Archive of Our Own

Flashover, n. the moment of conflagration or complete incineration caused by superheated air or combustibles.

Greed Island. “The World’s Playground.” Where Vegas met Monaco, where Hawaii met Miami, all with more than a little Amsterdam on the side. It attracted tourists from all over the world: the rich, famous, and connected; the elite of the criminal underworld and their various lackeys; college kids looking for a good time; newly wedded pairs celebrating their honeymoon; families and children; elderly retirees ready to party, because they couldn’t take it with them. The weather rarely hiked above eighty and never dipped below fifty. It was a tropical paradise, with its lush forests and mountains above and beaches, coral reefs, and diving spots below. And for the less nature-inclined, the twenty-four-hour clubs, casinos, amusement parks, shopping centers, and spas kept people occupied.

It was gaudy, gauche, grandiose.

It was excessive, exuberant, exhilarating.

It was just about every adjective in the damn dictionary, but what Greed Island Safety Department Captain Morel Mackernasey really cared about was that it was damn busy.

Case in point: he was coming off a twenty-four hour shift that featured no fewer than five major calls, ranging from a scooter-vs-skateboard accident, a fight at an underwater-themed nightclub, two fires, and a car accident wherein a ten-foot surfboard somehow fishtailed through two windshields. All he wanted was to drive home, shower, and fall face-first into a real bed (or Knov, if he was still awake, which he probably wasn’t).

But no. Because his House was a member down since Buhara hurt his back (on a call, because he had to be a Big Damn Hero, because he was a good man with a heart of gold and a spine made of cheese, apparently. God, Morel missed him). So instead of home, he drove to the GISD main offices at City Hall. It was just as well he knew this place like the back of his hand, because he was mostly asleep as he chugged his coffee and meandered through the halls to the conference room. He opened the door without bothering to knock, overhearing:

“Mizai, I’m telling you, it’s only a matter of time! Did you feel that quake the other day?”

“Obviously,” Fire Chief Nana Mizaistom intoned. How he managed to stay patient with Bisky’s antics, Morel would never understand. The reminder that the training chief would be attending their meeting inspired Morel to ask for two extra shots of espresso in his coffee, just to get through this. Mizai glanced up at Morel as he entered, sending him a short nod. “But minor quakes are common, as you well know, Bisky.”

Biscuit Krueger tittered. “Of course I do. But – morning, Mackernasey – we both know it’s been at least ten years since our last real quake. It’s coming. We need to run more emergency drills.”

“More?” Morel demanded, suddenly very awake indeed. “With what time, Bisky? My crew can barely eat and sleep on shift around calls. We need more staff before we train them all into the ground.”

“Until we have more reason to believe a major disaster is imminent, we’ll table the emergency drills,” Mizai said reasonably. “The geologic center has its seismograph for a reason. And our GISD members are already among the best in the world.”

“I know that, I trained them!” Bisky huffed, modest as ever. “But fine! I know when I’m outvoted. When the island sinks into the ocean, don’t come swimming to me.”

Morel wanted to point out that if, for some reason, the island did sink into the ocean, there wasn’t a hell of a lot even their best and brightest could do to stop it. But melodrama was Bisky’s forte, and her habit of training their members for a world like a half-empty glass perpetually shattering on the ground was what made their employees so damn good. So instead of arguing, he took several more gulps of his coffee. “So. Buhara’s replacement for House 36. You’ve got applications to sift through?”

“Only about two hundred,” Mizai said, passing the fire captain a tablet. Morel wished he could go back in time and get two coffees, or at least a breakfast sandwich. Mizai’s lips twitched in a silent laugh, his mismatched eyes crinkling in the outer corners. “Let’s get started.”

The only good thing about this meeting was that it counted as overtime. Morel’s eyes glazed over as he read application after application, bickering endlessly with Bisky and Mizai over various prospective hires. They had it narrowed down to a select few at the end. Morel’s mind was made up, he was pretty sure, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have concerns.

“He has a mile-long list of life-saving commendations,” Bisky argued, picking up a thick binder and waving it around as a prop. “He comes highly recommended by three different supervisors.”

“You know what else is a mile long? His list of reprimands.” Morel tabbed down to that section. “Insubordination, insubordination, disobeying orders, insubordination again… Are we sure those supervisors aren’t just trying to pass him off to us?”

It a Devil’s Advocate argument. In truth, Morel liked what he saw of this kid on paper. He was experienced, starting the job just out of college and now in his late twenties; he was trained in the full gamut of emergencies the big city had to offer; he possessed a cool head. By all reports and commendations, he was a stubborn spitfire and a painfully loyal, earnest crew member.

Morel scanned the news clippings that came up when he searched the man’s name online. Yorknew Firefighter Saves 17 in High-Rise Fire; Lone Survivor of His Crew. A figure in ceremonial dress saluted his fallen House, expression stoic. The picture was grotesquely beautiful and striking, this lone survivor saluting a row of ten caskets.

Morel looked at this application and saw a man hurting. A man reeling from a loss that shattered his world and ripped apart his family. A man in need of fresh island air and a new start.

He looked at Mizai. The Fire Chief smiled faintly. “Well. On this island, we know which one speaks louder. Tell him to pack his bags.”

Cold.

It was cold.

The pavement under his feet, the wind biting his cheeks, the air as it whistled down his throat. It nipped at his fingertips, his nose, the sensitive tips of his ears. It cooled the sweat on his forehead and in the small of his back and left him shivering.

Kurapika only ran harder, arms and legs pumping, lungs aching like they were full of tiny knives. He focused on the pain in his chest and legs from the exertion, on the cold, because if he didn’t – if he let his mind wander – everything melted away and it was hot, hot, hot.

He rounded the path loop for his final sprint, racing up the hill leading to a bridge overpass. At the end of the path, he saw a familiar silhouette in a red beanie. He almost turned around and ran the other way. His brother probably wouldn’t be able to catch up. But they also lived together, so Kurapika would really be in for it when he got home if he tried to push whatever this was off. And judging from the way Pairo had his arms folded over his chest, foot tapping irritably, he’d already seen him anyway.

So Kurapika slowed his pace from a sprint to a run to a jog, finally slowing to a walk as he arrived. He sheepishly met Pairo’s unimpressed glare. Little flecks of rain had splattered over his thick glasses frames, and when he sipped his coffee, the lenses fogged up from the steam, as well.

“Take this,” Pairo ordered, shoving a heavier jacket towards Kurapika. His tone allowed no argument. He glowered until Kurapika shoved his fatigue-weary, rubbery arms into the sleeves. Once he zipped the jacket, Pairo shoved a second warm drink at him. With a sigh, Kurapika acquiesced to that, too.

He didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

Pairo wordlessly turned to begin the walk home, knowing his brother would obediently follow. Kurapika took a deep breath, soothing his heart rate and sipping his drink. Dirty chai latte, one of his guilty pleasures. But when he drank it, when he ran, when he breathed –

Kurapika only felt guilty.

Pairo finally spoke when they were halfway home. “Pika. I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Kurapika murmured into the plastic lid. Pairo gently knocked his shoulder into his.

“It’s been eight months.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t accepted a position at a new firehouse.”

“I know.”

“But you haven’t tendered your resignation, either.”

“I know.”

Why was Pairo saying this? Kurapika knew what a useless lump on their couch he’d been for the past half-year. Hell, it was only in the past two months that he finally peeled himself off their floor and got outside again. That he went shopping and did laundry and cleaned and returned to the gym, regaining what stamina and muscle he lost during his extended sabbatical. Pairo gathered that he wouldn’t make any headway in this conversation right now, so he wisely kept his mouth shut. The brothers spent the rest of their six-block return to their fourth-floor walkup in silence.

“What do you think of the beach?” Pairo asked all of a sudden, stomping the snow off his boots. Kurapika frowned at him, utterly baffled. The closest thing they got to the beach in Yorknew were the smelly docks, and the closest thing to sand around here was the cat litter they used to make sure their trucks’ tire treads maintained traction on black ice.

“It’s… sunny,” Kurapika replied lamely. He thought of the meagre savings in their bank accounts. “This seems like a bad time to plan a vacation, though.”

Pairo snorted. “That’s true enough.”

Pairo did not elaborate on his train of thought as he hung up his jacket and walked into their living room. Kurapika knew how to recognize the signs of his brother getting ready to tell him something he wasn’t sure he’d like, so Kurapika followed closely at his heels. Pairo sat on their secondhand couch, one leg folded over the other. He took another sip of his coffee, blatantly buying himself more time. He hadn’t looked Kurapika in the eyes since they walked in. Instead, he was looking out their window like there was something interesting about the slate-gray sky and dirty brick buildings.

Kurapika tried not to sound as impatient as he felt. “Why do you ask?”

“I applied somewhere else,” Pairo said in a rush.

Kurapika almost fell off the couch armrest, his weary legs shaking warningly as they threatened to give out (he’d pushed himself too much during running that day, and he was paying for it now). His latte sloshed dangerously in the takeout cup. Kurapika gaped at Pairo like he’d just said they were related by blood, after all.

“You – what – you’re leaving?” Kurapika demanded, gaping. He knew that it wasn’t fair to ask that as his first question. No where, no wow, no when. Just a silent demand of why, why are you doing this now? How can you do this right now?

But Pairo only smiled patiently up at him and patted the cushion next to him. “Not exactly.”

Kurapika watched for another moment and sat. He breathed in, held it, released like his department-mandated therapist taught him. “Okay. You’re being needlessly mysterious right now.”

“A little,” Pairo admitted, chuckling. “I’ve just been nervous about having this conversation.”

With good reason, probably, Kurapika mused, given his reaction just now. He nudged Pairo’s ankle with his foot and waited for Pairo to finally meet his gaze again. “Well. We’re having it now.”

Pairo blew out a breathless sort of laugh through his nose. “Yeah. Guess so.” His fingers drummed nervously over the coffee cup. “I’ve just been thinking. After the high-rise.”

Kurapika looked away, shamefaced. He stared outside their window, counting the snowflakes finally drifting from the frigid, slate-gray sky. Pairo had not blamed him for how he handled losing his crew, but that did not mean Kurapika didn’t feel guilty anyway. He felt guilty for everything, all the time. For every meal, every fresh morning, every short-lived smile, every inhale and exhale.

Survivor’s guilt is very common after experiencing a loss of this caliber, his therapist had told him. But you did everything you could. Those deaths were not your fault.

Everyone kept saying that. It wasn’t your fault. You did your best. Well, what good was Kurapika’s best if he couldn’t even save his own crew? Was he even in the right profession? Would it not just be better and safer for everyone if he turned in his gear, hung up his jacket, got a nice, safe desk job?

(What did it say about Kurapika that he missed it? That he missed work, he missed the field, he missed the rush of danger and the pride of a job well done, the scents of smoke and gasoline?)

Pairo put a steady hand on Kurapika’s knee, gently returning his thoughts to the here and now. Kurapika swallowed a wave of emotion; he was not sure how he would have made it through the past few months without his brother’s endlessly patient, grounding presence. Part of him knew that he would not have made it at all. It was a harrowing realization.

Pairo continued soothingly, “You’ve been stuck, Kurapika. And I don’t know how to help you. I’ve been spinning my wheels for a while, thinking it over, and then I came up with a solution.”

“Pairo, I’m so sorry, I’ve been so stuck in my own head, I haven’t considered how much this all must have been weighing on you,” Kurapika replied. He took Pairo’s hands in his, crossing his legs underneath him and turning so he was fully facing Pairo. “I’m sorry. And thank you for all you’ve done for me. And that means so much, but I can’t ask you to give anything up just because of me. You don’t need to uproot your entire life just for me.”

“You’re not asking me to do anything, Pika,” Pairo assured him, squeezing Kurapika’s hands. He went on, “We don’t exactly have much to tie us here. We both could use a change in scenery. So I started looking for dispatcher and firefighter jobs. And I found them.”

Kurapika lifted an eyebrow. He tilted his head, confused, pulling his hands back so he could keep drinking his chai. “That fast?”

“Yep,” Pairo said. “There’s a… high turnover, this department I’ve been looking into. But the work should be fast-paced and exciting. New. And there’s an opening in a firehouse down there.”

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Kurapika observed slowly. The pieces fell together all at once – Pairo’s evasiveness, his roundabout sentences, the way he couldn’t quite reach Kurapika’s gaze – and he realized. “Oh, you asshole. You’ve already applied.”

Pairo shrugged. “Ah… guilty. I have. Are you mad?”

“Yeah, I’m mad!” Kurapika snapped. “This is a huge life change, and you should have at least mentioned this before you applied!” He ran a hand through his sweat-slick hair, sighing heavily. He lay back against the couch armrest. “But I know why you did it, and if our positions were switched, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”

Pairo’s shoulders relaxed, and when he grinned now, he actually looked Kurapika in the eye. Which was why Kurapika made sure to reiterate, “I’m still gonna be pissed at you for the next ten minutes.”

“That’s fair,” Pairo agreed smoothly, and he stood up to toss his takeout cup into the trash. He ran a hand over Kurapika’s head as he passed, grimacing at the sweat-sticky texture between his fingers. Kurapika smirked into his next sip of the latte. That little revenge was almost as sweet as the drink.

He thought for a few moments. Aside from being a little (very) peeved about Pairo not telling him until he’d applied (wait, did that mean he applied on Kurapika’s behalf? With a personal statement and letters of recommendation and everything? At least he would not need to do that. His irritation cooled rapidly at that thought.). Kurapika asked, because if Pairo was decided then this was all but a bygone conclusion, “Where are we going?”

“Greed Island.”

Kurapika’s eyes almost fell out of his head. His spine snapped upright again and he twisted around on the couch to glare. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Pairo grinned sheepishly, spreading his hands in a weak jazz hands gesture. “Did I mention I’ve already accepted?”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

The next few weeks flew by in a haze of packing what they needed and selling everything else; finding someone to sublet their apartment for the rest of their lease; tendering their resignations with the 911 dispatch center and fire department; and buying spring and summer clothes, because they remembered at the very last minute that the weather on Greed Island was very different from Yorknew City. They found a two-bedroom apartment equidistant from Pairo’s new dispatch center and Kurapika’s new House. And once they e-signed their new lease, they got the treat of spending an afternoon transferring their various prescriptions to a pharmacy nearby. Kurapika found himself full of equal parts “anxious anticipation” and “bone-chilling dread” as the days trickled past.

The anxiety did not ease as their plane descended through the clouds and Kurapika caught his first glimpse of their new home. Pairo shoved his head beside Kurapika’s to look out the window, as well, rambling everything he’d read from the Greed Island Wikipedia page and various travel guides. Greed Island was an autonomous island nation approximately of ten thousand square miles, though most of that space was taken up by rainforests. It had a population of about 1.5 million locals, though there were several hundred thousand tourists present year-round (surging to over a million during the mainland’s school breaks and in the summer months). The coasts were hubs of activity that he could see even from fifteen thousand feet: amusement parks, skyscrapers, clubs, shipyard docks, shopping plazas, water parks, beaches.

Oh. Kurapika understood why there was such a high staff turnover now. This place was busy.

If he shared Kurapika’s thoughts, Pairo did not comment on it. He chattered about furniture and food as they collected their bags from the claim station. Hot, humid air blasted Kurapika’s face the second he stepped outside, so different from what he was used to he nearly balked. He hardly had time to adjust before Pairo was hailing a cab and almost physically shoving Kurapika into it. Dimly, he wondered if Pairo was rushing because he feared Kurapika might turn around and hop back on a plane to Yorknew. Or, if he was really desperate, dive into the ocean and start swimming.

Well. Kurapika considered it. So at least Pairo’s concerns were founded.

Their new apartment was an airy two-bedroom space on the thirtieth floor of a high rise. Their door opened into a spacious living room with massive bay windows overlooking the white curl of the sandy beach and the perfect turquoise blue of the ocean. From this height, the beachgoers looked like scurrying ants as they frolicked in the waves.

“Pairo, how can we afford this?” Kurapika asked, half a demand and half in awe. “This would be a multi-million dollar apartment in Yorknew.”

“Perks of the job,” Pairo smirked, the smug bastard. “We get a discount for working as first responders.”

“And that didn’t scream ‘we are fucking desperate’ to you?”

“Of course it did.” Pairo dropped his bag and started flinging open cabinets to gauge their effectiveness to store all their shit. Kurapika suspected he’d already memorized the layout so he would not stumble in the dark, his body not yet committing the place to muscle memory for the moments his eyes failed. And because they cooked so much. “But also…”

He waved vaguely to their enormous window. Kurapika sighed and resumed his survey of their new home. The kitchen featured a little half-circle of a breakfast nook with space for a table and a cushioned perch. The bedrooms were much larger than Kurapika expected, already featuring the beds Pairo ordered and had delivered by their arrival date. The bathroom featured a walk-in shower and a tub.

Distantly, he heard Pairo ooh-ing and ahh-ing at every appliance like he’d never seen a refrigerator with a built-in icemaker before. Kurapika wished he could share his brother’s joy. But all he felt was apprehension.

Pairo, what did you get us into?

“Pika!” Pairo’s effusive cheer cut through his spinning thoughts. “There’s a whole shopping plaza right under the building, let’s explore! We can get food and start planning how we’ll decorate. And I want to start memorizing places around here.”

Kurapika slowly turned to Pairo, taking in the way he hovered eagerly in the doorway. He was in the same wrinkled t-shirt and jeans he wore on the four-hour flight and his hair was a mess, flat on one side and sticking up on the other where he’d fallen asleep on Kurapika’s shoulder. There was a mostly-dry drool spot on the shoulder of Kurapika’s own t-shirt for his troubles.

Pairo had been more than patient with him the past few months. Throughout the funerals, and the therapy, and the PTSD, and the medication, and the night terrors, he was a steady presence by Kurapika’s side. A brace, a load-bearing wall. But that was exhausting work, and Kurapika needed to remind himself that that loss and trauma weighed heavily on Pairo as well. He’d given Kurapika everything in the past few months, up to and including his life and friends in Yorknew to move to a hedonist island in the middle of nowhere just to give him a fresh start.

