Chapter Four Wes
In a perfect world, the city allows us to catch our breath for at least a few hours after a particularly intense response.
It’s not that we necessarily need the time to recover—we’re trained to be ready no matter what—but it is helpful to have the opportunity to get our gear and equipment back in order before we have to reach for it again.
Alas, this is not a perfect world. I learned that a long time ago, less than a month into my first deployment to the Middle East.
So, basically, when the firehouse alarm goes off at forty-seven minutes past midnight and the taste of ash from the apartment fire earlier that day is still stuck on my tongue, I allow myself exactly half a second of surprise before I’m in action.
I’m already awake, despite having told the guys that I was going to try to doze for a couple of hours.
My brain has other plans tonight, anyway.
It keeps circling back to the apartment fire — not the part where we knocked it down, but the ten minutes after, when Cap went still in a way I’ve never once seen him go still, and Meadows didn’t back down an inch.
Nobody’s said a word about it since we rolled back in, which is usually how I know something actually happened.
One second, I’m lying on a bunk staring at the underside of the mattress above me, listening to the old historic building settle around us in the deepening winter chill, and the next second I’m on my feet.
I barely even register rushing downstairs, switching automatically to the mode where I operate purely on instinct.
I throw on my gear side-by-side with my crew. Boots, pants, jacket, helmet.
They don’t tell you this, but routine is what saves lives. Not bravery or raw instinct, but dedicated practice and reliable repetition.
The station moves in what can only be described as well-ordered chaos. Doors slam, radios crackle, and Mateo swears loudly when he smacks his head leaping into the front seat of the engine with a little too much gusto.
That, too, is part of the routine.
And, as usual, Cap’s voice cuts through it all, calm and steady.
We follow the sound of it out into the night.
Snow drifts down beneath the glow of streetlights as Engine 2 pulls out of the station. For some reason, perhaps because of a strange awareness prickling on the back of my neck, I glance up toward the building as we sail down the street.
A light glows faintly from one of the windows on the second floor. The one that belongs to Noelle’s room. Not because I’ve been making a habit out of watching her, but because being fully aware of my surroundings and the people in my periphery is part of my routine.
She’s still awake, and somehow I know it’s not because she was roused from bed by the alarms. Just like the other night, the insomniac in me recognizes the same within her.
But there’s no time to dwell on the redheaded woman with pretty eyes right now. I have a job to do.
***
Two hours after the alarm sounded, we return to the station.
Thankfully, the call wasn’t a catastrophic event.
An elderly man called about a broken radiator that was spitting scalding water and pouring clouds of foul steam into his apartment.
Really, we only needed an hour or so to secure the scene, but then the man started complaining of chest pains and we had to get EMS engaged before we could determine it was okay to head back.
All is well now, though.
By the time we roll back into the bay, it’s nearly three in the morning.
Everyone moves a little bit slower than they would in the daytime, but this is also part of the expected routine, so Cap doesn’t bother growling about it. Adrenaline fades differently for firefighters. Some get louder while others need a moment of quiet.
Mateo talks loudly through his reports with dispatch, voice carrying down the hallway. Meanwhile, Grant disappears into his office almost immediately.
I start checking and reorganizing the equipment. My shift ends in four hours, so there’s no point in trying to rest now.
Routine. Always routine.
But then I think about her. The light in her window. A subtle switch flips inside me. The protective instinct I’ve always had takes over, and I break routine. Slipping away from the bleary-eyed crew, I make my way up to the mezzanine.
Except, I’m only halfway down the hall when I see that the door to her private room is hanging open, nothing but darkness coming from within. I drift by, stealing a glance as politely as I can, and confirm that the room is empty.
That old instinct has me moving further down the hall, then up to the third floor.
Sure enough, the roof access door is cracked open.
I stare at it for several seconds. Not because it’s cause for concern, but because I am still always a little surprised by how precise my gut feelings can be.
Some things you learn not by asking, but by listening and paying attention. One thing that I’ve learned recently is that, just like me, Noelle Meadows doesn’t sleep much.
Maybe I should leave her alone, but I find myself heading upstairs anyway.
The winter air hits me the moment I push through the access door, sharp and smelling of snow. The city feels quieter than normal with the muffling blanket draped over it.
Noelle stands near the edge of the roof with her hands buried in the pockets of an oversized sweatshirt. She doesn’t even have a hat on, and pinpricks of silver dust her hair as the wild red hungrily snatches drifts of flurries out of the air.
She doesn’t turn when she hears the door groan open a few more inches.
I approach slowly, making sure my footsteps are loud enough for her to detect without sounding too intimidating. You never know what might spook someone.
When I come to stand beside her, I keep my gaze trained forward even when I sense her head tilting in my direction briefly.
Before us, Manhattan glitters and glows.
Down below, Christmas lights wrap around the station’s front columns and provide a warm glow alongside the streetlights.
Across the street and all around us, apartment windows glow in all shades of the rainbow as the city that doesn’t sleep forms its usual kaleidoscope.
