Author: Geonn

Email: neil_j_miser@yahoo.com

Pairing: Sam/Janet

Category: First Time, AU

Spoilers: The Changeling

Series: Third in the "Ablaze" series, following Rescue Me and Fireman's Carry.

Disclaimer: The situations are kind of my own... seeing as this is an AU. But I can't even really take credit for that.

Rating: Older Kids

Notes: Special "Incendiary" posting icon animated by the lovely lone_wolf84. Much thanks to her! :D

Summary: A few months after their life-saving run-ins, Sam and Janet meet again and begin 'testing the waters.' Meanwhile, the firefighters are put to task trying to keep up with an arsonist.

Chapter One

"Oh, mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law..."

He hummed the next line, walking confidently down the narrow corridor between the empty offices. His shoes made hollow, echoing claps against the bare walls. The doors had all been removed from their hinges, leaving all the offices open like cells in a prison. All the prisoners were long-gone by now, of course. All that remained was an occasional chair, one desk without any drawers and a chair that he had rolled back and forth in for about twenty minutes before becoming bored.

The last office had been that of the company's president, long before the company moved to a better building. He had the gasoline can tucked under his arm and he put it where the CEO's desk had once been. He didn't remember who sang the song he was humming; Styx? Sounded right.

He looked out the window, down at the abandoned parking lot. The building was dead; grass shooting up between the cement squares. The yellow lines marking spaces had long since faded, the street-level walls defaced by graffiti and gang signs. He pursed his lips. The building had been dead too long; it was time to give it life.

He turned and walked back to the gas can, picking it up and splashing some in a circle around himself. "Law man has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home," he sang, stepping out of the circle and leaving the office. The can was again under his arm, only this time it was backwards, upside-down. It left a wet, pungent trail behind him as he sang softly to himself.

When the can was empty, he hurled it across the wide open area that had once been separated into cubicles. It landed with a loud clatter and he reached into one pocket. The matches were from a bar he'd never been to before; a crowded joint where the bartender would never be able to pick him out of a line-up. Not that the matches would ever be traced back to anyone. He was smarter than that.

He lit one match, tucking it into the cover and laying it on the floor. It was close enough to the end of the gas trail that, when the flame reached the other matches and blew them, it would ignite. Then it was a matter of dominoes... fire moving down the hall, much as he had moments ago, leaving ashes in its wake.

Tucking his hands into his pocket, he turned and walked down the stairs. "The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me... The renegade who had it made retrieved for a bounty," he sang. He loved the song for its irony; he was one renegade they would never find. Not until it was either too late or he had chosen to put an end to his running on his own terms.

He left the building, looking up as he headed across the parking lot. A small flicker in a top-office window. Years ago, it could have denoted a night owl burning both ends of the candle. Now, it signified the return of life to an empty husk. He hurried across the street and hoped a concerned citizen was looking the right direction. Timing was everything. If he didn't hear sirens soon, he would have to--

Ahhh, there. Sirens. Right on schedule, the good men and women of the Coquitlam Fire Department were on their way to put out the blaze. Had there been smoke detectors? His plan relied on a watchful civilian, but a smoke detector was all the better. It just meant his game could begin that much earlier.

The red truck pulled in through the chain link fence, parking on the side of the building he had just exited. He settled into the nest he'd built for himself, smiling broadly as he watched the yellow-jackets buzz around like bees, doing what they'd been trained to do... put the wet stuff on the red stuff... He took note of the names on the backs of their coats: CARTER, QUINN, FERETTI, DAVIS, MURRAY...

The chief running things was O'Neill; he'd looked that information up on the Internet. Carter and Murray went in first with the hose, followed by Quinn and Feretti. Other firemen remained outside, but he couldn't read their names. Two-in, two-out, just in case anyone needed rescuing.

He smiled. "Just in case," he muttered to himself.

He watched as O'Neill paced next to the truck, watching the windows and talking into a radio. Keeping in touch with his people. Again... just in case.

There was an explosion in the building and he had to hold himself back from applauding. A death, to give life. The building was seeing more excitement than it had in years. What was more thrilling to a building than to take a life? All these firefighters present... every last one of them... would look at the husk of this building for years and remember it as the place where one of their own was laid to rest.

Who, oh, who would it be?

Two of the firefighters that had stayed outside, the Rapid Intervention Team, rushed the building on O'Neill's orders. Ooh, what if he had taken out two of the firefighters? He leaned forward, eagerly anticipating the final act of his show. Another explosion and the windows were blown out of the top floor. The wave made him back up a few steps, surprising even him with its force. He had underestimated himself!

Firefighters started to exit the building, all of them identical in their standard turnout gear. He bit his lip, eagerly moving his head back and forth to see the names on the backs of their jackets. O'Neill was shouting with one of the firefighters; part anger, part trying to get the conversation through the masks the fireman wore.

O'Neill motioned at the pumper truck and the man there opened up on the shattered windows. As the firemen moved about in the parking lot, he spotted more and more names... Murray was safe, so was Quinn. Carter and Feretti were missing.

He made a note on his pad; Carter and Feretti. They will not be forgotten.

He was about to make a quick getaway when there was a cry from the parking lot. He paused, watching in awed fascination as two more firefighters limped from the entrance. One was obviously being dragged, the other doing the majority of the walking for them both. The limp body was lowered to the pavement. Two EMTs that had arrived with the firemen rushed to help.

O'Neill grabbed the last man out of the building, grabbing the lapel of his jacket and shouting right against his mask. Probably something along the lines of 'what the hell were you thinking' and 'you have some kind of death wish' and so on and so forth. When O'Neill broke off the tirade to see to the fallen man, the rescuer pulled off his helmet and unhooked the air-pack covering his face.

Oh. Correction... *her* face. She turned and leaned against the truck, coughing violently and spitting on the pavement.

He smiled as he read the back of her jacket. "Now, now, Carter," he whispered. "That's no way for a lady to behave... let alone a hero."

---

Feretti was loaded into the ambulance, giving a thumb's-up to the others as the doors were shut on him. O'Neill returned to Carter and stood with his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what to say to her. "I screwed up," she said unnecessarily. "I saved a fellow fireman. It won't happen again."

"You put yourself in a dangerous situation," he said. "You happened to save Feretti's life, yes. This time. Next time, we may be dragging two corpses out of the building instead of just one. I'm not saying 'don't try and save someone.' I'm saying know your limits."

She nodded and he patted her on the shoulder. "Good job." He turned and walked away, keeping an eye on the effort to keep the fire under control. Sam ran a hand through her blonde hair, exhaling sharply and still smelling smoke coming off her jacket. She stood, planning to head over to T and Jonas, see if they were all right, when she spotted movement at the back of the lot.

A man was standing on the other side of the chain link fence, watching and moving his weight from one foot to the other. He saw her looking at him and nervously waved a hand. She returned the wave, heading towards her team members. Jonas saw her coming and nodded a hello. "Chief tear you a new one?" T asked.

"He's a pussycat," Sam sighed. "Can you believe it's almost midnight and we're still getting looky-loos?"

"Where?" Jonas asked.

She nodded at the fence. "Right over..." She frowned. "He was there a second ago."

"Maybe you scared 'im off," T suggested.

Jonas flicked something off his jacket changed the subject. "Did that explosion seem weird to anyone else?"

"No," Sam said, looking at the building. The fire was almost doused; all that remained was killing a few embers and doing a quick overhaul of the top floor. "No, stuff like that is typical in arson."

"Arson?" Jonas asked.

T chuckled. "Yeah, probie. Smelled it a mile away. This place was torched." He nodded towards Sam and said, "Maybe by your ghost."

"Yeah," Sam said, smiling weakly. "Maybe."

---

Lou Feretti picked up his Jell-O and tapped the edge with his spoon. "Nurse!" he called. "Nurse, I need some help with my dinner! And a sponge bath! Nurse!"

Janet Fraiser came into the room and his eyes widened. "Uh-oh," Janet said for him. She tucked the blanket around him and sighed heavily. "When will you firemen stop getting hurt? It looks bad when doctors get repeat business."

"We'll stop getting hurt when you retire, Doc."

"Is that supposed to be flattery?"

"I don't know, I'm woozy. I haven't had my sponge bath yet."

"Has the nurse put your catheter in yet? We can reinsert it if necessary..."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Okay! Okay, fine. Geez, you can't even flirt with someone these days without being threatened by Nazi torture techniques."

"I'll come by and check on you later, okay?" Janet said, giving him a smile. "And try to figure out the Jell-O by then, huh?"

"Yes, mein fuhrer," Feretti said, peeling the top off of his dessert.

Janet stepped into the hall, marking his chart and sliding it into the holder by the door. She turned and headed for the nurse's station, almost making it before she recognized a familiar face seated in the waiting area. Samantha Carter was dressed in navy blue slacks and a very flattering white t-shirt with CFD emblazoned on the left breast. She was unwrapping a sandwich Janet recognized as being from the cafeteria.

She quickly made her way over and said, "I wouldn't."

Sam looked up, smiling when she recognized the woman. "Dr. Fraiser, hello," she said. She furrowed her brow and asked, "You wouldn't what?"

Janet indicated the sandwich. "That's from the cafeteria downstairs, right? Save yourself. There's a deli down the street that delivers. If you want, it's my treat..."

Sam shook her head. "No, thank you, that's..." She smiled, looking down at the sandwich and seemed to consider her words before speaking. "A few years ago, my father was dying of cancer. We'd always been close, so it felt like a best friend was dying instead of my father. I spent almost three days straight in the hospital. A by-product of that is that... well, I-I don't mind hospital food."

Janet picked up the small packet of mayonnaise-like spread. "Really," she muttered, sounding unconvinced.

Taking a huge bite of the sandwich, Sam nodded and gave the doctor a thumb's up. Janet laughed and said, "If you're waiting to see Feretti, he's awake. You can go say hello if you can handle the sexual harassment he'll be heaping on you."

"I've been a female fireman for almost ten years," Sam said. "I tamed these boys a long time ago." She put down her sandwich, wiping her mouth on the cube of napkin provided. She stood and said, "What room?"

"Room 65. But... uh, hold on," Janet said, stepping forward and standing in front of Sam. She licked her thumb and reached up, brushing it against Sam's temple. "Just a little soot."

Sam smiled nervously, unsure of what to do as her face was cleaned. When Janet dropped her hand, Sam quietly said, "Thank you" before stepping around and heading towards Feretti's room. Janet watched her go, chuckling quietly to herself before going behind the nurse's desk.

Chapter Two

His apartment looked out over the river, which was surrounded on all either side by trees and rolling hills. Not a building in sight, no man-made structures at all other than the bridge peeking out from between a few trees. It sickened him.

The talking heads on the news made a big hubbub about the 'hero firefighter' Samantha Carter, who had risked her life to pull a fellow fireman out of danger. Louis Feretti, the firefighter who would have been the first victim, was doing well and scheduled to be released from the hospital.

He'd looked in the phone book, but Feretti's address wasn't listed. He doubted directory assistance would give the information about someone who had just been on the news. So he couldn't rectify his mistake by burning down the fireman's home. No, this would just have to be a failure for the time being.

He put the remote control on the end table, watching as Chief O'Neill was interviewed by the on-scene reporter.

Feretti was alive. But the building... it was on the news. It had been the scene of hectic action the night before. The building was also alive. He stood and turned off the TV, going into the den to think about the next resuscitation.

---

Sam stopped by Chief O'Neill's office, sick of waiting for him to come to her. "Sir? If you have a minute?"

He glanced up. "Sure, Carter. Come on in." She stepped inside and he added, "Close the door."

She closed the door and took a seat across from him. He finished writing something, pushing away the pad and finally looking directly at her. "This about the other night?"

"Yes, Sir. I was..."

"Wondering when the other shoe was going to drop." He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "The order was to get out. You went deeper into the building and pulled Feretti out of a dangerous situation."

"We were on our way into the first corridor of the third floor. Feretti was ahead of me, looking in one of the offices for squatters. I was ahead of him then when I heard the explosion. I headed for the stairs and heard Feretti's PASS alarm going off. He had taken a hit, had fallen, I was nearby and grabbed him. It wasn't..."

He interrupted her, holding up a hand. "I saw the burn marks on your boots and coat. You put yourself in danger to save a fellow fireman. Don't expect any medals for disobeying orders." He sighed and leaned forward. "But don't expect punishment for doing the right thing, either."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

He pulled the pad back in front of himself, scribbling something across the top. "Are you making chili for lunch?"

"Uh... no. T wanted us to try some kind of stew."

Jack made a face and said, "All right." After a moment, he looked up at her and said, "Anything else?"

"No, Sir," she said, rising quickly. "Thank you." She opened the door, then turned and said, "When is Feretti coming back?"

"Tomorrow."

She nodded and said, "Okay. Thank you again, Sir. I'll bring you a bowl of T's stew." She went back downstairs, passing Jonas in the bunker area. He stepped out, following her with a questioning look in his eyes. She sighed and held her hands out. "I've been dismissed. I'm going home."

Jonas gaped at her. "For how long?"

"Indefinitely. Pending review. There's a chance I'll be let go permanently."

"So you save Feretti's life and we still lose a good firefighter? That's... insane."

"It's the way of the world, probie," Sam said, shrugging and struggling not to laugh. He followed her into the kitchen and said, "Hey, T. How's the stew coming?"

"Stewing," T said.