The literal least Kurapika could do was humor him with a walk through some tourist traps and buy him lunch.

Kurapika put a smile on his face and meant it. “Sure. Just let me change.”

Five minutes later, they were walking out onto the sunny veranda of the marketplace. Kurapika’s first purchase in his new home was a set of sunglasses, which made Pairo snicker. For the next hour they wandered into every shop they saw. Just about everything was beach-themed here: swimsuits, boogie and surfboards, sunscreen and tanning oil, towels, seashell trinkets. Everything was absurdly expensive, and Kurapika already mourned his wallet. Five jenny for a cell phone keychain with a miniature conch shell on it? Kurapika could make that for free with a bit of plastic thread, a shell he picked up off the ground outside, and about thirty seconds.

But Pairo grinned ear-to-ear as Kurapika handed him the purchase, round cheeks creasing, and Kurapika knew that was worth way more than five jenny.

They quickly learned there was nothing here that might furnish this apartment except enough trinkets to make them look like some old, fussy grandmothers. Or apartment owners operating a particularly campy Airbnb. Instead, they agreed to look up the bus schedules so they could head to a different shopping center tomorrow. It was good that Greed Island had a surprisingly robust public transit service, because that meant they would not have to worry about a car or driving to get the things they needed (not that Pairo could drive in any case.) They found a restaurant near the beach for lunch. It was loud and crowded and its décor was super cheesy, but they had the single best shrimp tacos Kurapika had ever had, and a large-font menu for Pairo, so in all, it was a pretty good first day.

Until –

“Jason? Jason, are you okay?”

(Kurapika had learned something in his time as a firefighter. Well, he learned a lot of things, but the one that stuck with him, the one that he learned in the hardest and worst way three months ago, was this: the world could turn upside down in the worst ways in only a moment.)

“Jason, ohmygod – Jason!”

Kurapika and Pairo turned as one to the sound. The young woman crying out was seated a few tables away, her face ashen and eyes wide as she stared at her date. The man was coughing, his eyes watering and skin going red. His hands went to his throat like he was choking, except he was still making those loud, hacking sounds, so his airway wasn’t obstructed, and – oh, shit.

“Someone call 9-1-1!” The woman yelled, her voice high and panicked. The seating patio went bone-chillingly silent. The Moment where everything slowed, when the adrenaline started pumping, and the human biologic response made a choice: fight, flight, or freeze.

Kurapika looked around, and it seemed like everyone was stuck on freeze.

I haven’t even been here a day, Kurapika thought.

“Pairo,” he started, and the world started moving again.

“On it,” Pairo said. As one, the brothers stood up, Kurapika taking the lead. He let his voice get loud, but calm and authoritative, ordering, “Move aside, please, move aside – I’m an off-duty firefighter, excuse me –”

Kurapika did not have any gear but his own hands, nor did he have any personal protective equipment. The closest thing he had to sanitizer was the Purel in his pocket, and he slicked his hands up with it as he stopped above the table.

“I’m a firefighter,” Kurapika explained. It was always so hard to get started on these calls – gauging the danger and the damage as quickly as possible, but not rushing and not feeding into the panic. “Call me KP. What’s happening here?”

“T-Taco,” Jason gasped out. Kurapika eyed the man’s abandoned plate, taking in the meal. Lettuce, salsa, avocado, fried fish. A weird curl of pinkish meat, half-eaten. Kurapika recognized it instantly.

“Are you allergic to shrimp?” Kurapika asked. Jason nodded. “Do you have an EpiPen on you?”

A head shake. Kurapika would have swore if he could have, but doing so would send the entire café into a panic. He knelt beside the table, his hand on Jason’s wrist and feeling his rapid heartbeat. Rapid heartbeat meant rapid breathing, which meant rapid inhales and exhales, which meant irritating his throat, which made it close more. As Kurapika multitasked, keeping Jason calm and asking his partner – Jessica, how alliterative – if she had any Benadryl on her.

As he worked, he heard Pairo on the phone. He was using his Dispatcher Voice, which Kurapika thought had to be a weird sensation for the person on the other end. “I’m at the Seaside Café, located on the corner of… of…”

Pairo squinted at the street signs, but he could not read them from this distance. And he did not have the advantage of a computer, GPS, or maps to help him get his bearings. One of the waiters piped up, their voice cracking, “Seashell Avenue and Conch Drive!”

Pairo sent a thumbs-up in the waiter’s direction, mouthing a soundless thank you. “– Seashell Avenue and Conch Drive –”

“Really?” Kurapika cried, already sick of the ocean theme. Pairo shot him a glare.

“We have an adult male, early twenties, in respiratory distress from a severe allergic reaction. Paramedics requested. Yes, acute respiratory distress. Yes, I’ll stay on the line.” Pairo pulled his mouth away from the receiver. To Kurapika, he said, “Medics are about ten minutes out.”

At this rate, Jason did not have ten minutes. Kurapika raised his voice again to the surrounding crowd. “Does anyone have any allergy medications? Benadryl, Claritin, Allegra?”

“I have Aspirin,” one woman offered. Kurapika did not roll his eyes, and he thought he deserved a Nobel Peace Prize for that.

“No, thank you,” Kurapika said, and he turned back to Jason. “Slow, deep breaths, Jason, you’re doing great.”

“‘M… Dizzy…” Jason mumbled weakly. A second later, he collapsed forward, and only Kurapika’s quick movements kept him from face-planting into the rest of his lunch.

There were shouts and cries from the crowd as the man fell unconscious, and Kurapika maneuvered him to the ground as quickly and carefully as he could. Jason went like a ragdoll.

“Jason?” Kurapika asked. “Jason, can you hear me?”

No answer. Kurapika exchanged a Look with Pairo. Whatever Pairo saw in his face seemed to age him by about three years. Pairo updated the dispatcher, “He’s gone unconscious and unresponsive.”

He left unspoken, and my brother is about to do something really stupid about it.

But there was a person with mere minutes to permanent brain damage unconscious in front of him, so Kurapika decided stupid might be exactly what Jason needed right now. He pointed to a nearby waiter. “You. Bring me the highest-proof liquor you have and a clean, sharp knife, and dear God make sure it hasn’t been near shrimp. Plastic gloves, if you have them. And I need… I need…”

“Pika.” Pairo had caught on to his train of thought, and he handed Kurapika a sparkly blue pinwheel. Its shiny paper wheel shimmered in the afternoon sun as the sea breeze made it spin.

“Huh,” Kurapika mused. “That’ll work.”

He looked up as the waiter arrived. They nervously set the materials Kurapika demanded onto the wicker chair beside them. A sharp butcher knife, gloves, and –

“Figures,” Kurapika snorted as he slipped on the disposable gloves, his gaze lingering on the Everclear label. He uncapped the bottle and poured liberally over the knife, the pinwheel, his own gloved hands, and Jason’s neck, left bare by his deep V-neck shirt. Kurapika lifted the knife, measuring its weight in his hand. He paused.

Inhale. Exhale. The rest of the world faded away. The noise, the panic, the rushing blood in his own ears. The only thing he saw was Jason’s neck, his fluttering pulse, the hollow at the base of his throat. It was the only thing he saw because it was the only thing that mattered.

Blood, shockingly scarlet on Jason’s tan and his white shirt, ran over Kurapika’s fingers and down Jason’s neck as he made the small incision. The air smelled like metal as Kurapika carefully probed the slice wide enough to insert the pinwheel. Someone gagged as it stood upright in the breeze, the cheerful, sparkling paper glittering as it spun. There was another moment, a pause – and Jason breathed again.

All at once, Kurapika sensed the world again. The fresh breeze, the sun against his back, the cry of gulls and the cheer of the crowd and the echo of sirens.

Jason’s lids fluttered, and Kurapika held a hand to his shoulder.

“Shh,” he said, soothingly as he could. “Don’t try to speak. You’re okay. I need you to relax, the paramedics are here. You’re going to be okay.”

Indeed, the truck was slowing to a stop now, its doors opening and closing, and the clamor settled as new voices took control of the crowd. One was announcing, “Paramedics, clear the way,” and parting the people like the Red Sea. Thick-soled, well-loved work boots appeared at the edge of Kurapika’s vision. He looked up, and –

(Looking back, months and years from now, Kurapika would realize he learned another lesson in this moment. The world can turn upside down in a good way in a moment, too.

It would take him a long time to admit it – an embarrassingly long time – but he would.)

(But not today.)

– and there was a man kneeling across from him, opposite Jason’s prone form. He was tall and lanky, with a trim waist and broad shoulders, his t-shirt pulling over the muscles in his arms and chest in a way that ought to be illegal. He had tanned skin, dark hair, a strong, square jaw dusted with stubble. Brilliant hazel eyes, mingling shades of green and gold and earthy brown, and they were blazing and Kurapika’s ogling was cut off abruptly because oh, this hot paramedic was furious at him.

But whatever his fucking deal was, the medic could not tear into Kurapika in front of a cheering crowd that was very much on his side. And they still had an injured man in their care who very much needed more medical attention.

Whoever this medic was, he assumed control of the scene with the casual poise and efficiency of someone with at least a decade on the job. Kurapika had no problem ceding the call to him, peeling off his gloves so the blood was on the inside and tossing them in the trash. He watched the medics work, putting Jason on the wheeled stretcher and moving him into the ambulance. The tall, dark, and pissy medic turned to leave. But then he whipped back around and, to Kurapika’s great surprise, pointed squarely at his chest.

“You. Come with us.”

Kurapika blinked, taken aback. He exchanged a look with Pairo. What the fuck?

Irritably, the medic barked, “Now.”

“I’ll follow you,” Pairo assured him quietly. Kurapika tried not to feel like he was being abandoned to be eaten alive, and not even in a sexy way, as he followed the medic into the back of the ambulance. The name on the back of his jacket read Knight.

A bit on the nose, Kurapika thought uncharitably.

The ambulance driver seemed totally different from this Knight jerk. He greeted Kurapika with a neon smile that threatened to crack his face in half. He had shocking bright red hair and thick, bushy eyebrows. He also drove like a bat out of hell, which was not always the best attribute in an ambulance driver. But Knight seemed perfectly used to it, his hands steady as he gave Jason something for the pain and started administering medication for his allergy attack.

“Not often we show up on a scene and our job is done for us,” the driver was saying. “Good catch on the anaphylaxis! Your, ah, guy with you, he a doctor?”

“A dispatcher,” Kurapika explained. The ambulance took a turn a bit too sharply, and he would have cracked his head against the cabinets if he hadn’t caught himself against the wall in time. Annoyingly, Knight only flowed with the momentum. There was a little smirk on his lips, though he was pretending not to notice how Kurapika almost brained himself in his freaking ambulance. Asshole. “And my brother.”

“Makes sense!” The driver crowed. “The dispatcher bit, not the brother – not that I judge, of course, but – it was real helpful, having someone who could give us good info on the ground, really made Nanika’s job easier –”

“Zep,” Knight interrupted tersely. Kurapika sent the man a blistering glare that he returned with relish. “Zep” ignored their silent standoff, but he also shut up. If Kurapika had been paying attention, he might have seen Zep’s own little grin.

A few minutes later they pulled into the ambulance bay at Greed Island Medical Center. Muscle memory took over as Kurapika helped Knight and the hospital staff remove Jason from the ambulance and wheel him inside. Knight sent Zep a look, and Zep rolled his eyes before he started to jog into the emergency room.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get the paperwork started.” He sent Kurapika a peace sign. “Whatever this grump says, I appreciate what you did, man. Say thanks to the dispatcher brother for me.”

“Will do,” Kurapika agreed, surprised. There was a small smile on his face as Zep vanished into the hospital despite the hot day, the scent of ambulance exhaust, and the hole Knight’s dirty look was boring into the side of his head. Because now they were alone. Kurapika whirled around and glared up at him. Which was – wow. This man was tall. Kurapika was of perfectly average height, but this man was definitely over six feet. Kurapika’s mental wires of sexy man holy shit I’m gay and just who the fuck is this guy and who does he think he is were crossing in a deeply unfortunate way.

“What?” Kurapika snapped.

Knight glowered at him. “What the fuck were you thinking, doing a tracheotomy in the field? With no gear, no backup, no supplies, no medication, and no training?”

Kurapika felt his lip curl. “I was thinking, ‘wow, this is just like Grey’s Anatomy.’” Knight snarled, and Kurapika spoke over him before he could say something to really piss him off. “Don’t patronize me. I’m a firefighter –”

“Oh, a firefighter!” Knight interrupted, practically shouting. “Like that makes it okay, then! So you’re really not trained for this, and you knew that! If he gets an infection, it’s your ass on the line, I’ll make sure of that.”

“Considering he was fucking arresting when I made the cut, I think he’ll understand,” Kurapika hissed up at him. He stood to his tallest height, arms folded over his chest. “Ten minutes for acute respiratory distress! What, did you stop for drive-through on the way?”

Knight literally growled in irritation, and the sound sent a completely mistimed rush of heat through Kurapika’s body to pool in his stomach. He took a step forward, crowding Kurapika’s back against the side of the ambulance. He towered over Kurapika, leaning into his space, his arm braced against the ambulance like a fucking kabedon. Their noses were inches apart, and Kurapika wanted to punch him in his stupid, beautiful face.

“Listen, you fucking tourist –”

“I’m not a tourist,” Kurapika interrupted. “I’m starting at GISD soon –”

“Not if I have anything to fucking say about it,” Knight promised darkly. “What House?”

This fucking bastard. Who did he think he was? Kurapika knew his House, of course, from doing all his new employee paperwork, but hell if he was going to tell this asshole. He lied, “Hell if I fucking know. I literally landed today.”

“You landed today and already you’re cowboying it out in the field?”

“Did you really just make cowboy a verb?”

“That’s not the point –”

“Then what is?” Kurapika demanded. “Because I’m pretty tired from my flight, and I’d like to unpack at some point –”

“The point, you stuck-up prick, is that you performed a back-alley surgery in broad daylight with a hatchet and a bottle of Smirnoff –”

“It was a carving knife and a bottle of Everclear. If you’re going to be an asshole about the whole thing, get your facts straight.”

Knight looked like he was debating the efficacy of rearranging Kurapika’s face now. Kurapika dearly wished he would try. He would learn that he didn’t go down easy.

“Uh. Pika?”

Kurapika blinked. His brother’s voice snapped him out of his fury just enough for him to realize his face was pressed forehead-to-forehead, almost nose-to-nose in a shouting match with a literal stranger in the middle of an ambulance bay. With a final sneer, Kurapika slipped away from Knight’s overwhelming presence. Kurapika passed Zep on the way over, sending the man a short nod. It wasn’t Zep’s fault his partner was a massive douchebag. For whatever reason, Zep sent him a wink as he passed by.

Pairo’s eyebrows were practically at his hairline when Kurapika joined him. “Make a friend, Kurapika?”

“Fuck off,” Kurapika snapped halfheartedly, and Pairo snorted out a laugh. The ambulance roared to life behind them, and Pairo caught Kurapika’s sleeve to tug him out of the way. Kurapika met Knight’s glare as he passed by.

Kurapika flipped him off, a very mature move. In an equally adult reply, Knight stuck his tongue out at him.

“I fucking hate that guy,” Kurapika muttered to no one. When Pairo did not reply right away, he turned to look at him. Far from righteously taking his brother’s side, Pairo was grinning.

“I like him.”

Kurapika really considered just swimming back to the mainland.

“So.”

Leorio did not look away from the window. He had his chin perched moodily on his hand as he looked out the window, watching the beach pass by on their way back to House 36.  He could hardly see the water for the wall of brightly-colored umbrellas in the way. Zepile, undeterred, spoke on. “What was that about, exactly?”

Leorio frowned. That tiny blond prick’s smug expression flashed in front of his eyes again. “That asshole was careless and irresponsible. An emergency tracheotomy in the field? Who does that?”

“People who have no other choice. People who want to help when help is just out of reach,” Zepile suggested. He cut Leorio a sideways glance. “You.”

“I’m different,” Leorio argued.

“Oho, how so?” Zepile asked, laughing. Leorio did not share his cheer.

“I’m an actual paramedic, for one. Not a reckless firefighter idiot. You wanna know where he picked up that idea for the pinwheel?” Leorio did not wait for a reply. “Grey’s Anatomy! The worldwide trainer of doctors, nurses, and paramedics alike!”

“I don’t think that was a decision he made easily,” Zepile said reasonably. Leorio snorted. “I’m serious here, Leorio. And he ceded the scene to us as soon as we showed up. It’s not like he tried to tell us how to do our jobs. He seemed cool, is all. Not someone prone to braggadocio.”

“Not what I saw,” Leorio grumbled. “He was a smarmy little asshole.”

“In his defense, you were shouting in his face,” Zepile reminded him.

“Because he was an arrogant tool!” Leorio snapped. “Careless, reckless, thoughtless, stupid –”

“– Stubborn, blond, a spitfire with a sailor’s mouth?” Zepile finished. Leorio gaped at his partner like a fish, mouth moving but making no sound. Zepile shrugged, a bit of a smirk on his face. “What? You have a type.”

“I know I do. He’s…” Leorio thought for a second, picturing the man called Pika, an adorable name (nickname?) completely incongruous with his initial impressions. Okay, so Leorio liked blonds of all genders. Sue him. And, sure, he liked to argue, so he liked people who could give as good as he gave in a spat. And Pika certainly had plenty to give in that department, with a quick wit and faster mouth. He was short in Leorio’s estimation, but he himself was freakishly tall, so he was pretty sure the man was actually of average height. And Pika was strong, his arms corded with lean muscle when they folded over his chest. And he claimed he was a firefighter, but that man could start fires with that glare of his, with the set of his pretty mouth and the tinder-spark of his dusky gray-blue eyes and oh, come on.

