Here ya go, everyone. :) I promised I would get this done before I go to bed, so here it is... now... my head hurts, I'm grumpy, and exhausted, so no guarantees on quality, okay?
Okay, this chapter is dedicated to bonnejean who helped beta read it for character integrity. THANKS! And it is also dedicated to Kateri Marie. Ignore them. They suck, you rock. I still love you!
Title: Inferno's Touch ~ Chapter 3
Author: Ravynfyre
Archive: GW Addiction
Category: Action, some slight humor, nakedness (not graphic. You´ll hafta use your imaginations)
Pairings: none (yet)
Standard Disclaimer: Not mine. Theirs. Too bad, but otherwise, I guess I´d never get anything done >nice hentai thought<. Anyway, not makin´ any money offa this so dun sue me. You´d only get some college debt, a few dogs, and a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers anyway.
Rating: PG
Warning: none
Spoiler: none
Notes: All firefighting terms will be defined in footnotes at the end of the story. If there is anything that you don´t understand, please let me know and I´ll explain.
Feedback: Yes, please. All comments welcome (although flames may be fed to my dogs, who, since they have notoriously gassy intestinal tracts, will be spending the night with the flamer afterwards)
Treize Kushrenada contemplated the match held in his fingers with a cool, poised air. There was no one there to see the faintly bored expression on his face. Neither was there anyone there to see the very faint, almost invisible glimmer in the depth of his eyes as he contemplated the unlit match.
It wasn´t exactly madness. It wasn´t what anyone could call mania. It wasn´t even quite devotion. But it was something.
Treize, himself, would have called it destiny, had anyone asked him. Of course, he always planned his jobs out so that no one would be there to ask him. Otherwise, what would be the point? He wasn´t in this business to be caught.
He was in it to make money.
At least that´s what he told his assistant, Une. He was pretty certain that she knew better, however. He was fairly sure that on at least one occasion or more, she´d seen the faint shimmer in his eyes as his beast flared to life. She´d noticed the pride and avid lust before they´d subsided back into that part of his soul where he kept such things locked.
And he was also fairly certain that she was jealous of it.
Not that she had need to be. For all the beauty of his pet, his crimson serpent, his insidious flame, it was too violent, and far too unpredictable to hold to his breast. The ideal? That he could hold dear. But ideals didn´t keep one warm in bed at night.
He sighed, drawing his wandering thoughts back to the task at hand. The matches clutched in his fingers gave him strength and purpose. The staple holding the book together caught against the slight callous on his palm, scratching a small white furrow there. He ignored it as he swiped the match against the strip on the matchbook. The head sprang to life, bursting into bloom with a sibilant hiss.
He felt his nether regions grow tight as the scent of the sulfur drifted to his nose and the slight heat of the flame bathed his fingers. He quickly dropped the match into the wastebasket, watching carefully to make sure the tenuous flame caught and grew.
There was a time when he´d built complicated devices, electronic triggers, chemical bombs, and other assorted “masterpieces” to give birth to his creature. Those days were long past. It was too easy for those devices and chemicals to survive the beast´s wrath and be found by clever investigators. Those same devices and chemicals could be traced back, through the myriad of contacts and sources, until it ultimately led to him.
He´d survived that period of amateurishness to move on to simpler, more time-honored methods.
No more did he tote bags and boxes of supplies into his “jobs”. Now, he simply worked with anything that happened to be on hand. And often, rather, usually, he could make it look like a faulty wire, or a misplaced cigarette, and do so so convincingly, that a mere fraction of his fires were ever considered to be arson.
That´s why he was the best. That´s why he commanded such a high price for his services.
He watched the fire hatch from its wastebasket cocoon and leap towards the walls and curtains. His eyes grew hooded and dark… seductive. Or seduced. It was hard to tell. It was always hard to tell who was the mater, and who was the slave when Treize freed his creature.
His beautiful creature. His destiny.
The world didn´t understand him or his wonderful beast. They enslaved his beast, holding its wrath in check to heat their water, churn out their power, feed their cars. They tormented his seductive child by letting it out to play in the fields every spring and fall, but only briefly, and only to be ruthlessly squelched again and again.
How dare they torture his blessed beast? Did they not understand Its power? Its cleansing touch?
The world needed such a cleansing. The purity of his child could return order to the world.
That was his destiny. That was the purpose of his beast.
He gave his creature one last lingering look before he slipped from the building, leaving it to its fate. He left the area quickly, not from want, but need. The scent of smoke still lingered in his clothing, marking him.
Fitting, bearing that mark. Who was the father, and who was the child? Who was the beast, and who the master?
He who unleashed the destructive force of his creature on the undeserving world, or the wash of flame and phoenix fire that was his creature? He, who ultimately controlled the birth of his child, or the beast that ultimately controlled his destiny?
Fitting then, to bear such a mark.
That was, after all, his destiny.
The drive back to the station was accomplished in relative calm. Relative, as long as you ignored Duo´s rather loud rendition of Danger Zone, which had followed his equally loud, but surprisingly on-key rendition of We Are The Champions.
