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“Are you in a safe location?”
Kelly’s fingers tightened around the radio. His pulse pounded in his ears, but his focus stayed locked on the double doors.
“Not quite,” he replied, voice low, steady—more than he actually felt.
“Can you get out?”
He could. The option was there. The rational choice, the safe choice, was to take it. But his gut, his instincts—everything in him rejected the idea.
“I can, but I’m not leaving anyone here.”
Not Matt. Not anyone.
The sound of the apron doors opening made his blood run cold. He dropped the radio.
“No, no, no…”
His body moved before his brain fully processed it. His boots hit the floor hard as he sprinted forward.
Brett and Rafferty were heading in, oblivious, straight into a hostage situation.
Fuck.
Panic sharpened his focus. He had to stop them. Had to get to them before—
And then he saw Matt.
Same instinct. Same thought.
Matt was running toward them, arms up, warning them. A gang member was right behind him, gun raised, aiming.
No.
Kelly surged forward, slamming into the guy, driving him back against the squad truck. He heard Matt grunt, heard the scrape of boots as he shoved the doors closed.
It wasn’t enough.
Bang!
The gunshot cracked through the air.
Kelly turned in time to see Matt go down. The thud was sickening.
Matt.
Kelly barely had a second to process it before he was fighting for control of the gun, adrenaline burning through him. He threw a punch—hard, desperate. The guy took it but then—
A cold, heavy pressure settled at the back of his head.
Another gun.
Shit.
The guy beneath him got up and sneered, wiping blood from his lip. “Think you’re a badass, yeah? Let’s see how tough you are now.”
The first kick caught Kelly in the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing. He grunted, bracing for the second, the third—each one a brutal, calculated hit. Pain curled through him like fire, but then Matt groaned.
Kelly’s head snapped toward him, his heart hammering. “Matt?”
For a second, Matt didn’t respond. Then—
“Yeah… I think I’m okay,” he gritted out. “Bullet hit my shoulder.”
Liar.
Kelly could see the blood soaking through Matt’s fingers, dripping onto the floor. His breathing was too fast, too shallow. His jaw was clenched so tightly Kelly thought his teeth might break.
Sirens. They were close.
Relief flickered—then vanished as hands yanked Matt upright with a rough jerk.
Kelly was hauled up too, a gun pressing into his spine.
They were dragged toward the common room, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.
═════════════════
The pain in Matt’s shoulder radiated downward, sharp and unrelenting, sending white-hot jolts through his arm, all the way to his fingertips. Every pulse felt like a knife twisting deeper, his fingers tingling with numbness. He clenched his jaw, swallowing against the nausea that threatened to rise.
There was a gun digging into his back.
His muscles were locked tight, but not from fear—adrenaline was keeping him upright. He wanted to turn, wanted to check on Kelly, but he could barely keep himself standing.
He’d woken to find Kelly getting beaten, and he hadn’t been able to stop it. That was sitting heavier than the bullet wound.
“Hey bro, look at me, you dying?”
The voice was harsh, cutting through his thoughts.
Matt forced his head up, blinking sluggishly as his vision swam. “Bullet didn’t hit anything vital,” he gritted out, his voice tight with pain. “But someone needs to look at it.”
If they could get one of the gang members distracted—even for a second—it might give them an opening.
The leader considered this, then jerked his head toward the back. “Take blondie to the back. Have that medic take a look at him.”
Matt barely had time to brace himself before a hand shoved him forward, his steps unsteady. Every movement made fire lance through his shoulder, and it was getting harder to keep his head clear.
They led him toward the bunk room—where he knew Kidd was. She was tending to the gang member, the one who’d arrived already bleeding out.
She looked up sharply as Matt was pushed through the door, her eyes widening.
“Oh my God, what happened?” she asked, taking in the blood on his sleeve, his pale face.
Matt exhaled shakily, still pressing his hand to the wound. “I’m okay,” he said. The words felt empty, and the rasp in his voice didn’t exactly sell it.
He needed to sit. Lie down. His legs felt like they weren’t entirely under his control anymore. His head was buzzing, not quite pain, not quite dizziness—something between the two, pulling him deeper into exhaustion.
He caught snatches of conversation around him, but the words weren’t sticking.
Focus. Stay awake.
His knees nearly buckled, and he lurched toward the nearest bunk, dropping down onto the edge. His body sagged forward before he caught himself, blinking hard to fight the haze creeping in at the edges of his vision.
“Don’t worry, I can wrap my own wound,” he murmured. The words slurred at the end, slipping from his tongue before he could stop them.
Kidd was looking at him, concern etched across her face. He gave her the best reassuring smile he could muster, but he wasn’t sure it was convincing.
His right hand was barely responding now, fingers sluggish and uncooperative as he reached for the gauze. He tried to wrap the wound himself, but his hands—slick with blood—fumbled with the bandages.
His vision blurred. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus.
The blood was still seeping heavily, staining his grey polo, warm and sticky against his skin.
He kept wrapping, but his grip was weak, the bandages slipping as his strength drained. His breathing felt off, his body heavy.