“Shut up,” Leorio muttered. Zepile’s cackles filled the car, the driver hitting his palm against the steering wheel a few times to really get his energy out. Asshole. Leorio was going to put in a request for a new partner. Altair would never treat him like this. “In any case, it’s whatever. It’s a big island. Lots of Houses. I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

Zepile raised an eyebrow at him, but before he could comment on what a crock of shit he thought that was, the radio buzzed.

“House thirty-six, aid car four-oh-three, we have a small grease fire at Benny’s Banana Bar on Wharf Thirteen. Multiple injuries.”

Zepile shook his head, already shifting into gear and flipping on the sirens. Leorio grabbed the receiver in one hand and the “oh, shit” bar above the door with the other. “Aid car four-oh-three responding.”

He hung up the receiver with a sigh. There was no room in his mind or time to think about snarky wannabe-cowboys. He had people to help.

House 36 was a massive building of glass and sun-bleached sandstone. The front garage was open when Kurapika arrived for his first shift, his duffle bag hitched over one shoulder. He walked into the garage, craning his neck back to take in the vaulted, high ceilings, the rows of ready-and-waiting equipment and fire gear turnouts, the gleaming red trucks standing at the ready. The space was light, open, and airy. There was a set of stairs to his left, leading up to a catwalk and second floor with a seating area. From what Kurapika could see, there was also a balcony facing the ocean up there. Everything was bright and sparkling and clean and Kurapika had to triple-check he was in the right place. His previous firehouse was hardly a disaster, but he needed to make sure he was indeed in a firehouse and not breaking and entering in a mansion that happened to have a few fire trucks parked in the garage.

But no. It was just the nicest firehouse Kurapika had ever seen.

“YOOOOO!”

The yell was so loud Kurapika jumped, whipping his head around in search of a threat so fast his neck cracked. He winced, not that the bellowing man seemed to notice.

“New guy! Hey! Hey, new guy!”

Kurapika looked up, eyes landing on the glass-plated catwalk overlooking the massive garage. Three men stood together in a line, all eyeing him with various levels of interest, curiosity, and excitement. He immediately knew which one was the yeller, because he was the one waving eagerly. He was pale, with a shock of wild, frizzy curls and dark eyes. In the middle of the trio was a second man, shorter but solid as an oak tree with muscle, with sun-browned skin, spiked black hair, and a freckled face. The third man was taller and slender, with ocean-blue eyes and white hair.

The man with the head of barely-tamed curls grinned widely. “Hey! You’re here! Welcome!”

“Did you find us okay?” The man with tanned skin asked.  He, too, was leaning curiously against the catwalk railing. His forearms bunched with muscle. “You’re new to the island, right? Have you done any sightseeing yet? Have you seen the boardwalk? And the amusement park? The aquarium? Oooh, we should go to the club on Oceanview! Killua, you can get us in, right?”

“Probably.” The white-haired man smirked. He peered down his nose at Kurapika, who thought this might be the friendliest, most intense hazing he’d ever encountered, and added, “Or if you want some peace and quiet, the hiking on Kukuroo Mountain is always good. I know some trails the tourist’s don’t.”

“Of course you do,” The tanned man groaned. He grinned at Kurapika and slapped his palm against the railing like he’d just remembered yet another question. “Oh, oh! Do you surf?”

Kurapika was entering the realm of completely overwhelmed now. He wasn’t sure if he should ask them their names, or just answer them, or ask where Morel was so he could put down his bag and change into his uniform.

“You can ignore them.”

The voice came from behind Kurapika. He turned around to see a dark-skinned woman, her duffle bag slung over one broad shoulder. Her hair was braided back in two plaits tied off with different-colored hair ties. She had large, clever dark eyes and a small gap in her front teeth when she grinned at him.

“They’re a bunch of overgrown puppies, really. Sweet and harmless.” She held out a hand to Kurapika. “I’m Canary.”

“Kurapika,” He said, accepting her hand and shaking firmly. Canary’s hands were rough and calloused, her grip firm. “But I think you all know that.”

“We’ve been a hand down since Buhara left, so we’re excited to be up to full capacity again,” Canary explained. “And new blood is always welcome.” She grinned wolfishly at Kurapika before looking up at the peanut gallery. She put her hands on her hips.

“Did you three even bother to introduce yourselves before you started in on him?” Canary demanded.

“Oh,” The curly-haired man said, sheepishly.

“Uh…” The tanned man started.

“No,” Killua said.

Canary rolled her eyes. “Then get down here and introduce yourselves like professionals. This isn’t a frat house.”

“Sorry,” the two unnamed men chorused. The curly-haired man and Killua turned to the stairs, but the tanned man gripped the railing.

“Oh, my God,” Canary said, already sounding tired. “Gon, don’t –”

Gon did. The man gripped the railing and nimbly leapt off the catwalk, landing lithely on the top of a nearby truck before parkouring to the ground. It was an impressive show of agility and balance, and Kurapika instantly appreciated the fact that he was not going to be the only person prone to recklessness on this crew.

“Gon, how many times have we asked you not to do that?” Canary asked, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was already staving off a headache. “If Morel catches you doing that again, he’ll have your ass.”

“Nice,” Killua said casually as he walked out into the open garage. “Kinky. Knov will love that.”

“Don’t be gross,” Canary said, though her lips twitched in a badly-suppressed smile.

“Gotta shake it up somehow,” Killua said. “All those years of happily-wedded bliss and monogamy…”

Killua made a face like he was talking about a particularly unpleasant call instead of discussing the nuances of his boss’s happy, healthy married life. He said to Gon, “Anyway, Leorio will kill you if you hurt yourself on the job again. And then I’ll have no one to bother him with anymore.”

“Cool,” the man with curly hair said, nodding along. “I see where I stand. I’ll go fuck off and die, then.”

“Good,” Killua said dryly.

“Oh my God, Knuckle, you are so dramatic,” Canary muttered. She took a long chug of her coffee.

“Noooo,” Gon wailed, drawing out the word and draping his buff arms around his neck. Knuckle, despite his superior height, staggered under the additional weight. He sounded genuinely upset at this hypothetical. “Don’t leave meeee.”

Canary caught Kurapika’s eye, one brow arched as if to say, see what I mean? Do you see what I put up with? She spoke over the three stooges’ antics and asked, “Speaking of, where is Leorio? And Hanzo?”

“Hanzo is getting coffee and don-mmph.” Gon’s words were cut off by Knuckle and Killua slapping hands over his mouth.

“You moron, the donuts were supposed to be a surprise!” Knuckle hissed to Gon in a stage-whisper.

“You’re all morons,” Killua stated, flicking the two in the middle of their foreheads.

Kurapika watched the display before him with a curious mixture of amusement and horror. Amusement because of the… everything about these three. Horror because he had just transplanted his entire life to this island and this station, quite literally putting his life and safety in these people’s hands. And Kurapika was quite sure he would not trust these three with a plant, let alone his fine ass.

His regretful musing was cut off with a fourth shout now, so help him. Canary wasn’t far off when she called this place a frat house, apparently. The noise came from the open garage, where a fifth man was approaching them. He wore sweatpants and a black muscle tank with the sleeves cut off, showing off his tanned, thick arms. Arms that boasted a massive box of donuts and a large carton of coffee. Kurapika vaguely recognized the logo from a shop he’d passed on his way in.

“Hey!” This loud man shouted in greeting. It was early in the day, but sweat was already beading on his bald forehead. “New dude! Welcome!”

Canary sent Kurapika a small smile. “This is Hanzo.”

Kurapika smiled up at the man, sending him a short nod. “Kurapika. A pleasure.”

“No need to be formal.” Hanzo set the box of donuts on a nearby table that featured stray tools scattered from a tipped-over toolbox, half a dozen empty mugs, and three different half-empty jars of surfboard wax. “Welcome to island life, brah.”

Brah. So the surfboard wax likely belonged to him. Or maybe they all surfed? Gon had asked him, as well. Would they expect Kurapika to join them? He almost shuddered at the thought. Of sand in his hair for days, of making a fool of himself on a board, of saltwater up his nose, of sunburns over his pointy nose and pale shoulders.

(But what if he liked it? What if he loved it, the sun in his eyes and sea breeze in his face? What if he had fun and laughed, got to know this strange new group over waves and difficult calls and drinks? And then what if one of them was lost in a call, or fell from a roof, or got hit by a car, or were eaten by a shark?

No, thank you. Kurapika would show up on time, do the job, collect his paycheck, and go home. He was still washing his last crew’s blood off his hands.)

He realized it had been too long since Hanzo spoke, and the entire crew was staring at him expectantly. Heat like a sunburn crawled up the back of his neck.

Kurapika coughed, clearing his throat. “Ah. Thank you. I look forward to working with you all.” Great. That was more formal than his initial statement. He forced his lips into a smile. “Thank you for the donuts. It’s a kind gesture.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Killua said snidely, reaching past Gon and Knuckle for a donut. Chocolate glazed and cream-filled, it seemed. He sent Kurapika a feline smirk. “Leorio’s a health food nut.”

“At least he’s a good cook,” Gon said agreeably, picking up a strawberry-filled donut.

“Well, now that the gang is all here,” Canary said. She nodded to the men around her. “This is Hanzo, as you’ve heard.” The bald man waved cheerfully. “And I’m sure you’ve worked it out so far, but this is Knuckle, Gon, and Killua. We – and you, now, though you know this – make up the fire department portion of House Thirty-Six. Morel is the chief, though I’ve no idea where he is right now.”

“Stuck in a meeting with Bisky,” Killua supplied. He reached for another donut. Canary and Hanzo slapped his creeping fingers away. He wrinkled his nose distastefully and folded his arms over his chest.

“Ah, that explains it. GISD Training Coordinator,” Canary explained to Kurapika. “Leorio, Zepile, Alluka, and Pairo are our medics. And we have a social worker and counselor for mental health or emotional distress calls. Melody is a delight, and she’ll be in later. I’m sure she’ll want to say hello.”

“I… see,” Kurapika said. He opened his mouth to say more – what, he was not sure – when the rumbling of a motorcycle cut off his thoughts. The rest of the house all glanced over at the figure pulling up to the side of the building, engine roaring and head obscured by their helmet.

“Oh, there’s Leorio!” Gon observed cheerfully, already waving.

“For as much of a prick he is about healthy eating, you’d think he’d drive something safer than a Harley,” Killua muttered with the air of a tired, long-rehashed conversation.

Kurapika was not quite paying attention, because Hot Dudes on Motorcycles was kind of a Thing for him, and he was pretty sure he really wanted to know a tall, hot dude who rode a motorcycle and worked as a medic. Leorio put down the kickstand, waved to Gon, and stood up. And, Christ, he was all legs and arms, tall and svelte, broad shoulders and tapered waist flaunted by his biker jacket, long fingers going to unclasp the catches in his helmet. What were they feeding the GISD members here?

(Doesn’t he seem familiar? The still-functioning part of his brain pointed out. Like, how many other six-something guys have you seen who look like that since you got here?)

Kurapika ignored the warning bells in his head as the man removed his helmet, reaching up to run a hand through his helmet-hair like he was in a goddamn slow-motion bit in a movie. And the world was moving really slowly, right? It felt like minutes passed as this Leorio man removed his helmet to reveal sun-tanned, olive-toned skin; a strong, scruffy jaw; a slightly crooked nose; a rakish-looking eyebrow scar; hazel eyes; short, dark hair.

Hold on, Kurapika thought. His heart rate kicked up for a new reason.

“Kurapika, this is Leorio!” Gon said eagerly, his voice coming to him from a vast distance. “Leorio, this is the new guy! Kurapika! Come say hi!”

Leorio twisted his gaze to Kurapika as he approached, the beginnings of a truly devastating smile curling his lips, and was that a dimple on his cheek, holy shit –

But as they made eye contact, the smile dropped. His eyes blew wide.

Oh, shit, Kurapika was almost positive they thought at the same time. Equally in time, they pointed at each other and shouted into the suddenly horribly awkward space:

“What are you doing here?!”

This had to be a prank.

Except it would have been weird and difficult for the rest of the House to track down the “fucking tiny moron asshole” Leorio had bitched about for days. And at first Leorio was sure he was wrong. There were lots of short (average-height, really – everyone just seemed small to Leorio, a fact he had to remind himself all the time), blond, cranky, gorgeous men on this island. But this one – the one Leorio found himself in a public screaming match with, the especially cranky and gorgeous one – was the very same cranky, gorgeous man now shouting and pointing at him, in return, demanding to know what he was doing here.

Which was fucking rich. Which was why Leorio, suddenly blind to everyone else in the House and fully preparing to make an ass of himself, put his hands on his hips, tucked his motorcycle helmet under one arm, and loftily replied, “I work here.”

The man – Pika? Kurapika? Leorio had known his name since he found out House 36 was getting a new addition. He should have made the connection and felt stupid for not realizing – folded his arms over his chest. Blunt nails bit into the meat of his arms. He was so pale Leorio could watch the red flush as it crept up his neck inch by inch.

He must burn easily, Leorio thought, because he was a soft-hearted idiot even for jackasses like this guy. He needs some sunscreen. And aloe for when that’s not enough.

I wonder if he bruises easily, too, was his next thought, and there was really nothing soft-hearted or professional about that, so he shoved it out of his mind.

“I can see that,” Kurapika said.

“Uh,” Canary finally spoke up. Behind her, Hanzo, Knuckle, and Gon were watching this exchange with wide eyes. Killua crept his fingers closer to the abandoned box of donuts and snatched his third while everyone’s attention was elsewhere. “What the hell is happening here?”

“Leorio, have you two met?” Gon asked, either in a poorly-timed moment of obliviousness or a worse-timed spark of mischief. Leorio could not look away from Kurapika long enough to answer.

“You could say that.”

“Oh, is this that ‘maverick lawsuit waiting to happen’ you’ve been bitching about for a week?” Killua asked. “The one who did a tracheotomy with a pinwheel in the field because your old-man ass didn’t get there in time? Good save, Kurapika.”

“Killua,” Leorio hissed.

“Thanks,” Kurapika seemed to say automatically before the rest of Killua’s words sunk in. His lips curled in a snarl, and he whipped back around to glare at Leorio. “You talked about me? Before I even got here?”

“All the time,” Knuckle said, because he definitely had a death wish.

“Nothing nice,” Hanzo added. Kurapika went even redder, his eyes sparking like lightning on the sea. He bit his lower lip until it was white. Leorio glared, flummoxed and furious and fascinated.

“I didn’t exactly know you were going to be working here!”

“No,” Kurapika said stonily. “Because if you had, you would have done your damndest to make sure I never set foot in this building.”

Leorio grit his teeth but did not reply. He knew he would have. Who wouldn’t? Who wanted to work with a reckless, walking, talking liability? One with a heinous temper and absolutely no filter between his brain and his mouth?

People who have no other choice. People who want to help when help is just out of reach. You.

Zepile needed to keep his big fat mouth shut in the future, Leorio thought irritably.

Their standoff finally ended with a single brusque clearing of a throat. Leorio whipped around, almost dropping his helmet in the process, to see Captain Morel and Chief Training Coordinator Krueger standing together in the doorway to the hangar. Morel was wearing his tiny sunglasses as usual, but Leorio knew enough by the downturn to his mouth that he was not pleased and there were two dozen laps and a fresh coat of wax on the aid car in his imminent future.

Completely unperturbed by the stormy atmosphere, Bisky strolled forward to greet Kurapika. She stretched out one hand expectantly.

“Kurapika, welcome,” she said. “How are you settling in?”

The newcomer blinked down at her, looking taken aback. Now that he was not shouting up in Leorio’s face, Kurapika’s shoulders relaxed. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear in a gesture that seemed more nervous than functional.

Cute, Leorio thought, totally unbidden, before internally kicking himself.

“Well enough,” Kurapika replied. “The island is beautiful, and the people have, generally, been… overwhelmingly welcoming.”

Leorio thought of the combined energies of Gon, Knuckle, and Hanzo, and he almost snickered at the intentionally diplomatic phrasing.

Then he cottoned on to the “generally” part of that sentence, and the twitching smile on his mouth died.

“I understand you and the rest of the department have been extremely helpful in getting my brother and I situated and accommodated,” Kurapika added. He smiled down at Bisky. “I… truly cannot express how much I appreciate it.”

Bisky dropped his hand and waved his thanks away, making a loud pssh sound. “It’s the law. And we look after our team. Now, I need to get back to HQ. Nice to meet you, welcome to the island, have a good first day, don’t kill anyone, Morel will get you settled. Goodbye everyone, have a good shift! Morel, remember what I said.”

“If I forget, you’ll surely remind me,” Morel said dryly.

“Damn right.” Bisky flounced off in a handwave. She passed by the food table, dark eyes laying on the takeout gallon coffee container. “Ooh, coffee! Don’t mind if I do!”

Without further ado, she hefted up the untouched takeout container and walked out with it. Leorio swallowed another chuckle at the power move, biting his lip when he heard Morel exhale deeply. Leorio looked back at the rest of his crew, eyeing the various expressions of surprise, confusion, and bemusement, and finally landed on Kurapika’s perturbed depression. His brow was furrowed, head tilted, wisps of blond hair falling over his forehead. He looked like he was only a year or two younger than Leorio, but the expression could only be described as a pout.

Really cute, Leorio thought before he remembered that he really didn’t like this guy.

“So.”

Morel stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. He looked between Leorio and Kurapika, his expression unimpressed. “I see you’ve met.”

Morel led the way into his office, his newest hire and best medic meekly following. There was a tension headache building behind his eyes, and he already couldn’t wait to get out at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. He led the way into his office. All three of them were silent as Morel showed them into his office, holding the door open for them just so he could shut it with an ominous click into the tense silence.

“So,” Morel started. Their eyes snapped to him as he crossed the room to sit at his desk. “We need to have a word.”

Leorio and Kurapika exchanged distrustful looks but chorused together, “Yes, captain?”

“Take a seat, gentlemen,,” Morel stated. “I’m not craning my neck to look up at you two.”

