"Hundreds of Seattle residents have turned out today at fire station 47 for a 'Be the Match' drive to benefit Derrick Collins, a firefighter whose injuries on the job has left him with acute renal failure," said a news anchor, an Asian woman in her mid-30's with a blue dress. She continued, "Jonathan Taylor is on the scene."

"Thank you, Jeannette," he responded, "Derrick Collins and his fellow firefighters on Truck 47 were responding to a call at a warehouse last February. The crew was able to clear the building of people as the fire advanced quickly. Thirteen employees were rushed from the burning building and Collins was making a final sweep."

"Derrick was the first one in the building," said a tall white man with a shaved head and navy t-shirt. He was identified on screen as Lieutenant Jeff Winston and continued, "We got through the building quickly, getting everyone out. No one could provide an exact count inside the building, so as the last people were being pulled out, Derrick and Tommy went in for one last sweep of the premises."

"It was a routine call, and the crew was just finishing up," said Taylor in a voice-over juxtaposed with new footage of the night. "Unfortunately, what happened to Firefighter Collins was anything but routine."

A taller man with short brown hair and dark sunglasses appeared on screen next. He was identified on the screen as "A.J. Collins, Hero Firefighter's Brother."

"As Derrick was coming out of the building, a heavy wooden beam fell on his back, pinning him to the floor," A.J. said, solemnly. "His partner Tommy was able to lift the beam to free him, but some exposed hardware punctured his gear and damaged his kidneys."

The reporter now appeared on screen with a microphone, walking along a line of people as he talked.

"That injury has brought these people to Station 47 to see if they can help their hero firefighter," he stopped walking and continued. "The trauma to his back caused irreversible damage to his kidneys, requiring the removal of one and decreased function in the other. In need of a transplant, the community has been spurred to action."

"He has risked his life for this city, this seems like the least we can do. If any of us can help," said a Black woman in her mid-20s that was standing in line.

Another person from the queue followed, a middle-aged white man with a graying beard and a Seattle Mariners hat, "My son is a firefighter, and looking at him, knowing this could be him, I knew I had to come down and bring along some neighbors."

"Today's 'Be the Match' drive goes until 3 p.m. For KXNM news, I'm Jonathan Taylor."

After talking with the reporter, A.J. headed into the fire station to find his brother. He eventually found him in the common area upstairs, watching television.

A group photo on the nearby wall showed "Peak Derrick," he liked to joke. In the photo, his messy hair style was not covered by a baseball cap in a rare occurrence. His square-jaw face was its typical clean-shaven and his smile demonstrated a confidence that looked borderline arrogant but matched his personality well.

Derrick had been on leave from the station since the accident 10 weeks earlier. In that time, his light brown hair had gotten a little long and he'd grown an unimpressive patchy beard. Through his medical treatments and a different kind of exercise, his 5-foot-9 frame appeared more lean and less sturdy than when he was healthy. The standard issue blue t-shirt, which was fairly taut on his athletic physique and tucked in tight, in the photograph was now loose on his frame. The uniform precision was also gone, as it now hung untucked.

These days, his smile lacked any confidence and illustrated a sadness that was felt within. Being off the job caused a depression and when he struggled to cope, he was almost embarrassed that he was hurt on the job. Despite constant reassurance that this was a freak accident that could have happened to anyone, he replayed the moment in his mind repeatedly, wondering if just a bit more urgency and speed would have saved him.

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Normally, Derrick would have relished in the attention and the ease with which "hero" was attached to him. In fact, after saving a pair of teenagers from a car wreck on the I-5 on his day off, he tested everyone's limits by retelling the story ad nauseum with a few more embellishments each time. However, his occasional hubris was just a small part of his personality which most people offered a pass on. Typically, he was gregarious and social, which people responded positively to, even if his relationships with most were rather shallow.

"Reporter's gone," A.J. said to his brother, sitting on the couch beside him.

Derrick sighed as his channel surfing had stopped on Mariners highlights.

"How much longer do we need to stay?"

"These people are trying to help, I think we can stay until the last person is done," A.J. responded with his disapproving tone.

Derrick tossed the remote control on the coffee table and shifted in his seat to face his brother.

"I appreciate this all, I really do," he started defensively. "But I'm not sure how much this is going to help."

After just a big enough pause for effect, he continued quickly, pivoting back to his original position in the process, "Just like the one before it, and the one before that, and the family event."

As he finished his thought, he turned his attention back to the television to see the Mariners' manager previewing the next opponent, the Toronto Blue Jays.

A.J. leaned back and exhaled deeply. The brothers sat together in silence, watching the television for 15 minutes. In that time, they did nothing to acknowledge the other's presence, and no one bothered them. Eventually, the elder brother started to talk.

"Look, the best thing we can do is try. As long as we are trying there is hope."

He was now looking deeply at Derrick, who reluctantly met his gaze.

"If you want to give up, fine" he continued, "I'll send everyone home and you can help me plan the funeral. That's a lot of work and not fun, so, if you're going to make me take care of this on top of our sister's wedding, the least you can do is help."

A.J. pulled out his phone for effect, offering the numbers of some funeral homes he's called in the past.

"Fine," Derrick eventually said loudly, signaling his brother's point was received and that he was kind of irritated by how far A.J.'s bit had gone on.

A.J. smiled and leaned into his brother.

"We love you and a lot of people want you to live. That has to make you feel good, right?"

Derrick smiled but was unable to speak because he was becoming choked up. In truth, he appreciated everything, but his guilt of so much "wasted" effort was chipping away at him. He'd been working on these feelings with a counselor, but it was difficult.

A.J. slapped his knees dramatically signaling his intention to stand, and rose to face his brother.

"I think you can probably get out of here," he said. "We'll give a rain check for the autograph and photo session later."

Derrick smiled and stood up. He stretched with the first real movement in over an hour, wincing at a tinge of pain from his lower back.

"Go out the back door," A.J. offered. "Your man bun and teenage boy beard are a stark contrast to the photo everyone has seen of you, but someone may still recognize you."

Derrick laughed and stroked his beard pensively, considering a shave after the universal bad reception to its presence. He shook his head out of it, having grown fond of the look. He smiled again and gave his brother a hug before leaving the room. He headed down the back stairs and out the back door. He crossed to his nearby car and headed home.

After watching his brother leave, A.J. exhaled and his body went limp as he stood. He collapsed back onto the couch. As his eyes drifted around the room, they became affixed on the group photo of Truck 47 with a smiling Derrick front and center. As he studied the brother that he had known, his eyes welled with tears. A moment later, his head fell into his hands, and he leaned forward in his seat sobbing uncontrollably for several minutes.

Breakdowns were becoming more frequent for A.J. and, aside from Roland, they were never witnessed by anyone. But the weight of being a rock for his siblings was starting to weigh on him. He found these releases, succumbing to the emotion—when alone, of course—to be a helpful respite from his typically stoic demeanor.

When he exhausted himself, he went to the nearby bathroom to splash water on his face and collect himself. When he was comfortable in his appearance, he put on a pair of sunglasses to hide his red eyes and headed downstairs. Once outside, he talked with firefighters and thanked the people in line for coming out.