Sam took a seat at the table, pulling a carafe of orange juice from the middle of the table and pouring a glass. She poured one for T, who sat across from her. Jonas frowned and said, "Um... Captain? Should you... be here?"

"Why wouldn't I be here?" Sam asked.

"Well, if you've been dismissed, then..."

T frowned. "Why would Carter be dismissed, probie?"

"Well... for the fire... for what she did..."

"I saved another fireman's life and you think I deserve to be let go?" Sam whistled and shook her head. "I'll remember that next time we're in a fire together."

"But... you said that..." Jonas looked back and forth between them, then grumbled. "Oh, you know what? Screw you, Captain."

Sam laughed and said, "Just a little harmless fun, Quinn. Lighten up."

He sat next to her and took a muffin from the basket, pouting about being the butt of another joke.

"When is Lou coming home?" T asked.

"Chief said tomorrow. You should probably have a dish of the gumbo crap he loves ready."

T nodded and leaned back in his chair. "Jonas, you coming over to my place to check out the hockey game? Canucks, big-screen TV, I'll even order a pizza."

"Pepperoni?" Jonas asked.

"Whatever you like," T said. "You're paying for it."

Jonas sighed and said, "Well, an offer like that... how could I refuse?"

O'Neill walked in, handing Carter a sheet of reports. She looked over them as he said, "Okay. Arson investigators have looked over the fire the other night. It was definitely arson; points to Carter on that one." She raised her fist in victory, still looking over the investigators report. "Place had been abandoned for about three years. Odd thing was, it wasn't a lay-off situation. No disgruntled employees, no insurance to speak of."

"No reason to torch it," Sam surmised.

"Unless it's a firebug that likes to watch buildings burn."

"Which means he may do it again."

"Carter's looky-loo," Jonas blurted out.

O'Neill raised an eyebrow. "That was a weird sentence."

Sam explained, "There was a guy at the fire last night. He was on the other end of the parking lot... I guessed he was just a guy from the neighborhood out for a stroll, saw the fire engines..." She shrugged. "I guess it could've been the arsonist admiring his handiwork."

"Okay. Next time, mention anything like that to me. You know better than that. As of right now, we're just sitting on our hands and praying this guy doesn't get the urge to burn anything else down for a while." He glanced at the stove and said, "Stew?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Right." He waved over his shoulder as he left the kitchen area. Sam put down the report and said, "Gas fire. An obvious trail, the gas can was left in the offices... he was either really stupid or didn't care about being caught."

"What about the explosions?"

"He left a couple of full gas cans behind in closets. Time bombs, really."

T's face grew dark and he straightened his chair. "Trying to take out firemen?" he asked, his voice low.

Sam nodded sadly and pushed the report away. "Seems to be the most obvious conclusion."

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, standing up and going over to the stove. Sam glanced at Jonas and stood, leaving the kitchen area. She went downstairs to the garage, pausing in the supply closet long enough to get a bucket and some sponges. A little downtime, the perfect opportunity to do a little busywork.

The hose was outside and she stepped out of the garage as someone was reaching for the door to go in. She stepped back and said, "Here, let me... Doctor?"

Janet smiled and said, "Captain Carter! I was actually coming to look for you." They both stepped away from the door, letting it swing shut behind them. Janet was holding a covered tin and, from the smells wafting out of it, bearing gifts of fresh-baked cookies. It was all Sam could do to keep from grabbing it from her. "I thought I would drop off some get-well cookies for Feretti."

"Oh, he's actually not coming back until tomorrow..."

"I know," Janet said. "But I know firefighters and I know Feretti probably wouldn't get any no matter when I dropped them off. So I gave him some when he was at the hospital and these are for you guys."

Sam grinned. "Sneaky. I like it."

They lapsed into silence and Janet looked down at the bucket and sponges. "Planning on starting a car wash?"

"Just the engine," Sam said, nodding at the open garage doors. "We get a little downtime, it's busy work until the next fire call comes in."

"Oh, I get it," Janet said.

Sam looked out into the street, unsure if the conversation was over. Janet shifted from one foot to the other and Sam finally realized, "Oh, my God, I'm sorry... let me..." She put down her bucket and took the tin from Janet.

The doctor smiled in relief. "Thanks. I was about to just put it on the sidewalk."

"Very rude of me," Sam said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Sam could now smell the cookies with no problem. Apparently, before going to medical school, Janet Fraiser had been an accomplished baker. After another long pause, Janet said, "Well, I should probably..."

"Don't go," Sam said. "At least come in and let the guys know who the chef is."

"No, I really need to be going. It was nice to see you again," she said.

"You, too," Sam said. She watched Janet walk down the sidewalk, climbing into a small sedan. She leaned down and smelled the cookies, smiling and wondering if she could make it to her locker without the guys seeing her. No, the smell would probably give her away. The punishment they would dole out wouldn't be worth a few extra cookies.

She went back inside, whistling loudly as she crossed the garage. "Cookies!" she said, putting them down on a folding table next to the engine.

T and Jonas appeared halfway down the stairs from the kitchen, while Chief O'Neill all but flew from the back of the house. Sam barely had time to get her hands back before T ripped off the foil covering. The smell hit them all like a warm cloud, making T's eyes roll back in his head. "Oooh, sweet god of cookies, you have delivered us at last..."

"Who delivered these?" O'Neill asked, taking a handful.

"Dr. Fraiser."

"Fraiser," the Chief said, looking around. "She didn't come in to tease us?"

"No," Sam said.

O'Neill seemed to process this, then took Carter's arm and led her towards the bunker area. He nibbled on his cookie and said, "You're usually later shift, so you and Fraiser have had, what, three run-ins?"

Sam shrugged. "Give or take."

"She brings us stuff like this all the time," he said, waving the cookie. "But she gets a sick thrill out of making us beg for it. She's... sadistic. You're the only person she talked to?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I... well, we ran into each other outside. We talked for a while, but she didn't make me beg for anything."

O'Neill smirked and muttered, "You don't say..." He took another bite of his cookie.

"What's going on, Chief?"

He sighed and lowered his voice. "Fraiser is..." He hesitated. "I don't know the politically correct term, but suffice to say, I think she's interested in you."

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh," she breathed, stepping back and looking over at the others. More of the firemen in the house had arrived, huddled around the table. They were all still engrossed by the cookies and hadn't noticed O'Neill and Carter stepping away. She thought for a moment, then asked, "Are you telling me so I'll stay away from her or...?"

He held up both hands. "Hey, look... What you do in the bedroom doesn't affect your firefighting, it doesn't concern me." He thought for a second and then added, "Although you could do a lot worse than Janet Fraiser."

He walked away, leaving Sam in the bunker with her mind reeling at what had just transpired.

---

Sam dropped her rucksack on the table behind her couch, turning on the lamp and letting it light her way to the kitchen. T's stew had left much to be desired, and even Janet's cookies weren't enough to get her through to breakfast. She yawned as she searched the fridge, finding nothing worth eating. She did find a few things she didn't think it would be possible to eat and threw them out.

She ordered a small pizza from the place on the corner and dropped onto the couch, staring at her ceiling as she waited for her dinner to arrive. She thought back to what O'Neill had told her about Janet Fraiser. She'd never told the guys about her sexual preference, not right out, but she had a feeling they knew. It had to be obvious, the way she never talked about men, boyfriends, and so on.

But if they did know, had O'Neill just given her the okay to pursue Janet? It was all too much to process. She rubbed her face, standing up and heading for the door just as the intercom downstairs buzzed. She smiled; she had the pizza place down cold. She hit the enter button and the delivery guy shouted, "Be right up!" into the speaker.

As she waited for him to ascend the stairs, she picked up the local phone book and thumbed through it. F... Fra... Fras... No Frasier. Her name wasn't listed... unless... She checked Frazer, Fraser and Fraiser... finally spotting a Fraiser, J. She was staring at the number as the pizza guy knocked on her door.

She went to answer, leaving the phone book open. She wasn't sure she was going to call Janet later, but she didn't want to have to search through the book if she did.

Chapter Three

Sam wore boxer shorts and a CFD t-shirt to bed, both of which were sticking to her when she came to in the morning. She groaned, sitting up and tugging the cotton away from her flesh. She was halfway to the bathroom when someone started to buzz her intercom. "Ugh," she said eloquently, changing her trajectory and heading into the living room. She pressed the button, not bothering to wait and see who it was.

She put on a robe, opening the front door and leaning against it as she waited for her guest to show up.

To her surprise, Janet Fraiser came into view at the top of the stairs. Sam straightened, pulling her robe shut and wishing she'd gotten up a little earlier to shower. "Janet," she said.

Janet stopped a few feet in front of the apartment door, looking flustered. Her face was red, her hair blown into a mess by wind. "Look, Chief O'Neill had no right to talk to you about my personal life. He had no right and... I would appreciate it if you don't make assumptions about me or..." She bit her bottom lip, apparently running out of steam earlier than she anticipated.

"Do you want some coffee?" Sam asked.

Janet exhaled, her shoulders slumping. "Please."

---

Janet ended up making and pouring the coffee, giving Sam time to hop into the shower and get dressed. When she rejoined the doctor, she was wearing her blue uniform shirt and navy blue slacks. "Smells good," she said. She went to the cabinet, getting out a box of chocolate donuts and offering it to Janet. "Have a seat?"

"Do you have to be at work? Because we can..."

"No, I'm free," Sam said. "I go in at noon today."

Janet nodded and tore off a quarter of her donut. "I'm sorry I tore into you."

Sam shook her head. "Think nothing of it. I feel sorry for Chief O'Neill, though. I get the feeling that, if anyone could make that man weep, it's you."

Janet chuckled. "Well, he wasn't quite to the point of tears... but I doubt he'll be talking out of school again." She blushed, as if reminded of why she was there. "I hope... you don't think that I'm some kind of..."

"I don't," Sam said, interrupting to keep Janet from calling herself a name. "The fact is, I was... kind of... flattered."

Janet raised her eyes. "Are you...?"

"The Chief and the guys don't know. I don't... think they know. Or else Chief O'Neill probably would've told you by now." Janet smiled at that. "You don't have to worry about me being offended or disgusted. I... don't get many admirers. Female admirers." She bit her lip. "Attractive... female admirers." She put her hand to her face, feeling like an idiot.

"Attractive," Janet whispered, looking away shyly.

"Are you busy Friday?" Janet asked.

Sam almost immediately snapped, "Yes, definitely." They both looked flustered for a moment and Sam said, "Oh. I... thought you were going to ask if I wanted to go out. But I am, I am busy Friday... on duty."

"Oh," Janet said. "But the other question..."

"Yes, I want to go out with you," she said, feeling light-headed saying the words. She sat back and said, "Very few people make me this idiotic."

"The line between love and idiocy is supposed to be paper thin."

Sam smiled. "I'm off Saturday."

"I'm on duty at the hospital."

Sam groaned and leaned forward. "Okay. I'm on-duty Sunday and Monday. Then my next days off are Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday."

"How about late Monday, after work?"

"I'm at the firehouse until ten that night."

"Right, the insane shifts," Janet said. "Well, I do have an hour lunch break on Tuesday."

"What time?"

"One in the afternoon."

Sam smiled. "I can swing that."

---

Sam dropped her bag into her bunker area, putting her sunglasses on the top shelf and closing the six-by-six locker at the top of the open cubbyhole. When she turned around, she spotted Chief O'Neill coming towards her. He stopped, staring at her shoes and reciting, "It wasn't my place to discuss personal matters with you in a public area. I apologize to you and to the person I disrespected."

Sam widened her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. "What is the hold this woman has over you?" she asked, smiling at his discomfort.

"Did Fraiser already talk with you?"

She walked past him and he fell into step. "She said you gave her my address? How is *that* not invading privacy?"

"I... thought that..." He cleared his throat and said, "Look, I just wanted to clear the air and I didn't think that..."

She stopped him, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening. "She came by my apartment this morning. We talked, I apologized, she accepted... we're going out to lunch on Tuesday."

Jack blinked and said, "Out to lunch as in..."

Sam shrugged. "As in... whatever. But whatever it is, it's not public knowledge. Okay, Chief?"

He nodded. "Gotcha." He smiled and leaned forward. "But let me know how it goes, okay?"

She nodded and followed him into the kitchen. She gasped when she saw who was sitting at the table. "Feretti! Welcome back!" She reached across the table, grabbing his wrist as he grabbed hers. "How are you feeling?"

"Eh, the doc wanted to keep me for a day or two more. But it'll take more than a little burning wood to keep the Ferret down."

"Oh, I'll keep that in mind next time I risk my neck to save you."

"Hey, don't expect a thank you. Now I actually have to pay T the fifty bucks I owe him."

T slapped the back of Feretti's head. "It's eighty and you know it, cheapskate."

Sam grinned and accepted the coffee carafe that Jonas passed her. Things were almost passing for normal.

---

Sunset.

Once it was dark, he could go to work. Flames seemed so impotent in the light of day. But at night... fire and flame ruled the night. He lit a match and watched it burn, waving it out before it hit his fingers.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the warehouse, he was surrounded on all sides by nothingness. The surprisingly cold summer air, just barely feeling the twinges of heat that remained from the day. Oh, and it had been a hot one. He saw on the news that another firehouse had been dispatched to two different grass fires. Grass set ablaze by the *sun.* Buildings needed gasoline, matches, fuses in order to burn... which of the two was superior, he wondered sarcastically.

