Chapter 3 Heat Between Us
Station Calls
By the end of Gideon's first week at the new station, the crew had stopped treating him like a stranger.
They had not exactly welcomed him with open arms, either, but Gideon preferred it that way.
Familiarity came with questions, and questions were usually followed by expectations.
He had spent enough years around firefighters to know how quickly a new face became part of the station's daily rhythm.
Someone learned how you took your coffee.
Someone learned what music you hated. Someone learned what made you angry.
Eventually, someone learned what you had lost.
Gideon intended to keep that last part to himself.
He earned his place the only way he knew how.
He worked.
During morning equipment checks, he moved methodically through every compartment on the engine.
He inspected hoses, checked pressure gauges, examined couplings, and tested the equipment until he knew where everything belonged.
During drills, he never complained about the heat or the weight of his gear.
When the crew practiced ladder operations, Gideon climbed faster than most of them expected.
When they ran search exercises through the training structure, he moved through the smoke with the quiet focus of someone who had spent half his life learning how quickly a building could turn against him.
Nobody questioned his ability.
That was enough.
“Cross.”
Gideon looked up from the engine bay.
One of the younger firefighters stood beside the equipment rack.
“You missed breakfast.”
“I wasn't hungry.”
“You're six feet of muscle. You should always be hungry.”
Gideon looked at him.
The firefighter laughed.
“I'm just saying.”
Gideon returned to his inspection.
He had learned that most station conversations were easier if he didn't encourage them.
Owen was different.
He didn't push, but he noticed things.
On the third morning, Owen placed a fresh coffee beside Gideon's elbow without saying anything.
Gideon looked at it.
“I didn't ask for this.”
“I know.”
“I don't drink it black.”
“I know that too.”
Gideon looked at him.
Owen shrugged.
“You've been drinking it black all week. Figured you were either trying to make a point or too stubborn to admit you like sugar.”
Gideon took a sip.
There was sugar in it.
He looked back at Owen.
“It's fine.”
Owen smiled.
“High praise.”
Gideon almost smiled himself.
The station was beginning to feel less unfamiliar.
That should have been a good thing.
Instead, Gideon found himself noticing the building across the street more often.
Reyes Ink had large front windows that made it difficult to ignore. During the day, sunlight spilled across the studio floor, illuminating framed artwork and shelves filled with ink bottles. Nico worked near the front often enough that Gideon caught glimpses of him whenever he walked past.
He told himself he wasn't looking.
His eyes disagreed.
Nico was rarely still.
He moved between workstations, talked with clients, sketched at the front counter, and occasionally stood outside with a cup of coffee while checking his phone. He seemed completely comfortable in his own space.
Gideon found that irritating.
He couldn't understand how someone could appear so relaxed when the rest of the world was always unpredictable.
One afternoon, after a long training session, Gideon stepped outside the firehouse to cool down.
Nico happened to be outside at the same time.
He stood near the studio entrance, wearing a dark shirt and jeans, his tattooed arms exposed as he held a coffee cup in one hand.
“You're staring again,” Nico said.
Gideon stopped.
“I was looking at the street.”
“Of course.”
Nico took a sip.
Gideon crossed his arms.
“You always this annoying?”
“Only with firefighters.”
“Why?”
“You're easy to annoy.”
Gideon looked at him.
Nico smiled.
There was something different about seeing that smile up close.
From across the street, Gideon had noticed the confidence.
Standing only a few feet away, he noticed the details.
Nico's eyes were dark and direct. His expression was calm, but there was a stubbornness beneath it that Gideon recognized immediately.
“You think you're funny.”
“I know I'm funny.”
“You're not.”
“That's fine.”
Nico took another drink.
“I don't need your approval.”
Gideon stared at him.
Most people backed down when he became quiet.
Nico didn't.
That should have irritated him.
Instead, Gideon found himself wanting to keep the conversation going.
“What's with the studio?”
Nico glanced toward his business.
“It's a tattoo shop.”
“I can read.”
“Then I'm impressed.”
Gideon shook his head.
“You're impossible.”
“I've been called worse.”
The corner of Nico's mouth lifted.
Gideon looked toward the street.
“I'll see you.”
“You're going back inside?”
“Yes.”
“Try not to look across the street too much.”
Gideon turned.
“I don't.”
