Page 91 of Fire & Ice

Just as Tripp is about to call out for his little brother to wait up, there’s a loud explosion to his right that doesn’t sound atalllike a firework. No, this particular blast sounds like rock crumbling, metal screeching, and—people yelling?

Tripp’s eyes snap open and he whips his head to the side, clocking the most relieving sight he’s ever laid eyes on, bar none. A handful of firefighters equipped with a Reeves stretcher, all of them packed up and making their way towards him as a group.Is he dreaming?Weakly, Tripp blinks against the tears and stinging smoke in his eyes, reaching up to pinch his own cheek. The action hurts his wrist as much as his face, so he decides that he’s alive.

A firefighter with a white helmet, piercing, ice-blue eyes, and averyfamiliar gait crouches next to Tripp’s head and cups the side of his face. “Good to see you, brotha,” Gunnar manages, and while they’ll likely never talk about it, Tripp canhearthe relief in his voice, the stress of whatever he’s been through over the last hour causing it to break. He grabs Gunnar’s gloved hand on his face and holds on, nodding but not trusting himself to speak.

Gunnar takes care of that. “Let’s get you outta here.”

“My leg,” Tripp finally says, as one of the other guys slips an oxygen mask over his face and the rest of them open and spread the collapsible plastic stretcher next to his body. “Think it’s broke. Wrist too.”

“Shit, if that’s all that fall did you, I’d say you got someone lookin’ out for you upstairs. Now don’t talk anymore, sugar, you got soot all over your nose and mouth. Your throat hurt? Just nod, yes or no.”

Tripp nods his ‘yes’ and Gunnar claps him on the shoulder, standing and turning away to speak into the mic on his shoulder. “My radio. My helmet,” Tripp whispers, pointing over his head to where he tossed those items, not bothering to mention his airpack still in the other room—that thing is toast. As he’s doing so, the crew rolls Tripp onto his side, shoving the Reeves underneath his body before rolling him back.

Being tipped onto his bad leg makes Tripp grimace and grit his teeth, but he doesn’t say a word about it. Within seconds, he’s being lifted into the air and carried through the gaping hole Gunnar and crew made in the wall with their tools.

Strangely, Tripp is kind of jealous—punching through walls is a good time, one of his favorite things to do. At least, when he’s not trapped in a life-size EZ Bake Oven and trying to create an emergency exit. Or,you know,working against the clock to rescue a good friend and co-worker, probably. Maybe Tripp will just not ever mention that thought out loud.

The adjacent room is yet another windowless space, but Gunnar’s team walks across it confidently now that they have Tripp safe and in tow. Right next to him, Gunnar’s talking away on the radio, and if Tripp had to make a best guess, he’s giving Mickey a countdown to starting surround-and-drown ops. Surround and drown means they’re done trying to save the building—as soon as Tripp and his rescuers are clear, the pump-equipped fire apparatus will circle the entire thing and dump continuous streams of water from above until the fire is out.

From his position on the stretcher, Tripp’s truly starting to struggle to breathe, but he keeps quiet about it. There’s nothing his crew can do but get him out of here, and they’re all moving as fast as they physically can. Instead of dwelling on the tightness in his chest, the sharp soreness in his throat, thewheeze even he can hear when he exhales, Tripp looks around and watches the scenery.

Turns out, his theory about being in a basement was correct, so he couldn’t have tunneled his way to safety if he tried. The door they pass through in the second room has broken chains, and Gunnar picks up bolt cutters from the floor as they pass. All of that considered, Tripp hazards a guess that he wouldn’t have faired very well on his own here, either, even if he had managed to break through a second wall.

After those doors, there’s a right turn, a long hallway, a left, another hallway, and eventually, a staircase that leads to—fucking finally—an exterior metal door with a glowing red “EXIT” sign hanging above it.

Gunnar’s team carries Tripp up the stairs.

One level higher and what feels like halfway down the block from where Tripp was trapped, the air seems clear and everything is wet, the walls still actively dripping with water. Vaguely, Tripp contemplates whether that damage is from the fire department’s intervention or from the sprinklers, and then immediately wonders why he can’t turn off his work-brain.

“Stop,” Gunnar orders his crew. “Let’s get him out of this gear before we head outside. Things are gonna get crazy fast, I don’t wanna be taking bunkers off in the back of the rig. I have blankets to cover him.” As the guys lower Tripp to the ground, Gunnar shoots him a meaningful look, and Tripp realizes that he’s trying to help him retain his dignity.

