The rain was coming down in sheets now, turning the station's back lot into a mud pit.

"Again!" Damon roared.

The crew of Station 19 was gasping for air. They were in full turnout gear-helmets, tanks, coats. Fifty pounds of extra weight. They had just finished their tenth set of stairs.

Landon was bent double, hands on his knees, retching. "He's... he's a machine," he wheezed. "Is he even human?"

Perry, the Lieutenant, wiped mud from his face. "Whatever he is, his file is a black hole. Heard he was military, but it's all redacted. Guy's a ghost."

Damon was running with them. He was in full gear too. He wasn't even breathing hard. His military training kicked in-pain was just information. Exhaustion was a mindset.

He ran because if he stopped, he would think about Adria. He would think about Campbell touching his arm. He would think about the look of terror in Adria's eyes when she saw him.

"Last set!" Damon yelled, sprinting past them. "If you can't carry your own weight, how are you going to carry a victim?"

The insult worked. They gritted their teeth and ran.

After the drill, the locker room was silent except for the sound of heavy breathing and velcro ripping. Damon went to the gym.

He wrapped his hands and started hitting the heavy bag. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Left hook. Why did you leave?

Right cross. Why didn't you tell me?

Uppercut. I miss you.

He hit the bag so hard the chain rattled ominously. His knuckles, already raw, began to bleed through the wraps.

Perry stood in the doorway, holding a water bottle. "Captain. You need to hydrate."

Damon stopped the bag with his shoulder. He took the water and downed it in three seconds. "I'm fine."

KLANG-KLANG-KLANG.

The station alarm blared. The lights flashed red.

"Engine 19, Ladder 19. Structure Fire. Third Alarm. 405 Pine Street."

Damon's eyes shifted. The torture in them vanished, replaced by cold, tactical focus.

"Let's go!" he shouted, sliding down the pole before the tone finished.

Adria was checking a chart in the Trauma Bay. It was her first shift. She had already introduced herself to the team, keeping it brief and professional. She declined the lunch invitation. She ignored the whispers about her coming from a prestigious program back East.

"Dr. Barr," the charge nurse called out. "Incoming. Multi-casualty from a structure fire."

Adria capped her pen. "I'm ready."

The ambulance bay doors hissed open. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh wafted in. Adria's pulse remained steady. This she could do. Blood and bone she understood.

She stabilized a burn victim, intubating with practiced ease. As she stripped off her gloves, she heard two paramedics talking near the nurses' station.

"Yeah, the roof collapsed. The new Captain at 19 is insane. He went back in for a kid. Took a beam to the arm."

"Station 19?" Adria paused. The number sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"Is he coming in?"

"Yeah, pulling up now. Refused transport until the fire was out. Guy's got a death wish."

Adria frowned. A firefighter with a death wish. Sounds like a handful.

Damon sat in the back of the ambulance. His left forearm was throbbing with a sickening, deep ache. He couldn't rotate his wrist.

"It's broken, Cap," Perry said, looking at the swelling. "You need the hospital."

"I need to file the report," Damon grunted, sweat dripping off his soot-stained nose.

"You're going to the hospital," Perry insisted. "Or I'm calling the Chief."

Damon glared at him, but the pain was blinding. "Fine. Which one?"

"Nanxi Affiliated. It's the closest Trauma One."

Damon froze. Nanxi Affiliated.

He looked out the window as the ambulance turned the corner. The red emergency sign loomed ahead.

Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor.

"Let's go," Damon said, a grim smile touching his lips.

The ambulance screeched to a halt. Perry jumped out and offered a hand, but Damon waved him off. He stepped down, cradling his left arm against his chest.

He looked like he had walked out of hell. His face was smeared with soot, his hair matted with sweat and ash. His turnout coat hung open, revealing a grey t-shirt soaked through. But beneath the grime, his eyes were piercingly blue.

The triage nurse, a young woman named Sarah, blushed furiously. "Um, sir? Name?"

Damon didn't answer. He was scanning the room.

Perry stepped up. "Captain Hansen. Possible radial fracture. We need an ortho consult."

Adria was at the computer station, her back to the door. She heard the commotion but didn't turn around.

"Dr. Barr!" The charge nurse yelled. "Trauma One. Firefighter. Arm injury."

Adria sighed. "Coming."

She grabbed a pair of gloves and walked toward Trauma One. She snapped the gloves on, her mind already running through the checklist. Check pulse, check sensation, check motor function.

She ripped the curtain back.

"Okay, let's see what we have-"

The words died in her throat.

Damon was sitting on the edge of the gurney. He looked up as the curtain moved.

Time stopped. The sounds of the ER-the beeping monitors, the shouting, the rolling wheels-faded into a dull roar.

Adria stood frozen, her hands half-raised. She stared at the soot-stained face she saw every night in her dreams.

"Damon?" she breathed, the name slipping out before she could stop it.

Damon leaned back against the pillow. He looked exhausted, in pain, and utterly triumphant. A slow, crooked smile spread across his face.

"Hello, Dr. Barr."

"You... how?" Adria's brain was misfiring. "What are you doing here?"

Perry looked between them. "Doc? You know the Captain?"

Adria snapped out of it. Her survival instinct kicked in. She straightened her spine, her face closing off like a vault door.

"No," she said coldly. "I don't."

Damon's smile faltered. His eyes darkened.

Adria turned to the nurse. "It's a conflict of interest. Page Dr. Young. He's the ortho on call. I have... other patients."

She turned to leave. She couldn't touch him. She couldn't be this close to him.

She took one step toward the curtain.

Damon's good hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist.

His grip was hot, calloused, and firm. Adria gasped. A shock of electricity shot up her arm, settling deep in her chest. It was a familiar touch, one that used to mean safety. Now it felt like danger.

"Let go," she hissed, trying to yank her arm back.

Damon didn't let go. He didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt, but he anchored her there.

"I'm your patient," he said, his voice rough.

"There are other doctors," Adria argued, her voice rising slightly. "Better doctors."

Damon pulled her a fraction of an inch closer. His eyes locked onto hers, intense and pleading. "I don't trust them. I only trust you."

The station crew and the nurses were watching. The air was thick with unsaid things. Adria felt the weight of their stare. If she made a scene, if she ran, it would only raise more questions.

She looked at his arm. It was swollen, angry. He was in pain, even if he was hiding it.

She deflated. "Fine."

She twisted her wrist, and he let go instantly.

"Lie down," she ordered, her voice regaining its clinical edge.

Damon obeyed, lying back on the sterile paper. He never took his eyes off her face.

Adria reached for the trauma shears. "I need to cut the shirt."

Damon smirked. "Buy me dinner first?"

Adria glared at him. She slid the cold metal blade of the scissors under the sleeve of his t-shirt, the steel touching his hot skin. She cut upward, the fabric parting with a ripping sound.

She peeled the shirt away, exposing his shoulder and chest. Muscles rippled under the skin as he shifted. He was covered in old scars-scars she didn't recognize.

She swallowed hard, focusing on the broken bone, trying to ignore the man attached to it.