CHAPTER TEN: WHY SHOULD I BE FRIGHTENED?
song of the chapter: the great gig in the sky, pink floyd

Nothing about this is easy.

Indiana needs people to know that. Every step she takes feels like there is glass beneath her feet, every breath feels like she is running out. She can feel the hurt in her bones, seeping into the molecules of her very being. Every blink of an eye is another moment closer to feeling her heart shatter.

She cannot imagine that her heart breaking can feel any worse than it already does, though.

(At least it can't get any worse.)

Monday is the bluest day of the week. People are still shaking off the weekend, getting back into routine and refocusing their energy.

Considering Indiana spent her weekend drowning her (future) sorrows over countless cups of earl grey and an embarrassing amount of New Girl, she can hardly be blamed for the fogginess of her brain. Being forced to watch Jess and Nick dance around each other with their respective partners when they clearly want each other is about the equivalent of three glasses of wine, in her humble opinion.

Still. Today is a Monday, and the day with come to an end just as it started, and Indiana will be forced to reckon with her own life decisions. She will do as she is told to by Athena, because though her heart is arguing against her, she knows in her mind that this is the best thing for everyone involved.

Even if it makes her want to curl into a ball and sob every time she thinks of it.

"Miss Carter?"

Indiana blinks, and suddenly she is no longer trapped inside her own head and debating her own doom. She blows a breath out of her lips, lifting her head slightly to meet the young girl in front of her. Willa's wild curls and bright pink cheeks greet her, and the constant tapping of a blunt pencil against her desk tells her everything she needs to know.

"Hello, Willa. Is there something I can help you with?"

Willa nods tightly, "My pencil is broken. Needs sharpened."

Indiana holds out her hand, prompting Willa to drop the pencil into her grasp. "Okay," Indiana responds gently. "And when we need something from Miss Carter, how is it that we ask?"

The young girl scrunches up her face as she tries to think, and Indiana has to fight back a smile at her frustration. The only word the girl is missing is 'please', but Indiana knows all too well that the simplest things are the ones that stump us the most.

"Oh!" Willa says, suddenly, pointing at the ceiling with her index finger like she's just had a 'Eureka!' moment. "Miss Carter, could you please-"

Indiana never hears the end of Willa's sentence, being that the girls voice is drowned out by the deafening sound of the fire alarm. They have practice drills all the time, so Indiana knows the sound. She knows the protocol, the quickest escape route, the easiest way to keep her students calm.

She also knows that this one is not a drill.

"Alright," she says, projecting her voice across the classroom, hoping that her students don't pick up on the tremble in her words. "Everybody follow Miss Carter in a single file line. Everything is going to be fine, but I need you all to keep calm and follow my instructions, okay?"

In an ordinary situation, getting a bunch of eight year olds to follow instructions and do as they're told is a lost cause. But, in a way that a child so young should never have to be, the threat of a fire instills a type of fear into them that Indiana hopes they never have to face otherwise.

In the time that it takes her students to form a single file line at the classroom door, Indiana has gathered the evacuation file from her desk and quickly pockets her school issued radio, clips it into her belt and performs a headcount of the students.

"Alright, kids, everybody follow me. Let's get out of here."

The tricky thing about this situation is trying to find a medium between serious and not worrying the children. The situation is serious, but Indiana doesn't want to become a robot and make this into an army drill, because that will scare the children. She also doesn't want to keep her tone too light and make them think this doesn't have to be taken as seriously as it does.

Trying to get her children out of a potentially burning building is really putting her life in perspective.

In times like these, Indiana curses having a classroom on the second floor. Logically, she knows that her response time in getting the children out of the classroom and on their way out of the school will aid her chances of getting them out safe. Factually, she knows the walk from her classroom to the fire meeting point is only a one minute and fifty-seven second trip.

Inconsolably, Indiana knows that if anything was to happen to one of these children while they are under her care she would never be able to forgive herself for it.

In the hustle and bustle of the corridors as teachers attempt to evacuate their classrooms in an orderly manner, Indiana can feel her heart in her throat. Her classroom is, regrettably, at the back of the corridor, so she must wait for the teachers at the front to lead their students out before her class can follow.

She feels a small, sweaty hand grasp her wrist. The child's five fingers barely wrap half way around it. Indiana cranes her head back slightly, meeting the watery green eyes of sweet, innocent Jules, who looks terrified out of his mind. She grasps his arm with her hand, squeezing it in reassurance, and begins to lead her students into the gradually emptying corridor.

A lot can happen in one minute and fifty-seven seconds.

Indiana refuses to let it.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Station 118 is unusually quiet.

Not that any of them will address that fact, but they all know it. Buck has exchanged many a look with Eddie, who only raises his eyebrows when they both realise another half-hour has passed with no calls.

They should be grateful for the downtime, for the opportunity to catch up on tasks and eat a hearty meal, but Buck can't shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong.