Gunnar was right to worry, though—getting him out of his jacket, boots, and fire-rated pants is difficult, and Tripp screams more than once from the pain. They move quickly out of necessity, they aren’t particularly gentle, and by the time Tripp is down to his duty pants and a t-shirt, he’s shivering andtears are leaking from his eyesagain.Defensively, Tripp cradles his sore arm to his chest.

“Alrigh’, sugar, you’re alrigh’ now,” Gunnar soothes, draping several hospital blankets over his shaking body. Nice gesture, but Tripp knows full well they aren’t going to do shit for him out in the cold, especially with the way his skin is damp all over from sweat. “Boys, get him to the rig quickly, we don’t need to be adding hypothermia to Tripp’s list of troubles.”

There’s a low murmur of acknowledgement, and then the Reeves stretcher is being lifted again, the doors to the outside creaking as they’re pushed open and Tripp is carried through.

The air isfrigid,colder than Tripp remembers it being before, and his shivering ramps up immediately. Beneath the oxygen mask, Tripp’s teeth chatter and he struggles to pull in a deep breath, the rapid shift in temperature more painful than relieving to his battered throat and lungs. When he opens his mouth to say so, his words come out in nothing but a croak, followed by a pained moan.

There’s some kind of yelling commotion happening ahead of them, increasing as Tripp is carried down the length of the building and towards the street where the emergency vehicles are parked. Unfortunately, the way he’s positioned, Tripp can only really see where they’ve comefrom, not where they’re headed. That makes it difficult to decipher what’s going on, but he nonetheless cranes his neck and tries his level best.

Eyes still bleary and stinging, Tripp has to blink several times before the line of people gathered at the caution-taped edge of the scene comes into any kind of focus. It does so just in time for Tripp to see Leander break through the line and come running towards them at full-speed. Not even thinking about what he’s doing, Tripp immediately responds by sitting up and trying to stand.

Thatresults in a predictable rush of, “Whoa, whoa there,” responses and hands on his body, plus other, well-intended nonsense that’s aimed at trying to stabilize the swaying and tilting stretcherandconvince Tripp to lay back down, none of which he pays any attention to at all.

It only takes Leander twenty, maybe thirty seconds to reach them, but by then, the guys have given up on fighting Tripp. They lower the Reeves to the ground, muttering about how Lee is a medic anyway, and take the free moment to pull off their masks and breathe the fresh air.

“Lee,” Tripp croaks, failing to get to his feet but not needing to because Leander skids to a stop in the mud and crashes to his knees at Tripp’s side. Tripp’s throat hurts like abitch,he’s shaking from head to toe, and his breath is coming short and sharp against his ribs, but he’snotgoing to lose out on this.Not again.Throwing his arms around Leander’s neck, Tripp drags him in close, basking in the solid, warm weight of his body, the thump of Lee's heartbeat in his chest, his own harsh and jagged breathing puffing right next to Tripp’s ear.

“I love you,” Tripp says plainly, though his voice is hoarse and scratchy and a cough stops him from saying it again right away. He hacks into his fist, chin still resting on Leander’s shoulder while Lee thumps at his back and grips him like he can’t bear to let go.

“Oh my god, his breathing,” comes a familiar voice from somewhere above them, and Tripp glances up to see Marley peering worriedly down. “Lee, can’t you hear—”

“Iknow,Marley,” Leander says sharply, squeezing Tripp one last time before pulling back and cupping his face. “Tripp,” he says seriously. “We need to get you to the truck, and then Zosia and I are going to put you under and put a tube down your throat. If we don’t do it quickly, things could go very badly foryou. Understand?” While he talks, Leander rocks back on his heels, motioning for the firefighters to pick Tripp up again, but keeping his big, warm hand on Tripp’s face, right next to the oxygen mask, as they do.

Tripp’s eyes widen, he can’t help it, and he starts to shake his head—no, no, hecan’t,anythingbut that—

Leander sees his panic, slides his hand further around Tripp’s head as they walk, tightening his grip on Tripp’s hair at the scalp. “Listen to me,” he says fiercely. “I willnotlose you again. Let me help you, Tripp, so you can—” Leander breaks off abruptly and swallows roughly, only glancing away for a split-second to compose himself. “So you can tell me what you just said every damn day until you finally get sick of me.”

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