Leorio stepped past Kurapika to sit in the more comfortable chair. Kurapika’s lip curled, looking irritated, but he did not say more. Slowly, he lowered himself into the second chair as well. Morel went on, “First thing’s first. I’ve been receiving periodic updates from Doctor Cheadle from Island East on the patient’s status.”

“How is he?” Kurapika asked.

“He will make a full recovery,” Morel assured him, and Kurapika’s shoulders loosened. He gave a soft sigh of relief. Leorio eyed Kurapika out of the corner of his eye, still frowning, though his eyes softened slightly. Not that he seemed all that pleased about it. A great sign, surely, Morel thought sourly. His headache worsened.

“Moving on,” Morel said. “After speaking with Dr. Cheadle, the GISD has accepted her professional opinion that the patient would not have survived transport to the hospital without extraordinary measures. Which is why, Kurapika, instead of firing you on your first day for violation of about twenty GISD policies and procedures, your probationary period has been extended for an additional three months.”

Morel had wondered what Kurapika might have to say about this decision. It was quite an extension, from six to nine months, and a probationary period of any time would have been unpopular with a firefighter of Kurapika’s experience. But the GISD had decided that between the move, the loss of his previous firehouse, and his time out of the field, the six-month probation was a safety valve for Kurapika as much as it was for the rest of the House.

To his surprise and mild relief, Kurapika did not argue. Instead, he only nodded once. “I understand. Thank you, captain.”

“And another thing,” Morel said. “I also heard from several other staff members at the hospital that you two got into an… altercation in the ambulance bay at the hospital.”

He dipped his chin to properly glare down Leorio and Kurapika. “And that will not happen again. I get that tempers were high and that you were strangers. But you’re here now, and you know where you stand, and I expect you to work together. You don’t need to be friends. I don’t care if you don’t particularly like each other. But when you two walk through those doors, you’re on the same team. You are adults. Act like it. I won’t call you down to the principal’s office for a warning again. Do you understand?”

Leorio ducked his head. Kurapika clenched his jaw. Both men sent each other uncharitable looks out of the corner of their eyes. But together they chorused, “Yes, captain.”

“Good,” Morel said simply. “Leorio, show him around. Put this thing behind you. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Leorio and Kurapika said together. They sent each other dubious looks as they rose to leave. It was progress, Morel supposed, watching them leave.

“Door open or closed?” Kurapika asked, glancing back over his shoulder. Courteous of him. He’d be a riot, Morel decided.

“Closed. Give me a few more minutes before the day goes down the drain.” Morel let a wan smirk cross his lips. “But my door is always metaphorically open. Always feel free to knock. Welcome to GISD, Kurapika.”

Kurapika did not quite smile, though the tense lines around his eyes and mouth loosened just a bit. He nodded once. “Thank you, sir.”

The two men left, giving Morel a few moments of blessed silence. Distantly he could hear Gon, Knuckle, and Hanzo thundering around, probably heading into the gym to work too hard too early in the day. He prayed Killua or Canary was with them to prevent any injuries or shenanigans. They’d just patched up the drywall in the exercise room…

Sighing, Morel pulled his phone out of his pocket. He smiled gratefully to see a notification, knowing without unlocking his phone just who it was. Sure enough, there was a text from his husband waiting for him.

How did probie and medic-wrangling go? Knov had texted. Morel thought for a few moments before sending off:

Suspiciously well. I’m not sure if they were behaving for me so they could get in a knife-fight in the hangar, or if they are genuinely going to try and patch things up and work together.

The read receipt popped up immediately. Morel watched the typing bubble animated for a few seconds until Knov replied, Surely you have some expectations, Captain?

Morel scoffed out a laugh. I expect them to give me more gray hairs before the new guy’s probation is over.

Knov read the message. Then he replied, I expect they’ll be together within the year.

The sound Morel made at that text was a curious mix of a laugh, a grunt, and a groan. Because he’d never say as much, as their captain, but that was something he expected, too.

What followed the morning welcome-warning from Morel was perhaps the most awkward housewarming tour in history.

House 36 was as impressive and clean inside as it was outside. Wall-to-wall glass windows were everywhere, shined to transparency and flaunting million-dollar views of the sand and surf. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, their thick green fronds rustling like papers. Leorio walked Kurapika through the welcome area, the garage with their trucks (which they called the hangar), the exercise room, the lockers, the bunk beds for their overnight shifts, the equipment room, the dozen storage rooms, the lounge room and attached kitchen.

“We take turns making dinner on rotation,” Leorio explained, pointing to a whiteboard near the massive refrigerator. The kitchen boasted an enormous granite island that seated eight. Kurapika wondered if this kitchen was the size of his new apartment. “Three nights cooking, three nights dishes, two days off. Do you have any food allergies?”

Kurapika blinked, off-guard by the question. “Um. No?”

As if he wasn’t sure. But Leorio carried on in stride, pointing to a chart taped to the fridge door. “Well, if that changes, and when you start cooking – uh, we can add you to the rotation tomorrow, I guess? Seems like hazing to ask you to cook on the first day – you can check here.”

“I see,” Kurapika said. He quickly scanned the sheet. Hanzo was allergic to tree nuts, Canary to strawberries, Morel to mushrooms. Killua had written he was allergic to vegetables, which someone had crossed out. Kurapika could surmise who because, beneath it, Killua had scribbled in revenge, Leorio is allergic to fun.

Leorio seemed to notice at the same time. A red flush, either in irritation or embarrassment, crept up his neck as he reached for a pen.

“Little shit,” Leorio muttered, scratching out the graffiti. “I’m very fun.”

Kurapika’s eyes skimmed the breadth of Leorio’s shoulders again, and he wondered just how much fun he could be. Internally slapping himself with the reminder that Leorio was now his coworker, and moreover Leorio was kind of an asshole, he said instead, “I wouldn’t know.”

Leorio shot him a look, and Kurapika remembered he was kind of an asshole, too.

But instead of retorting with something snippy, Leorio only said, “This is pretty much the tour. D’you have any questions?”

He asked the question like he really, really hoped Kurapika would not have any questions. Like he wanted to be as far from Kurapika as possible as soon as possible. Which on one hand was fair, because Kurapika’s own feelings were an unfortunate mix of feeling simultaneously too close and not close enough to Leorio. He could probably stand some space between them, himself. On the other hand, they needed to actually work out how to talk to each other without devolving into shouts.

“No,” Kurapika said honestly, because he was going to take the high road on this. “Thank you for the tour.”

“Sure.” An expectant pause, like Leorio was waiting for him to say something else. Like what, Kurapika wondered? His life story? An apology? He hadn’t done anything wrong (officially), and if put back in that situation in the restaurant, he would do the same thing all over again. He would not dredge up their first fight and offend Leorio all over again (glass-shelled, gorgeous bastard) with an apology he didn’t actually mean.

Leorio’s jaw worked, like he wanted to say something but was forcing himself not to. His mouth tightened slightly. Before Kurapika could ask him what exactly his fucking deal was, Leorio turned toward the attached lounge area. The arm of his jacket brushed Kurapika’s shoulder, inadvertently sending a wave of his cologne washing over him. The sea, motor oil, something like fire smoke. Kurapika’s stupid lizard brain conjured up a the mental image of Leorio in a muscle tank, working on his bike, grease on his fingers and a wrench in his hands, and he felt his heart rate increase.

Kurapika whirled around to watch Leorio move, reaching for a box that sat abandoned on the center table.

Who the hell are you? he wanted to demand. What the fuck is this? Increased horniness is not a symptom of PTSD, so what the hell is happening here? Do you feel this freakish, instant magnetism, too? Wanna talk about it? Wanna fight about it? Wanna kiss about it?

“Here,” Leorio said, because he was not a disastrous husk of a dead man walking and was, ostensibly, a functional member of this team. He handed Kurapika a folded piece of cloth, black with neon-orange accents along the arms, chest, and back. The emblem on the chest bore the logo and initials of the Greed Island Safety Department. “Your jacket. Should have your call sign on the back.”

“Thanks,” Kurapika said. His mouth was oddly dry. He licked his lips. Leorio sent him another inscrutable look before turning away to leave. The orange letters on his back again mocked him, Knight splayed out in bright orange across his shoulders.

“What’s with your call sign?” Kurapika asked, attempting pleasant conversation. “‘Knight.’ Is that some kind of nickname? A metaphor?”

Leorio stared at him. He blinked, confused. He sort of looked at Kurapika like he might be a moron, which was a) rude and b) true, but hey, before he explained slowly, “It’s… my name. My full name is Leorio Paladiknight.”

Oh. Oh! Cool! Kurapika was going to throw himself into the ocean outside.

“But ‘Paladiknight’ is a bit of a mouthful,” Leorio was still explaining, which made this entire thing that much more embarrassing. And also a bit insulting. Kurapika was not that stupid. And how was he supposed to know Leorio’s full damn name in the first place? In case he’d forgotten, Kurapika was new here. “Especially in the field. So I shortened it.”

“Yes, I gathered,” Kurapika said. The syllables were clipped from suppressed irritation. He took a breath to stem his rising annoyance. “Kurapika. But you know that now, I suppose.”

“I suppose so,” Leorio said coolly. “Last name?”

None of your damn business, Kurapika wanted to say, just to be a bitch and escalate the situation. But he was at work, and he ought to be a professional, so he simply said, “Lukso. It’s for the region my family is from.”

“Like the Lukso Mountains?” Leorio asked, surprising Kurapika. The Lukso Mountains were a small subsection of a much larger mountain range that the three countries surrounding them had fought over for decades now. It was part of why the Kurta people were spread so thin around the world now, decades into the conflict.

“You know them?”

Leorio shrugged. “I watch the news. I take it you’re Kurta?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said, surprised again into honesty. And genuine conversation, apparently. “My brother and I both.”

“Cool,” Leorio said. He looked like he might want to ask more but wasn’t sure how that might be taken. Which… yeah, any future meeting they had was going to be awkward after the ambulance bay. But Leorio did not need to walk on eggshells to this degree. Kurapika was a little jerk in his own right, but he was not a bomb.

Be professional, be nice, Pairo’s voice of reason in his head soothed. Kurapika asked, “What about you?”

Leorio shrugged dismissively. “My life story is nothing special. I was born here, been here all my life. Med school didn’t work out, so this is the next best thing.”

“Oh,” Kurapika said blandly. “Cool.”

A long, awkward silence lingered between them. Neither of them seemed to have any idea how to talk to the other. Kurapika found himself sighing with relief when the alarm started screeching, calling for the Aid Car. He registered Leorio shooting him one last half-irritated, half-inscrutable glare, like he had less of an idea of what to make of him than Kurapika did of him. Kurapika refrained from saying something snappy as Leorio got up and wordlessly jogged out of the room.

“Explains why it took you so long last time,” Kurapika muttered, watching Leorio’s island-time pace. As if he’d heard, Leorio stuck his middle finger up in parting just before he turned the corner and vanished from view.

Swallowing his irritation, Kurapika left the lounge to find his new colleagues.

Pairo’s new manager was a tall, skinny man named Kite. He wore his waist-length silver hair loose, and the eyes beneath his navy cap seemed perpetually bruised from lack of sleep. But he also had a smooth, soothing voice and a patient bearing, so Pairo felt very welcomed as Kite showed him around the dispatch center. Which did not take particularly long, as it was only one floor in this five-story building, and most of it was taken up by the open room that boasted two dozen call desks. Then there was Kite’s private, glass-doored office (what was it with glass doors here?), the break room, and the bathrooms, and… that was it, mostly. Pairo smiled at his new coworkers when he sensed their stares. With his glasses on, he could see most of them. Within twenty feet, that was.

“Do you have any questions?” Kite asked at the end of the tour, once they’d returned to the office to finish up some last-minute paperwork.

Pairo considered that. The paperwork was all pretty standard. He and the GISD Accessibility Coordinator had emailed back-and-forth a lot over the past several weeks, making sure that he would have everything he needed to do his job to the best of his stellar abilities on day one. And the GISD used the same software Yorknew did, which meant Pairo was already familiar with the program’s ins and outs. He knew he was going to have someone shadowing him for the first week, as a matter of policy, which Pairo had no issues with. It would be nice to have someone there for support as he learned where everything was on this enormous island.

“I don’t think so,” Pairo said. He signed the last of his onboarding paperwork and slid it back to Kite. The manager skimmed the various sheets before nodding once and tucking them into a manila folder.

“Excellent,” Kite said. He sent Pairo a weary smile. Pairo wondered if the man had slept at all last night. “If you’ll follow me.”

He rose to his feet, indicating for Pairo to follow after him. Kite walked him to a desk console in the far back, which showed a level of thoughtfulness Pairo deeply appreciated. Sitting here, he would be spared the curious-if-mostly-welcoming stares of his new coworkers and could simply focus on getting his work done.

There was someone already sitting at the desk, and she leapt to her feet with a bright grin as the two approached.

“Hello! Pairo, right? Welcome!” The woman said. She was nearly Pairo’s height, pale-skinned and dark-haired, with eyes such a deep blue Pairo could not discern between the iris and pupil. She wore the same emerald green polo shirt as Kite, showing she was one of the managers of the dispatch center. Pairo would have guessed she was in her early twenties, which made her manager status all the more impressive. “I’m Nanika, and I’ll be working with you for the coming week! I’m pretty positive you won’t need me much, but since I know you’re new to the island, I hope I can offer a little help! How have you settled in?”

Pairo replied with the standard niceties, and Kite bid him a pleasant first day and left. Pairo sat in the rolling chair at his desk and plugged in his personal headpiece for calls. Nanika did the same thing, though hers was an adorable pair of pink gamer headphones with cat ears. Pairo noted they were detachable, and the fact that this woman chose to keep the ears attached at work struck him as a delightful quirk and a very intentional power move.

As Pairo logged into the system, his fingers fumbling slightly on the unfamiliar keyboard, he noticed the standard accessibility mods were already installed and in effect. He bit back a smile; he knew these were the baseline accessibility things he was owed by law, but to already have them installed and ready to go? Not to need to go back-and-forth on them?

That was a breath of fresh air nicer than anything he’d inhaled yet on this island.

“I also have a second reason for shadowing you,” Nanika confessed once they were settled and the rest of the call center staff had returned to their business. The calls never stopped, and they wouldn’t get any fodder for gossip or friendly conversation with his face hidden behind three screens. Nanika beamed at Pairo. “I know that you have some accessibility needs, so I’m also here to help troubleshoot anything as it comes up. I’ve got a degree in software engineering, so I made a few additions to the base system you’re used to. They’re there for you if you want to give them a whirl. Or not! Totally your choice. I can find someone else to pilot this software; you’re not a guinea pig. I’m here to offer support as you get used to the city and troubleshoot any issues that may come up.”

Pairo smiled faintly at the young woman, who grew a little more flustered and anxious the longer she rambled.

“I appreciate your consideration,” he assured her. He eyed the screen and stretched his arms, his wrists, cracked his knuckles. “You know what? Let’s give it a go. Could be fun.”

“Yay!” Nanika actually did a little clap. Then she showed him which buttons to toggle to turn on some of the features: street-view maps; building plans on official record, their electric work and breaker boxes and gas lines on display; voice-generated addresses supplied by the caller and cross-checked with the map of the island on record; automatic triangulation between cell towers and the caller location. The latter was already an automatic feature, but Nanika’s program pinged the call off of five cell towers rather than the traditional three. Although, like the base software, that only worked if someone was calling from a cellphone. It they were using a payphone or a landline and weren’t able to provide an address, the program wouldn’t be able to help. It would just be down to Pairo.

It made the first half of Pairo’s day fly by. The software additions were easy and intuitive, and there were remarkably few bugs to the pilot software. Nanika wrote notes in a little pocketbook as she observed him and the program, but mostly she sat quietly as Pairo worked. It was almost like she was the one shadowing him, though she sometimes hopped in to help out when the system got wonky or just to offer a little additional support.

“You’re incredibly talented,” Pairo told Nanika during a brief lull in their calls. He sipped the coffee that Nanika had brought over from the break room. They had one of those fancy coffee machines that made special coffee-shop drinks without them needing to go out. It was probably the single-best perk of the job Pairo had encountered so far. “How long have you been doing this?”

Nanika grinned into her latte. “A few years. My parents homeschooled us, so I was on a bit of an… accelerated life path, shall we say.”

“I see,” Pairo said. “And now?”

Nanika’s grin widened, went sharp and toothy like a shark’s maw. “They flipped their lids when their twins came out. Suffice it to say we don’t talk anymore.”

“Ah,” Pairo said. He shifted awkwardly in his chair. He could not imagine the pain of having parents that would change their love for their child based on their sexuality or gender. But the Kurta had a more fluid approach to these things, and his parents had been supportive of him and Kurapika their whole lives. “I’m sorry. It was rude of me to pry.”

Nanika laughed. “You hardly pried at all! If anything, I overshared. Bad habit of mine.”

There was an edge to her smile. Pairo lightly tapped her ankle with his foot.

“Seriously,” he said gently. “I’ve heard it all, between growing up gay and sitting on this end of the line. It’s okay.”

Nanika tilted her head a little, considering him. The computer screen made her dark eyes glitter with a curious, intelligent fire. Spirited woman. She would get along well with Kurapika.

“Thanks, Pairo,” she said. This time, her smile was brighter. “Let’s hop back to it, then!”

Pairo nodded, tapping the screen to connect them to their next call.

Right away the line connected. A suspected gas leak from the local convention center, disrupting an annual entomology conference. Pairo pulled up the specs to find the nearest Aid Car and found one just wrapping up a scene five blocks away.

“Aid Car 36-401, this is dispatch,” Pairo said.

A pause. Then: “Dispatch, this is Aid Car 36-401. What’ve you got for us?”

Pairo blinked at his screen. The voice was a smooth baritone, pleasant to listen to. The kind of voice that made famous podcasts and narrated audiobooks. Quickly, Pairo brought himself back to his job, relaying the necessary information. The speaker listened patiently and asked a few follow-up questions, seeming genuinely delighted when Pairo could answer them.