He stood and went to the window. The sun was taking so long to go down. He was anxious. But he wouldn't make mistakes this time. No, no hanging around to watch his handiwork, sadly. Carter had seen him last time.

His partner knew Carter, recognized her name and had begged for her to be left out of it. He hadn't told his partner that Carter had almost been the first victim. Maybe tonight, he thought. Maybe tonight would be the night that Carter sacrificed herself for the greater cause. The news would, of course, bronze her boots and hoist her onto a pedestal before the last embers were even cooled. She would take precedence over a poor, empty building.

But that didn't matter. So long as the work was done, so long as the building got a breath of life tonight, none of the aftermath mattered.

He chuckled, wondering what his partner would do if Carter fell. It would be amusing, to say the least.

It all would be over soon enough.

If only the damn sun would go down.

---

Janet turned on the news and curled up on the couch, eager to watch the last few minutes of the broadcast before going to sleep.

Her eyes were drifting shut as she heard the familiar triple-bleep that signified breaking news. The anchors appeared, cutting into the time usually devoted to weather. "This is an update on breaking news we brought you at the top of our newscast; the Doggett building, on Forty-Third and Hanover, has been burning since just after sundown. Right now, our Chopper 7 is at the scene and our pilot reporter James Rich is bringing us word that a body is being brought out of the building right now. James?"

Janet sat up, horrified as a jumpy shot of a burning building appeared. James Rich's voice spoke over the scene, sounding loud over the thumping of the helicopter rotors. He was speaking into a headset, so static also fudged his words. "David, this fire is just raging and it shows no sign of slowing down anytime soon. As far as we can tell, the firefighters are making little headway and it looks like one of them is being carried out right now."

The camera angled and showed three firefighters carrying another away from the building and laying him on the pavement.

"Don't show this," Janet whispered, closing her eyes. "For God's sake, his family..."

She tuned out the rest of the reporter's words, trying to see the number on the side of the trucks. The CFD on the back of their jackets was hard to miss, but she couldn't make out names. As the helicopter came around for another pass, she caught a glimpse of Engine 2 on the side of the pumper truck.

"No," she whispered. "Oh, God, no, Chief O'Neill..."

Her mind raced with faces she had seen in the firehouse; T, Feretti, Jonas, Davis and Siler and...

Sam.

Life wasn't that unfair. It was seldom fair, but... no. Not Sam. She clasped her hands in front of her face, closing her eyes and whispering a prayer. "Please," she whispered. "Not Sam... please, God, not Sam."

---

Once the building was evacuated, O'Neill stepped back and let the back-up engine take care of extinguishing the blaze. T was a shell, sitting on the steps of their truck, an unlit cigarette trembling between his lips. O'Neill walked over and held out his hand. T looked at him, removed the cigarette and said, "Chief, you quit."

"I know I quit. Give me a goddamn cigarette."

T reached into his pocket, withdrawing a pack and sliding a cigarette out. Jack took it and pulled a lighter from his own pocket. Lighting the cigarette, he looked at the gurney carrying the covered body of Lou Feretti. "It was just his time, I guess," T said. "Fire wanted him... fire got him."

"His time," Jack scoffed, moving away from T and wandering towards the edge of the lot. "Carter!" She made her way over and he motioned at the crowd of on-lookers. "The looky-loo. He here?"

Sam scanned the faces. "I don't know. It was dark the other night; I could just barely see his face."

O'Neill nodded slowly.

"I thought you quit, sir," Sam said softly.

He dropped the cigarette to the ground, smashing it with the toe of his boot. "Yeah," he said quietly. He walked back to the truck to watch as the fire was put out. Sam scanned the fences again, wishing she could remember the guy more clearly.

---

Carter was looking right at him and didn't recognize him.

He smiled and almost waved again. But no, no that would ruin the fun. When he'd seen the crowd gathering, he had known it would be safe to stay and watch. Just stay at the back, stay low, blend in with the crowd. He rocked back and forth on his heels and looked up at the building. Flames licking the windows, almost gone now. A news helicopter was still circling, although the news had all ended. Unless they were cutting into Letterman, they were probably just gathering footage for the morning broadcast.

There was a poetic justice to the fact that Feretti had died in the blaze. Nature corrects its mistakes, he supposed.

He stepped back, fading into the crowd.

---

She spit into the sink, running the back of her hand over her mouth before loading her toothbrush again. She'd gone into a room without her air-pack on and a cloud of ashes had gotten into her mouth. She didn't know how T and O'Neill could stand smoking if this was the result. She rinsed her mouth and attacked with her brush one more time.

As she was going for round three, she heard O'Neill talking to someone outside, followed by a knock on the bathroom door. "Carter, you in there?"

"Brushing my teeth, sir," she said, turning and opening the door. She still had the toothbrush sticking out of her mouth when Janet Fraiser latched onto her. "Whoa. Janet, what are you doing here?"

"News got close-ups of a fallen firefighter," Jack explained. "Showed Feretti dying, showed the entire damn world his corpse, but couldn't be bothered to give any information. T and Jonas are busy calling their loved ones." He motioned at Janet and said, "If, uh... there's anyone you want to call when you get free."

She pulled the toothbrush free and said, "Thank you, sir."

He nodded and walked away, rubbing the back of his neck as he went upstairs.

Sam eased Janet back and smiled down at her. "Hey. It's almost five in the morning. You didn't have to run all the way down here just to see if I was okay."

"I don't think I would have believed anyone over the phone," Janet admitted. She closed her eyes and said, "I just can't believe... Lou."

Sam nodded. "Chief O'Neill talked to his sister earlier. She was all Lou really had, other than us."

Janet stepped forward and buried her face against Sam's shoulder. "Call me selfish, but I-I'm glad you're all right," she whispered. She kissed Sam's neck and stepped back. "I have to go. I have to be at work in about forty-five minutes."

"Are we still on for lunch Tuesday?" Sam asked, feeling a little preposterous asking at this particular moment.

"Without a doubt," Janet said. "I'll see you. Give Jonas and T my condolences, will you?"

"Okay," Sam said. Janet walked away, looking like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Sam rinsed off her toothbrush, looking at herself in the mirror and closing her eyes. What a hellish night.

---

She crashed in the bunks, falling asleep on top of the covers with her shoes still on. When she woke the next morning, she could hear O'Neill making a ruckus downstairs in the garage. She slid down the pole, making her way to the source of the commotion. She recognized the arson investigator, a stout Irishman named McGee, holding O'Neill back. She also, unfortunately, recognized the source of his ire.

Marty Lantash was standing next to the fire engine, eyes wide behind his glasses, his hand pressed against the crisp front of his suit. He was as natty as ever; his suit tailored for him. He wore a vest and a bright yellow tie, looking like he'd just stepped out of an Armani ad. His hair was slicked back as normal, but a few strands were standing up as a result of his haste to escape O'Neill's ire.

"Please, Chief O'Neill, I didn't mean any disrespect," Lantash said. "I simply... Captain Carter!"

She forced a smile and looked at O'Neill. "What's going on?"

"Feretti is dead and all this prick can think about are his precious buildings."

Lantash was an architect from a family of architects. His grandfather was responsible for most of the original buildings in Coquitlam, while his father had handled the more modern structures. Marty himself was following in the family's footsteps.

When he'd first taken over his father's company, Sam had volunteered to take tours of his buildings as they were in progress and check them for fire safety. She would make suggestions and he would gladly implement them. It had been going swimmingly until he'd suddenly gotten very, very attached to her.

He had started talking about how they were soul mates, how they had loved each other in a past life. When he started talking about her 'true' name being Josephine, she'd pawned the safety checks off on T. Lantash had stopped coming by the house after that. Unfortunately, like the taste of ash in her mouth, she doubted he'd ever be completely gone. "Which buildings?" she asked.

"The two arsons," Jack said. "This guy designed both of the buildings that were torched this week."

Lantash cleared his throat. "Chief O'Neill, I never meant to imply your friend's life was trivial. I was simply concerned there... may have been a connection." He looked at Sam, smiling brightly. "Hello again, Captain Carter."

Sam didn't say hello back, but she did say, "Mr. Lantash, you or a member of your family designed almost eighty percent of the buildings in Coquitlam. Is that fair?"

"Well, yes."

"So it's not really a coincidence when two of them go up in the same week. The odds are worse the other way, in fact."

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I simply thought it odd when I saw it on the news this morning and I thought you would like to know."

"Get out," O'Neill said. "We don't need you offering us tips and ideas, so just get out of my firehouse."

McGee kept holding O'Neill back until Lantash was out of the building, then he stepped aside. Sam said, "Last night's fire... it was definitely arson?"

"No doubt about it," McGee said. "And it looks to be the same firebug that torched the other building."

Sam closed her eyes.

O'Neill straightened his uniform shirt and said it in simpler terms. "Feretti was murdered."

Chapter Four

Janet Fraiser wore a sleeveless black dress with white flowers, covering her bare shoulders with a cream-colored sweater. Chief O'Neill had assured her when he made the invitation that it was okay to go semi-casual, but she knew that she was underdressed as soon as she answered the door. He was a textbook example of a to-the-nines firefighter. His suit was pressed, tailored specifically to him. He wore his cap low on his forehead, his hands sheathed in spotless white gloves. It was like a fantasy come to life.

"Oh," Janet said. "I... should have--"

"You look beautiful, Doctor," Jack said, a smile easing onto his face. Two women passing Janet's apartment slowed, staring unabashedly at the uniform more than the man. Jack nodded and said, "Ladies."

As the girls hurried past, Janet stepped out of her apartment and shut the door. "I never know how to dress for a funeral," she said softly.

"Feretti would've liked this dress," Jack said, and she had to look at him to see how much of the comment was meant to be a joke. She hooked her arm around his offered elbow and they walked downstairs together.

"I want to thank you for inviting me to this. I wouldn't have felt excluded if you hadn't, but... The time I spent with Lou, I can't..." She shook her head and looked away.

Jack smiled and rubbed her hand. "It's all right. You're as much a part of our family as anyone. We're happy to have you."

---

There were far fewer people than Janet anticipated at the funeral; they only took up about half of the church sanctuary. Dozens of dress uniforms were present, showing that roughly ninety percent of the mourners were firemen. Jack led Janet down the aisle, her arm still hooked in his, and pointed her towards one of the first rows of seats.

She slid in, looking up and seeing that she was standing next to Captain Carter. They exchanged smiled and Sam mouthed, 'Hi.' Once they were both in place, Janet slid her right arm from Jack's and reached out with her left hand. Sam took it, squeezing it gently without letting go. Janet felt a small thrill at the handholding; feeling the warmth of Sam's hand through her cotton gloves.

And, she couldn't help noticing that the blonde looked damn fine in her dress uniform.

The chaplain approached the podium and Janet focused her attention on the flower-framed photo of Louis Feretti. He was leaning towards the camera, eyebrow raised, teeth bared in a feral grin. He didn't have his trademark goatee in the picture, but Janet could see the starting of stubble on his cheeks and chin. She squeezed Sam's hand once more before letting it go, clasping her hands in front of her as the chaplain asked them to bow their heads in prayer.

---

After the funeral, they adjourned to the cemetery where Lou was buried next to his parents. Chief O'Neill went to Feretti's wife, speaking to her at length and ending with a hug. Janet, who had taken Sam's hand once again as soon as they got outside, leaned against her and motioned at the gravel walkway. Sam took the hint and they stepped away from the crowd.

"I can't believe he's gone," Janet said quietly, watching her high heels to avoid scuffing them on the gravel. "It doesn't seem fair, that he pulled through and was doing so well..."

"It's a calculated risk," Sam said. "Every time the alarm goes off, every time we gear up, we could be doing it for the last time."

"I wouldn't be able to move. I wouldn't be able to function. Do you get used to it ever?"

Sam smiled. "Not really on the conscious level. But you accept that it happens. And every now and then, you get a not-so-subtle reminder." She looked across the headstones and said, "Lou would've been proud to go out the way he did. Fighting a fire. He once told me that he never smoked because fire was the enemy. He wasn't about to let it into his lungs, said that would be inviting an invasion."

"Fire as the enemy," Janet smiled. "A novel approach."

"Lou was more of a poet than anyone gave him credit for."

They lapsed into silence, walking among the dead, until the sound of car engines told them it was time to get a move on. "Looks like people are heading out," Sam said. "My car is in the middle, so I better get to it."

"Chief O'Neill drove me... would you mind giving me a lift home?"

"Not at all."

They walked back to the group of mourners, Janet catching O'Neill's attention and motioning that Sam would take her home. He nodded and waved good-bye to them. As they climbed into Sam's car - a surprisingly comfortable white Camaro - and waited for their turn to pull out.

Out of nowhere, Janet said, "Don't take me home."

Sam turned to her. "What?"

"I just... don't want to go home right now. Do you mind just... going somewhere? Walking around?"

Sam reached down, resting her hand on Janet's thigh. "No, I don't mind," she said softly.

---

The fact that the carnival was nearby had just been a coincidence, but when they paid their admission, it felt almost like it had been their destination all along.

They hadn't bothered to change clothes before leaving town, although Janet did take off her high heels before they headed down the midway. She walked barefoot next to Sam, the wooden planks of the midway surprisingly comfortable against her stocking feet.