Duo pulled Engine 8 up to the curb next to the station, letting Heero hop out to direct traffic. With a frightening squeal of tires, Duo whipped the big engine into the main part of the street, cranked the wheel, and backed the engine into the narrow confines of its bay.
This was the true test of a driver´s skill: the ability to get the rig parked without kissing the wall. It didn´t sound too difficult, until you considered the bare seven inches or less of clearance on either side of the truck. The challenge of backing an eight foot nine inch object through a gap less than ten feet wide, especially considering the fifty foot length, was more difficult that one first guessed. Particularly if the driver, like Duo, enjoyed doing said task at breakneck speed.
Heero hoped the rig had good brakes.
Engine 8 settled to a halt in the bay, surprisingly without the tortured sound of steel on glass and concrete that Heero had been expecting.
Guess the rig really did have good brakes.
Heero sighed and walked into the bay, watching as Duo hopped out of the rig jauntily.
Quatre and the other man entered the bay from the direction of the kitchen, coffee mugs in hand.
“Heya Q-man! Trowa! Whassup?”
“Nothing, Duo. What did you guys have?”
“Broken down old flophouse. Messy messy messy. Saw Wufei there… He says 'Hi.' Man, whodda thunk he´d have such a sick sense of humor?”
“What do you mean?”
"Eh... Looks like the place had squatters... They didn't make it out of the blaze. How was *I* supposed to know that it wasn't just another pile of burnt up trash and ceiling? Gross, man."
Quatre gasped, his face paling a little.
"How horrible!"
Heero glanced over at the quiet paramedic as he broke down his Scott pack and popped another fresh tank in. Their eyes met.
"Hey, Trowa. This is our new guy. Heero Yuy. Heero, that's Trowa Barton. You guys should get along great. You two share the same writer," Duo said with a snort, as he walked over to grab the nearby hose to wash off the truck.
Heero didn't offer a response other than a quick nod to Trowa. Trowa nodded back, one eyebrow cocked up in an eloquent query.
"Hn."
Trowa almost smiled at that.
"Check your boots," he said, eyes shifting to Duo for a second.
Heero followed his glance, and then nodded.
Duo remained oblivious to the exchange. Zechs did not.
"And your bed," Zechs offered quietly as he slipped past Heero, "Trust me."
Heero nodded and watched as his captain walked into the kitchen hallway. He cocked his head and frowned.
Zechs had finally taken off his nomex hood, and was obviously heading for the showers. What made Heero frown was the long cascade of platinum blonde hair that swept in sweaty straggles well past the man's shoulder blades. How in the world had he managed to hide all that hair under a baseball cap?
Quatre noticed his look and walked up, offering to give Heero a hand with cleaning off their tools.
"You think that's something, wait until you see Duo. He's- Well, you'll see," Quatre said with a pleasant smile.
Duo finished spraying off the rig, replaced all of his equipment, and switched out a new tank of air in his Scott pack. Having finished with all of that, he pulled off his hood and started sauntering for the kitchen doors, a three-foot braid of hair brushing his back.
"See?"
"How-"
"The department had to lighten the hair code restrictions when women started joining. Couldn't have separate standards, after all. He just knows how to bend the rules."
Heero blinked. Bend the rules? How about contort the rules into a Chinese puzzle knot?
He shook his head, finished settling his gear for the next call, and then followed his new crew into the engine house for a well-deserved shower. He paused at the door and grabbed up his duffel bag from where he'd left it a couple of hours before.
The bunkroom was empty when he walked in and dropped off his bag. The sounds of Duo's voice carried through the closed doorway from the bathroom, as well as the sound of running water. Heero grabbed a towel and some soap out of his bag, stripped down to his shorts, and walked through the door.
The bathroom was pretty large, with a small bank of stalls off to his right beside a couple of urinals. There was a bank of sinks to his left, and an open doorway against the left wall that led into an apparently communal shower. Through the doorway, he could see his captain's back as the man rinsed the mane of hair free of soot and cinder. Heero kicked off his shorts and dropped them, and his towel off onto a bench where they might stay dry, and then entered the shower.
Duo stood near the opposite wall, letting the water cascade down his back as he freed his hair from its tight braid. It fell in thick waves to the man's knees. Duo noticed his curious regard and winked at him.
"One nice thing about women in the fire service. Can't tell me to cut it anymore!"
Heero frowned. Why wouldn't anyone want to cut it? That much hair was a liability. It had to be. At the very least, it had to be a pain in the ass to care for. What could anyone need all that hair for anyway? It wasn´t as if it served as any sort of aesthetic enhancement, since he kept it tightly braided and stuffed up under a baseball cap all of the time. Not that Duo needed any aesthetic enhancement. Nor his captain.
Heero frowned. Where did that thought come from?
Turning on the faucet, he tuned out the driver, who had begun humming to himself, and reviewed his own performance for the morning.