Nico laughed.
Gideon walked away before he could say anything else.
The following day, they had another call.
A construction worker had fallen from a short platform at a renovation site. By the time the crew arrived, the man was conscious but in pain. Gideon helped stabilize him while the paramedics prepared the stretcher.
The building was old, partially renovated, and filled with dust.
Gideon glanced around as they carried the injured worker out.
Something about the smell of the place reminded him of the warehouse.
He pushed the thought away.
There was no reason to connect them.
Different building.
Different circumstances.
Different day.
He returned to the station and washed his hands longer than necessary.
Owen noticed.
“You all right?”
“Fine.”
Owen didn't argue.
Gideon appreciated that.
Later that afternoon, he found himself standing near the bay doors again.
Across the street, Nico was tattooing someone's arm.
Gideon watched through the glass.
The work was precise.
Nico's entire attention was on the client. His posture changed when he worked, becoming more focused. His movements were controlled and deliberate, and even from a distance, Gideon could see the patience in them.
He didn't know why he found it interesting.
He should have gone back inside.
Instead, he remained where he was.
Nico looked up.
Their eyes met.
This time, Nico didn't smile.
He simply raised one eyebrow.
Gideon realized he had been caught.
He turned away.
“Smooth,” Owen said.
Gideon didn't look at him.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was thinking it.”
“That counts.”
Owen laughed.
Gideon went inside.
That evening, he crossed the street.
He didn't plan to.
At least, he hadn't planned it consciously.
He simply found himself walking toward the studio after his shift ended.
The front door opened before he reached it.
Nico stood there.
“You know,” he said, “most people use appointments.”
“I know.”
“Are you getting one?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Gideon looked at him.
“I don't know.”
Nico leaned against the doorway.
“That might be the most honest thing you've said to me.”
Gideon frowned.
“You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting under my skin.”
Nico's expression softened.
“Maybe you're not as difficult to reach as you think.”
Gideon felt something shift inside him.
He didn't like the feeling.
He stepped closer.
Nico didn't move away.
They stood close enough that Gideon could see the tiny details in his face. A faint line near one eyebrow. The dark ink disappearing beneath his sleeve. The steady way he held eye contact.
Nico wasn't intimidated.
Not by Gideon's size.
Not by his scars.
Not by the silence he used to keep people at a distance.
“You're stubborn,” Gideon said.
“So are you.”
“I was here first.”
Nico laughed quietly.
“You're impossible.”
“You already said that.”
“And I was right.”
Gideon almost smiled.
Almost.
Nico stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Gideon entered.
The studio was quieter than he remembered.
He looked around while Nico closed the door.
“Looking for something?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Gideon glanced at him.
“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”
The words surprised both of them.
Nico's expression changed.
Gideon immediately regretted saying them.
But Nico didn't make a joke.
He simply looked at him for a long moment.
“That's allowed,” he said.
Gideon looked away.
He wasn't used to people making things easy.
Nico didn't demand explanations.
He didn't turn the moment into something bigger than it was.
He simply accepted it.
That was becoming dangerous.
Because Gideon was starting to realize that the thing drawing him across the street had very little to do with tattoos.
It was Nico.
And every day, the distance between them seemed to become harder to maintain.
The Man Behind the Armor
Nico had started to notice the little things.
At first, he had noticed Gideon because there was nothing little about him.
The firefighter was tall, broad, scarred, and usually carried an expression that made strangers think twice before approaching him.
Even when he was doing something ordinary, there was a controlled intensity in the way he moved.
He never seemed careless with his body or his surroundings.
But after several days of watching him from across the street and speaking to him inside the studio, Nico began noticing what existed underneath that intimidating exterior.
Gideon was kind.
He simply tried very hard to make sure nobody noticed.
The first time Nico saw it clearly was on a rainy afternoon.
Nico had been standing near the studio window when he noticed an elderly woman struggling with several grocery bags outside the building next door. She was trying to unlock her door while balancing everything against one arm.
Before Nico could step outside, Gideon crossed the street.
He had been returning from somewhere with two other firefighters, but he stopped as soon as he saw the woman.
He took the bags from her without asking whether she needed help.
The woman protested.
Gideon said something Nico couldn't hear.
She laughed.
A moment later, Gideon carried the groceries inside for her.
He didn't wait for thanks.