They had been driving for three hours, working off the vague notion that they were going 'to the beach.' Janet had been the one to spot the billboards for the boardwalk carnival and Sam had eagerly agreed that it was a good idea. She held Janet's hand as they flowed with the crowds, laughing at the mime and watching as a caricature artist drew portraits.

Several times in their meanderings, they would pause to look at some display or another and Janet would find something on Sam's face to captivate her; a stray hair caught on an eyelash, the flecks of green in her eyes, the way her mouth turned into a smile. Sam never caught Janet looking at her, but then again, Janet never caught Sam staring at her.

Sam bought a yellow balloon for Janet, using the string to tie Janet's hair into a ponytail and letting the balloon wave above her head like a halo. Janet laughed, pressing tightly against Sam as the sun eased down in the sky. The boardwalk carnival was preparing to close up for the night and the women turned, moving with the crowd back towards the parking lot.

Several barkers were still plying their trade, however. One man wore a placard that read "How Much Do You Believe in What You Believe?" He was standing on a wooden box, talking to a point that seemed to be on the beach rather than with him on the boardwalk. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, but Janet eased a little closer to Sam as they passed him.

He had a heavy white beard, his eyes bugged out and bloodshot. He wore a ragged top hat and a moth-eaten suit. "Don't be so sure of what you see with your eyes!" he shouted at the sand. "Don't believe what you believe because everyone has been taught to believe it! Question! Wonder! Explore! What if none of us are really alive? What if we are all just characters in someone else's dream? Who is the dreamer and how long do we have before he awakes?"

Sam rubbed Janet's shoulder, moving her quickly past the ranting street evangelist. The magic of the carnival was fading fast; vendors were no longer hawking their wares and were busily closing up for the night. Harsh, unforgiving streetlights on the road-side of the boardwalk were flicking on, revealing the secrets of the street show. When they reached the parking lot, Janet turned and embraced Sam. "He could be right."

"Who?"

"That psycho preacher. What if we're all just... characters in someone's dream?"

"Then nothing matters," Sam said. She stroked Janet's cheek. "That would be too heartbreaking to consider," she added softly.

"It does have its advantages," Janet said, rising onto her toes. "It means we don't have to burden ourselves with... what things mean. We don't have to overthink things, because there are no consequences." She kissed Sam then, softly, a brush of lip to lip, her hands tight against the small of Sam's back. Sam put her hands in Janet's hair, holding her still. Janet made a sound that was part-moan, part-whimper, part-mewl as Sam moved her lips down to her bare shoulder.

"So that doesn't matter?" Sam asked quietly, her lips moving against Janet's skin.

"That psycho is full of shit," Janet said, drawing Sam's mouth back to hers for another kiss.

---

Janet was curled up in the tiny backseat of the Camaro. She was fast asleep, her legs tucked against her chest. She was covered by Sam's overcoat, her head, hands and feet the only parts visible. Sam looked back whenever the road was deserted on all sides, smiling despite herself.

It was one in the morning before they got to Janet's apartment. Sam walked the brunette in, laughing at the stagger the still-half-asleep woman adopted as she went up the stairs. Outside of her apartment, Sam leaned Janet against the wall and brushed her hair out of her face. "Sleepy?" she asked.

"Mm," Janet replied, her eyes half-lidded and her lips curled in a dreamy smile.

"I need your keys."

"Purse," Janet said.

Sam pulled Janet's purse around and opened it. She withdrew the keys and let the bag drop, leaning against Janet's body to keep her from toppling over. As she unlocked the door, Janet embraced Sam and kissed her shoulder. "I dreamt I kissed you."

"Was it nice?" Sam asked, smiling against Janet's ear.

"It made me think I was in love with you."

Sam froze, bringing her hand up to cup the back of Janet's head. She kissed Janet's eyelids and whispered, "I want you to tell me that when you're awake."

"Okay," Janet replied, obviously unaware of the conversation.

Sam bent at the knees and swept Janet into her arms, cradling the smaller woman against her chest and carrying her into the apartment. She carefully lowered Janet to the couch, finding an afghan and covering her with it. Janet rolled onto her side and seemed to immediately fall asleep... if she hadn't been asleep the entire time. Sam leaned in and kissed Janet's cheek, brushing her hair and standing up. "Good night, Janet."

Janet murmured something, pushing her face against the cushion.

Sam smiled and slipped out of the apartment, locking the door behind her.

---

He put the morning paper down with a snort of disgust. Billions of buildings dying in this city without a single word, but an entire page had been devoted to the 'tragic' death of a fireman. It sickened him. There was a photo of the funeral, however, which was very beneficial. It gave faces to the names, showing him the people his partner knew intimately. O'Neill, a handsome man with graying hair. Powerful. He had seen him before; it was obvious why the newscasters went to him for sound bites.

T Murray, the muscular black man. He wondered if his partner knew what the enigmatic initial stood for. He would have to ask. Jonas Quinn, the young probation fireman. Samantha Carter, the captain, the savior of Feretti. He put his finger over her face, sliding it back and forth between her and Quinn. Which death would hit the department more? Which would get the most coverage? The sole female of the battalion? Or the young, promising officer who was practically brand-new to the job?

Time would tell. The flame would pick the finest victim, of that he was certain.

---

Janet smelled Sam's perfume as she woke, building in her a hope that the blonde had stayed the night. When she woke, however, she found the apartment empty. She went to the bathroom, finally freed herself of the restricting clothes from the funeral - her body seemed to sigh with relief as she slid off her hose - and climbed into the shower.

---

Sam walked across the garage, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. She could hear T and Jonas talking, hoping they would leave some of the breakfast muffins for her. She had only gotten about two hours of quality sleep before her alarm had gone off. It was all Janet's fault, talking about love and making her mind race like that. She put her bag down in her bunker area, shrugging out of her overcoat - it still smelled like Janet, so she'd worn it despite the heat - and working the combination lock of the small locker over her space.

T stepped out of the kitchen and smirked, moving quickly past without even a hello. She frowned, knowing she was missing something but too sleep-deprived to think about it too hard. She opened the lock and swung the door open... and realized what T's smirk had been about.

A long, thin, purple dildo was hanging from the center hook of her locker. Attached to the tip was a Post-It that said, "Be Sure to Give the Doc a Thorough Examination!" She chewed her lip, wavering between anger and laughter. She decided on the latter - hell, she'd done worse to Jonas and T both in the past - and put her keys and wallet in the locker.

She left the toy where it was.

Clearing her face of any emotion, she put the rest of her stuff up and went into the kitchen. Jonas did a bad job of hiding his laughter by pushing half a muffin into his mouth, nearly choking himself in the process. Chief O'Neill was there, which would have been her second clue that something was up.

She poured a glass of juice, scanned the muffin selection before deciding on blueberry. She took a seat at the end of the table, patiently knifing some butter onto her breakfast. T slipped back into the room, looking at Jonas and O'Neill to see if he'd missed any of the hilarity. Finally, O'Neill said, "Morning, Carter."

"Chief," she replied.

"Been to your locker yet?" Jonas asked, smirking.

Sam almost laughed at his subtle delivery. "Mm-hmm," she replied nonchalantly.

"Well?" T asked, apparently unable to take the suspense.

Sam sighed and put down her muffin, turning to look straight at T. She leaned forward and, in a very serious voice, asked, "I appreciate the gift. But tell me, did you and Jonas wash it when you were done?"

Chief O'Neill choked on his muffin.

Chapter Five

This one was different.

He slipped through the door, catching one of the buttons from his jacket. He cursed and picked it up, palming it as he walked down the main corridor. It had been intended as low-income housing, a place where the unemployed and the welfare single-parents could afford to keep their clothes. Alas, not enough had taken the offer and the building was closed soon after it was built.

Of course, this didn't necessarily mean the building died. In one of the main apartments, he saw furniture that had been thrown out by at least two owners flanking an old coffee table. A garbage can - the outdoor kind - was propped in the corner, spilling its contents across the floor. He counted at least four bodies strewn about, all of them asleep.

A man stumbled out of the back, on a return trip from the bathroom apparently. The front of his trousers were soaked. He stared at the intruder, distrust, anger and defeat in his eyes. "Cop," the homeless man said.

"No," the arsonist said, holding his hands up. "I merely misunderstood. You have already given this building life." He smiled brightly and said, "You have saved this building, sir."

The squatter glanced towards the couch, where a weapon was probably hidden. "Do you have children?" the arsonist asked.

The squatter shook his head.

"Stay in this building as long as you like. Without you, without... your people, it would have no purpose. You assign it purpose and, therefore, give it life."

"Okay," the squatter said, blinking rapidly as if unsure what to do next.

The arsonist waved good-bye and turned, walking from the building. This, of course, threw off his plans. He would have to find another building, and quickly, in order to stay on schedule. He was still pleased, though; the building was being used, it had life. No matter how the rest of the night went, he could consider it as success.

He climbed into his car and stared over the wheel at the building. On the other hand... sacrifices had to be made. For a building to be revived, a life had to be taken. He opened the car door and stepped out. The firemen were proving to be an irksome bunch, wily and difficult to ensnare.

The front door was wedged open, was how he himself had gained access. As far as he could tell, it was the only access that wasn't boarded shut. He went to the truck and removed a few supplies. All he required were a handful of tools, judging from the conditions he'd seen inside. He walked to the door, leaning against it so the gap was closed. He then doused the wooden door with lighter fluid.

He then took the bottle and knelt down, wrapping a rag around the neck. He poured lighter fluid into the bottle, filling it halfway. He opened the small can of roofing tar he carried, adding that to the mix. If memory served, it would create a nice, thick, black cloud of smoke for the squatters - not to mention the firemen - to deal with.

His tools in hand, he stood and walked to the window of the main room. "I'm sorry I have to do this," he said. "Life for a life. This building will know true life again." He lit the Molotov cocktail and hurled it through the living room window. He then ran to the front door and lit that as well. Anyone trying to escape would find their exit blocked.

His job complete, he ran back to his car and backed carefully out of the parking lot. No need to leave tire treads for them to trace.

Two minutes later, as he was walking out of the underground garage, he heard the approaching sirens.

Life.

---

The sole entrance seemed to be engulfed by flames, so extinguishing that area took precedence over evacuation. Sam stepped back, letting Jonas and Davis take over that part, tilting her head up to the roof of the building. The smoke was black, standing out even against the dark of the night. Every floor was aflame; it had spread quickly, there was no doubt.

She was starting to look away when she spotted movement. She tilted her helmet back, squinting against the heat and focusing on the roof's edge.

There! A face!

"Sir, there are people on the roof!"

O'Neill grabbed his binoculars, but Sam was already moving to the back of the ladder truck. "Get this thing up," she called, climbing onto the turntable as the operator moved it around.

"Carter!" Jack called, following her. "Give it time to..."

"Whoever is up there is going to jump if it gets too hot," Sam said, grabbing the bullhorn and scrambling up the ladder. She wasn't going to give him a chance to dissuade her. The ladder was still rising and Sam raised the horn to her mouth. "People on the roof! Remain where you are! Do. Not. Jump!"

As the ladder rose, she saw three people moving back and forth, panicking. "I'm almost there," she said.

One man spotted her and broke into a run.

"Goddamnit!" Sam shouted, dropping the bull horn. "Stay where you are!"

He leapt.

Sam ran to the top of the ladder, hooking the foot of her boot in the top rung and flinging herself over the edge. She caught the handrail at the last second, swinging herself back like a pendulum. Pain shot up her leg, but it wasn't broken. Her fingers closed around air and the man plummeted.

"No!" Sam cried, dangling from the edge of the ladder. She turned away as the man hit the ground, a sight the other firemen had a front-row seat for. She pulled herself back up, kneeling at the edge of the ladder as it moved to the edge of the building. The other two people were still standing there, in shock, as she reached out to them. "Come on. It's okay. I'm here, I'll... I have you."

They reluctantly went down the ladder and Sam turned, guiding them down. As the three of them got off the ladder truck, Chief O'Neill approached. They guided the rescued women towards the EMTs, telling them to make sure they were all checked out. When they were alone, he turned to Sam and glared at her.

"I told him to wait," Sam said.

"Sit down," Jack said evenly.

"Sir, I--"

He reached out, taking her helmet and throwing it to the ground. "You told him to stay and he didn't listen to your order. He's dead now. You? You should be."

"You never ordered me to stay on the ground."

"You never gave me a chance. You're done with this fire. Sit, Captain. Now."

She picked up her helmet and stalked away from him, reluctantly accepting his dismissal but refusing to sit as he ordered. She stood a few feet away from the fire engines, glaring at the surrounding area and doing a bit of her own fuming.

---

Sam shed her jacket, following Jonas and T into the bunker area. As she shed her uniform, O'Neill approached and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're going home now."

"I'm on duty until seven tomorrow morn--"

"You're going home now," O'Neill interrupted.

Sam glared at him, both Jonas and T trapped in the bunker area on the other side of them. They glanced at each other, making themselves busy in their own lockers to cut down on the tension in the moment. Sam pulled off her gloves and tossed them onto the ground. "Fine."

O'Neill walked away and Sam looked at the other men. They scurried out past her without a word, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. She exhaled and just barely resisted the urge to punch her locker.

But only just barely.

O'Neill was waiting for her when she walked out of the station. He was smoking again, staring across the street. He didn't look at her when she appeared, leading her to believe he'd been waiting specifically for her. "Here to make sure I actually leave?" she asked, glad she had parked in the other direction.

