Page 88 of Fire & Ice

His vantage point from sitting upright isn’t much better, unfortunately, but it does give Tripp access to the portable radio clipped to his pants that he was previously lying on. Cradling his injured arm across his lap, Tripp grimaces as he uses those sore fingers to tug off his right glove, freeing his hand so he can reach across his body and work the radio’s controls. The first thing he does is activate his panic button, a little orange circle on the top of the radio that will—theoretically, if he’s not out of signal range—temporarily truncate other transmissions so that he can patch through.

Once it’s pressed, a whole lot ofnothinghappens, and it takes Tripp a few seconds to realize that his volume is flipped all the way down. As soon as he twists the dial to turn it up, the air in the increasingly stifling room is filled with the end of the emergency notification alert, and then, relievedly, Mickey’s anxious voice.

“Tripp! Boy, you better come in right now and tell me you’re alright.”

Clearing his throat a little, Tripp finds himself oddly thankful that Mickey can’t see the way tears are welling in his eyes at the familiar sound of his surrogate father speaking. Shaking the emotion off, he squeezes the button on the mic that’s clipped to his shoulder in order to open the channel. “Can’t get rid of me that easily, old man,” he retorts, though his snappy comeback comes out far less cocky than Tripp was hoping.

“Thank God for that,” Mickey replies, and then there’s a muffled exchange Tripp can’t quite make out in the background, though he strains to hear. “Noted,” Mickey says to whoever is beside him, and then, “Tripp, go to Four, will you?”

With practiced fingers, Tripp switches over from the Fire Ops channel he’s utilizing to the more private one Mickey requested, presumably so that communication about the active fire scene can continue on the main band. When he gets there, though, Tripp wastes no time in attempting to gauge the severity of his situation more fully. “C’mon, Mickey,” he demands with a sniff. “Don’t keep me in the dark. How bad is it?”

There’s a brief pause and then, “We’re working on it, Tripp. There are two teams on their way to you, both coming from different directions, but—it’s complicated.” Mickey hesitates. “Lot of rubble we can’t clear out of the way. Plus, where you are, it’s just not as simple as blowing a hole in the wall and pulling you out.”

Apparent unfortunate location aside, Tripp understands the logistical struggle all too well, in a way he maybe wishes he didn’t. In fact, he can bottom line it for himself: the building’s integrity is deteriorating by the minute. Taking out a wall could bury both Trippandthe entire rescue team in the process. It’s not encouraging news, but that doesn’t mean he can’t fight his own way out.

“Mickey,” Tripp says, glancing up. “I got a wall here, has huge lettering on it. Says, ‘LR-12,’ any idea if that’s useful?”

“Standby, Tripp. Hey—how’re you on oxygen?”

This time it’s Tripp’s turn to hesitate, eventually deciding that there’s no need to worry Mickey more than he already is. “‘S’alright. Just…I shouldn’t waste it.”

All Tripp hears in reply is a huff and a swear that’s probably going to earn the Chief a reprimand from the commissioners for saying it over the radio, but it’s doubtful Mickey gives a rat’s ass. More to the point, imagining Mickey chewing that group of balding suits out for bitching about language while he was busy trying to save a life is funny as hell, and Tripp laughs.

Too quickly, his smile fades away again. The silence that fills the room while he waits for Mickey’s voice to return feels more ominous now, increasingly hot and filled with the determined crackling of a fire that’s got a mind of its own.

Left alone with his thoughts, Tripp can’t help but let his own mind wander, and it goes where it always goes, like a moth to a flame.Lee.Despite everything, Tripp still loves him—of course he does. And even though Lee hurt his feelings earlier, Tripp regrets being such a dick to him about everything. If the way Mickey isnottalking is anything to go by, that shitty interaction might end up being thelastone he ever has with his best friend. Might be the way Leander will be stuck remembering him for the rest of his life, and Tripp can’tbelievehe left it the way that he did.

That’s morbid.

That’s life.

Tripp barks a depressed little laugh, raising his watery eyes to the wrecked ceiling and blinking wildly until tears track down his cheeks on the inside of his mask.

Lee.

Every single one of Tripp’s reasons for staying silent, fornotsharing his true feelings, seem so fucking stupid now. He’s going to die here, in this goddamn dirty hovel, without ever telling the love of his life that that’s what he is.

At the end of the day, Tripp is pretty damn sure of what Lee feels in return, but that’s irrelevant, isn’t it? Tripp could have been the bigger person in all of this, just as easily. Could have been the one to step out on that limb, instead of waiting in the wings like a coward.

Let’s be real,Tripp thinks to himself. A person can worry, or they can act, and he’salwaysbeen adoer.Not a ‘sit around and drown in his feelings’ kind of douche, but here he fuckin’ is, drowning.

Looking back, Tripp wishes more than anything else that he’d been better than that. That he’d taken what he learned so painstakingly over the last few months, through BDSM and with Lee as his Dom, and applied it to their relationship as a whole. It seems so obvious in retrospect, with everything he’s practiced so faithfully as a submissive—all that open communication and building of trust—he should have run with it.

Lee ain’t off the hook, either, not in Tripp’s mind. He could have done that shit too, that’s for damn sure.

Both of them are idiots, that’s what Tripp thinks. If he ever gets out of here, thefirstthing he’s going to do is—

“Tripp, you there?” Mickey’s back, and he sounds friggin’ excited, which perks Tripp up immediately and helps him refocus. Parts of the precariously-stacked rubble are starting to crack and shift, and Tripp’s no stranger to this part of a working fire. Sooner rather than later, this whole room is going to cave in.

“I’m here, Chief,” Tripp replies reflexively. As he does, his eye catches on a particularly large concrete beam that appears to be holding up the majority of the stacked debris. It’s probably the reason he isn’t already buried, but it also has a worryingly-aggressive stress fracture creeping down its middle that’s only growing wider by the minute.

“Good catch on that wall, son. There’s a couple like it in the building, but we’re gonna make a best guess as to which one you’re near. Can you get over to it? There should be a door in the northwest corner, and if you can get through that, it’ll move you further away from the main blaze. Buy the boys some time to get to you.”

“Roger,” Tripp acknowledges, feeling slightly more hopeful now that they have a plan, tenuous as it may be. Tripp’s not a quitter, he’s not just going to lay down and die.Hellno, he’s going to fight with everything he has in order to survive—this, and any other wild thing God or Fate or whatever else sees fit to throw his way. All the same, though…

Tripp stops right before starting to drag himself over towards the wall and presses the ‘talk’ button on the mic again, licking his dry lips before speaking. “Mickey,” he says. “Beau?”

“I called him,” Mickey replies gruffly, and of course he did. He knows Tripp all too well. “He was over at Central, he’s on his way. Should be here soon.” In equal measure, that knowledge fills Tripp with both relief and dread. If this rescue mission fails, hewantsto be able to talk to Beau one last time, but on the other hand—

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