" Brad cut him off, with a passive look, but oh so intense. It made Nate want to run. He felt oddly exposed. Brad's icy blue eyes were drilling into him like he could see every secret. He felt heat rise in his cheeks- damn it he needed to leave.

"Yeah" Brad's throat bobbed then resumed staring at the wall.

He made his way back to his own quarters, intent on busying himself with paperwork to avoid thinking about the conversation that had been on his mind since the night of the barbecue. Of course, it didn't work. That conversation is permanently seared into his brain he didn't think he could forget it. A part of him wasn't sure he wanted too.

Reassured after his conversation with Fick and convinced he hadn't said anything too stupid or revealing that he could remember at least. Colbert finally pulled up Georgie's number and called it again. As before he was sent to the voicemail again by a pleasant woman's voice who still introduced the number as Georgie and Peter's.

"Hello Ma'am. My name is Brad Colbert and I'm a lieutenant with the San Diego Fire Department. I'm probably the last person you want to speak to right now but I was with your husband when…" he had to pause and take a calm breath in. "...In his last moments and there was a message he wanted me to pass along. So if you would, please give me a call back at this number if you wanted to arrange a time to talk. Thanks."

Fuck, his hands were trembling. He braced his hands on the brick wall, just letting the feel of the rough surface ground him. He needed to get it together and not fall apart.

"Accident. 501 North Sierra. Truck 32, Ambulance 58, RT 1."

All over the driveway and apparatus floor firefighters scrambled to put back together the trucks they'd been performing daily checks on. Pleased that his men had already finished theirs, Colbert donned his protective pants, grabbed his gear from the equipment room and hopped in, the truck peeling away right on the tail of Ray's ambulance.

Despite their later start all three companies managed to arrive at the same time, taking in the scene with surprise and a little awe. It was pretty clear, even from a quick glance what had happened. Two window cleaning carts, somehow, the cables have snapped, causing one cart to come loose and slamming into the car underneath it. From the way the roof of the car was crushed in, Colbert had to privately wondered if anyone could be left alive in there. Nate leaped into action and started yelling orders to the men even his own team. In this moment he didn't care, it was a dangerous situation they were going into. He wasn't going to start petty bickering.

"Get everybody back and seal it off! I don't want anyone in there that doesn't need to be," Nate yelled at his men. The truck company jumped into action, pushing at the crowd hovering at the edges until they backed up far enough for the firefighters to work. Police assistance showed up not long after them, using their squad cars to block off the road to prevent people from getting closer. Another piece of metal dropped clanging heavily on the pavement, it echoed off the buildings as a warning that their time was limited.

Fick darted towards the car, eyes on the remaining metal swinging above him, carefully watching as it swayed gently in the wind. All it would take is one draft of stronger gust of wind and the other cable would snap bringing down the other cart. Colbert watched as he yanked fruitlessly at the door handle while the bleeding woman in the seat mumbled nonsensically under her breath.

"Pappy! Rudy! Driver's side." The two men nodded, grabbed the last of the equipment and started moving towards the car.

"No problem brother."

Colbert himself moved towards the other side to check on any passengers there. He checked the front seat first, at hearing the girl's call for her friend and his stomach twisted at the sight. Bloody hell. The girl's head was no more than a mess of blood and hair now, with the metal beam impaled in the back of her skull. It wasn't the worst he had ever seen, but it made it no less gruesome.

Fick met his eyes over the top of the car, question evident in his gaze. Knowing it was useless, Colbert checked her pulse. He shook his head quickly and Fick grimaced as he ducked back down the reassure the woman that they would get her out soon, strategically not mentioning her friend.

Brad felt the breeze on his face, he looked up at the secondary cart rocked into the building window. The screech of the metal against the glass was eye piercing. The cable precariously holding on by one corner, groaned and creaked. It clattered again into the window. His instincts kicked in as he looked over the top of the car to see Nate preoccupied with the driver, he wasn't paying attention. He looked up in time to see the platform shift dangerously, he made a decision. He rounded the car quickly grabbing Nate by the collar of his jacket and yanking him. "Hey!" he ignored Nate's protest.

"Move move move!" he yelled at his men not wanting them to get caught by any falling debris. Seconds later the sounded of the cable snapping reverberated in the area and the resultant smash as the second cart hit the car behind the initial one.

Wynn pulled to a stop beside them and Jacks explained the scene while he got closer. "That driver's door is jammed up tight," Pappy said.

Wynn thought for only a moment before taking charge, his experience shining through. "Pappy and Rudy, on the k-12 and cut the top hinge. Colbert, you work the jaws from the bottom edge. The moment that hinge pops and you wedge that door open, I want you out of there. Fick and Jacks, you go into to collar the girl and get her on the board." They all nodded and went to work.

Colbert jerked the jaws from the truck shelf and ignored the scream of pain it sent through his shoulder the best he could. He crouched down to work at the seam of the door from the bottom while sparks from the k-12 fly at him. Finally, he hears the pop of the hinges breaking and Pappy steps in to jerk the door from the body of the car and toss it to the side. They moved away to allow Fick and Jacks to take their place, quickly strapping the girl into a neck brace and sliding her onto the backboard. Out of the corner of his eye Colbert sees Wynn's eyes fixed firmly above him and he tears his own gaze away from Fick manipulating the girl's body onto the board to see the platform swaying dangerously, the increasing wind tossing it from side to side.