He caught up with her, stopping her advance. "You're a captain. You outrank a lot of people in this house, T and Jonas, Davis... but you do not outrank me. You wait for an order before you do something. You do not risk your ass on some crazy hero stunt."

"I was just trying to--"

"I know what you were trying to do, Captain. But you didn't assess the situation. Did you know that guy would try to jump too early? I didn't, either, but I've seen it happen enough to know not to take the ladder up. And let's say he hadn't jumped. What if all three of the people up there had rushed you at once? What if they had been so eager to get down, they had knocked you off the edge of the ladder?"

She looked across the street to avoid looking into his eyes.

"I'll ask Tobias to take the rest of your shift," he said softly. "You can come in at noon, cover for her. Go on, get out of here."

She brushed past him, even angrier now that he'd made so much sense.

---

"Hey, probie... Make yourself comfortable, why don't ya..." O'Neill muttered as he walked into his office.

Jonas was standing in the corner, staring at a map of the town. He turned when O'Neill entered and immediately went back to the map. "Chief."

"Probie," O'Neill said, dropping into his seat. He watched Jonas for a second, then said, "You know, they sell those down at 7-11 for about two bucks. If you need a loan or a paycheck advance..."

Jonas turned around and said, "What? Paycheck... no, I'm good." He pointed at the map and said, "Where was the first arson?"

"Cottonwood Drive," O'Neill said without hesitation. "Why?"

Without answering, Jonas walked back to the map and picked up a thumbtack from the tin can that O'Neill had on his bookcase. He pressed it into the map on Cottonwood Drive. O'Neill's eyes widened. "My map!" He noticed three other thumbtacks shining on the surface.

"Relax," Jonas said. "They sell them for, like, a buck-fifty at 7-11." He flicked the map with his fingers and said, "These are the locations of the three arsons, including the one tonight. They're all in our jurisdiction."

"Yes, all the fires we've fought recently have been in our jurisdiction," O'Neill said. "As coincidences go, that's not a big one."

Jonas went on, unperturbed. "They've all been huge, out of control fires. Fires where someone stands a chance of getting hurt." He shrugged. "Well, more than usual anyway. So, where do firefighters go when they're injured in our jurisdiction?"

"St. Jude or Coquitlam General," O'Neill said, inadvertently getting swept up by Jonas' excitement. "It depends on which one is closer."

"Okay," Jonas said, stepping aside and pointing at the map. "All three fires are in our jurisdiction and they are all on the west side of town. Meaning that Coquitlam General is the closest hospital every time."

O'Neill shook his head. "Okay. So, we have a lot of coincidences which add up to..."

Jonas sat across from O'Neill. "In the academy, they talked a little about hero syndromes. Firemen setting fires to get the glory of putting them out, saving people, stuff like that."

"It happens," O'Neill admitted.

"I'm... a little worried that this might be a case of that."

Jack thought to Sam's daredevil moves lately and said, "You don't think Carter--?"

"No, but Captain Carter does figure into it. I'm thinking that the arsonist does have hero syndrome. But they're not a firefighter." He looked at the map. "I think it's someone who works at Coquitlam General. Someone who hangs around firemen all the time... Someone who brings them snacks. Dates them..."

"Janet?" O'Neill whispered. "Probie, you better think long and hard about--"

"I have, Chief. It came to me during the last blaze, but tonight really made me nervous."

"She'd have to be on duty when the patients came in," Jack said. "In order to get the credit for saving them. She couldn't just happen to be there when she's needed."

"So she has a partner," Jonas said. "Some... firebug who just loves to set fires for the fun of it. She tells him when, he lights the fuse, she's at the hospital to 'help the victims.' It has the benefit of being a built-in alibi."

O'Neill stood and went around his desk, looking hard at the map. "I've known Janet Fraiser for almost seven years, probie," he whispered. He turned and said, "You better be goddamned sure of this before you make any further accusations."

"I've thought about it, Chief. All last night and during the fire tonight. I don't think we can wait for another building to go up before we do something about it. I've left a message for Lieutenant McGee. He should be calling at the end of the shift."

O'Neill didn't say another word. He turned, keeping his back to Jonas, and simply stalked out of the office.

---

He got a thrill out of the terror emanating from his partner as they sorted through the photographs. He'd taken the camera out of his glove compartment, knowing mere words wouldn't convey the true wonder of the moment. His partner was near-tears at the sight of a few, gasping out loud at others.

"Well?"

"These are horrific."

One photo showed Sam dangling from the ladder, anguish playing on her features as she looked down at the man's broken body. The arsonist noticed his partner put that one face-down on the pile.

"Are they what you wanted?"

"No." This was said softly, almost a thought.

"The buildings are living again. Just as you wanted."

"I never wanted this. Not *this.*"

"You make me do your dirty work because you're too weak to do it yourself."

"I didn't know you'd have *pictures.*"

"I wish I had had a video camera!"

His partner pushed the photos away. "Go away. I don't want you here anymore."

"Kicking me out?"

"Go!"

He stood and gathered the pictures. "I'm not going to stop because you're getting squeamish."

"Captain Carter--"

"--is a fireman and the entire *point* was that the firemen are expendable! The point is the *buildings.* Giving them life by taking the lives of others. *That* was *your* plan. Not mine!"

His partner retreated to the back room at that, finally leaving him alone. With a sigh, relishing the silence, he laid his art out once more. Oh, that he'd had a video camera! To relive the anguish in Carter's face over and over again! He snickered at that, imagining forcing his partner to watch the tape... that would be must-see TV, for certain.

He tucked the photos into an inside pocket on his jacket, heading for the front door. He paused before going out, looking at his reflection in the hallway mirror. He smoothed his hair down, adjusting his glasses and flashing his trademark grin at himself.

Deciding he was ready to begin another day, Marty Lantash opened the apartment door and went outside, leaving his partner weeping behind him.

Chapter Six

Sam stared at her coffee, deciding it was good that she was alone with her morning dose of caffeine. Coffee was good, loyal. Coffee didn't judge her.

She sat on the edge of her couch, nursing her second cup and watching the sky lighten beyond her living room window. She'd changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, but was making no move to go to bed. She was half asleep when the buzzer downstairs rang. She groaned, expecting Chief O'Neill or Jonas or someone official to tell her that she was no longer employed by the Coquitlam Fire Department.

She stood and trudged to the apartment door, leaning against it as she pressed her thumb down on the buzzer. "Yeah?"

"Is this a bad time?"

Sam blinked and took a step back, staring at the intercom as if it had spoken on its own. "Janet?"

"If you're resting or..."

"No, this is a great time." She pressed the entry button, holding it down until the buzzing stopped with the opening of the door downstairs. She hurried to the living room, gathering her dirty socks and dishes and hurling them into the sink just as there was a knock on her door. "Just a minute," she said, cursing her short walk-up.

She rubbed her hands together, looking down at her pajamas and cursing herself for not having a robe handy. She decided to ignore it and went to the door, opening it wide and smiling nonchalantly. "Janet. I... didn't expect you."

Janet, still wearing her scrubs and overcoat, said, "Can I come in?"

Sam stepped aside and nodded, watching Janet as she entered. "What's up?"

"You like me, don't you?" Janet asked, turning and glaring at Sam.

Sam frowned. "Yes, I... we... I thought we..."

"Is that why you seem so damned determined to see me at work? I appreciate the aim, but I don't work in the morgue. If you die, you bypass me completely."

"They showed it on the news, didn't they?" Sam said softly, closing her eyes.

Janet scoffed. "It's the top story on all three major stations. Channel 25 has a nice little graphic of 'Firewoman: Heroine or Hellion' that they seem to enjoy showing." She hesitated, looking down at Sam's legs. At first, Sam thought she was admiring them. But then, she said, "Your leg, the one that got hooked on the ladder. Is it...?"

"It's fine. A little tender, but..."

Janet moved towards the living room, peeling off her overcoat as she walked. "Come over to the couch. I want to take a look at it."

Her tone didn't leave much room for debate, so Sam followed her across the living room. The fact was that she hadn't had the EMTs examine her as thoroughly as they could have. And her knee was a little tender.

Janet sat on the edge of the coffee table while Sam took her place on the couch. She extended her left leg, putting her hand on her thigh in an unconscious effort to cover herself. Janet tenderly probed the knee cap, moving her fingers to the soft flesh behind the knee and massaging gently.

"That feels good," Sam whispered, almost against her will.

"Any pain?"

"A little tende-- ah!" she gasped, resisting the urge to kick. "Yeah... a little tenderness," she finished unnecessarily. "Right in there."

"I think you just overextended," Janet said. "Just need to let it rest up a little and you'll be as good as new."

Sam scoffed. "I don't think that'll be a problem. Chief O'Neill has me benched... who knows for how long..."

Janet moved to the couch, sitting beside Sam and letting her doctor façade drop away. "The news said that you went up without permission... something about conditions being too unstable. I would never have dreamed they were telling the truth."

"People were in danger. I couldn't just stand by and wait for conditions to improve. The guy was going to jump."

"He jumped anyway," Janet reminded her.

Sam closed her eyes. "I couldn't just do nothing."

Janet leaned back against the couch, looking out the window for a long time. "Why'd you become a firefighter? Was your father...?"

"No," Sam said. "Dad was in the Air Force. A General, when he died. I became a firefighter because..." She drifted off. When she began speaking, Janet first thought she'd dropped the subject. "When I was fifteen, my mother was in an awful car accident. By all rights, and by all reports, she should have died. Instead, an off-duty firefighter was in the right place at the right time. His name was David. Whenever there was a fire on TV or they interviewed a fireman on the news, I'd look for him. But I never saw him again after that day."

"Wow," Janet whispered, looking down at the fire department crest on Sam's t-shirt. "Do you think he was..."

"An angel?" Sam asked with a smile. "Maybe. I don't know. The way he just popped into our lives and then disappeared so immediately... firefighters became mythical to me. From that point on..." She shrugged and turned to Janet. "What about you? Why'd you become a doctor?"

Janet's smile faltered and she looked away. "Mom died. Doctors didn't help her, couldn't help her. I became a doctor to try and make up for their mistake."

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I didn't know..."

"You couldn't have," Janet said, smiling sadly.

Sam leaned back on the couch, feeling Janet's arm against hers. They stared out the window, each comfortable in their silence. After a moment, Sam leaned forward and picked up her coffee cup, just to have something to hold. "Could I get some of that?" Janet asked. "If it's no bother. I just haven't had anything to drink and..."

"No, it's no problem," Sam said. "How do you take it?"

"Well," Janet said, "Right now, I'd have to say black."

Sam stood up and went into the kitchen, taking another mug from the cabinet. As she was reaching for the coffee pot, she felt movement behind her. She turned and saw Janet in the doorway, leaning against the counter and looking flustered. "Janet? What..."

"I don't want coffee," Janet said, moving forward quickly. She grabbed Sam under the arms, pushing her against the counter and kissing her hard. Sam kept her eyes open, her mouth moving against Janet's out of instinct, a half-remembered dance that she could only vaguely recall the steps to. After a moment, Janet broke the kiss and pressed her cheek against Sam's. "I pictured that better in my head."

Sam tilted Janet's head up, capturing her lips again. She pushed Janet back, pressing her against the opposite counter and thankful, for once, that her kitchen was so tiny. She wasn't exactly sure where her hands went; they started at Janet's shoulders, sliding down her arms, under her arms, down her back and studiously avoiding any 'hot zones.' She didn't want to go too far, too fast.

But, God, how she wanted to break every speed limit...

Janet lifted her leg, hooking it against Sam's hip as her fingers tugged up Sam's t-shirt. At the touch of fingers against the small of her back, Sam had the tacit permission she'd been looking for. Her hands locked onto the curve of Janet's ass, cupping and squeezing the cheeks before she lifted the petite woman onto the counter.

"What happened to taking it easy on the knee?" Janet asked, her mouth freed as Sam explored her neck.

"My doctor will be furious," she said, closing her lips around Janet's throat.

Janet closed her eyes, pushing her head back to give Sam more access. As Janet squirmed beneath her, legs spread, Sam's hands found the ties holding up the doctor's scrubs. She hastily untied them, pausing only once to look down at the knots. Janet moaned, making mewling noises low in her throat, her hands making a mess of Sam's hair.

"Lift your hips," Sam whispered, kissing Janet's breasts through her scrub top.

"Sam..."

"Please, Janet."

Janet's hips rose off the countertop and Sam yanked her pants down, finding the beautifully ordinary cotton underpants below. She pushed those down as well, making Janet moan and squirm uncomfortably on the countertop. "I don't want to force you," Sam said, moving her head back up so she could whisper against Janet's cheek. "If this is going too fast, if you want me to back off, I'll back off. I'll stop. Just say the word, okay?"

"Stop," Janet breathed. She was almost panting, her top lip beaded with sweat, her face flushed. For a terrifying moment, Sam thought she was taking the chance to back out. She almost pulled away when Janet continued, "If you stop, I will hunt you down and kill you."

Sam grinned and kissed Janet, holding her tight and moving her hands down to her thighs. "It's been a while," Sam whispered when their kiss broke. She drifted her fingertips up Janet's naked thighs, dragging her fingernails lightly up the tender skin.

"I think," Janet whispered, eyes closed, taking a breath, "You seem to remember the basics."

"Do I?" Sam asked, moving her right hand up. She cupped Janet, dragging her fingers up the moist folds. "I remember this. Touching... here."

