Steve was having a bad day. First, he got roped into a no-booze party by Charlie. Then he got knocked off the roof by a helicopter blade. Finally, he woke up in the back parking lot naked, with a topless Angela holding his junk and crying.

OK, that last wouldn’t be too bad if he could just remember how he got here and why the fire alarm was going off. A header off the roof would leave him with some marks. It was more likely to leave him with some broken bones, maybe even a broken skull or spine. Instead of any of that, he felt better than he had in years. He looked down to where Angela wavered second to second between tears and rage. He wasn’t one of the sickos who liked crying chicks, but he could work with it. Rage, on the other hand, wasn’t what he wanted her feeling right now. Regretting what all the smoke he’d sucked down over the years had done to his voice, he tried to speak soothingly to her.

“Angie. It’s all right. I’m fine.”

He stopped, startled at the sound of his own voice. It wasn’t the desiccated rasp he’d gotten used to hearing. Still a little gravelly, but deep, rich, and full. It didn’t even hurt him to talk. He had no idea what happened, but if this was the result, he had to try it more often.

“Angie, is someone hurt?”

She spoke with a quiet, high-pitched falsetto like a little girl’s.

“You are. You’ve got a bad cut, but I can’t find it. I looked everywhere.”

Weird chick. Her own answer made her angry. Her hand clenched into a fist, and he howled in pain, curling around himself. She let go and jumped back, a girly squeal erupting from her. He’d never heard her squeal before. He didn’t like it. He had to get dressed; nothing would happen here in the parking lot anyhow.

“Where are my clothes?”

Angela didn’t say anything, but when he uncurled to look at her, she had turned away and pointed at a sodden pile about three feet away. When he picked up his shirt, he smelled blood and feces on it. When he shook it out so he could put it on, it flew apart, leaving him holding a sleeve in one hand, part of a shoulder in the other. The rest had torn to shreds. He set the bits aside and picked up his pants. They weren’t pants any more. The whole middle part had been torn up. If he’d been wearing a belt, he might have been able to rig something, but he rarely wore belts to parties. They got in the way.

He really hated not remembering how he lost his pants. Lost pants were always good for a story at least. He snorted, disgusted at the situation, and sorted through the scraps of fabric that remained of his shirt and pants. After a little sifting, he had one intact pant leg and a long thin section of shirt that would do what he needed. First, he wrung as much blood as he could out of both of them. Then he tied a slipknot in one end of the shirt fabric, worked it around himself like a belt, and then pulled the pant leg through in an impromptu loincloth. Once it was through, he cinched the belt down tight and jumped up and down a few times. It wasn’t pretty, but now he could see about dealing with the fire.

“That’s…”

Angela’s childlike falsetto shifted suddenly to her normal voice, and all the shyness dropped away from her.

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen you do, in a history of disgusting things. Not to mention it being a biohazard. Haven’t you had hazmat training?”

He looked down, hands on hips, to where she crouched. “If it’s my blood, that’s not a problem. If it’s not my blood, it’s already all over me. You want to help, get me some hand sanitizer. Some other clothes would be nice too.”

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Angela rose to her feet, a frown etching its way across her features. “An X-Ray is what you need. I need to make sure there’s no shrapnel.”

“What are you talking about, woman?”

“Steve, I am not in the mood for your caveman act right now. Pretend to be a mature, modern adult for a few minutes, ok?”

“Whatever.”

“How much do you remember?”

Not in the mood for twenty questions, Steve walked along the sidewalk, the rest of his dripping clothes in one hand. Behind him he heard Angela following. If he didn’t answer, she would pester him.

“Look, I’ve got to see to that alarm. I remember Charlie screaming ‘incoming’, I remember shoving Drew out of the way, and I remember getting knocked off the building by that helicopter blade. I kinda remember dangling halfway down the building for a bit. I lost my grip, fell, and woke up naked with you giving me the only fun part of a sports physical.”

Angela’s spoke from just behind him. “Steve, stop.”

He had no time. If the fire had already set off an alarm, it had spread fast and hard. He had to be sure the sprinklers and halon were hitting it, or the whole building would be an inferno.

“No time, Angie.”

“Steve, I set off the fire alarm by accident coming to get you. I don’t know if there’s a fire. Also, there’s something you need to see.”

Something in the tone of her voice told him she was telling the truth. Really, she wasn’t very good at lying anyhow. Her lips always moved when she did it. He turned and looked at her, and she just stared at him. She adjusted the remaining buttons on her blouse. After a few moments he spoke, putting all the impatience he felt into his voice.

“If I remember right about the helicopter exploding, I need to get that under control. What is it you want to show me?”

In answer, she pointed up to the side of the building. When he followed her pointing finger with his gaze, she spoke, her voice pedantic and filled with exaggerated patience.

“See the helicopter blade? See how it’s red and dripping? That was in your chest. Out your back too, if I’m any judge. I have no idea how you’re up and walking without even a scar, but even if the through and through puncture was an optical illusion, you’ve lost enough blood to soak your jeans and shirt. Think, Steve. How could that happen?”

Disgusted with himself at not seeing it, he shook his head and lowered his gaze to the ground. “I can’t believe it. Charlie must have set this up. He’s the only one with the planning and the cojones. What did you dose me with?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re right, Angela. This must be a prank. Now I’m pissed; that shirt cost a hundred twenty bucks. It’s silk. Not that I’d expect you guys to know the difference. Ok, maybe Charlie, but he’s not as strapped as… I… am?”

The whole time he’d been talking, Angela had moved closer to him. When she got close enough for him to get a good look at her face, the look of disbelieving shock made him wind down his rant. They stood there like that, silent, for a few moments before she began talking.

“Steve, for all I know the building is on fire. I just tore a fire door apart with my bare hands. I saw Charlie stop a fire. Not put it out, not make it go away, but stop the flames in midair, like pausing a DVD. Weird stuff is happening, Steve. Most of us volunteer, but you’re the only person trained to deal with disasters.”

She looked up at him, anger warring with desperation in her eyes. He snorted his own disbelief right back at her, but it seemed weak.

“C’mon, Angie. You’re a trauma surgeon.”

Her response was immediate and definite. “No, Steve. I do shifts in the ER, because we don’t have a proper clinic. Even if I were a trauma surgeon, it wouldn’t matter. Trauma surgeons just deal with the aftermath of a disaster. We’re not the ones wading into the inferno.”

He shifted his shoulders, uncomfortable with the attention. If asked, he knew he did an important job. He tried to do it well. None of that changed the simple facts that he took the job because it let him work out as ‘work related training’ and he kept it because telling chicks he was a firefighter set them on fire. Five alarm, ‘please hose me down’ kinda fire most times. Still, he slept like a baby at night because he told himself he deserved the carnal thanks he got. When he spoke, the words dragged themselves from him, but they were true, nonetheless.

“Yeah. Ok. If there’s a fire, I’ve got to deal with it. You guys will back me up?”

“Don’t we always?”

“Hey, I remember that time with Shiela…”

Angela was laughing when she pushed him toward the front doors of the hospital. “Oh, just get in there. When we tell Shiela you stopped a fire in a loincloth, she’ll beg you for a reenactment.”

“Ok, but if there is a fire, I’m gonna need a hose. I didn’t get anything to drink tonight."