A delivery truck rolls through the intersection at the end of the block.
Somewhere further east, someone’s booming laugh echoes.
The city never really rests. It just changes volume. I think that’s why I feel so at home here.
Noelle sniffles in the cold, but she doesn’t seem to be shivering. She’s made of the tough stuff, which was evident from the moment I witnessed her hold her own against Cap’s rotten mood when she arrived.
I don’t ask why she’s up here. It’s not really my style to pry. People talk if they want to and when they’re ready.
We stand in unexpectedly comfortable silence. Maybe I should leave her alone, but something tells me that she might need a steady presence beside her right now, even if she isn’t explicitly telling me so.
I have no way of knowing for certain if it’s because we share a tendency toward holiday season melancholy, but I know that I sleep less and talk even less often around this time of year. For some people, it’s full of joy.
For others, like maybe Noelle, too, it’s a little more complicated than that.
From a vent below my feet, I can hear voices in the gear room carrying faintly through the ventilation system.
Mateo again, so boisterous and lively that sometimes I think the firehouse might collapse if he transferred somewhere else and we lost his energy.
If Cap is the foundation of this place, Mateo is the glue that holds it together.
I don’t really know what I am.
“Do you ever sleep?” Noelle asks suddenly. It’s the first thing she’s said out loud, even though it feels like we’ve been having a silent conversation this whole time.
“Sometimes,” I answer simply, stealing a glance at her.
Her mouth twitches into a suggestion of a smile. A tiny crack in a carefully constructed wall. Another familiar thing.
We fall quiet again.
Minutes pass, but I’m not sure how many. Time always feels different at three in the morning.
Beside me, Noelle is chewing on her bottom lip.
Her eyes are stuck on the far end of the street, where our engines can always be seen leaving and returning.
Then, it clicks. I know that look. I’ve worn it myself.
She’d been waiting for us. Unable to get a clear view of the street corner from her window, she must have come up here to wait. Which means that she must have been up here for at least an hour already.
“Everyone is okay,” I tell her. “It was an easy call. Relatively speaking.”
Noelle merely shrugs. “It was just kind of… empty in here. Without all of you.”
“Ah.”
“I mean, I know there’s always a skeleton crew left behind no matter what, but with everything that’s been going on…”
Right. The investigation. The entire reason she’s here. The older firehouses in the city have been targeted by alleged arsonists and the city thinks ours might be victimized next.
When the majority of us left, she must have been terrified the attacker—if that’s what is truly happening—might take advantage of the opportunity.
Still, I don’t bother assuring her that every single person at the station knows there is a civilian living among us and that she would be the first priority for rescue if any harm came to this place. She knows that. It’s her job to understand every minute detail of fires and fire response.
“Anyway,” Noelle sighs, not bothering to finish her previous sentence. “I guess I just get a little sensitive during the holidays. Don’t mind me, being all emo up here by myself.”
I snort softly. “There’s nothing wrong with getting emotional during Christmas.”
Noelle glances up at me. “Oh, yeah? Do you get teary-eyed when you hear ‘Silver Bells’ or something?”
Deflection. Forced apathy. She’s trying to shake it all off and act like her fear isn’t a big deal.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But I meant more like, it’s okay to not be happy even during the time of year when you’re supposed to be happy all the time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, hugging her arms around herself as a particularly brutal wind gusts over the roof. “I haven’t really celebrated Christmas since I was eight.”
I nod.
She doesn’t explain further, and I don’t ask.
I haven’t truly celebrated Christmas since the December I lost one of my best friends in Afghanistan.
Sure, I play along with all the holiday traditions for the sake of going with the flow, but my heart hasn’t been in it for years.
It’s not something that’s easy to talk about, especially not with strangers, so I know better than to pry into her small admission without further invitation.
So, I just keep standing there while snow lazily gathers at our feet.
The longer we stay, the less tense she becomes. Her shoulders loosen and her breathing evens out. I imagine that the distance she keeps between herself and the rest of the world softens.
Eventually, she exhales.
“I should try to sleep,” she says. “Goodnight, Wes. Thanks for… um. Just thanks, I guess.”
I offer her a smile as she steps away. “‘Night, Noelle.”
She walks toward the roof access door, footsteps crunching delicately in the snow. The door clicks shut behind her.
I remain on the roof for another minute, watching snow fall over Manhattan.
When I head back down to the third floor, my attention shifts to something I noticed on my way up but chose not to acknowledge. Another cracked door, but with lamp light spilling out. Cap’s office.
I slow my steps on the way past, and I’m not even surprised to lock eyes with Grant sitting behind his desk, staring toward the doorway as if he was waiting specifically for me to reappear.
I don’t pause to chat, but I do offer a subtle nod before carrying on my way. It’s not against the rules to be on the rooftop, but somehow I feel like I’ve upset the balance by being up there with her. I broke routine to offer the thorn in Cap’s side a moment of comfort.
But I get the sense he’s not interested in acknowledging it.
So, I go downstairs and get back to work.