Where Fires Dare to Burn

Prelude - Death is Knocking

Doctor Adamson Fletcher was not a superstitious man, but right now he allowed himself to pray.

The hospital was quiet tonight. The gentle bleep of machines seeped into the halls through closed doors. Footsteps padded as nurses made their rounds. Low conversations echoed dully but Fletcher barely registered them. His eyes were red-rimmed behind his glasses from lack of sleep, his greying dark hair dishevelled. A rumpled red cardigan clung to his bony frame, trying to give some kind of comfort.

Empty coffee cups grew on the table beside him.

Fletcher had obtained his doctorate from the University of Michigan, and spent four years building on his degree in Human Biology before graduating with honours. Seven more years of his life were dedicated to his surgical residency at MSU where he fixed knife wounds, bullet holes, excised tumours and amputated limbs. During his residency he completed the last part of his licensing exam and soon after became a board certified trauma surgeon. From there he and his family moved to Wisconsin, accepting a position at St. Agnes Hospital. There he was a healer – a magician and miracle worker – who pulled humans from death's door every day.

Right now, all his hard work and all his accomplishments meant nothing. He looked bitterly at the girl on the bed, an ache throbbing in his jaw from trying to contain his emotions; trying to pretend he could bare it. Right now he wasn't a doctor and wasn't a surgeon. He was just a father, a scared, helpless, angry father who had been left with no choice but to watch his only daughter slowly ebb away in front of him.

Pancreatic cancer, caught too late for any kind of surgery. Radiation treatment had bought them some time, but not enough. Maria would be lucky to live out the year. Fletcher's fingers dug into the crumpled fabric of his corduroys as he looked at her. Were it not for the tubes flooding out of her body she would almost have looked peaceful. He tried not to think about the black hair that should have been hiding the bald dome of her head.

The door behind him squeaked and rasped open. Fletcher glanced up for an instant before his attention returned to his daughter. His shoulders slumped as he sagged back into the chair. A dark figure filled the threshold.

"How is she?" the man asked.

Fletcher just shook his head.

"I'm sorry." The newcomer took a step into the room, closing the door gently behind him. His hands were tucked into the pockets of a long black overcoat that hung open, revealing a simple dark t-shirt and jeans. His face came into the low light, revealing his strong, aquiline nose, sharp cheekbones, and his dark fuzz of hair trimmed down to the scalp. He was clean shaven, his expression grim as he moved to stand alongside Fletcher. "Where's Ali?"

Another shake of the head. "She needed to sleep. This has all been..." Fletcher's voice trailed off into a hoarse sigh and he shrugged. "She needed to sleep."

"I think you need some sleep, too, Adamson."

"I'm not going anywhere." A hint of steel crept into Fletcher's tone as he looked up at his friend. "She's my daughter."

The man nodded. "I understand." He stayed silent for only a moment longer. "Have they tried-,"

"They've tried everything, Simon!" Fletcher snarled, before gathering himself. He pressed his hands over his face for a second and exhaled long and slow. "I'm sorry. I just... you know as well as I do that they've done all they can."

"If you say so."

Fletcher cleared his throat, blinking back the tears. "I appreciate you coming by, but there's nothing you can do here."

"You shouldn't be putting yourself through this alone."

"Being alone is not the problem," Fletcher choked out. "Damn it, Simon, I'm a doctor! One of the finest surgical residents in the state and I can't even keep my own daughter alive! How am I supposed to live with that? How am I supposed to walk back into the hospital every day; how am I supposed to look Ali in the eye? Every person I operated on, every person I kept alive, they were jobs, Simon. Strangers. Machines placed on a table for me to fix. But then the one human person I actually wish I could save? I can't."

His trembling voice echoed briefly in the room before it was swallowed up by the idle chatter of the machines that monitored Maria's vital signs. He tipped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. A hand descended to take a reassuring grip on his shoulder.

In a slow motion, Simon leaned down towards him, lowering his voice and speaking quietly so that only Fletcher could hear. "Adamson, we both know there is another course of treatment."

It took a moment for the words to register. "Simon..." Fletcher shook his head despairingly. "Simon, we can't."

"Why not?" Simon swung himself around in front of the chair, dropping into a crouch to look him in the eye. "Your daughter is dying, Adamson. We could save her."

"It's too dangerous. It's murder."

"Some might see it that way, but do you really think it's that simple?"

"I understand the implications, Simon, but the risk-,"

"Is more than worth the reward!" Simon stood up sharply, pacing back and forth. "It's not just about you, or about Maria. You know what we could accomplish. An end to diseases. An end to this kind of suffering. You don't see the bargain in that?"

Fletcher felt as though indecision might rip him in two. "Of course I do, Simon, but ... I took an oath."

"You will not be harming anyone, Adamson. I'll do it. Let me do this, for you, Maria, and everybody else we could help."

"I..." Fletcher tried to breathe. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. "What do you need from me?"

"It's just money. I will need a team; equipment. Once I have that, you will not need to worry about anything, ever again."

"How much?" The words leapt from Fletcher's mouth, propelled by desperation.

Simon stopped pacing and looked down at him. "I need you to be sure, Adamson. If we do this, there will be no going back."

Fletcher straighten up, his resolve firming by the second. "I'm sure, Simon. I can't... I can't lose Maria."

"Good." The other man smiled. "I'll make a list and send it by your office. You're making the right choice, Adamson."

"Let's hope so."

"Trust me." He inclined his head to Maria's comatose form. "Make sure they keep her alive until I return." Then, with a sweep of his overcoat he strode towards the door, whipping it open and stepping over the threshold.

Fletcher turned sharply in his seat. "Simon!" he snapped before the door could close.

Simon paused, a flash of irritation crossing his face. He sighed heavily and looked back. "Adamson, it's the right thing to do."

"I know." His voice wavered as the implications of what he was about to sanction stampeded through his thoughts. But then he remembered Maria. Remembered where he was. Remembered the bleeping machines and the cancer. He swallowed hard and nodded. "Where will you go?"

"I'll go north," Simon told him. "There is a colony outside Lasquette Bay."