“This has been really helpful, thank you,” the man said. “I think that’s everything we need, though I’ll have my headset in when we go inside. We’ll coordinate with the rest of House 36 when we get there. Oh, also! Who is this?”

Pairo frowned vaguely at his screen. He tried not to think about his brother riding in a firetruck for the first time in nearly a year. He wondered how he was, if he was alright. He prayed he would be.

Pairo replied, “This is dispatch? I thought I said that at the start, but maybe I forgot?”

The man laughed at that response, a bright, cheerful sound. Patiently, he explained, “You did, don’t worry. But I don’t think I’ve heard you at the other end of the radio before. Are you new?”

Ah. Yes! Right! That made much more sense than a random man dialing into the dispatch frequency and just saying random shit into the frequency. Flushing up his neck, he said, “Oh! Yes. No. It’s my first day. I mean – I’m new to the area, not new to dispatching.” Not that this guy would believe him, after an introduction like that.

“Welcome to the GISD, then!” the man said. To Pairo’s surprise and eternal gratitude, the mystery paramedic blew past whatever all that awkwardness was. “I’m Altair. What did you say your name was?”

Pairo didn’t, and he appreciated that this paramedic asked him a second – no, a third, what was up with him today – time what his name was. Like he really wanted to know. Like he really cared and appreciated his work. He could feel Nanika’s side-eye and Cheshire grin on his profile, and he thanked his stars that he was experienced in remaining calm in much more dire situations than a beautiful voice saying sweet things to him through a radio. He answered, “Pairo. My name is Pairo.”

“Pairo,” Altair repeated, a smile in his voice. “Well, we’ve arrived at the scene. I’ll hop off now to get to it, but I hope to hear from you again today. Have a good first day.”

“You, too,” Pairo said without thinking. He barely refrained from smacking his head against his desk. Nanika stiffened in that way all people trying not to laugh did. “I mean…” He trailed off when Altair laughed again from the other end of the line. It was a free, unrestrained sort of smile, one of simple, innocent amusement. Despite his embarrassment, Pairo found himself laughing right along with him.

“Thank you,” Altair replied at last. “Sometimes it feels like the first day all over again, you know?”

Pairo did know. He’d had calls where the person on the other end of the line was scared, was confused, was angry, was in mortal peril. There were moments when, despite all his training and experience, he found himself frozen at his computer screen. His fingers would hover over the keys, precious seconds ticking past as he tried to sort out who to call, who was closest and the best and the safest.

There was a deeply cynical message among dispatchers: when seconds count, help is only minutes away. Pairo tried not to fall into that one-way mental trap, but sometimes it was hard.

Pairo had lost people on calls. To fires, to accidents, to violence. He tallied them in his heart and tracked the dates of their calls in a little notebook, a memoriam to all the people he let down. Pairo would look at the page and think about what he would do better in the future. On the anniversary dates of those calls, Pairo would send up a little prayer and light an incense stick at home for them, because everyone deserved someone to mourn their passing. Kurapika wouldn’t say anything on those days, only join him in quiet contemplation and bring him his favorite hot chocolate from the café down the street.

(Every day Pairo was grateful he had not added the date of the high-rise fire to his notebook. The initial call had not been his, though Pairo ultimately hopped on the line to help coordinate resources and trucks and internal escape routes. He listened to Kurapika’s former colleagues die so Kurapika did not have to do it alone. He coached, bolstered, comforted, demanded Kurapika not to give up on him, to breathe and to fight on.

Pairo wasn’t sure what he would have done if his brother had died, too, that night. He wondered if he would have survived it. Deep down, Pairo knew he would not.)

“I do,” Pairo confessed quietly. He’d never told anyone this. He’d never even talked to Kurapika about it. His hero of an older brother had been through enough, had done enough. More than his fair share of people had died on his calls. Pairo could not burden him more, especially after this last year.

But something about Altair’s naturally warm, patient voice and the anonymity of not knowing his face made it easy to confess this truth.

But Pairo rallied himself, as he always did. “Take care, be safe, Altair.”

Another gentle chuckle. Pairo might have listened to it all day. “With your eyes in the sky? I will be.”

Pairo swallowed thickly as the call disconnected. With your eyes in the sky? I will be.

My eyes, Pairo thought, staring at his screen with its high contrast and extra-large lettering. What a joke, to place one’s life and safety in Pairo Lukso’s eyes.

What a gift, that trust.

And one given to a stranger, from a stranger, no less. Pairo would prove himself worthy of that trust.

Nanika poked him in the meat of his arm, sending him a tiny little smirk. “I have an in with him, if you’re interested.”

Pairo’s cheeks flushed red. “Shush.”

“I do!” Nanika insisted, laughing. “My sister works with him. And my brother, I guess, but. Pssh. Details.” She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “And he’s single.”

“I’m going back to work,” Pairo insisted. He pushed on the arm of her chair and sent Nanika skittering across the tile floor, laughing. She threw him one last knowing smirk as she rolled herself back to the desk and settled in, sitting cross-legged.

But Pairo thought of Altair’s voice, his low laugh rumbling in his ear, and he tucked that knowledge in his back pocket for later.

As the day wore on, Kurapika’s fears that he lost his touch in the near-year since he donned his turnout gear slowly faded. When the klaxons went off, calling them to a suspected gas leak at a local convention center, muscle memory took over. He dragged his heavy-duty, fire-resistant overalls, thick, insulated cloth that went as high as his navel that was held up by neon-orange suspenders. Over the top of that went his jacket, with bold orange letters spelling Lukso on the back. He climbed into the truck, accepting the probie seat without needing to be told. This was the one time he was grateful for being kind of short, sitting in the squished middle seat in the cabin area. He found himself squarely between Knuckle and Hanzo, a precarious position that for once made Kurapika grateful for his completely average height and slim frame.

The one thing he hadn’t received was a radio to contact the rest of his crew, something he found vaguely worrying until Killua, sitting across from him with his jacket still unzipped in violation of regulations, and passed him a small box.

“Welcome to the crew,” Killua said. “Take your pick.”

Dubiously, Kurapika opened the small container. It held a series of small, flesh-colored earwigs, like the kind from spy movies.

“Um,” Kurapika started.

“The radios we have are all old-school,” Killua explained. “Liable to melt, or go on the fritz at the first drop of water or when the temperature gets too high, or get hacked. So, y’know, great for a fire department on a tropical island.”

“I’m sorry, get hacked?” Kurapika repeated. “Are we secret agents or firefighters?”

“You’d be surprised at how the two can overlap,” Knuckle chortled from his left.

“Yeah, and Killua is very tinfoil-hat about all this shit,” Hanzo snickered from his right, breaking off with a cry when Killua kicked him in the shin.

“Ow, you little shit,” Hanzo swore.

“Gentlemen,” Morel warned from the captain’s seat up front. He sounded less like a fire captain and more like a dad on a road trip. Kurapika caught Canary’s eye in the mirror as she drove; she sent him a smirk and a wink. Kurapika got the sense that she appreciated having another straight man (in the comedic sense, rather than the literal one) to keep the rest of the crew in line.

With a shrug, Kurapika plucked one of the earwigs from the box and tucked it into his ear. His phone vibrated in his lap, and he plucked it up to check. Unsurprisingly (obviously – who else would text him?), it was an message from Pairo.

Good luck, take care today, Pairo wrote. Don’t be stupid.

Kurapika rolled his eyes, shooting off two quick replies. The first read, will do. The second was simply the 🖕 emoji.

“Boyfriend?” Knuckle asked, peeking over Kurapika’s shoulder. Kurapika tried not to choke on air, and he mostly succeeded.

“Brother,” Kurapika explained. “Though I appreciate the openness.”

“‘Course,” Knuckle said. “I think most all of us are some flavor of queer? ‘Cept Hanzo.”

“I tried!” Hanzo protested. “It just wasn’t for me!”

Kurapika frowned, confused. Tried what, exactly?

He met Killua’s eye. The man rolled his eyes and mouthed, don’t ask.

Their first call went smoothly. There was indeed a gas leak, so Kurapika donned his oxygen mask and cleared the building. He, Canary, and Gon took the east side of the convention center, and Knuckle and Hanzo took the west. Morel oversaw medical out front, where Leorio and Zepile took the lead of the scene. A few minutes after they arrived, the House 36’s second aid car arrived as well.

Kurapika’s knuckles ached from rapping on doors. They directed a few stragglers to the exit, hardcore scientists who smelled the leak and thought this was a great opportunity to see how their bugs reacted to the gas. One person was overcome from the fumes, needing to lean heavily on Gon’s shoulder before their knees could no longer take their weight. Without halting his steps, Gon stooped a little and lifted them up over his shoulder in an effortless fireman’s carry that Kurapika honestly envied a little.

“What do you bench?” Kurapika asked as they exited the building. He pulled his mask off his face, pushing his sweaty bangs back from his head. Damn, he was not built for the humidity.

“Uh, three-fifty? Four hundred?” Gon guessed. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. Another thing to be jealous of.

Kurapika let out a low whistle. “Impressive.”

“Thanks!” Gon beamed. “Do you want to join us? Hanzo, Knuckle, Killua, and I like to lift.”

From his other side, Canary stifled a snicker at her own private joke. Gon did not seem to notice, carrying on, “Killua isn’t much into the bulking though, and nor are Leorio or Altair. Zepile and Alluka hate the gym.”

“I see,” Kurapika said. “And you, Canary?”

Canary shrugged, sending him an enigmatic sort of smile. “I swim.”

“Ask her why her nickname is Gold sometime,” Gon told Kurapika. Canary gently nudged him to the medical area and sent Kurapika a glance that ordered, please do not do that.

The rest of the call wrapped up smoothly. Killua performed some magic with an aerosol dye he pushed through the vents, revealing the spots where the gas leaked and spraying some kind of foam over the cracked pipes.

“It’s a band-aid, not a total patch-up, but it’ll do for now,” Killua explained to the building manager. “The conference can safely go on, but call the gas and construction companies as soon as possible to get things patched up.”

The building manager agreed, thanking them all profusely for their work and for saving him from over two thousand pissed off entomologists. Without further ado, House 36’s crew climbed back into their truck to head back to the station. Or their next call, whichever came first.

Kurapika lifted his brows. “Are things that busy here? In Yorknew we at least had a little time between calls.”

Killua groaned something about jinxes; Hanzo sent Kurapika a wide white grin. “Why do you think it’s twenty-four hours on, forty-eight off?”

“Because of union laws?” Kurapika answered, nonplussed.

“What he means,” Morel piped up over the comms as a very familiar voice relayed their next call over dispatch, “Is who do you think made those laws necessary?”

Kurapika bit back a smile as Canary turned on the sirens. He was not going to fall into fun banter with this crew. They were not going to become friends and be one big happy family.

He wasn’t. He wouldn’t. He could not survive losing his House twice.

Then Kurapika actually heard what their call entailed, and he whipped around in his seat to glare at the dispatch radio like it had personally offended him. Which, considering who relayed this particular message, it had.

“Are you kidding me, Pairo?”

Knuckle laughed hard, his shoulder knocking into Kurapika’s side. “Now you’ve been fully initiated into the GISD!”

Kurapika said nothing. Because, what the fuck, he wondered over and over as the truck raced up mountain paths towards the thick black smoke marring the cloudless blue sky.

What the fuck? Why? Who would think to create a flamethrower with bug spray?

The wet, humid air was even warmer than usual from the fire, Kurapika grumpily observed as he leapt down from the truck. His shirt was sticking his back from sweat, and his shoulders ached from the weight of the oxygen he needed to carry. Was he really this out of shape, he wondered? At least he wasn’t gallivanting around in this heat in a binder.

No time to properly appreciate that right now, though. Morel took over the scene with his usual brusque efficiency, ordering Leorio and Zepile to set up a base triage for the various coughing tourists running from the forest. He split the firefighters into two groups: Kurapika, Hanzo, and Knuckle in one, and Gon, Canary, and Killua in the other. Morel also split up their second paramedic team and instructed them to go, too, in case of more severe injuries deeper in the forest.

Kurapika met their assigned medic as he hopped off the aid car. He caught Kurapika’s eye and sent him a pleasant smile. He was one of the few men Kurapika had met who was actually shorter than he was, with warm-toned, deeply tanned skin, bright blue eyes, and dark hair tied into a low ponytail behind his head. He held out a hand as Kurapika approached, introducing himself as Altair.

“Lots of new people today, it seems!” He said cheerfully, which made very little sense to Kurapika. Before he could ask just what that meant, Altair nodded in his colleague’s direction. The woman wore the same uniform Altair did, and there was something deeply familiar about her graceful features and round, bright blue eyes as she bickered with Killua. The similarity was immediately explained when she turned around, revealing the matching Zoldyck call signs on their backs.

“His little sister,” Altair explained without Kurapika needing to ask. “The Zoldycks are an… affluent family on the island. Caused a bit of a stir when the youngest four broke away to do their own thing.”

“‘Their own thing?’” Kurapika quoted. Altair shrugged, shouldering his med kit higher over his shoulder.

“Not run the casinos,” Altair elaborated. They fell into step behind Knuckle and Hanzo as they made their way deeper into the forest.

Kurapika swore he could feel assessing hazel eyes burning between his shoulders as he walked away, but he did not look over his shoulder to check for sure. Maybe he was afraid to be wrong and make an even greater fool of himself than he had already. Maybe he was even more afraid to be right. Kurapika had a feeling that there was nothing on this tropical island more mesmerizing than Leorio Paladiknight’s undivided attention.

Focus, Kurapika ordered himself. You are literally on a scene in an unfamiliar environment on the first day of your new job. Get a grip.

“Casinos?” Kurapika asked.

Altair seemed chatty, which suited Kurapika just fine. Patiently, the medic explained, “Yeah. You know the island’s stupid gimmick, ‘The World’s Playground?’ That was coined by Zeno Zoldyck in the seventies, and the family has only lived up to it ever since. Their casinos and hotels and shows all make Vegas look like Reno. Have you checked them out yet?”

“I’m not much for gambling,” Kurapika confessed. The crush of noise and people made his anxiety spike, and the neon lights and eye-searingly bright colors were murder on Pairo’s eyes.

“Nor am I,” Altair shared, sending Kurapika a warm smile. He called ahead to Knuckle and Hanzo, “What’s the plan, gentlemen?”

Hanzo huffed out a breath, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Well, the good news is it’s the wet season, so ninety-nine percent of the forest is too wet to actually burn.”

Knuckle snickered like a child. Hanzo frowned, confused, before he rolled his eyes and exchanged a long-suffering look with Kurapika as if to say, do you see what I deal with?

Kurapika had to bite hard on his lower lip to stifle a chuckle. Hanzo went on, pointing at the sky and telling him, “That’s why there’s so much smoke. And the network of hiking trails in this area creates natural trenches that stop the fire from traveling more. And this part of the rainforest ends at the river coming down Kukuroo Mountain, so this fire is actually pretty well contained without us needing to do much at all. And controlled burns are good for the ecosystem, so it’s actually better for the forest and more efficient our own resources to let the fire burn itself out naturally – within reason, of course. We’re here to make sure everyone gets out safely.”

“Hanzo goes hiking with Gon a lot,” Knuckle told Kurapika. “Hence the little nature lesson.”

“I don’t mind it,” Kurapika said. He craned his neck back to take in the leafy canopy. Everything was so green. The air here was heavy and damp, even with the fire snaking through the underbrush. And it smelled like smoke and wet earth and musky flowers. “It’s all new information to me. Yorknew didn’t have  anything like this.”

Knuckle laughed, saying wistfully, “Yeah, you’re from the city city. Yorknew freakin’ City, baby. I’ve always wanted to visit. I bet there wasn’t this much green in the whole place, huh?”

Kurapika smiled faintly, shaking his head. “There was –”

He didn’t even have time to brace himself: one moment he was agreeing that, no, there was remarkably little foliage in an urban center of over ten million people, and the next he was flying through the air as Knuckle dove at him and Altair. Belatedly, Kurapika heard branches snapping, but that faded from his mind as Knuckle’s heavy body crashed down over his stomach. Kurapika distantly heard Altair cough as he landed roughly onto his back, the wind knocked out of him.

But for three seconds – three nightmarish, excrutiating seconds – Kurapika was back in that burning building. The trees became gray cinder block support beams and crumbling drywall; the blue sky grew hazy with a thick layer of black smoke; the golden sunlight became a warped, twisted, blood orange. Knuckle’s weight over his front pressed against healing scars that were suddenly open and fresh again, and Kurapika could not breathe, could not get enough air from the heat and the smoke and the support beam pressing down on his gut, and he could hear Pairo over the comms -

“Breathe, Pika, just breathe, help is coming, help is on the way –”

(But that was wrong, do you see, Kurapika was the help on the way, but Kurapika could not help anyone pinned under this collapsed ceiling, and he heard his fellow firefighters breathing their last over his comms, and Kurapika could only listen, lay there and listen as their calls for help and murmurs of support tapered off one by one –)

“Kurapika?”

Kurapika snapped back to the here and now. The weight on his stomach was gone, and Knuckle had sat back onto his haunches. Altair was perched next to him, blue eyes concerned and calculating. Over his shoulder, Hanzo was stomping out the flames on a fallen tree.

Kurapika scrambled upright, head swimming, saying automatically, “I’m fine. I just got the wind knocked out of me.”

Knuckle tilted his head like a puppy, thinking that reply over, before he nodded. Altair looked much more skeptical, but after another long moment he offered a hand to Kurapika to heft him to his feet.

“How did you notice that?” Kurapika asked Knuckle. He approached the dead tree with his extinguisher and sprayed out the last of the flames. Hanzo caught his eye and sent an appreciative nod.

Knuckle shrugged. “It was the only tree without leaves.”

Kurapika eyed the tree again. It was indeed the only tree in their vicinity with no fresh leaves on it, distinguishing it as one of the few dead trees in their vicinity.

“Good eye,” he said.