He can't place the uneasiness in his mind. It's weighing him down, the possibilities of things that could be wrong. He texts Maddie, who is safe at the call centre and is having lunch with Josh when he checks in.

Christopher is bunking off of school early for a physio appointment, according to Eddie, who is also safe and sound. His colleagues (his family) are all in the same room as him, safe as can be.

He's starting to think that maybe he's just being over dramatic about the station being quiet when the alarm finally comes to life and shocks them all into action.

"Attention Station 118. Third alarm fire at 1717 Burnside Avenue. Corresponding units also responding."

Something about the address is familiar, but Buck can't place it. The team bundle into the engine and they're out of the station within twenty seconds, and Buck reaches into his pocket for his phone to google the address when he realises Eddie has beat him to it.

Something about the horror on his best friend's face tells Buck everything he needs to know before he can form words.

"It's Chris' school," Eddie says, with genuine terror on his face as the revelation sinks in.

Christopher isn't there, thank god. Buck feels the relief sink into his bones that the kid is safe. His school might be out of commission for a while, but at least he's safe and alive.

It's only when Bobby turns his phone to the back of the engine and shows the caller screen to them that the realisation sinks in. Bobby raises the phone to his ear, and Buck hears Athena demanding information from down the line even over the pounding of his heart.

Durand might be Christopher's school, but it's Indiana's, too.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Indiana is not unfamiliar with high-stress environments.

Every family gathering is like fighting off a thousand rabid dogs, and every time she has to make eye contact with her work enemy and smile during staff meetings feels like walking through fire.

At least, it felt like walking through fire until Indiana had experienced walking through actual fire. Not the actual flames- just the smoke, and the overwhelming heat that is surrounding them.

According to her watch, they have twenty-five seconds left before they reach the fire exit. Indiana still doesn't get how having a fire exit so far away is up to code, but according to state law it is, and that fact will haunt her for the rest of her days if she does not get these children out of here.

"I'm really hot, Miss Carter," Yusuf complains, wiping at his forehead with his shirt sleeve.

Indiana chances a glance back at him, "I know, sweetheart. We'll be out of here soon, I promise."

Distantly, Indiana can hear the raging sirens outside. She knows that help is coming, that the heat will soon dissipate and the smoke will clear. She knows that the light at the end of the tunnel is only so far.

The worst part of this is that she still has no idea where the fire is, or where it originated. All she knows is the blistering heat that is scolding her skin and the tiny whimpers coming from the children who are trailing behind her and trying their absolute best to get out of here. They've got their shirts pulled up over their noses and are clasping each other's hands like lifelines.

They are kids. They have everything ahead of them, and they are being so incredibly brave. So much braver than they should have to be at such a young age.

Indiana owes it to them to get them out of here.

She wipes at her stinging eyes with her sleeve, squinting at the too-far fire exit. It's down a flight of stairs, She can see the daylight peeking through the small gap that's been wedged open for easy escape, but it's still too far.

Her body feels too heavy.

"Just a few more seconds, guys. We're nearly there."

At the bottom of the stairs, Indiana watches as somebody pulls the door open and holds it against the wall, calling to them to keep calm and proceed toward them.

The thing is, even with a clouded vision and the pounding of her own heart in her ears, Indiana would recognise that voice anywhere.

She pauses at the top of the stairs, ushering the children down towards the firefighter- towards the current light of her life, both figuratively and literally. She watches as Buck smiles at them all encouragingly, pointing towards somebody further away. As soon as the final student has made their exit, Indiana sags against the wall, despite her better judgement.

She needs to take a breath. She just needs a minute.

"You missed me so much that you set a fire so I'd come visit, Indiana?"

Buck grins at her from the doorway, holding out a hand for her to grab when she descends the staircase. Indiana pushes off of the wall and takes a step onto the stairs, picking up the bottom of her dress and hiking it up her thighs. The last thing she wants is to escape a burning building then trip over her dress.

"You sure these stairs are safe, Buckley?"

Buck nods confidently, stepping in slightly so he can stomp a foot on one of the lower steps. Nothing happens. He reaches out his arm even further, beckoning her towards him.

"You're good, Cinderella. Please make your descent in a timely manner."

Indiana sticks her middle finger up at him, which is hardly appropriate when she's at work, but she is finally able to give into relief. The children are safe, the fire is actively being put out, and her firefighter fake-boyfriend is about to save the day.

Everything is going to be okay, Indiana is sure of that much.

She takes another step towards her knight in ashy turnouts, feels the wind beneath her wings as she walks toward salvation. Buck is smiling at her like she's something special, like he's glad he went through all of this trouble to come and save her- even if she did most of the saving herself.

It seems that all of their efforts were futile, though.

The steps give in beneath Indiana when she's five steps down, and the scream that tears from Buck's throat is the last thing she hears before she hits the ground.