Janet moaned, her voice trembling as she threw her head back.

Sam turned her hand heel-up, lifting her arm a little and letting her middle finger slip forward. "This... I remember this."

Janet was biting her lip, her hands curled painfully tight around the edge of the counter.

"Tell me if this is right, Janet."

"Yes," Janet practically barked.

"And I seem to remember," Sam said, easing herself to her knees, "I remember kissing something." She kissed Janet's stomach through her top. "Not there... not here, either," she said, sliding her mouth down Janet's thigh. She nibbled on the inside of Janet's knee, then turned her head and moved in the opposite direction. She released Janet's mound, pulling the wet tip of her finger out.

Janet sighed, her eyelids fluttering open as Sam coyly sucked on the tip of her finger. "Whatever could I have kissed?" Sam asked.

Janet released the counter and laced her fingers behind Sam's head, drawing it forward. When she felt Janet's pubic hair tickling her nose, Sam said, "Oh, yes... it's all starting to come back to me." She extended her tongue and flicked it against Janet's clit.

"God," Janet cried out, lifting her hips and slamming her ass down against the counter. "Stop teasing, Sam, please, God, I want this, I want you, fuck me, I want you to make love to me, Sam," she exhaled, closing her eyes and pushing Sam's head closer to her.

Sam grinned and parted her lips further, giving Janet a most intimate kiss.

Janet stretched both legs out, her toes curling inside her tennis shoes before she hooked her ankles behind Sam's back. She focused on Sam's kitchen ceiling; the texture, the lack of light fixtures, the cobweb in the corner, anything to keep from finishing too soon, anything... anything to keep the focus off what Sam was... what Sam was doing with... "Fuck!" Janet cried, her hips bucking against Sam's questing mouth and tongue.

She came, her body trembling and her jaw dropping with the force of her orgasm, her shoulders hunched, her hands forming claws on the back of Sam's head. When she returned to her body, she sagged on the counter. Sam stood, easing Janet to the floor and hooking her hands under Janet's arms to help her stand.

They kissed, Janet's pants and underwear bundled around one ankle. Otherwise, they were both fully clothed. "Bedroom?" Janet whispered against Sam's face, breathing in the scent of her come mixed with her lover's sweat.

"Bedroom," Sam agreed.

She hooked her hands under Janet's ass again, lifting her. Janet wrapped her legs around Sam's mid-section, bending low to nibble on her neck. As Sam carried her through the apartment, Janet said, "You know, your doctor is going to want to know how you strained that knee again."

"I'll let her give me a full examination," Sam promised, taking Janet into the bedroom and shutting the door.

---

In the grand scheme of things, a very soft kiss is still the second best way to be woken up. The overall best way was not discussed in mixed company. Sam's eyelids fluttered open and she focused on Janet Fraiser, a sight that made her eyes eager to wake up. She reached out and touched the other woman's wet hair, smiling and pressing her face against the pillow. She finally managed to say the words "Good morning," against her pillow.

"Hey," Janet said softly. "I just wanted to know where you kept your instant coffee."

"Cupboard... left of the fridge," Sam said. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven," Janet said, standing and moving to the door.

Sam groaned. "I have to be at work in an hour."

Janet smiled. "I know, you told me before we fell asleep. Get up; I left you some hot water. The coffee will be ready by the time you're done showering."

Sam groaned and rolled over, pushing herself off the mattress and forcing herself out of bed. She followed Janet from the bedroom, catching up with her and spinning her around. "Hey," she said, pressing Janet against the wall. She covered Janet's body with her own, tilting her lips down and capturing Janet's mouth in a good morning kiss.

As Sam's hands trailed up Janet's torso, Janet smiled and eased herself out of the kiss. "Sam... shower. Work."

Sam sighed and said, "Yeah." She kissed Janet's temple and released her. Janet let her own hands linger on Sam's shoulders as the blonde slumped away to the shower. Smiling, Janet went into the kitchen to get started on the coffee.

---

Marty Lantash didn't need sleep. Well... he did, after a fashion. But he went as long as possible between rests. There were better things to be done with his time. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching the building and growing angrier as each moment passed. A few minutes before noon, the front door to the apartment building opened and Samantha Carter exited. She was arm-in-arm with a smaller, brunette woman. They were laughing.

Marty chewed the inside of his cheeks, watching as they headed for the corner. Sam leaned against the wall, holding the other woman's hands as they spoke. He wished he could read lips, wished he could know what they were saying. A cab arrived, stopping at the curb as if they had called it in advance. Sam walked the other woman to the cab, cupping her face and kissing her lips before they parted.

It was all Marty could do to keep from pounding the steering wheel with his fists. He pressed himself against the back of the seat, staring hard out the windshield as he tried to reign in his anger. He turned his gaze to the rearview mirror, seeing his partner's sad eyes reflected. "You'll never have her," he practically hissed.

"I know," his partner said softly.

"You know what must be done."

Silence.

"Say it!" Marty snapped.

"She must be sacrificed."

Marty smiled and watched Sam walk down the street. Oblivious to anything other that whatever was making her smile. "Yes," Marty said. "Yes, she must."

Chapter Seven

Sam and Janet left the building together, heading towards the corner. Janet had called a cab from Sam's apartment and Sam had agreed to wait with her. Janet took both of Sam's hands and said softly, "You know, I'm still mad at you."

"Wasn't this morning...?"

"The best," Janet said. "In... well, it was..." She blushed and said, "I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the reason for my visit. Your recklessness. Risking your neck to save Feretti, the whole ladder thing last night... it's starting to frighten me, Sam."

Sam closed her eyes.

"There's a psychiatrist at my hospital... he's excellent, very intuitive. He's worked with Chief O'Neill before."

"A shrink?" Sam said, recoiling slightly at the possibility.

"He's excellent. And Chief O'Neill would probably recommend it if he thought you would actually go. Something is going on with you, Sam. I just got hold of you," she squeezed Sam's hands with hers. "I don't mind holding on tight, but I don't want you to be fighting me every step of the way."

Sam smiled. "What's this doctor's name?"

"Daniel Jackson," Janet said. "Can I... set up an appointment for you?"

"No," Sam said. "I have to get my schedule, figure out when I can go. But I *will* go." The cab pulled up and Sam cupped Janet's face, softly kissing her lips. "I'll apologize to O'Neill, too, if that will make you feel better."

---

O'Neill blinked at her. After a moment, he leaned forward, lacing his fingers over his desk blotter. "You... came in early. To tell me that you were... sorry. About everything." He squinted at her. "And you claim you'll accept whatever punishment you're given?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said.

"This is unprecedented," he said, shaking his head.

Sam smirked. "I know I can be a bit stubborn..."

"No, not just you. I mean in the history of firefighting."

Sam sighed and said, "If you don't want to punish me, that's fine, too..."

He held up his hand. "Hold on. Commissioner Hammond saw the tape of what happened on the news last night. He's not too happy."

Sam closed her eyes and sat back down.

"But," Jack continued, scratching his cheek. "Considering how you're facing up to it, being a ma-- being responsible for your actions... I'm sure we can afford a small bit of leniency in the matter. Two weeks probation. You'll be on duty, in the firehouse, but you won't go on runs with us."

Sam felt a crush inside of her, but focused on the positive. Taking a time out for two weeks... she would still be in the firehouse, she would still be in the middle of things... just not fighting fires. Maybe two weeks outside of a burning building would help her put things in perspective. She stood and said, "Thank you, Chief. I appreciate this."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, smiling at her and rising. "Just don't get cabin fever, cooped up in here while the rest of us our out being cool."

Sam smiled. "I will do my level best, Chief."

---

A few hours later, Chief O'Neill came downstairs from his office. He slowed halfway down, spotting Martin Lantash across the room. He stifled an audible groan and continued his descent, moving towards the architect. He was standing in the garage area, hands clasped behind his back, looking at the dry-erase board that bore the duty chart. "Mr. Lantash," he said, forcing a smile.

The nerd turned, smiling brightly and extending his hand. "Chief O'Neill."

"What is it with you and hand shakes?" Jack asked, ignoring the outstretched fingers and moving towards the kitchen. "What do you need?"

Lantash moved quickly to stay in step with O'Neill. "Uh, I simply wanted to inform you that the... the pattern held up. The building that burned last night..."

"One of yours?" Jack deduced, pushing into the kitchen. Sam and Jonas were seated at the table, both of them getting up and leaving when they saw who was trailing their chief. Jack cast evil glares after them, making a mental note to pay them back later. "Look, Lantash, we appreciate the head's-up, but it doesn't really mean anything unless you have enemies." He pulled the coffee can from the shelf and glanced inside, taking a granola bar from his stash. "You have any enemies?"

"Not... as such, no..."

"Any competitors who could make a buck rebuilding?"

"No, there's..."

"Well, then, it's probably just a coincidence. You know what else all these buildings have in common? The majority of them have been empty." He sniffed the granola bar and wrinkled his nose. "Probably some kid trying to get his kicks."

"With all due respect, Chief O'Neill..."

"With all due respect?" Jack interrupted. "No, I don't think so. The fact that you're in here, trying to tell us how to do our job... there's no respect in that. You don't respect us a bit, Mr. Lantash."

Martin huffed, straightening his suit jacket and vest before turning around and storming out of the kitchen. Jack grimaced and said, "Damn. I really wanted to hit him." He punched the air and added, "Really drive the point home." He tsked at the missed opportunity and took a bite of his granola bar.

---

Martin climbed into his car, angrily adjusting his vest and tie, smoothing down his hair with his hand. He looked into the mirror and hissed, "You took that? You *took* that? Who the hell is he? Who does... who the hell does he think he is?" He exhaled, shaking with his fury. "You waste. You failure. You should have... should have..."

"Should have what?" he asked himself, squeezing his eyes shut. "O'Neill was right."

"People have walked over you your entire life."

He looked at his reflection. "I don't like making people mad."

He slapped his temple and clenched his teeth, looking out the windshield. "You saw the... the, uh, the duty roster."

"Yes, what about it?"

"Carter is stationed there tonight. Probationary period for her actions in last night's fire."

"So?"

He sighed. His partner was unimaginably dense sometimes. "She will be at the house tonight. Meaning that if everyone else is out fighting fires, she will be alone."

"Why would they leave her alone?"

"Two fires."

"Two...?"

"Yes."

"What will that accomplish?"

"It will divide their focus. They'll send half of the available firemen to one site, half to the other. They'll be spread thin."

"So we will kill two firefighters instead of--"

"No!" Martin snapped, growing more and more frustrated. "The fires will be distractions. We will kill only one firefighter tonight. Unfortunately the building is still alive, still vital. It will have to sacrifice itself for the greater good."

Marty looked across the street at the firehouse. "You're going to set fire to the firehouse?"

"Poetic."

"Psychotic."

"A fine line."

"Samantha is a firefighter. She won't panic. There's a chance she'll survive."

Martin started the car. "Then we shall have to make certain she does not."

---

The timing had to be precise. For the first time, he would have to use sophisticated timing devices. It was a necessary evil, but he still regretted leaving behind such obvious and potentially dangerous evidence. If it was ever tracked back to him... Best not to dwell on that at the moment. He wired the building, set the timer for twenty minutes. He checked his watch, estimated the time to get to the second building, and added another ten minutes.

He hurried downstairs and climbed into his car, watching as the minutes ticked down. One building would blow, drawing the ever-predictable firemen from their cave. Then came the potentially fatal moment. If they didn't have enough firefighters left behind, if he had wired the device to be too large, they would call in another company.

It was a risk he had to take.

Twenty-five minutes and counting until the first fire.

He thought back to the origins of his partnership with Marty, the panty-waste. The useless, spineless bastard he shared his body with. Throughout their teens, Marty and Martin had shared control. Marty did the school stuff, got the grades, got the degrees. Martin got the girls, got drunk, did all the fun stuff.

After college graduation, Martin had faded more and more into the background. Marty the Architect had grown more predominant... until the nightmares began. Nightmares of buildings going unused, losing their lives, standing vacant like shells of glory. No one cared. Martin had seized the chance to take over, planting the idea of their 'resuscitations.' It was a brilliant plan... and it got him out to play once in a while.

He wished he could figure out a way to sacrifice Marty in a fire, but he knew that he was forever tied to the twerp.

No matter. In a few hours, Samantha Carter would die.

That would do for now.

---

Sam turned and glared at T as he walked in, starting his shift. "Not a word," she warned.

T whistled, looking her up and down. "A beautiful woman in a t-shirt washing a fire engine? Whatever could I find to comment on?"

Sam rolled her eyes and dropped the sponge back into the soapy bucket. "Hardy-har, T-man."

"I'm just gonna file this away for the next firefighter's charity calendar. We'll sell a billion copies. I assume the Chief gave you a punishment?"

"This is it," Sam said, indicating the truck. "Two weeks probation."

"So you can't fight fires, but we still get to look at your pretty face? Reasonable compromise."

Sam flipped him off and picked up the bucket, carrying it towards the double-garage doors. "You know, T-man, one of these days someone is gonna sue you for sexual harassment. Then where will you be?"

"Hey, if Jonas wants to press charges because of a few jokes in the locker room..."

Sam laughed out loud, dumping the excess water into the sewer grate. "Right, right." She was about to add something when the alarm began to blare. Instinct carried her halfway to the bunker area before she realized she couldn't go. The realization hit her like the knowledge she'd lost a limb and she watched, helpless, as her team raced towards the trucks. She'd never before realized just how fast they were. It impressed the hell out of her.

