In Flames // 9-1-1 Fox (seasons 1-4)

nine

A/N: *DJ Khaled voice* ANOTHA ONE

WARNING: mentions of suicide. If you ever feel like you need help or need to talk to someone, please call the Suicide Prevention Line. I love you and I hope you stay <3

"We've been here before," Hen observed as they exited the truck. Mariana glanced out at the farmhouse and the empty fields before her eyes settled on the large tree in the yard.

"When?" Buck asked.

"Before you joined us, kid," Bobby sighed.

Lightning cracked across the sky as rain poured down on them. Mariana couldn't pull her eyes away from the body that Chimney was cutting down. She blinked, a similar image flashing across her eyelids. The woman hanging from the tree no longer looked like the victim but rather a more familiar person. Dark hair, blank eyes, tan skin. The freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose and cheeks.

"Mama," Mariana breathed.

"Why would she do something like this?" the husband called out.

"I'm sorry," Bobby replied.

"Whatever it was, we could have talked about it. I could have helped her. I loved her."

Hen turned the wife's arm over, revealing bruises and cuts. Mariana ripped her helmet off and threw it into the muddy ground before spinning on her heel and marching off towards the truck. The brunette ducked around the truck, grabbed onto the handle to steady herself, and doubled over to throw up her lunch. She pressed a trembling hand against her smarting eyes and rubbed them vigorously, fighting against the rain water and the tears.

"Fuck," Mariana sobbed.

By the time the team returned to the truck with her helmet in tow, there was no evidence of any emotion on Mari's face aside from her red rimmed eyes.

"Mari, you can stay off of this one," Bobby whispered to her. She shook her head, a small but dangerous smile playing on her lips.

"Nah, Cap. Let's go see what bit this son of a bitch."

///

Mariana flipped through a magazine boredly as she squeezed the stress ball with the other hand. Giving blood was routine for her so she wasn't affected by the needle or anything. In fact, she was a little too relaxed for everyone's taste.

"How are you so chill about this?" Buck asked.

"I donate blood every eight weeks," she replied casually. "Least I can do considering it helped me from bleeding out on an OR table when I was sixteen and my femur broke after my uncle tried to kill me."

Three heads snapped towards her and Hen let out a soft sound from the back of her throat. "Girl, you don't just say something like that so calmly. What the hell do you mean?!"

"Chimney might remember. He was the paramedic that helped me. My uncle pushed me off our second floor balcony because I didn't pick up a sock."

She turned the page of her magazine and ignored the three people staring at her in shock. It was good that Mariana was being so open but no one realized just how deep the trauma ran and how flippant she was towards it. Whatever they were expecting, it certainly wasn't that.

"Alright well!" Chimney exclaimed. "I want to thank everybody for donating today. I don't know if you know this or not, but ninety percent of all the blood given to patients in the Los Angeles area comes from volunteers. I know that we all put our asses on the line in the field every day to save people but today, you're saving people, and all it's taking is a tiny prick of a needle. So simple, even Mr. Buckley can't mess that up."