Matt knew he was in trouble.
But for now, he just needed to stay conscious.
═════════════════
Kelly needed to get to Matt.
The pain in his ribs burned with every breath, each inhale sharp and punishing, but it was nothing—nothing compared to the twisting, gut-deep worry that gnawed at him.
Matt had gone down hard. The image of him hitting the ground, blood pooling through his sleeve, was burned into Kelly’s brain.
His foot tapped restlessly against the floor, his knee bouncing as he sat behind Cruz, his body wound so tight he thought he might snap. Every second felt like an eternity, stretching out too long, too slow.
He needed to move.
He needed to see Matt.
But the gang leader was still there, pacing, watching, his gun a constant, looming presence.
Kelly forced himself to stay still, to wait, to bide his time even though every part of him screamed to act. His fists clenched at his sides, aching to do something—anything—other than sit here useless while Matt was somewhere else, bleeding out.
Then, finally—finally—the leader turned toward the hall, frowning.
“What the hell’s going on down there?”
Kelly’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Cruz stood up in front of him, body shifting just enough to block their view.
That was all Kelly needed. Without hesitation, he slipped out of his chair and through the door, keeping low, keeping quiet. His ribs protested, but he didn’t care. His pulse was pounding in his ears as he moved through the meeting room, each step careful, calculated.
Every thought in his head was fixed on one thing.
Matt.
═════════════════
Matt was barely holding himself up.
His body felt like it wasn’t his own anymore—his limbs sluggish, his head thick with exhaustion. Every muscle ached, his vision swimming in and out of focus, but he forced himself to stay upright.
He had to.
Kidd needed him.
The wounded gang member was struggling to breathe, and Kidd was on the radio with Rafferty, her voice steady but urgent as she followed instructions.
It felt like hours, but finally—finally—the gang member took a deep, ragged breath of his own, his chest rising in a way that wasn’t forced.
Rafferty’s voice came over the radio again, calmer this time. “Is Casey alright?”
Matt barely had the strength to answer. His mouth felt dry, his head light, but he forced the words out anyway.
“Yeah, I’m—” He cut himself off, shaking his head slightly, trying to focus. That wasn’t what mattered right now. “Listen, the gang—”
He didn’t get to finish.
A fist collided with his jaw, the impact snapping his head to the side.
Pain exploded through his skull, hot and white, and he barely registered the moment his legs gave out.
The floor rushed up to meet him, hard and unforgiving.
Darkness threatened to drag him under.
Somewhere, he heard Kidd gasp. He heard his name, muffled and distant, but it was slipping away, the sounds warping as his body gave out completely.
═════════════════
Kelly saw Matt collapse.
His stomach lurched. From his spot crouched behind the door, he watched through the window as Matt crumpled to the floor, his body hitting hard, unmoving.
Shit.
Kelly clenched his fists. He didn’t want to wait anymore—he couldn’t wait anymore.
Adrenaline surged through him as he burst through the door, barely giving the closest gang member time to react before slamming into him, knocking him out cold with a brutal punch.
The second gang member squared up, but Kelly was already moving—ready to fight, ready to tear them apart if he had to—
He didn’t have to.
The police swarmed the room, shouts echoing off the walls as they stormed in, weapons raised. Gang members were yanked to the floor, hands forced behind their backs, and Kelly barely noticed.
Because none of it mattered.
Matt was all he saw.
Kelly dropped to his knees beside him, barely aware of the blood smearing onto his own clothes as he reached out. The makeshift bandage on Matt’s shoulder was soaked through, crimson spreading fast, too fast.
“Case?”
Matt stirred, a low groan slipping past his lips.
Kelly exhaled, tension coiling in his chest. “C’mon, Matt,” he urged, his hands hovering—unsure whether to shake him or just hold him.
A second later, Matt’s eyes cracked open, unfocused, hazy with pain.
“Ow… fuck… Kel… what?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Relief spread through Kelly so hard it made him lightheaded.
And then the anger kicked in.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he snapped, the words sharp, unfiltered. His breath was ragged, his ribs screaming, but none of it mattered. “Why the hell did you run out like that?”
He knew why—of course he did. Matt had done what Matt always did. Put himself in danger to protect someone else. But knowing didn’t make it any less infuriating.
Matt blinked up at him, his breathing uneven. His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk trying to form. “Sorry…”
Kelly let out a harsh breath, shaking his head. Asshole.
“Fuck…” His stomach twisted as he watched Matt pale even more, his eyelids fluttering.
Kidd was still helping the man who had been shot.
“Can we get a medic in here?!” Kelly barked, looking up just as Rafferty and Brett pushed inside, paramedics right behind them.
He shifted back, but not far—he wasn’t leaving.
“He took a bullet to the shoulder,” Kelly told them, his voice tight. “It’s not stopped bleeding.”
Brett and Rafferty didn’t waste time. They worked fast, checking for an exit wound, cutting away the ruined sleeve of Matt’s polo. Kelly caught a glimpse of the bullet still lodged deep in the muscle, the torn flesh surrounding it, and clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt.