T was already in full uniform, quick as ever. He pushed the mask out of his face and gave Sam a thumb's-up as the truck pulled out of the garage. "Give 'em hell!" Sam called.

"Give it?" T called as the truck turned onto the street. "We're sending this fire *back* to Hell, Captain!"

She laughed and pumped her fist in the air, thrilling to the sound of sirens filling the air. Regret and sadness filled her as the sound faded; it was going to be a hellish two weeks. She headed for the bunker area, already dreading the return of her fellows. How would it feel to sit there uselessly while they reeked of soot and brimstone?

Two weeks. Two goddamn weeks. She was rethinking her complicity in her punishment when the unthinkable happened.

The fire alarm rang.

Chief O'Neill came downstairs, eyeing the klaxon as if he didn't believe it. "What the hell?" he muttered, glancing at Carter. Jonas Quinn hurried in, immediately ducking into the gear-up area and getting ready. "Probie, what the hell...?"

"The second fire is on Royal Boulevard," Jonas replied, having checked the dispatch on his way out of the kitchen. "We're a lot closer than Engine 5."

Jack glanced at Sam. "We have enough people. Just enough."

"I'm ready, sir, if..."

"No," Jack said, reluctantly. He put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Hold down the fort. Man the dispatch. Maybe there'll be a third fire; there's a garden hose out back you can use if you don't mind driving your own car." He smirked, shaking his head as he joined Jonas in the gear-up area.

"Sir," she said, following him.

He nodded and said, "Yeah, okay. If another call comes in, route it through to Engine 3 and Ladder 21. They're close and they never get to see any action." He shrugged. "Might as well through them a bone." He and Jonas headed for the truck, Jonas climbed on the back as O'Neill got into the cab.

The remaining firemen in the house rushed the truck, clinging to it like barnacles as the driver angled it out of the garage. Sam followed it out, watching as it rolled down the street. Dusk was falling, meaning the lights of the siren were reflecting on every surface they passed. It was beautiful in the dying, golden light. She hugged herself, feeling more alone than ever.

After a moment, she turned and went back into the firehouse. It was quieter than she had ever heard it. As she climbed the stairs to O'Neill's office - to monitor the radio calls back and forth - she found herself wishing for at least a little excitement to happen here at home.

---

The second engine roared past Martin, a streak of red and white and yellow lights. He checked his watch, smiling. Right on time.

He picked up his tools and walked towards the firehouse. With any luck, Captain Samantha Carter would be alone.

If she was not, it didn't matter. He would kill as many as it took; the important thing would be that Samantha Carter would die this night.

Chapter Eight

Martin stood on a crate, splashing gasoline into the dumpster. Not much gas was needed; just enough to ignite the garbage that was already present. He stepped back and withdrew one of his many matchbooks. He lit one, tucking it into the top of the book so that the stick ran across the top of the others. Poor man's fuse. He closed the lid of the dumpster, pinning the matchbook beneath it. He had a little time before it caught fire.

He turned and strode out of the alley, carrying the gasoline can as casually as possible. After tonight, it wouldn't matter if anyone saw him. Tonight would be his last fire.

As he walked along the front of the firehouse, he tilted his hand forward now and then, splashing gas along the foundation of the building. Once the front of the building was sufficiently doused, he stepped into the garage and scanned for signs of life. There was the sound of a radio in the bunk area, and he could see movement in the chief's office.

Carter.

He thrilled at the thought of finally making her accept her destiny. When he'd first met her, it had hit him with all the subtlety of a brick. She was his lover, Josephine Lenore, from his past life. They'd died separately, his soul missing a piece until Death took him as well. He swore they would meet again in their next lives and now, here they were. He just didn't understand why she refused to accept him, accept her rightful name.

She would have no choice now, he decided. He put down the gas can, moving to the controls and lowering the three garage doors. His tours of the firehouse were now proving very, very beneficiary. He could still see the bored firefighter, Murray, saying, "This is how the doors go up and down."

He silently thanked Lieutenant Murray for informing him how to set the perfect trap. As the doors closed completely, there were three sounds.

The first was the doors hitting the pavement with a solid 'thunk.'

The second was his lighter flicking open.

The third was the dumpster outside exploding with a muffled 'whoof.'

It had begun.

---

Sam hurried up the stairs to the chief's office, still feeling useless for not being on the truck with the rest of them. She turned on the radio, tuning to the right frequency and pushing down the button on the long-necked mic. "Chief, it's Carter. What do you know about this fire?"

"Royal Boulevard," O'Neill replied. "It's a damn big one, according to the guy who called it in. Said it sounded like a bomb going off."

"Bomb?" Sam asked, frowning. "Our guy hasn't used bombs... he's more of a hand's-on arsonist."

"He went from gas to Molotov cocktails," O'Neill pointed out. "He could be escalating. Carter, do me a favor... there's a map of the town on my office wall."

She stood, carrying the mic with her. "I'm here." She instinctually found the route the truck was most likely taking to Royal, guesstimating where they would be at their present rate of speed. "What do you need?"

"There are some thumb tacks on top of the bookshelf, grab two of 'em. Our fire is on Royal; the actual address doesn't matter. Stick a pin in that street." She did, glancing over her shoulder as she thought she heard something downstairs. O'Neill spoke again and she turned back to the map, dismissing the noise. "T's fire is on Delancey. Pin that."

She did as he said and looked at the other three pins. "The arsonist's area of operation?" Sam asked. Something made a noise downstairs; she chided herself for hearing monsters in the closet just because she was home alone for the first time.

"Best we can figure," O'Neill replied. "Counting all five of the fires together, which hospital are they closest to?"

"Hospital?" Sam muttered, unsure why that mattered. "Wouldn't the EMTs know...?"

"I don't want them to know I'm asking questions yet," O'Neill said. "If this turns out to be a massive error on our part, I'd hate for word of my incompetence to spread. Now, Carter, which hospital are the fires closest to?"

She had taken the few seconds since he'd first asked the question to eyeball the distance between the two major hospitals. "Coquitlam General in all five cases," she said. "Although the Delancey fire is only just barely." She looked over her shoulder... she could've sworn that was the garage doors being lowered. "Sir, did you send anybody back?"

"Carter, I'm thinking about sending for *you* to meet up with us here. We can't spare anyone."

She frowned. "That's what I thought. I'll be right back, Sir." She put down the microphone and stepped out of the office.

In the fire engine, Chief O'Neill kept his hand on his radio button, waiting patiently for Carter to check out whatever it was she'd heard. The truck arrived at the fire three minutes later and he poured out with Quinn and the others, organizing them like a soldier on the front lines.

He was so distracted he didn't even notice Carter had never returned to the radio.

---

Sam stepped out of the office and scanned the garage and bunker areas below. It was vacant, looking large and abandoned since the trucks were all absent. She cautiously headed down the stairs, fixated on the closed garage doors. Now why would that... she looked to the left. There was something burning outside... in the alley. She hurried downstairs, hoping O'Neill hadn't been joking about the garden hose behind the station.

She was halfway to the door when the world in front of her exploded in flames and heat. She managed to stop herself, falling on her ass and bringing one hand up to block the flickering light. Fire was consuming the front wall of the station, faster than she would have expected.

As she scrambled to her feet, she finally caught the pungent, all-too-familiar smell of gasoline in the air.

The arsonist was here.

She turned to head for the back entrance, freezing before she even got started. Martin Lantash stood between her and the dining room, holding a gun and smiling brightly. He wasn't wearing his glasses and his eyes seemed darker, more disturbing, than she'd ever seen them. "Hello, Captain Carter. Or can I finally call you Josephine?"

Sam remembered his almost fanatical insistence that she was his reincarnated lover. Panic gripped her momentarily and she held her hands up. "Martin... Mr. Lantash... please, don't do this..."

Martin raised the gun, aiming it directly at her. Sam felt her heart skip a beat, trying to ignore the gun and look at him. "Martin, you're not going to accomplish anything by..."

"Josephine... my dear Jo Lenore..." He seemed close to tears. "All you have to do is admit who you are. Please, he's going to do this one way or another. It's not too late! Your true identity will set you free and we can go on into the next life knowing we belong together."

"My name is Samantha Carter," she said. "And this is my first life, Martin. I don't know Josephine Lenore, I had never met you before--"

"Stop!" he screamed, thrusting the gun at her. Sam was very aware of the fire behind her, the heat pressing against her back as it spread. It was now covered the entire front of the fire house, starting to spread along the outside walls. Before long, they would be surrounded. "We don't have the time for this!" Martin screamed.

"Don't hurt her!" he said a second later. "Please, it's not too late, Sam, you have to--"

"Shut up! Shut up! She'll never say it!" he shouted, interrupted himself.

Sam froze, unsure what was happening. She watched as Martin took a step back, moving his free hand to his temple. "I'll handle this... I will handle this..." He took a deep breath and said, "You... can't hurt her."

"You wanted this."

"Not *this!* God, please, let her go!"

Sam had no idea how to follow the exchange between Martin and whoever he was arguing with, but his distraction was just what she needed. She ran, heading across the garage and aiming herself for the locker room door. From there, she could get into the bunker area, she could find an extinguisher. If she succeeded, she'd have a weapon to use against Martin and would be able to slow the fire's progress at the same time.

She heard Martin scream, "Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!" Thinking he was talking to his invisible partner, she didn't heed his warning, didn't look back, didn't see him tracking her with his gun.

She didn't hear the gunshot, but the impact of the bullet knocked her face-forward onto the concrete garage floor.

---

Janet slipped the folder into the file and touched a passing nurse on the shoulder. "Get Mrs. Allen down to the MRI, let me have the results as soon as you have them. And Mrs. Warren in room 714 is scheduled to be released, but I want to give her a once-over before I let her go. All right?" The nurse nodded and headed off.

Janet went behind the desk, finding her half-eaten sandwich from earlier and craning her neck to see the waiting room's television. "Anything new?"

"Not much," the head nurse said. They'd been following the news since it broke; two massive fires, practically flanking the hospital. Everyone was on their toes for potential burn victims. "Spokesman for the Coquitlam Fire Department says they were both probably bombs."

"Bombs?" Janet said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Some people..." She sighed and checked her watch. "Is Dr. Cho back from radiology yet?"

"I think he just went into the lounge."

Janet nodded and left the desk, heading for the lounge to speak to Cho. As she passed the TV, she gave it another look and thanked her lucky stars; on one of the most dangerous nights in the past few months, she didn't have to worry about Sam being in danger.

---

The building was a tinder box, so O'Neill kept his men out of the building as much as possible. Quinn and Makepeace did a cursory search for squatters, but the local businessmen that were gathered around the perimeter said that the building hadn't been vacant very long. Hoping to keep his men out of danger, Jack pulled them all back and ordered the pumper truck to soak the building down as much as possible. He'd send the guys back in when it was mostly embers and ashes.

As he was watching, Jonas nudged him and said, "What're they doing here?"

O'Neill turned and frowned. Engine 5 was pulling into the lot, sirens blazing and horn blowing. Jack hurried over as Charlie Kawalsky jumped from the truck and ran to meet him. "Don't you listen to your radio?"

"We have this under control. Kawalsky, what are you doing here?"

"O'Neill, you're with us. Get on the truck."

Jack didn't question, climbing onto the truck as Kawalsky jumped off. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Your station is on fire," Kawalsky said. "These guys'll take ya, I'll rally your troops here."

O'Neill's mind flashed to Carter. He gave Kawalsky a thumb's-up as the engine pulled out of the lot.

---

Sam lifted her head, mouth open in a silent scream as pain shot through her lower body. The fire seemed to be everywhere now, the air tinted red and orange and her skin feeling like sandpaper. She tried to wet her lips, but found her tongue dry and scratchy. She half-turned, trying to see where Martin was. She spotted him moving towards her, moving like a man possessed, and started trying to crawl.

"No, no, no, no," Martin chanted, grabbing a handful of her hair and pushing her head down. He put a shoe on her hip, pushing her down to the floor. She cried out as she felt fresh blood pour from her wound, her bones shifting under the heel of his shoe.

"Martin, please!" she screamed.

"I'll have to kill you, start over next time... next life..." He brought the gun up and turned his hand sideways. He then turned it back and looked at the fire, tears in his eyes. "I have worked so hard... for love."

"You want to control me," Sam said. "That's not love."

"If you remembered being Josephine... you would know."

Sam eased herself into a crouched position, pain rocketing up and down her left leg. The blood was pooling inside of her pants, but she couldn't focus on that now. Martin was distracted, watching the flames dance. She slammed her upper body forward with as much strength as she could manage and rammed her shoulder into his crotch.

Martin stumbled, caught off-guard and tripping over his own feet. Sam stood and forced herself to run, ignoring the blinding pain in her leg. She avoided using her left foot as much as possible, but it was still almost too much to bear. She dove into the bunker room, a dark, separate area that felt like an alternate universe compared to the heat beyond.

Crawling, she frantically searched the clothes and bags that littered the floor. Nothing, nothing of any use, no weapons... not even a set of car keys she could use to stab the bastard. She crawled a little further, to her own area. Her uniform and equipment were still present, naturally, so she searched it for anything possibly hazardous to Martin's health.