Their group passed a few more people on their way through the forest. All of them seemed discombobulated and turned around from the smoke, but they had no injuries. They pointed the hikers in the direction of the direct path to the medical tent and carried on deeper into the forest. The air grew heavier as they walked deeper into the woods, damp and heady, and the back of Kurapika’s throat stung from the smoke. His chest ached from his short-lived panic, and his scars were tender from Knuckle’s unexpected weight pressing on them.

“How’re you holding up?” Altair asked gently when Hanzo and Knuckle jogged ahead.

“Fine,” Kurapika said, the reply just this side of too brusque. He cleared his throat and added, softening his tone, “As I said, I got the wind knocked out of me. Nothing more.”

Altair lifted his brows, but before he could comment, Knuckle and Hanzo announced that they’d reached the end of the trail. Kurapika peered around as they came to a stop in a wide clearing, a series of picnic tables and mostly-intact, abandoned tents overlooking a fenced-off overpass. At last the air was clean and fresh, the gusting winds from the thousand-foot waterfall whisking the smoke away. A fine mist cooled the sweat on his face and created swirling, iridescent rainbows arcing over the forest floor below. Everything was bright, fresh, vibrantly alive, and Kurapika’s breath caught in his throat at the sheer majesty of it.

He inhaled, and the air tasted like rain and earth. He inhaled, and it filled his lungs.

He inhaled, and for a few shining moments, he did not feel guilty about being alive.

“It’s nice, huh,” Knuckle said, drawing up next to Kurapika. He put his arms over his head to stretch, his dark curls frizzing up even more in the humid air.

“I think I’ll join you next time you go hiking,” Kurapika replied apropos of nothing. “If the offer still stands.”

Knuckle grinned down at him. He clapped Kurapika on the shoulder as he turned to go. “’Course it does. I’ll add you to the group chat.”

They were interrupted by a burst of static in the comms as Morel told them they were cleared to head back to the House. Knuckle sent Kurapika a wide, toothy grin and turned to head back down the mountain. Kurapika stayed for just a few more moments, his ears full of the thundering white noise of the falls. Drops of dew glittered on the trees, making them glow in shades of emerald and gold and deep, rich brown.

The beauty made him think of living things, of survival and growth and change. It made him think of the clean slate he was being given, the chance to remake and rediscover himself as he healed in a strange, wonderful, chaotic new place with people he could care for, if only he overcame his fear of losing them all over again. Yorknew and its ghosts felt a million miles away as Kurapika watched rainbows flicker in the water spray.

(It made him think of Leorio’s hazel eyes. Kurapika shoved the thought back down, because he so did not want to like the holier-than-thou asshole.)

“Kurapika! You coming?” Hanzo called from the other end of the clearing.

Kurapika spared one last glance at the waterfall, and he jogged across the campsite to join the rest of the House 36 crew.

The hangar was quiet as Leorio reviewed his aid truck's inventory. The orange sunset glowed through the skylights, illuminating the room enough that he did not even need to turn on the overhead lights. The room was warm enough Leorio yanked off his uniform button-up and tossed it carelessly onto a side table. One leg was tucked up underneath him to create a desk for his clipboard as he counted the band-aids, tubing, needles, and vials of their heavier medications; the other dangled below him, toes just brushing the floor.

His counting off their cardiac paper and defibrillator electrodes was interrupted by a familiar smooth voice: “I wondered if I’d find you here.”

Blinking, Leorio looked up from his bean counting. Altair stood across from him, hip cocked against the firetruck. There was a knowing smile on his face and a bowl of steaming food in his hands. He approached, and Leorio peered into the bowl. Seafood gumbo over rice, one of Gon’s specialties.

Leorio’s stomach growled; he hadn’t even realized how hungry he was. He set aside his clipboard and gratefully accepted the bowl, crossing his legs beneath him. As always, Gon’s cooking was just too spicy for Leorio, but the shrimp and scallops were as excellent as ever. Leorio glanced out the window and vaguely wondered if they’d been swimming in those turquoise waters just this morning.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” Leorio asked.

Altair chuckled vaguely. “Because I’ve worked here for almost eight years, and I’ve only ever seen you miss team dinner when there was something on your mind.”

Leorio shook his head vaguely, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s nothing.”

There was a beat for a few moments. Altair finally folded his arms over his chest, smirking at Leorio with all the confidence of a man who had essentially lived with him for nearly ten years. “And this has nothing to do with the latest addition to our team? Who, I need you to know, took a bite of Gon’s gumbo and proceeded to add sriracha to it, instantly earning the eternal undying devotion of the peanut gallery?”

Leorio scoffed out a laugh before the actual meaning of the words actually hit him. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. Terrifying, but truly impressive.” Altair shrugged. “But you got in a fight with a civilian in an ambulance bay, and then that civilian ended up being the newest member of the team, and now you’re hiding in the hangar instead of attending team dinner. It’s not hard to connect the dots. So. What’s up with you, exactly?”

Leorio wanted to argue that he was not hiding, thank you. He’d outgrown hiding from his problems – literally and metaphorically – in his teens. But that would be an exercise in futility, so he only took another bite of his food.

Because Leorio wasn’t sure why, exactly, he was so dead-set on avoiding Kurapika. But he could think of a few reasons. Maybe because he was still embarrassed about shouting at him, especially after their calls so far showed that Zepile was right about him being a pretty decent team player. Maybe because they managed to turn every interaction they’d had together thus far into an argument (or something very near it). Maybe because every time Kurapika peered up at him with those round eyes the color of thunderclouds, Leorio forgot he was thinking about anything at all.

“Did you look him up?” Altair asked quietly.

Leorio shrugged. When Morel informed them all that they’d finally hired Buhara’s replacement, they were only told he was moving in from Yorknew and had a lot of experience. Killua and Alluka, being Killua and Alluka, had somehow banded together with their other sister and unearthed a name. Leorio hadn’t wanted to listen in, but there was little he could do to avoid the chatter in the lounge when he was cooking them all dinner. Over sizzling chicken and sautéed peppers, he heard phrases like five-alarm fire and undisclosed injuries and lone survivor.

Leorio had shut down the nosy Google searches pretty quickly after that, but the damage was done, and he knew far more about his newest colleague than he suspected the man would be comfortable with. Especially so early in his tenure with the firehouse.

“I didn’t have to,” Leorio admitted. Altair nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s got to be weird,” Altair agreed. “Especially when he’s so…”

He trailed off. Leorio asked around a mouthful of rice, his tongue burning, “So what, Altair?”

Altair seemed to consider his phrasing for another moment before he grinned, wide and bright and a bit wicked. “So… well, your type.”

“Not you, too,” Leorio groaned. It was the wrong thing to say; Altair opened his mouth to ask who else had hopped on the bully-Leorio train this early, and Leorio cut him off by barreling on, “He’s the new guy. Let him get settled before you and Zep throw him into the gossip mill.” Then, realizing how that sounded, he added, “And he was a jerk when we met, so jot that down.”

Altair shook his head, snickering. “Sure thing, Leorio. Just remember one thing.”

“Just the one?” Leorio challenged playfully. Altair huffed out a laugh. For a moment, Leorio saw something flash in Altair’s dark blue eyes. Melancholy? Regret? A hint of apprehension? Whatever the expression was, it was gone before Leorio could identify it.

“You can find a connection where you least expect it,” Altair told him. With that last cryptic piece of advice and a wink, he pushed off of the firetruck and returned back to the House proper.

Leorio mused on that as he finished his dinner and inventory. Or, he mused on how much he didn’t want to muse on it, because whenever he thought about Kurapika, or their turbulent first meeting, or the lightning flash of his eyes or the pink tint to his cheeks or the freckles on his nose, everything else turned to static. And no matter how much Leorio reminded himself that he was pretty sure Kurapika was a reckless little prick, his garbage brain couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the flush that crept down Kurapika’s neck to dip beneath his neatly-pressed shirt collar.

Irritably, Leorio put his dishes in the sink and picked up his latest copy of The Journal of Emergency Medicine, jogging to his favorite reading spot to get in some much-needed dry, academic learning. Maybe that would screw his head back on straight.

Heh, straight. Ha, screw. Wait, no. Shit. Leorio considered rolling up his medical journal and slapping himself in the face with it like an asshole might with a misbehaving dog. He hoped this was a really dry issue.

Except when Leorio approached his preferred spot, it was to find that the sunny catwalk was not as unoccupied as he anticipated. There was a figure silhouetted in the bay windows facing the sunset, sitting on the wide sill with his legs drawn up to his chest.

“Roja min xweş bû, Pairo, spas. Li daristanê şewatek çêbû hin bêaqilên ku bi tenekeve spraya bugê û çiravê dest pê kir. Ez dibînim çima li vir rêjeya dorpêçê ew qas zêde ye,” Kurapika said in a warm tone. It was by far the happiest and most relaxed Leorio had seen him yet in their very short acquaintance. “Lê bes li ser min. Roja weya yekem çawa bû? Pirsgirêk bûn gelo?”

A pause. Kurapika lay his head against the windowpane, and in the glittering gold of the yellow-and-orange sunset, his blond hair looked like the setting rays of the sun itself. Whoever was on the other end of the phone made Kurapika laugh, a rusty-sounding thing that nevertheless made his eyes glow like the sea under a cloudless, moonlit night and showed a lightning-bright flash of a smile behind lips the color of cotton candy.

Something about the sight sent a shockwave like a defibrillator’s kick through Leorio’s chest, rattling from ribs to sternum to heart to guts.

Kurapika suddenly lifted his brows in an expression Leorio recognized from thirty years’ of siblinghood as the universal sign of fucking with a younger sibling. “Oh? Navê wî çi bû, Pairo? Dibe ku ez wî nas dikim.”

Another beat. Kurapika laughed aloud properly now. His eyes wrinkled at their outer edges and his nose scrunched up in the most adorable way. He lifted a hand to his mouth to hide his sunbeam smile. “Baş e, baş e. Ez ê te tenê bihêlim. Goodevbaş, ez ê sibê te bibînim. Şîyarbe.”

He hung up, a pretty smile on that pretty mouth and oh, yeah, uh-huh, this is going to be a problem.

Because Leorio had a type, and Kurapika Lukso fit it to an uncomfortably close degree.

And then Kurapika looked up from his phone screen, his gaze unnervingly direct as he met Leorio’s eye. He tipped his head imperiously to one side, one blond brow rising.

“Are you often in the habit of eavesdropping on your colleague’s conversations?” Kurapika asked. His accent was stronger as he switched back into Common, and something about it hit Leorio like a punch to the gut.

Annoying, antagonistic, asshole warred in Leorio’s head with gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. What was this? Instant interest and curiosity and want like this did not happen in real life. But something, everything about Kurapika just dug its way into Leorio’s head, wiggled under his skin.

“No,” Leorio said, finishing his slow rise up the steps. “I just usually come to this spot to have a moment’s peace from the others and didn’t expect it to be occupied. If anything, you’re the intruder.”

Kurapika’s lips twitched, like he wanted to smile at that but refused to give Leorio the satisfaction. Doubtlessly he was thinking about all the reasons someone might want some peace and quiet here at the station (all four of them). Instead of replying directly, Kurapika slipped from his place on the windowsill.

“In that case, I will leave you to your reading.” He glanced at the magazine in Leorio’s hands as he approached. Leorio did not miss the not-quite-subtle double-take as he read the title of a professional medical journal. He wanted to be annoyed, and he definitely was, but he also realized that that spun-gold-shimmering thing also worked on Kurapika’s eyelashes, too, and that zapped the synapses between his brain and his mouth pretty thoroughly.

Who the hell are you? What the hell is this? Wanna talk about it? Wanna fight about it? Wanna kiss about it?

Except before Leorio could reply, either to give Kurapika the fight he was looking for or ask if he wanted to throw down in literally any sense of the word, the klaxons went off over their heads.

At the loud, blaring sound, Kurapika’s shoulders stiffened, even as an eager glow lit his eyes. The setting sun illuminated his profile. For a moment, he looked like fire incarnate, the light turning one side of his profile to flame in shades of blood-orange and red and bronze and the other to chiaroscuro. His hair shone like a lit flame.

Kurapika glared up at him, impatiently ordering him, “What’re you staring at? Get out of the way.”

And Leorio unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Jerk.”

“Asshole.” Kurapika shouldered past Leorio, surprisingly strong with it. The soft smile from his phone call was miles away when Kurapika took off at a run. Groaning quietly and running his hands tiredly through his hair, mourning his inevitable descent into madness over this man, Leorio tossed his magazine onto the windowsill for later and followed.

The hangar was a bustle of organized chaos when Leorio arrived. The firefighters moved in a thoughtless tandem no amount of planned choreography could ever emulate. Hanzo tossed his colleagues their helmets; Gon thoughtlessly reached out to adjust Killua’s overalls strap where it was twisted on his back; Knuckle plucked a hair tie from his back pocket when Canary’s snapped as she pulled her braids up into a low bun.

And lingering in Leorio’s periphery, a navy-and-blond blur flitting about between them, fingers glancing over Gon’s back when he almost overbalanced shoving on his boots. Despite his taciturn, unpleasant demeanor wherever Leorio was concerned, it was clear that Kurapika was more than comfortable in this job. He fit here, as naturally as Buhara, if not as easily. Something about him kept demanding Leorio’s attention like a moth fluttering around an open flame.

Leorio looked away and focused on zipping his paramedic jacket up. He was paid to put fires out, after all. He could douse this flame before anyone got hurt.

Zepile sent him a look Leorio did not deign to parse as he hopped into the ambulance. His colleague flipped on the sirens and followed the fire trucks. Leorio plucked up the dispatch radio, asking, “What’ve we got?”

“Water rescue,” the voice on the other end said.

“Sonofabitch,” Killua groaned in their earpieces.

“Jet ski versus cabin cruiser boat,” Dispatch carried on. “It seems jet ski driver wanted to show off with some water sports –”

Killua, Gon, Hanzo, and Knuckle snorted; Morel gave an odd, choked cough; Kurapika huffed out a quiet laugh that nearly made Leorio shiver. Valiantly, he forced his attention back onto the dispatcher.

“– lost control, and ran into the side of the cabin cruiser. Lifeguards on the beach have the scene for now, but it’s not pretty.”

That shut the others up immediately, Leorio noticed. He did not need to see the rest of his crew to feel the way the air changed all around them. That was something he loved about this team: they could joke as much as they wanted, but when the situation grew truly dire, they knew how to flip a switch and get the job done.

The beach was packed with rubbernecking beachgoers staring out into the open water. As the ambulance slowed to a stop, Leorio unclasped his seatbelt and unlocked the door, using the ambulance’s higher vantage point to stand upright, half-dangling out the open door to look out to the sea.

And, yeah, that was definitely a jet ski crashed headlong into a cabin cruiser. The beach lifeguards were doing their damndest to keep the tourists back, but their numbers and skills were being put to the test. Leorio saw the lifeguard manager relaxing slightly when Morel leapt out of the captain’s seat.

“Okay, ears up, because this situation is evolving,” Morel barked at them through their earpieces. “Hanzo, Knuckle, you’re on crowd control. Zepile, Alluka, and Altair, you’re on triage. Canary, Gon, Killua, Kurapika, Leorio, the boat is ready to take you out to water rescue. Work smart, work fast, work together. That cabin cruiser is taking on water –”

“We’re measuring in seconds,” Killua interrupted brusquely, echoing oddly because he was also within Leorio’s hearing. Leorio had entered that strange sort of Zen work mode where everything was moving very quickly and very slowly at the same time. One moment he was leaping onto the sand and hitching his crash bag over his shoulder; next, he was jogging through soggy sand and foamy surf to step into the rubber dinghy; next, Gon was running the motor and steering them out into the open sea.

Killua was still talking, his thumbs typing furiously over his phone keyboard. “Alright, assholes, even giving y’all some generous calculations, you have maybe two hundred seconds until we have to start making some difficult decisions.”

Some difficult decisions. Leorio knew that meant being forced to decide between heroic-and-borderline-suicidal measures that put themselves in jeopardy or saving themselves, lest they become the people who needed saving. He knew it was a necessary evil of this job: retreating when the situation grew too dire and dangerous in order to save another life, another day.

Still, his lip curled, and he tasted the salt from the spraying sea water as it misted over his face. He had no interest in these kinds of calculations. He knew it was not true, and he never would hold another firefighter to this standard, but he considered any call where he lost a person he could have otherwise saved as a personal failure.

Was that a sustainable mindset? Probably not. Was it healthy? Definitely not. But was Leorio ever going to leave when he could save one more person? Never.

The little dinghy slowed to a stop beside the sinking boat, and the team leapt off in rapid succession. Canary specialized in water rescues, so Leorio had no problem ceding control of the scene to her. Gon and Kurapika followed on her heels, their boots sloshing sluggishly through three inches of water. Killua looked down at the flooding floor, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Leorio mentally subtracted thirty seconds from their window of opportunity.

“Fire department, call out!” Canary announced, her voice echoing in the small cabin. Immediately there was a reply from the front room. Canary marched in, her shoes squelching on carpet. Leorio followed, standing in the doorway as he took in the scene.

It was grim. And gruesome. Leorio thought he was used to blood and guts and pain by now, but even still there were moments, fleeting as they were, where he looked at a scene and wondered how anyone could ever survive that. And how on earth he and his crew were supposed to snatch back someone with one foot through death’s door.

But this was not Leorio’s first difficult rescue, nor his first water rescue, so he took a deep breath and plowed forward. The air smelled like salt and blood and gasoline. The water tickled his ankles.

The jet ski had ripped its way through the hull as if the aluminum exterior was paper. Gon and Kurapika walked forward to assess the situation, but Leorio knew just from looking that there was nothing that could be done. He met Gon’s eye and the young man sent him a subtle head shake. Kurapika did not meet Leorio’s gaze, but Leorio still saw the way his face went still as he felt for a pulse. For a moment, his throat worked; a moment later he, too, confirmed death on arrival.