He'd made his air last adequately. Particularly since he'd outlasted everyone else on the crew. That was acceptable. He thought he'd done a fairly good job keeping up with Zechs and keeping the hose unencumbered. He'd have to ask Zechs about that later. Duo had seemed, while not impressed with his performance, not upset about it either. That was acceptable. He'd been pretty tired when they'd been sent to rehab, though. It took him a full minute and three-fourths longer than he'd anticipated to get his wind back. That was unacceptable. Duo had said something about having done a good job, but Heero knew he'd have to do better at gauging his own physical limitations and responses. That kind of miscalculation could prove dangerous in the future.
His mind started racing, outlining a new physical fitness regimen designed to improve his stamina. A spray of cooler water caught him off guard, mid-thought.
Duo was flinging back the wet curtain of his hair as he attempted to rinse it clean. He had his eyes closed, and seemed to be... dancing? Yes. He was dancing to the tune he was humming, oblivious to Heero's scowl.
Heero had a feeling that Duo's hair would quickly become a bone of contention between the two of them. Or a sick obsession. Heero shuddered.
He tuned Duo out again and completed his shower efficiently, finishing long before his captain or driver. Shutting the water off, he left the shower, grabbed up his towel and shorts, and started drying off as he slipped back into the bunkroom. He was almost completely dressed again when Duo pranced- yes, pranced, into the bunkroom clad in nothing more than a towel. With a wink and a grin, Duo flung his head forward, flipping his hair over his shoulder with a wide arc of water, spraying directly for Heero.
He didn´t try to dodge. There was no point. He simply closed his eyes and waited for the water to pass.
Duo laughed, a deep, happy chuckle making his whole body shake with mirth.
“Man, you shouldda seen your face! Like getting sent to Death Row or sumpthin´!”
Zechs entered the bunkroom, a towel girding him low on the hips, and a bundle of clothing clutched under one arm.
Heero blinked.
“So. What´d ya think? Pretty fun stuff, huh? That was a good first job fire, ya know. Not too hot… not too easy… plenty of action, but not enough to scare ya away, ne?”
Heero swallowed hard, and then turned back to donning his uniform, his face set in its normal half-scowl.
Duo paused, watching Heero for a moment before he spoke and caught his attention.
"Yer not still pissed about the fire, are ya? You really did do a great job, ya know."
Heero turned and watched as Duo pulled on a fresh uniform, his hair leaving little puddles of water all over the floor.
"Do you ever stop talking?"
"Wow! A complete sentence! Congratulations, you just won an award!" Duo grinned.
"Hn."
Heero gave it up and slipped out while the driver was occupied wrangling his mass of hair.
By the time his captain had finished getting dried off and redressed, Heero had completed cleaning the kitchen, and was moving on to the bathrooms. He slipped in in time to see Duo finishing braiding his hair. With a quick twist and a flip, the entire length was stuffed under the ubiquitous baseball cap.
"How do you do that?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity any more.
"Years of practice. It's easy when it's wet. Stays where I put it and stuff. You should see it dry. Wow... talk about static electricity! On a really dry day, I end up looking like Yahoo Serious!"
"Who?"
Duo sighed.
"Yahoo Serious. You've never heard of him? Lemme guess... You probably don't watch too much comedy, right?"
"Why? Serves no purpose."
Duo blinked. The shower dripped into the silence. Duo blinked again.
"Um... what do you do to relax then? You know... Have fun? De-stress? Zone out? Chill man?"
Heero fixed him with an expressionless glare.
"You do know how to relax, right?"
"Hn."
“Did you know that one of the leading causes of death for firefighters is heart attack?” Duo asked nonchalantly.
“Hn.”
Duo shook his head, an amazed sigh escaping his lips.
"Yup. Yer a statistic waiting to happen. Well, enjoy your bathroom duties. I gotta report to fill out!"
Duo skipped out the door with a chuckle, leaving Heero to contemplate the conversation.
Statistic? If the braided baka wasn´t careful, Heero would show him a statistic or five that he´d never forget. Right across the jaw.
"What else can I do for you, Captain Merquise?" Heero asked after finishing the bathrooms and the floors.
"Looks like you've got it all... Just look over the rig, learn where everything is at, and grab a cup of coffee or something. No. Not you, Duo. You know the rules. No coffee for you!"
Duo pouted, mid-reach for the steaming pot.
"Damn... One lousy Hannibal Lechter impression and they never let you live it down..." he muttered.
"That's your own fault. If you hadn't done said impression on the county wide radio band..." Zechs admonished.
“Right in the middle of the regional mock-disaster drill…” Quatre added.
“While the Mayor was giving a speech…” Trowa put in.
Heero tossed a sardonic glance at the driver. Duo grinned unrepentantly. Zechs poured himself a cup of coffee with a sigh and sat down to read the training schedule for the day.
Heero shook his head and headed for the engine bay, intending to peer through every compartment and cranny on the rig. He wanted to have it so thoroughly memorized that if his captain asked, Heero would be able to find him any single tool, right down to an errant screw, in under fifteen seconds.
Fate was not to let him relax, however.
The tones went off, and the second emergency of the day had them racing out the door.
~TBC~
~RavynFyre~