"Bitch!" Martin said, appearing in the doorway like a fiery specter of Hell. He fired the gun, lighting the room momentarily before the bullet lodged into the doorway. Sam jumped at the shot, realizing a moment later that he was using the gunfire to see where she was. The bunker area was so dark, filling slowly with smoke, that he couldn't see. She looked to her right, suddenly focusing on her salvation.

"Bitch," he repeated. He took a step forward, one foot on either side of her legs. She swallowed sharply, looking up at his silhouette, backlit by the flames he'd ignited. "Maybe you're not Josephine. Maybe you're just... some... bitch."

Sam wrapped her hand around the shaft of her halligan tool. "Yeah, maybe" she said, her throat dry and her voice broken. "Or maybe you're just a psychopath." She brought the forcible-entry tool out and swung it erratically at Martin. The wedged end - used to pry doors open - dug deeply into his wrist.

Martin howled like Sam had never heard from another human being, the gun dropping onto her chest. She kept hold of the halligan tool, grabbing the gun with her less-dominant hand and hiding it under her body. Something started dripping down on her and, with a start, she realized it was blood from Martin's wrist.

He was kneeling over her now, cradling his half-severed hand to his chest, howling in fury and pain. Sam sat up and shoved him off, rolling onto her stomach and crawling out of the bunker area. "No!" Martin cried softly. "No, stop! You can't! You can't!"

"I can," she rasped, eyes burning from the smoke and gas fumes. She coughed, pain throbbing in every joint and making her feel like she was being drawn and quartered. Her lungs burned, the smoke searing her windpipe and making her eyes water. She crawled as far as she could, dragging her injured leg behind her as dead weight. She made it a few yards before her arms gave out and she felt the hot concrete floor against her cheek. She focused blurry, tear-filled eyes on the far wall. Fire was eating it, chewing away at it mercilessly.

The building was going to go. The building was going to burn down around her and it didn't matter if she died at Martin's hand or not, because... her eyes were already closing.

---

Jack O'Neill got off the truck as it was rolling to a stop, not believing his eyes. The entire front face of his house was engulfed, bright yellow flame and rolling black smoke pouring from the garage doors. One of Kawalsky's team came to his side and Jack said, "I'm going in."

"Alone?" the lieutenant asked skeptically.

"It's my house; I know it like the back of my hand."

"You'll need a back-up."

"He's got one!"

Jack and the lieutenant turned to see T Murray running up to them. A red Commander's car was parked by the sidewalk, his obvious mode of transportation. O'Neill motioned at the car and said, "Hammond stop by the Delancey fire?"

"He'll nail my ass to the wall, but Carter..."

"Let's get to it," Jack said. He grabbed T's arm and they headed for the alley together.

T spotted the flaming dumpster first, pulling O'Neill up short. "Damn motherfucker blocked the back door."

"There's another way in, right?"

T turned and looked at the window next to O'Neill. "The express way," he said, pushing O'Neill out of the way and rushing the window. Tucking his head down and crossing his arms across his chest, T burst through the window and into the dark room.

Jack whistled and said, "Man or superman... guess we have our answer." He scrambled in the window after T, immediately realizing they were in the officer's room. He was standing on the foosball table. He got his feet untangled from the tiny players and jumped onto the floor, helping T up. "You all right?"

"Next time, talk me out of that."

"Ya sure you betcha," O'Neill said, patting T on the back. They went to the door and stepped into Hell.

---

Sam thought she heard movement and mewled low in her throat. No way. There was no way Marty was coming after her again. Not with his hand half severed. Not the way she'd left him dying. She got onto her hands and knees again and started fighting when she felt a hand on her back. She spun, realizing the people behind her were wearing firefighter uniforms. Saviors.

Four powerful arms went around her midsection and she was lifted, her body supported on either side. "My leg," Sam told them. "I... the motherfucker shot me..."

"We'll get you out of here, Captain, no worries."

Sam looked at the man to her right, the one who'd spoken. She knew that voice very well, but how... "T? Thought you... had another fire."

"There are no other fires tonight, Captain," said the fireman to her left.

She turned and stared at him, trying to see through his mask. "Chief?" she asked.

He patted her back and carried her out through the back door of the firehouse.

---

She was gingerly placed on the gurney, holding the oxygen mask in place as her gunshot wound was inspected. The EMT initially whistled and said, "Jesus, what did you do to yourself?"

She smiled behind the mask as he put pressure on it, loading her into the back of the ambulance. As the gurney's legs collapsed, she turned her head and spotted countless news cameras lining the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Most of them, naturally, were aimed in her direction. She groaned and closed her eyes. Chief O'Neill climbed in, taking a seat next to her across from the EMT. She grabbed his hand and said, "Co... Coquitlam General."

"What'd she say?" the EMT asked, cutting her pants open and applying a field dressing.

O'Neill had heard. "Which hospital is closest?"

"St. Jude," the driver of the ambulance said.

Sam closed her eyes, shaking her head back and forth. "Coquitlam General."

"How much time would it add to take her to the general hospital instead?"

The EMT frowned at the driver, then said, "A couple of minutes."

"Will that make a difference in her case?"

"I... No, I guess it wouldn't."

"Take her to Coquitlam General," O'Neill said.

The driver shrugged. "Whatever you say, buddy."

Sam closed her eyes and squeezed O'Neill's hand in thanks. He squeezed back, but she didn't notice it; she was already unconscious.

Chapter Nine

Sam blinked, focusing on the window of her room. It was daylight outside, meaning she'd been unconscious for at least twelve hours. She turned her head slowly, half-expecting Janet to be in the room with her. There was no such luck, but she worked her hand to the edge of the bed and found a call button. She pressed it twice, letting her hand drop back to the mattress and closing her eyes.

The door opened and a nurse entered, walking over to the bedside. "Hey, there. How are you feeling?"

Sam arched an eyebrow and the nurse laughed.

"Right, stupid question. Dr. Fraiser said she would be back soon, but she needed to grab some sack time. She's going to kick herself when she finds out you woke up during her nap.

"How long...?" Sam asked.

"About thirty-six hours," the nurse said. "You started to come to when you first arrived, but we put you under for surgery."

Sam looked down at her leg, elevated above the mattress in a sling. Her hip was numb, her leg tingling from the knee down. "Could I get some water?" Sam rasped.

"Ice chips will have to do," the nurse said, getting a cup and holding it next to Sam's shoulder. "Here we go." She spooned a few chips onto Sam's bottom lip, where she caught them with her tongue. The slight moisture felt like ambrosia, the sweetest thing Sam had ever tasted. She swallowed and nodded, motioning that she'd had enough.

"I'll let Dr. Fraiser know you're awake when she gets back."

"Okay," Sam said.

The nurse stepped out of the room and Sam focused fully on her leg. She hadn't asked the nurse how bad the damage was because she was terrified of the answer. She was so frightened it would be bad news that she wanted to wait and hear it from Janet. Bad news could always wait for an hour or two.

---

Janet knocked softly on the door and slipped into the room. "Hey," she said quietly. "Are you awake?"

Sam's eyelids fluttered open, widening when they focused on Janet. "Hi," Sam said roughly. She reached out and Janet took her hand, squeezing it tightly.

"I'm angry with you," Janet pointed out, the tears in her eyes betraying her true feelings. "Furious, really. St. Jude was closer, Sam. You should have gone there."

Sam closed her eyes and nodded. "I know. But I saw those news people and I knew that you would be watching... I didn't want you to... I wanted you to be in the loop. I didn't want you to worry."

"I'll always worry," Janet said. She pulled the chair over and sat down, holding Sam's hand. "But I'm glad you came here. Because if you hadn't... you would be getting this news from someone else."

Sam's heart jumped and she squeezed Janet's hand. "Wait. Not yet." She took a deep breath and said, "Lantash. What happened...?"

"They pulled him out of the fire, but he was in a bad way, Sam. Smoke inhalation and... a-and they said his hand was practically..."

"He deserved it," Sam said.

Janet nodded. "They had to remove it; the damage was too severe."

For a moment, Sam's mind focused on Lantash's job as an architect. She wondered how he would function without his hand, but then she decided she didn't give a damn. He deserved what he got and more. She focused on Janet and said, "He tried to shoot me."

"And he killed Feretti," Janet said, nodding. "According to the news, every non-fatal fire he set is going to be an attempted murder charge. He's going away for a long time, Sam."

Sam nodded slowly.

"And, um..." Janet smirked, looking to the side and chewing on her bottom lip. "I got questioned by the arson inspectors."

Sam turned her head, frowning and widening her eyes. "What did they question *you* about?" Something clicked in her mind and she remembered O'Neill's map and the hospital question. "They thought you were involved?"

Janet shrugged. "All of the fires were near this hospital, most of them happened during my shift... of course, I *do* work the night shift." She sighed and said, "It's all cleared up. The fact that I'd never even *heard* of Martin Lantash, let alone met the man, was a big help to my case."

"If all the fires started during your shift..."

"They thought I was arranging the fires. So I could save firemen." She sighed. "It looked bad, since I was so friendly with Chief O'Neill and you." She rubbed her thumb across Sam's knuckles and smiled. "But they're convinced I had nothing to do with it. Martin keeps talking about a partner, though, so they're looking for him..."

"Martin *is* his partner," Sam said. "He's... split personality or something. He was arguing with himself when he shot me."

Janet tensed slightly, looking down at the bed. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Speaking of that..."

"Tell me," Sam said.

Janet hesitated, scratching her neck as she focused on the wall above Sam's head. Finally, she looked Sam straight in the eye. "Sam, the bullet hit you in the hip, nicking the bone. It was a through-and-through, causing a lot of damage when it exited. We did what we could, but you... the muscles are twisted and torn. There's a chance you're going to... going to have a limp for the rest of your life."

Sam tried to process this, tried to consider the ramifications of what Janet was saying. "I can't be a firefighter anymore," she said softly.

"I mentioned it to Chief O'Neill. He said that if you could still pass the physicals, there'd... be no reason for you to--"

"But I can't," Sam interrupted. "Right?"

"No," Janet half-whispered. "You probably can't."

Sam closed her eyes, one tear slipping free and sliding down her cheek. Janet felt herself about to break and said, "I... I'll leave you alone if--"

"No, please, stay," Sam said desperately, reaching out with her other hand and grasping Janet's arm. "Stay," she repeated.

Janet returned to her seat and moved closer to Sam's bed, leaning forward and resting her head against Sam's shoulder.

---

Sam nudged the door open with her hip, turning and letting the door swing shut on its own. She held the tray against her stomach, moving carefully to avoid spilling the two glasses of lemonade it carried. Her cane made staccato 'thump-thump-thump' noises with each step down the deck, finally stopping when she reached the water-side of the porch. Janet was wading in the water, her arms crossed in front of her to keep her head above water.

"Feel like some lemonade?" Sam asked, setting the tray down.

"Yes, please," Janet said, pushing herself up and out of the water. Sam ogled her for a moment as she toweled off, wrapping the towel around the small blue bikini and hiding her wet flesh from view. Distraction gone, Sam went back to putting out the snacks.

Janet went to her deck chair and sat down, stretching her legs out and checking the side of her thigh for something. She brushed the tanned, tight skin before sitting back. She lifted both arms, hooking them over the top of her chair and looking out at the lake as she waited for Sam to hand her a glass.

"I feel like I should be feeding you grapes," Sam chuckled, handing Janet a glass and bending down to kiss her. "How was your swim?"

"Refreshing. You're sure you don't want to get in? It could double as physical therapy, and I'd get to hold onto you the entire time."

Sam grinned. "Maybe after lunch." She sat in her own deck chair, next to Janet's, and took the brunette's hand. "It's beautiful out here."

"Yeah," Janet agreed. "Chief O'Neill is still trying to make up for leaving you behind at the fire house?"

"I think he forgot I was only there because I was being punished," Sam smiled. "But hey, anything that gets me a week at a cabin with a beautiful woman..."

Janet smiled. "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do when you get back?"

"T told me about a job as a dispatcher, but I don't think I'd be able to do that very long. Sending all of those firefighters out to have fun while I was stuck behind a desk? It would drive me crazy. I think the only option is to get away from the actual station-side of things." She paused. "I'm thinking about teaching at the Academy."

"Oh, that would be great!"

Sam nodded. "I'd still be connected to the department, I'd retain my rank... so if my hip ever did get back into fighting shape..." Janet looked back out at the lake and Sam touched her thigh. "I'm not tilting at windmills here, Janet," she assured her lover. "I know it's unlikely, I know I'll probably limp into the nursing home. But... you know."

"I know," Janet said. "It's the hope."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Like the hope we'll go in after we finish lunch."

"Oh?" Janet said, smiling coyly. "What's inside?"

Sam shrugged innocently. "Just a gag gift the guys left in my locker when you and I started seeing each other..."

Janet raised her eyebrows in curiosity, but decided it was better to be surprised. She stood up and sat down on Sam's deck chair, laying down and curling against the other woman's side. Sam wrapped both arms around the brunette, holding her tight.

As the wind blew Janet's hair against Sam's cheek, she thought about her life as a firefighter. Her past life, as she'd have to think of it now. She'd spent so many years rushing into Hell, facing down flames and immersing herself in unbearable heat. Now, she was in the middle of the woods at a secluded cabin. The wind was calm, the water of the lake was still and they were in love.

She'd never fight another fire. She'd spent so much of her life in Hell, maybe it was time she gave Heaven a shot.