"Go," Wynn yells, evidently also see the pane of glass that slipped from the apparatus. The men moved at a run, Fick barely clearing the space when the pan shattered on the cement. Glass slivers showered his back but he didn't even flinch, too focussed on keeping the board steady.

Colbert breathed a sigh of relief and wandered back to his own truck, fighting down the violent tremors that were rocking through his shoulder and down his arm.

He was interrupted from his pain however by the shrill ring of his phone buried in the depths of his pant pocket. He hovered by the open of the truck, torn between letting it ring out and answering it despite still being on scene. A quick look around however told him that the men were still packing up the equipment and that he wasn't needed for the minute or two this would take.

"Hello?"

"Is this Lieutenant Colbert?"

"Yeah."

"This is Georgie Middleton. I believe you left a message for me and if you wanted to meet up, tonight if possible?"

"Yeah, sure. If that's good for you, I'll be there."

He flipped the phone shut and leant back against the truck, heaving a deep sigh at the thought of meeting the widow of Peter at the conclusion of the shift. He doesn't know how women deal with all this emotional crap.

Fick wandered past and nodded at him. "Thanks for the save, Colbert." He reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Nate's jacket, causing Nate to stop short.

"Hey…ah do you…do you want to come to Peter's widow's house with me?" he closed his eyes wondering why he let that question escape? What was he thinking? Would Fick even want too?

He opened his eyes to see Fick looking at him strangely, his eyes darting around his face looking for something he had no idea what. Then gazing steadily back seeming to have found whatever it was he was searching for. "Yeah, if you want me too." This seemed personal for Brad, heck it was slightly personal for him too. But he was unsure whether to intrude on this moment; because it would change their dynamic up until now.

"I'll pick you up at 7?" Damn, why did that sound like a date?

"We can leave straight from the firehouse." Brad felt like an ass, of course they could leave straight after their shift. He was over thinking things, lines where being crossed, feelings muddled. Nate was dangerous like that.

"Sure."

---

While the rest of the house gathered at their regular bar for a few rounds of after shift drinks Colbert and Fick awkwardly headed to Peter's house to talk to his widow. His stomach was doing death defying somersaults over and over- not just because he had to face Georgie, but because Nate was a steadying presence. He reached her door, double checking the address he nervously rapt his knuckles on the wood.

An elderly woman with graying blonde hair and a sad, lined smile answered the door and quickly invited him in once he introduced himself and Nate. They settled on the lounge after they both declined an offer of a drink and without any more preamble handed over the phone for Georgie to watch the video. He leant back against the lounge cushions placing one arm along the back of the couch and Georgie hunched forward clutching Nate's phone like it had all the answers to the universe. Nate settled on the other side of Georgie without a word other than a reassuring smile. Nate was your typical catholic alter boy and boy next door type, he could reassure the most hysterical person.

The sound of his own voice jolted him back to the present. "Your hair is fine Peter."

"Is the blood off? I don't want her to see the blood." His eyes quickly darted to the screen to his hand wipe away any noticeable blood on Peter's face. He couldn't look any more even though he already knows what is going to happen he still can't face it.

"Georgie, my love."

"Oh my God," Georgie whispered, the hand holding the phone shaking as the other found her mouth in shock.

"God I wish I were better at this."

Colbert shifted at the words, thinking how much they reminded him of himself. He had never been good at talking about how he felt and that is why his friendship with Nate worked so well because he didn't always need words. He felt the first tentative brush of skin against his fingers, he didn't react as he could see Nate shift in his periphery. This was the first time Nate was seeing and hearing what Peter had said.

"I made a lot of promises to you over the years. Some were harder to keep. I promised you a house in Provence. I'm sorry we never made it there; you worked so hard on that French. But any promise that I ever made about you, about how you were the final piece to my puzzle, those I kept until today. Every day. I know what you're thinking about Brad here, because I thought it too.

He's exactly the type of person I would have wanted for our son." Colbert could feel her eyes burning into the side of his face, but he kept his gaze resolutely focussed ahead, knowing that if he dared look at her, he would break. Nates fingers gently but firmly determinedly twined with his, squeezing steadfastly, providing an anchor for his swirling emotions. "So that gives you permission to tell him to just go for it, so he can find the happiness that we had and will still have my love." Georgie let out a shuddering sob that made Nate dig his nails into his palm.

"If it weren't for him and his young chap Nate," Peter continued in the video. "I wouldn't have had this chance to say goodbye. Oh, my love. Do you remember how I made you promise me that you'd let me die before you? Well, thank you, my love, because I couldn't live a day in this world without you." Georgie finally broke into soft tears as her name was repeated one final time by her husband before the video ended, sparing her the grief of watching Peter's final breaths. Brad dared to look over at Nate, to which the other man was resolutely staring at him, with an expression that Brad didn't know how to decipher. He swallowed thickly against the emotions that were threatening to devour him whole- he didn't know what his own face was revealing to Nate.

"Mon amour," she whispered back. "My love" she fiercely grasped the phone against her chest.