There was a horrible blankness in Kurapika’s eyes when he turned away from the deceased and focused his attention on the people in the room he could save. Killua made a note to reach out to the recovery team later.

Leorio turned his attention to the rest of the cabin. It was a mess of warped metal and tossed chairs. A cooler had tipped over, spilling half-melted ice, packed sandwiches, and pre-cut carrots and celery across the floor. Dirt and worms from a bait cup floated listlessly in the rising water. Two fishing rods floated as well: one was long and lightweight, the kind that professionals used. The other was short, its plastic handle painted bright green. A child’s rod.

Leorio met Canary’s eye where she knelt beside the jet ski. There was a woman trapped beneath the jet ski, her wiry gray hair soaked with water. Leorio sent Canary two fingers over the woman’s head.

With a frown, Canary sent back one. Leorio’s stomach dropped.

“Ma’am?” Canary asked. She ran her gloved hands over the woman’s neck, feeling for a pulse. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”

The woman’s eyelashes fluttered. She blinked saltwater from her eyes, her expression hazy from pain and shock. Leorio watched as the last few memories she had before the crash ran through her mind, and she attempted to bolt upright before flopping back down with a hiss.

“Shaun?” She shouted. Airway intact, Leorio thought. She rasped out a cough. “Shaun?”

“Ma’am,” Canary interrupted, gentle but firm. She put a hand onto the woman’s shoulder, an anchor. “Ma’am, we’re looking for him.”

She sent Gon a look, and without further ado he ducked through the main door and started swinging his way up to the top of the cabin cruiser to look around them. Kurapika followed after, a shadow that might have been silent were it not for the plosh, plosh, plosh of his boots through water.

“Two hundred seconds,” Killua announced into their comms. He alone remained on the dinghy outside, keeping it steady and counting down the time they had left.

Canary went on seamlessly as Leorio joined her on the woman’s other side. “I’m Canary, and this is Leo. We’re with GISD. What’s your name?”

“C… Carmen,” the woman gasped. “My grandson, Shaun… we were fishing, he wanted to learn to be like me… his cool grandma, the deep-sea fishing champion… and then those idiots were going too fast, and I can’t find my boy…”

Carmen shuddered, a mix of pain and tears and worry making her breath catch. Carmen grasped Canary’s arm.

“Listen to me,” she ordered sternly. “I’m an old woman. I don’t care what happens to me. I…” The ship lurched as it took on more water. The rising water level washed over her face, making Carmen sputter. “You find my boy, and you save him.”

“We’re going to save you both,” Leorio assured her. He spoke with a lot more confidence than he felt, because they were working with a hundred and seventy seconds, guys, get your shit together and start moving, and he had no idea how they were going to move this thing. Canary sent him a look just as there was a shout from above deck. Leorio and Canary looked over to see Gon hanging upside-down from a railing like a monkey.

“We see him! He must’ve been thrown off the boat when the ski crashed, he’s about fifty yards out to sea! He’s wearing his life preserver perfectly, nice one, ma’am!”

Carmen wailed, a mix of relief and pain and newfound worry; Leorio met Canary’s eye. He sent her a grin.

“We’ve got it here. Do your thing, Gold.”

Canary pursed her lips and sent him a look that reminded him for the hundredth time that she hated that nickname. Then she looked down at Carmen. “Ma’am, where do you keep your flotation devices?”

Carmen was in too much pain to properly reply, which was why Leorio instructed her on what he was doing as he set up a drip. Gon was still hanging upside down, brandishing a ring buoy for Canary like a red cloth for a bull.

“Okay,” Canary said to Carmen. “I’m going to get your grandson, Carmen. Leo here is going to take care of you. And I’ll see you back on shore, okay?”

Carmen swallowed thickly. Leorio saw the veins in her neck fluttering.

“You keep him safe,” Carmen repeated. “You get him back on shore.”

Canary smiled. “I will.”

And she rose to her full height, ducking through the door and catching an arm seamlessly through the rescue ring Gon held out to her, and dove smoothly into the water.

“Will she be alright?” The earwig sent Kurapika’s light accent directly into Leorio’s ear, sending a chill down his neck and through every individual vertebra in his spine. There was an echo effect as Kurapika slipped back into the room, taking Canary’s abandoned spot. The water sloshed over his calves now.

“She’ll be better than alright,” Leorio muttered, thinking about how to secure Carmen’s airway. Killua informed them, one hundred seconds.

“Canary is a global swimming champion,” Gon told him, swinging in as well. “Gold in the ten and twenty-five kilometer races for a few years running! She’ll get to your grandson in no time, miss.”

This last bit was directed at Carmen, who seemed to be calming down now that she had some pain medicine in her system. Which meant that they had just over a minute and a half before they entered a real danger zone.

With practiced, efficient movements and a low, soothing voice, Leorio fastened a cuff around Carmen’s neck, keeping her as stable as they could. It was far later than Leorio would have wanted to, but considering how much she’d been thrashing before, searching for Shaun, it was the first time she’d calmed enough for them to actually start administering any medical care.

Leorio felt water lapping at his knees, his thighs. He did not need to hear Killua announce seventy seconds to know they were entering a crunch time.

“Help me with this,” Leorio ordered Gon and Kurapika. They tried to move the jet ski, Leorio on one side, Kurapika the other, Gon in the middle, but it didn’t so much as budge, even with Gon’s almost-superhuman strength. Carmen let out another soft moan of pain that sent a shiver of empathy through Leorio’s chest.

“Hey, we’re still there, Carmen,” Leorio assured her, ducking down and brushing back the woman’s hair gently. “We’re thinking, we’re going to come up with something.”

Into his comms, Leorio hissed, “Any ideas, wonder boy?”

“Shut up,” Killua snapped without heat. Leorio could tell from the pinched edges of his words that he was frantically running the numbers in his head, thinking, thinking. “The average jet ski is nearly eight hundred pounds. And this is a fancy one, so it’s likely closer to a thousand.”

“What about leverage?” Kurapika asked. He pried at the walls, the burst pipes and warped aluminum bars. “If we can makeshift some kind of lever –”

“Won’t work,” Killua said brusquely. “Unless you suddenly get a lot more room to move an eight-foot beam – and then you’ll need something that will actually take the weight of the jet ski, which I don’t think you’ll find in there, since the cruiser folded like a house of cards when it was hit – or if you can muster up at least seven hundred pounds of force onto a shorter beam, although again if it’s made of a weak material it’ll bend like a pipe cleaner – you have forty-five seconds, by the way –”

“Not helping!” Leorio hissed. This, too, echoed in Leorio’s ears. He looked up and met Kurapika’s gaze across the tiny, ten-foot cabin. They’d told Killua off at the same time.

The sunset cast his face in purple shadow. Something about this moment made Leorio’s heart pounding out hurry, hurry, think, think, whisper lovely, lovely, lovely.

Timing, Leorio snapped at himself. He tore his eyes away from Kurapika, feeling like he’d been caught in those stormcloud eyes for minutes rather than a sliver of a moment. Focus.

“My grandson,” Carmen murmured. She caught Leorio’s arm with her good hand, even as her arm was covered in scratches and abrasions. “How is my grandson?”

“Canary is getting him,” Leorio assured her. Killua told them, thirty seconds. “Gon, can you check on him?”

“Sure thing!” Gon was a master at the poker face. His smile and his cheery tone did not change a jot. But Leorio saw his eyes pinch, straining in stress. He ducked out the doorway to join Killua in the dinghy. “She’s on her way back! He looks safe and sound, Carmen!”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Carmen murmured. She lay her head back. When she closed her eyes, her hair swirling in loose curls around her, she looked like the painting Ophelia. Leorio refused to allow this story to end in tragedy, too.

“Come on, head up for me, Carmen,” Leorio said gently. He fastened an oxygen mask to her face, one of the ones Killua had made specifically for water rescues like these. It was a step up from their usual non-rebreather masks, a tighter seal and a closer fit, but it was not as waterproof as a diving mask. “Don’t give up on us yet.”

Carmen blinked up at him. “It hurts,” she croaked. “And I’m tired. And I know you don’t have a lot of time. It’s okay.” Her eyelids were growing heavy. “I did my own math about the boat. If this is my last day, then I’m happy I spent it with my grandson.”

She squeezed Leorio’s wrist once. “Thank you for trying. But it looks like there won’t be a miracle here today.”

The fingers grasping Leorio’s wrist spasmed. Then they went slack. Leorio felt for a pulse; Carmen’s heart was still pounding, her heart racing like a hummingbird’s and her breathing labored. But she was holding on.

“Fifteen seconds,” Killua said from outside. “Leorio, Kurapika, you’re out of time.”

“We’re not,” Kurapika insisted. Leorio stared at him as he plowed through the rising water and dropping down on the other side of Carmen’s unconscious form. “Your countdown is to getting us out. Not getting her out.”

“Kurapika –”

“I’m not leaving,” Kurapika bit out, and he yanked his earbud out and shoved it into his pocket.

Leorio stared wordlessly. This guy is a moron, he thought. He doesn’t have a self-preserving bone in his body.

Kurapika glared back at him like this was a dare. What are you going to do, huh?

And Leorio thought, I can save one more person today.

“Leorio –”

“I’m not leaving, either,” Leorio decided, and he turned off his earbud right as Killua swore at him. Kurapika sent him a look, considering. He looked surprised that Leorio had stayed. Leorio swallowed down his irritation, which he knew was definitely coming from stress as it boiled over. Because now they were really up shit’s creek, literally stuck together in a sinking boat, and they had just told their backup to fuck off because they were risking life and limb with absolutely no rescue strategy or escape plan.

What could they do? The backboard wasn’t long enough to use as a lever. But maybe if they put extra weight on it, their body weight and the cooler and their gear? But then what would they use as the fulcrum, their makeshift lever’s support? What was to say the backboard wouldn’t snap in half, too? Then they’d really be fucked, because that was their best bet to get Carmen out of here, and then they’d be stuck at sea in this stupid sinking boat, drowning in a cabin cruiser trying to save a woman being crushed by a fucking jet ski –

Kurapika interrupted Leorio’s thoughts. “I have an idea.”

“Don’t bother prefacing it, we’re running low on time –”

“Then don’t bother arguing and let me finish –”

“You’re the one arguing! Just fucking tell me!”

“Jet skis float!” Kurapika shouted at him. Leorio spared a moment to be grateful that Carmen was unconscious at this point, because this entire thing was just so unprofessional. Getting in a fight over a time-sensitive rescue in the middle of a call? What was wrong with him?

“I know that!” Leorio yelled back, throwing his arms into the air and absolutely not connecting with whatever Kurapika was trying to say. Kurapika spluttered as the move accidentally sent a wave of water splashing into his face. Kurapika seemed to glean his utter cluelessness here pretty quickly, considering the sneer to his lips.

“Then think about it!” Kurapika snapped. “God, and they say you’re such a clever medic –”

“I’m a fucking incredible medic, fuck you –”

“– Fuck you! We can’t move the jet ski on our own! So we need to wait until there’s enough water for it to float.”

Leorio froze momentarily. There was no way Kurapika was suggesting what Leorio thought he was.

Kurapika stared him down, jaw set and eyes fierce, and Leorio realized, no, he’s seriously proposing this.

“That’s goddamn deranged. The boat is already taking on too much water,” Leorio snapped at Kurapika.

Kurapika’s lips twisted into a snarl, blond hair soaked in saltwater and plastered to his skull, cheeks flushed, his teeth bared. God, he was beautiful. God, he was infuriating.

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed that I was ass-deep in the ocean.” Before Leorio could call him a prick, Kurapika barreled on, “This is not a one-man save. Carmen needs to get out of here. I know you don’t like me, and I’m not sure if I like you, but that doesn’t fucking matter, because tonight, we’re what we’ve got.”

Something flashed in Kurapika’s dark eyes. Something that made Leorio swallow and think of headlines and accolades and medals pinned to his chest. That made him think past all that. That made him think about exactly what kind of man could lose his entire house and then walk back into the field less than a year later. How much someone needed to love their job and want to help people, to come back after a loss like that.

Leorio knew Kurapika would give everything back in a moment if it meant he could have his old House back. He’d lived through Leorio’s worst nightmare, and still he was here, present and strong and powerful and looking into the eyes of a man he had every right to hate, and he probably did, but he refused to leave when he could save one more person.

Because liking aside, Kurapika trusted Leorio.

A memory flashed through Leorio’s mind, long-forgotten for how it had not been relevant since childhood. Leorio’s mother said something to him once when he’d come into the house angry after a spat with the neighbor boy, Pietro.

Sometimes we fight at first, passerotto, because we’re too much alike, she’d told him. Because we don’t yet know how our edges line up. Sometimes it helps to change our perspective.

And in the present, everything clicked into place. There were so many more ways he and Kurapika were alike than they were different.

“Okay,” Leorio said, and Kurapika’s head tilted. His tone was different, less combative. More sure. Determined. He repeated. “Okay. We can do this. But to make this work, I need you to do everything I say.”

For a moment, Kurapika looked taken aback at the sudden change in tone. He nodded once in a sharp jerk of his chin. “Done.”

Leorio reached into his bag, removing the supplies he would need. They would only have a tiny window to do this. Leorio sensed Kurapika’s eyes on him as he splinted Carmen’s arm. Kurapika kept one hand on the ski, holding it steady as he worked and waiting to feel it go buoyant and float. The water was at Leorio’s hips now, his entire lower half submerged.

Leorio met Kurapika’s eye again. He said, “I’m not sure this is what Morel meant when he told us to work together.”

Kurapika blinked, briefly surprised before scoffing out a laugh. “No? This is exactly what I imagined.”

He was joking, Leorio realized. They were in a sinking boat, their comms offline, their boss definitely planning on ripping them limb from limb if they survived this, and Kurapika was joking. Leorio felt his mouth curl in response. “Even the jet ski?”

“Especially the jet ski,” Kurapika said. “It was the jet ski or a runaway roller coaster.”

“If we live, remind me to tell you about the time a foxbear escaped the zoo and it took Gon, six hamburgers, and a looney-tunes trap to recapture it.”

Kurapika’s laugh was a quiet one, Leorio realized. It came out as a short huff through his nose, a low chuckle that sounded rusty and unused. His smile met his eyes, and Leorio thought, wow.

At last the jet ski wobbled under Kurapika’s hand. He looked back at Leorio, his shoulders square and his jaw set and his eyes sure and strong. All at once, Leorio realized that they were once again kneeling over a patient closer to death than to life, and they were going to work together to get through it. They were a team. Even before they known each other’s names, they’d been a team.

“Are you ready?” Leorio asked. Kurapika nodded once and stood up, bracing himself on the dirty floor. The water sloshed around his knees, his body soaked up to his waist. Cut baby carrots swirled around his hips like this was a freaking soup.

“Ready,” Kurapika agreed.

“Okay,” Leorio said. “Three... two... one.”

Kurapika used the jet ski’s own buoyancy as leverage to shove it. Finally, the massive contraption moved, shifting off of Carmen and bobbing away like an enormous, garishly orange rubber duck. Leorio did not even notice the flood of water suddenly pouring in as the stopper that kept the boat from capsizing suddenly vanished. He was in the zone, splinting Carmen’s crushed legs with brisk, efficient movements. The water was rising rapidly now: it was rapidly moving up his waist, his chest, his neck. Underwater, he was moving on instinct and experience; between the sun dipping under the horizon and the rising water, Leorio could not even see what he was doing.

The water swirled, sloshing into Leorio’s mouth and making him sputter a little. Kurapika was back, kneeling across Carmen’s form. The water was at his lips now, and Kurapika needed to tilt his neck back at a painful angle just to breathe.

You don’t need to stay, Leorio thought. It was a warning and a revelation. Kurapika did not need to stay, but he did anyway.

Kurapika threw him a glare, though its heat was tempered by the situation and their nascent truce. In a tight voice, he ordered, “Do not say anything about me being short right now. I’ll leave you to drown.”

Despite the mortal peril, Leorio snorted out a laugh.

“I won’t,” He promised. “Ready?”

Kurapika threw him one last searching look. The water went higher. It passed his nose. Then his eyes. Blindly, he tossed his head back, gasped one last deep inhale, and allowed himself to be pulled under.

This guy is intense, Leorio thought, a mix of awed and jealous and intimidated, and he took a final gasp and threw the rest up to fate.

The backboard was a steady weight in Leorio’s hands as he slipped it under the water – vertical at first, so the plastic would slide through the water, and then going horizontal as it hit the floor. Kurapika had already rolled Carmen, protecting her airway and spinal alignment, and then as soon as the board was in place – not a moment too soon or too late – he rolled Carmen onto her back. Next came the straps, bottom to top. Leorio was working blindly, his hands moving sluggishly through the water. He had no way of knowing if he was doing this right except for how he’d done this nearly every shift since he was eighteen. His hands went to fasten the straps near Carmen’s feet, and he felt Kurapika’s working on the knees. Then, just as seamlessly, they moved to the thighs and the chest. Leorio secured Carmen’s head, unable to see Kurapika but feeling him through the water. All they had was faith and trust. His lungs were screaming for air.

Leorio could not see Kurapika, but he knew the other man was there, hefting the backboard in his hands, matching their grips, following Leorio’s lead. They slipped through the cabin door, following the backboard as it rose to the surface. A few moments of breathless kicking later, Leorio’s head burst through the surface. He sucked in a deep breath, the humid island air whisking life back into his lungs.

After the eerie silence of the cabin and the water, the sudden rush of noise was disorienting. There were sirens and waves and news helicopters and yells. Much, much closer, there was a humming motor and a small child’s screams. Leorio blinked the water from his eyes and saw the dinghy floating towards them. Killua had one hand on the rudder, the other wrapped around a little boy who looked no older than six. The boy was soaking wet and bore a few bumps and bruises, but he seemed otherwise fine.