Matt was in and out the whole time, mumbling under his breath, barely coherent.
His fingers twitched weakly against Kelly’s knee, and Kelly grabbed his wrist instinctively, squeezing.
“Everyone okay?” Matt rasped, eyes slipping shut again.
Kelly swallowed, his chest aching.
“Yeah, Matt,” he said, voice softer now. “Everyone’s fine. You need to focus on you, alright?”
Matt’s lips parted like he wanted to argue, but his body betrayed him. He faded fast, head lolling slightly as Brett and Rafferty secured his arm, packing the wound to slow the bleeding before they lifted him onto a gurney.
Kelly followed as they rolled him out, his ribs screaming with every step.
He didn’t care.
He wasn’t leaving Matt now.
═════════════════
The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of the monitors and the occasional murmur of the staff outside. Kelly sat in the chair beside the bed, watching as the nurse stitched Matt’s arm. His skin was pale under the harsh fluorescent lights, the deep bruising along his jaw stark against his normally fair complexion.
His arm was numb—thank God—but Matt was still a little out of it, his head lolling slightly on the pillow as he blinked sluggishly at Kelly.
“Herrmann faked a heart attack?” Matt asked, his voice rough and low, like he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d dreamed it or not.
Kelly huffed a quiet laugh, nodding. “Yeah.”
Matt exhaled slowly, like it took effort. “But everyone’s okay?”
Kelly’s chest tightened. Again.
Matt had already asked him twice. But he understood. Even now, stitched up and sedated, Matt needed that reassurance. It was wired into him—this desperate, stubborn need to make sure everyone else was okay before thinking about himself.
Kelly leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Yes, Matt. Everyone’s okay.”
It wouldn’t be the last time he had to say it tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow. But that was fine.
Matt was here. Alive.
The bullet was out, the bleeding had stopped, and aside from being off the job for a while and a round of antibiotics, he was going to be okay.
Matt let out a slow breath, eyes slipping shut for a moment before flickering open again. His gaze was a little glassy, but Kelly could see the way he was struggling to stay present.
“And you?” Matt murmured, his brows pulling together slightly.
Kelly blinked. “What?”
“You okay?”
The question caught him off guard. He’d expected Matt to keep fixating on the others, not on him.
Kelly scoffed, shaking his head. “Not a single broken rib.”
That was mostly true. He hadn’t let the doctors check properly, but nothing felt cracked. Nothing worse than some bruising, anyway.
“I’m fine, Matt.” He let his voice soften. “You were shot.”
Matt’s mouth quirked up in something resembling a smirk. His eyes were half-lidded, his voice a little slurred when he muttered, “Ah… semantics.”
Kelly rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
Matt made a vague noise of agreement, already starting to drift. His body was loose, exhaustion pulling him under now that the worst was over.
Kelly exhaled through his nose, sitting back in his chair but not moving. He could leave now—could step out, grab a coffee—but he wasn’t going to.
Instead, he leaned forward again, pressing his elbows against his knees, watching Matt’s breathing even out.
═════════════════
The bathroom was quiet except for the sound of water shifting around them. The air was thick with steam, the scent of soap faint beneath it.
Kelly sat behind Matt in the tub, legs stretched out on either side of him, the warmth of the water doing little to ease the deep ache in his ribs. Matt was half-asleep against his chest, his body heavy, his breathing slow.
The water had faint reddish tinge, it swirled around them, Matt’s blood still clinging to his skin, turning the bathwater into something stained, ruined.
Kelly swallowed against the tightness in his throat.
His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the washcloth, dipping it into the water, watching it soak up the ugly reminder of how close they’d come to losing this.
Matt barely stirred as Kelly began to clean him.
The bruises along his arm were already deepening—purple shadows against pale skin. The bandage covered the worst of it, hiding the stitches that held him together, but Kelly knew what was beneath it. The bullet had torn through muscle, left him bleeding all over the firehouse.
And now, the remnants of it floated around them.
Kelly worked slowly, carefully. He ran the washcloth over Matt’s arm, then his chest, wiping away the streaks of dried blood that clung stubbornly to his skin, careful not to het the bandage yet.
Matt made a small sound—not quite pain, not quite comfort. His head tilted, his breath warm against Kelly’s throat.
“You okay?” Kelly murmured.
Matt hummed, barely lifting his head. “You’re the one who got beat up.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think I need to remind you that you got shot.”
Matt exhaled a soft laugh, sluggish, his words slow from the meds.
Kelly rolled his eyes and reached for the shampoo, fingers threading through Matt’s hair, massaging gently.
Matt sighed, his body relaxing completely, and Kelly took his time rinsing the suds away.
The water around them was murky now, tinged red-brown where the blood had mixed in. Kelly stared at it for a long moment, feeling something tighten in his chest.
He pulled the plug, watching as the water slowly drained away, leaving only clean skin and bruises behind.
Matt let out a quiet breath, his fingers twitching weakly against Kelly’s leg.
Kelly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him, guiding him out of the tub with steady hands.
Matt leaned into him—trusting Kelly to hold him up, to keep him steady.
And Kelly would.