Danger Zone (File One of The First Responders Files)

Prologue

Here we go, folks! Stop me if you've heard this before: a Los Angeles firefighter, a dual-certified Austin firefighter, and a Chicago paramedic walk into each other after a train derailment . . .

***

"You OK?"

He barely heard his partner's words over the shock he still felt that caused the static in his ears. All he could do was watch as the doors to one of Los Angeles' ambulances shut on man he just saved. . . with the woman he once loved, who helped change him for the better and then broke his heart when she left and never returned, locking eyes with him until the ambulance roared away. The other man's fiancée. What were the chances? His, of course.

He took a deep breath, not answering the question. "What's next?" he asked one of his own.

***

Buck ran a hand through his hair, taking a long pull from a water bottle he had gratefully taken from another EMS crew. Eddie had gotten a call from Hen and Chimney to help elsewhere, and Bobby had gone to coordinate with the other firehouses that responded. He hadn't heard over the radio yet, so he was sitting off to the side while he could, turnout coat open, helmet by his side. He could still feel his heart pound in his chest, his pulse jumping against his neck. He took another deep breath, resting his forearms on his knees, already dreading the adrenaline crash.

He missed the concerned green eyes turning his way, but he didn't miss the clack of a radio against metal on turnout gear. "You good, man?" a voice asked worriedly.

Buck blinked up at the green-eyed, dark-haired firefighter looking down at him with his head tilted like a puppy's. "Yeah," he answered, then cleared his throat when his voice came out hoarse. "Yeah, I'm good. Just working through adrenaline right now."

"I get that," the man smiled. "Quite the scene, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Buck looked up at the train derailment. "I've never worked one like this before."

"Me, neither," the firefighter admitted, aiming his flashlight up towards the train, his low whistle indicating how impressed he was. "I mean, I saw a few incidents in New York, but never something like this."

Buck blinked, looking the (admittedly hot) firefighter up and down. For the first time, he noticed he wasn't wearing the same gear as the Los Angeles firefighters around them; this one was in black turnout gear with orange fluorescent stripes. "You're from New York?" he asked in surprise.

"Born and raised, but that's not where I'm stationed now," he shook his head.

Buck hummed, then held up his hand. "Evan Buckley, 118, Los Angeles," he introduced himself.

The firefighter's eyebrow quirked up, but he grinned and took his hand, hauling Buck to his feet. "TK Strand, 126, Austin."

"Texas?" Buck's eyes widened. "What the hell are you doing in L.A.?"

"Not even six months into our time at the 126, and we're the lucky house that gets to attend a firefighter conference in Santa Monica," TK rolled his eyes, opening his turnout coat to show his all-black uniform, the Austin FD badge over his heart.

Buck frowned. "The 126 was the house that lost almost all of its crew, right?"

"All except one," TK nodded.

Buck nodded thoughtfully. "Must be one hell of a crew to get picked for a conference."

TK grinned. "Well, I'm a little biased." Buck laughed, shaking his head and taking another drink. His head swam suddenly, and he wobbled on his feet, instinctively reaching out to hold TK for balance. "Whoa," TK grabbed his arm to help. "You OK, Evan?"