As the boat drifted closer, Gon reached down to pluck up the heavy oxygen canister Kurapika had tucked under his arm. Next, the two men in the water worked with Gon and Canary to slide Carmen and the backboard into the dinghy. Finally, Gon scooped Kurapika up by the armpits to fall face-first onto the inflatable’s rubber floor. Leorio might have laughed were he not so tired and riding his adrenaline high; also, Canary grabbed him, next, except she grabbed him by one arm and the other ear and mercilessly pulled him from the warm water to flop onto the boat like a fish.

Dimly, he registered Kurapika letting out a stress-and-rescue-high induced giggle, and somehow that was what made Leorio snap back to himself, realizing holy shit we really pulled that off and returning to Carmen, checking her airway and pulse.

There was still a pulse. She was still breathing. How was that for a miracle?

“How is she?” The little boy wiggled out from under Killua’s arm as he started steering them back to shore. Canary caught him by the back of the life jacket lest he tumble over and they repeated this whole process. His little feet squeaked against the floor in a few more steps before he realized he had been stopped. “My nana?”

Leorio looked up from Carmen. “It’s Shaun, right?”

The little boy nodded. He turned away from Carmen, nodding to Gon and Kurapika to keep an eye on her, and knelt down so he was below the child’s eyeline. “I won’t lie. She’s really hurt, and I don’t know what will happen next. But she’s super tough and hanging on for now, so we’re going to hold onto hope, okay?”

Shaun looked between Leorio and Carmen. His brown eyes were huge in his face, his lashes fluttering and lips trembling – from fear or cold or both, he was not sure. Leorio put a hand up to carefully brush his bangs back from his forehead. Softer, in the tone he’d used with his siblings and with lots of child patients before, he repeated, “Okay, Shaun?”

Shaun hesitated, but at last he nodded, echoing, “Okay,”

The dinghy reached the shore. Hanzo, Knuckle, Zepile, and Alluka came over to bring Carmen to their second aid car. Altair lingered in the surf, kneeling down so he could speak to Shaun on his own level without caring that his pants were now completely soaked. Leorio watched as Canary and Altair walked the child to the aid car, asking about how best to contact his parents and family.

“That was a hell of a save,” Hanzo said as he approached Leorio, who was still standing on the beach with his boots sinking into soft sand. He threw a blanket to Leorio, who realized he was shaking as he threw the wool around his shoulders. His fingers were rattling, his knees trembling, his teeth almost chattering like it was twenty degrees and not seventy with sixty-six percent humidity. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug, Leorio thought as he held the blanket tighter.

“Thanks,” Leorio said. He cut Hanzo with a sideways glance. “How mad is Morel?”

Hanzo bit back a small grin. “On a scale from one to ‘Gon used the hangar rafters as a jungle gym and broke a beam?’”

“Yeah.”

“The time Killua walked in on him and Knov making out in his office and texted the group chat about it.”

“Shit,” Leorio groaned. That meant he was already dead. Hanzo clapped him on the shoulder.

“Catch your breath, man,” Hanzo told him. “I’m going to wrap up the rest of the scene.”

“While I can,” Leorio muttered before he said, “Thanks. I’ll be here until Morel fires my sorry ass.”

Hanzo chortled as he waved a hand over his shoulder and jogged away. Leorio shook his head and turned so that he was looking out over the dark, rolling sea. His head was aching with oxygen deprivation, but that throb slowly but surely faded as he closed his eyes and inhaled slow and deep. The air smelled like green and flowers, the air so full of seawater Leorio could taste it on his tongue. His lips tasted like salt when he ran his tongue over them. When he opened his eyes, he saw the miles of open ocean tapering off into the navy horizon. White stars were winking awake one by one, although the light pollution of the city and the nearby boardwalk made it impossible to see all but the brightest. Leorio craned his neck back to take them all in, anyway.

“You were right.”

Leorio tore his gaze from the sky. Kurapika was standing beside him, a blanket of his own loosely wrapped around his shoulders. He wasn’t shivering, but there was a bluish tint to his lips Leorio wished he didn’t notice.

“Was I?” Leorio teased. “About what, exactly? I’ll mark it down.”

Kurapika huffed out another one of those quiet laughs. But when he looked up to meet Leorio’s eyes, he was only straightforward and honest when he said: “You really are an incredible medic.”

It took a second for Leorio to process what Kurapika said. But when he did actually work out that, holy shit, Kurapika just said something nice to him. It blew Leorio’s oxygen-deprived mind. And Kurapika knew it too, given the way he was smirking up at Leorio in the muted light. His pants and shirt clung to his form, and his blond hair was messy and frizzy, already going wavy from the saltwater as it air-dried. He’d carelessly shoved it back, revealing his face and letting Leorio take in the full curve of his forehead, the slope of his nose, the arch of his cheekbones. He looked… smaller, now. Not physically, but emotionally. Like he was no longer fluffing up his metaphorical feathers to keep strangers at bay. Despite the chaotic and emotional call, he seemed more relaxed than Leorio had yet seen him.

He looked approachable. Just a little dangerous and intense, his daredevil, I will do whatever it takes to save someone wildcard side just beneath the surface. Leorio read it in the tension of his slim frame and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. And still, for all of that, or because of it, he looked… adorable. Just… really damn good.

Oh, fuck, Leorio thought.

“Uh,” He said eloquently. His voice only cracked a little. “That is. Thanks. You… you’re pretty good, too.”

Kurapika smiled faintly, turning his face into the cool breeze coming in off the ocean. “Thank you.”

Without thinking, Leorio blurted, “I think we make a pretty good team.”

Kurapika went still at that comment. Leorio wondered if he’d said something wrong, or if he’d crossed a line – surely he had, this guy had joined their team just today, he’d moved to this island less than a week ago, and he was rebuilding his life and now the tall weird guy from work he’d shouted at was saying weird, sappy shit to him like we make a great team, and then Kurapika’s smile widened, reaching his eyes, and Leorio’s train of thought fizzled into nothing at all.

“Since we’re such a team now,” Kurapika murmured, just barely audible over the ocean waves; Leorio needed to lean a bit closer to hear him, “You can handle Morel.”

Leorio’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

Kurapika’s smile widened. “Thanks!”

“You asshole,” Leorio hissed to his retreating form. He took a step towards Kurapika’s back, because he was not going to get chewed out by Morel for the second time that day alone, but the sound of a clearing throat stopped him in his tracks. Because he’d definitely heard it, Kurapika sent a jaunty wave over his shoulder. Yeah, he was a complete prick.

Swallowing a sigh, Leorio turned around to see Morel. His boss was glaring up at him: Leorio may have had height cornered so far as Morel was concerned, but Morel was two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. Leorio was pretty sure his Captain could snap him in half over his knee if he wanted.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Leorio sighed, preempting any yelling Morel could start on. Though it was fifty-fifty he actually raised his voice, considering there were so many news cameras around. Leorio wondered if he preferred the anger-to-cover-for-being-scared-shitless bluster or the I’m-not-angry-I’m-just-disappointed-you-broke-every-rule dad approach. Either way, Leorio was pretty sure he was going to leave this conversation feeling three inches tall. Kurapika owed him big time after this.

Morel looked, if possible, even more unimpressed. “And what’s that?”

“We were stupid and reckless,” Leorio started, and it wasn’t until Morel raised an eyebrow that he realized he’d referred to Kurapika and himself as we. As a team. Still, he blundered on, “And we probably violated like six different GISD protocols –”

“Sixteen,” Morel corrected. “I counted once I knew you idiots were going to be alright. Kept me from bursting a blood vessel.”

“… Right,” Leorio said, because he didn’t have a good response to that. “But the survivor, Carmen, she didn’t have any other chance. So I’m sorry I worried you, but I’ve done it before and I’ll probably do it again.”

“I know,” Morel agreed gruffly.

Leorio blinked, his little righteous speech about protecting people and the greater good and being capable of making his own choices dying on his tongue. A little dumbly, he said, “Oh.”

Morel smirked up at him, and Leorio remembered that for all of his pomp and circumstance, Morel had been doing this job longer than Leorio had been alive. Morel had stories that made Leorio laugh, cry, scream, and blush, and a fair few that left him doing all four. Captain Morel Mackernasey was a GISD legend for a reason, after all.

“You were stupid,” Morel agreed. “And very lucky. And I am very annoyed at you for risking yourselves on a call. But I am also proud of you, because I know the kind of man you are – the kind of men both of you are. You two have something that I could never train. So call it stupid, luck, a miracle, whatever. You two are definitely going to give me a coronary before I retire. But as long as we keep getting outcomes like that, I’ll take it.”

Leorio did not reply immediately. Morel smoothed out the sand with his boot, taking a moment to breathe after that call. Leorio stared out into the hazy horizon, thinking. He pictured the blood-muddy waters, heard Carmen and Shaun’s cries. He thought of Kurapika, on the job for the first time in a year, stubborn and staying behind to give them the miracle he was denied. But was there really a miracle here? Or was it the brilliance borne of desperation? Was it simply two first responders in exactly the right place at the right time, finally learning exactly how they fit together?

“I don’t think it was a miracle,” Leorio said to the open water. He looked at Morel with a faint grin. Over his boss’s shoulder Leorio saw the way the red sirens flashed off flaxen blond hair.

He grinned. “It was Kurapika.”

Morel sent him a long, searching sort of look. After a minute he snorted softly. “Get a mask, Leorio. That oxygen deprivation is going to your head.”

The end of Kurapika’s first shift came with the rising sun. He’d snatched a few hours of broken sleep between calls. After the beach call, there was a minor medical emergency at a local casino, where someone was doing so well they worked themselves into a cardiac event, shortly followed by a fight among the patrons of an Alice in Wonderland-themed nightclub about, of all things, just what was in that pipe the Caterpillar was smoking.

“It’s just a vape,” Killua had said wearily, eyeing the contraption with deep suspicion. After casting a sideways glance back to make sure Morel wasn’t looking, he took the shortest puff of it and scrunched up his face in disgust. “And pretty obviously one, too.”

“Obviously,” Leorio and Canary chorused, and Kurapika pretended not to laugh.

He just wished it wasn’t his first call over something as innocuous as a vape.

But the insanity tapered off around four o’clock in the morning, allowing Kurapika to catch a (second) shower (the first was to simply wash the saltwater from his hair and the sand from his body) and a nap. Now he was tucked far, far up in the rafters of the hangar in a little nook near the tapered firehouse roof. It was large enough for Kurapika to sit on the floor and do yoga in the light of the rising sun, were he so inclined. As it was, he found himself sitting on the wide rafter, back against the load-bearing beam, one leg tucked beneath him and the other dangling. From this vantage point, he could see through the entirety of the back wall of glass and watch the sun rise over the ocean. The sky and sea were awash in shades of periwinkle and carnation-pink. Soft yellow rays streaked through white clouds, illuminating the bay and turning the water from indigo to turquoise in the new day. Everything on this island was so stupidly picturesque. He loved it.

In the silence of the firehouse and the light of dawn, Kurapika found that despite the intense calls and near-death experiences, he was oddly… peaceful. The hypervigilant buzzing under his skin, the thrumming anxiety and omnipresent, lingering guilt were, for once, quieted. When he closed his eyes and breathed, the air smelled like fresh sea air and cleaning solution and the wax they used to keep the trucks shiny.

It smelled like home. For the first time in a year, Kurapika found himself content and at peace in a firehouse. His old therapist might have said something about exposure therapy. He might have made a gentle reference to the passage of time and healing wounds and moving on.

Whatever it was, for the first time in far too long, the oxygen in his fragile lungs did not feel like a sin.

Footsteps coming up the stairs to his little spot made him open his eyes, blinking in the morning light. He was more surprised that he wasn’t surprised to see Leorio standing at the top of the landing, dressed in the civilian clothes he arrived to work in yesterday. He’d also showered after their shift calmed down, his dark hair drooping around his temples in waves. He looked tired and drained but satisfied after a night of good work.

Kurapika was not sure what to make of him now that their first shift was over. He’d started work yesterday thinking that he was in for, at best, a combative working relationship or, at worst, a fistfight and a transfer in his imminent future. And Kurapika was honest enough to recognize that wasn’t completely off the table, although now it was a few degrees less likely.

But then there was the sinking boat, and everything changed.

Or, well… not changed. But Kurapika’s mental picture of Leorio went from a two-dimensional caricature of a smarmy asshole to a three-dimensional person, quirks and attitude and incredible, glowing heroism and all. Stubborn and a little too ready to sacrifice himself for someone else and steady under pressure and in so many ways exactly like him.

Leorio grinned up at him, weary and still handsome. “I thought I’d find you up here.”

Kurapika lifted an eyebrow and forced himself not to ask, you were looking for me? Instead he replied, “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Leorio tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and lounged back against the stair railing. The sun lit up his profile in shades of gold. His white shirt stretched over his chest in a way that almost made Kurapika miss his reply. “We all have our own spots in the house for when we need a minute. Hanzo and Gon have the gym. Knuckle has the kitchen – he doesn’t look it, but he’s a hell of a baker. Canary has the back patio, where she’s got a straight shot to the ocean. Killua and Alluka have this little workshop they repurposed from a storage room. Altair has his little garden off the back patio. The captain has his office. You’ve found mine.” Leorio peered around the warm, solitary space, with its view out the back windows and the bird’s-eye view of the hangar. “And it looks like you’ve found yours.”

“I guess so.” Kurapika swung his free foot to and fro. He wondered if their odd truce from the boat was still in effect, or if it was over now. If it was a product of stress and potential death, and now they were ready to be at each other’s throats again.

“I do like you.”

And, well, that answered that. Leorio surprised Kurapika into almost toppling off the railing and splatting to the hangar floor three stories below. For a minute he was positive he’d misheard. But when Kurapika gaped at Leorio, it was to see the other man staring resolutely out the window. A flush was rising up the back of his neck, curling over his ears. Kurapika wanted to follow its path with his fingers.

“What?” He asked eloquently.

Leorio shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept looking resolutely out the window like he was trying to fry his corneas with the sun’s rays. “On the boat. During the rescue. You said you didn’t think I liked you. And that’s not true. Or, well.” Leorio shrugged. “I don’t dislike you.”

It wasn’t the most glowing personal review Kurapika had ever received, but it was honest. And he respected that honesty. So he decided to pay it back with some of his own.

“I don’t dislike you, either.”

Leorio finally turned around at that, surprised into silence. There was an intensity to his direct gaze that made Kurapika want to take his turn staring into the sun. He went on, “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Leorio snorted. “I think that’s an understatement.”

“I was trying to be diplomatic,” Kurapika snipped back, and Leorio laughed. The sound was enough to stop Kurapika’s weak argument in its tracks. He tipped his head back, hair falling out of his face, sunbeams catching on tanned skin and long, strong limbs. God, he was dazzling.

Who are you? Kurapika wanted to demand. What is this? What is happening on this island?

It’s your first twenty-four hour shift in a year, Kurapika told himself as Leorio stopped snickering at his own joke.

“I agree,” Leorio agreed. He caught Kurapika’s eye and sent him a faint smile. The green in his eyes glittered. There was a dimple on his left cheek.

“We can start again, maybe,” Kurapika offered. “Hit reset.”

Leorio studied him for another minute, considering. His smile widened.

“Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

“Alright, then.” Kurapika’s tired limbs protested any movement, already eager for two days off, but he managed to look nimble and capable when he slipped from his perch to approach Leorio. The medic eyed him curiously, a little cautiously, like he wanted to be very sure Kurapika wasn’t going to push him down the stairs head-first.

Kurapika held out a hand. “Hi, there. My name is Kurapika. I’m the new recruit.”

A beat. Leorio’s hand clasped his in a firm handshake, long fingers curling around his palm and calluses catching against his skin. Soon, Kurapika would have his own calluses again. He was looking forward to them.

“I’m Leorio,” the man said, grinning down at him. “I’m a paramedic here. I look forward to working with you.”

“Me, too,” Kurapika said, and he meant it.

A loud raspberry sound from the hangar below snapped them both out of their quiet little moment. Kurapika startled and, as one, he and Leorio snatched their hands back and looked over the railing.

Below them, the rest of House 36 stood arrayed in the main area. Their expressions ranged from sleepy to patiently exasperated to eager. Kurapika knew instantly from the smirk on his face that Killua was the one who’d blown the raspberry, and then he called up to them:

“So are you two gonna leave the House at any point? We’re heading to Pietro’s for breakfast.”

“Local diner,” Canary explained patiently to Kurapika.

“My best friend owns it,” Leorio added proudly. “We go there for breakfast after just about every shift.”

“And Morel is buying!” Gon yelled, entirely too energetic after a busy twenty-four-hour shift.

“No way, Cap!” Knuckle cried, whirling around on Morel with a huge smile on his face. “For real? You rarely ever come, let alone pay!”

“It’s a special occasion,” Morel grumbled. He was far less awake than the younger members of the firehouse crew. By his side, Altair looked equally tired, sipping his tea. “Don’t expect it to happen again.”

“We didn’t expect it this time,” Hanzo argued. Morel sent him a look that threatened his breakfast ticket, and Hanzo held up his hands in surrender.

As the rest of the crew bickered below, Kurapika looked on. For a moment, between rays of the rising sun, he swore he could see flashes of his old firehouse team. Their playful banter echoed in the words shared between Hanzo, Knuckle, and Gon; their sly jokes and pranks in the murmurs between Killua and Alluka; their endless patience in Altair and Canary; their steady support and strength in Morel.

They were gone, Kurapika knew. They were gone and never coming back, and Kurapika knew a part of himself was never coming back from that call, either. But right now, in this moment – Kurapika knew he could be happy here. That he would be happy here. He and Pairo would make this work.

“Are you coming?”

Kurapika hadn’t even realized Leorio already started moving. He hovered on the landing a few steps below Kurapika, his dark hair haloed in the light. Of his new firehouse colleagues, Leorio was the only one who did not resonate with the people Kurapika lost. Everything about Leorio Paladiknight, irritating, incredible, incandescently beautiful paramedic, was an unknown, a mystery to unravel. Was wonderfully, blessedly, refreshingly new.

“Yeah,” Kurapika said, and he followed his team out into the island summer sunshine.