A few days later, things had fallen into an uneasy - yet uneventful - lull.

In quiet moments, I found myself looking back at my arm, focused on the spot where the wasp had been buried for months. I could still see those dark little eyes every time I closed mine, could still feel the sharpness of the antennae as it pushed through my skin.

Even on calls when I was weighed down by my turnout gear, I could pinpoint exactly where that spot was; at that point, I could’ve done it blindfolded. Yet whenever I looked back at it, the skin was perfectly intact. It was unsettling.

The darkness of the evening had begun to take hold of the sky as I sat down on my bunk, fluffing up the pillow in hopes of getting a nap in before dinner. Naps were always a crapshoot especially at the station, but when I’d seen just how starkly bloodshot my eyes were in the mirror it motivated me to try again. Somehow I’d gotten to the point where just fifteen minutes of dreamless, undisturbed rest seemed like a blessing.

Right when my head hit the pillow, my phone shuddered underneath it, a sharp bzzrt-bzzrt bzzrt-bzzrt I felt through the thin, lumpy layers of cotton and fluff. Blinking wearily, I dragged it out only to see that it was Mercy who was calling me. As always, I picked up immediately.

“¿Qué pasa?” I greeted, yawning right after.

“Hey,” Mercy replied. Her voice was unexpectedly soft. “Is this a bad time?”

I shook my head as if she could see it. “No, no… just resting my eyes for a minute. You need something?”

“No, I was just… calling to see how you were doing,” she said. “How are you feeling? You doing alright?”

In spite of my disarming sleepiness, I bristled at the way she spoke. “Yeah…? Why?”

“I hadn’t heard from you in a few days since, um…” She paused, seemingly searching for words. “Since the last time I saw you.”

Of course, I thought. I couldn’t find it within myself to feel moved that she cared; instead, it burned me up inside to know that the tenderness in her tone came from a place of fear. To make her afraid for me - or perhaps even of me - sickened me with shame.

“Yeah, I’m— I’m okay,” I mumbled. “Um— look, about that day…”

Mercy didn’t say anything, but she obviously wanted an answer, even if she was too well-mannered to force one out of me.

“You know how I wasn’t on my meds anymore?” I began.

“Yes,” Mercy answered firmly.

My mind raced as I scrambled for an excuse. “Well— okay, so I started taking them again - even though they make me feel weird - and that’s when… I came to you.”

Again, Mercy stayed quiet. I wondered where she was calling from - was it her car? Her house? God, I hope I’m not on speakerphone.

“And after I saw you, I— I called my doctor as soon as I got home, and you know what she told me?” I asked. “She said that one of the side effects of the medication she put me on is hallucinations.”

It was a half-lie: I never spoke of it to Dr. Oh, but after a few Google searches, I had found that hallucinations were actually an incredibly rare side effect. I wasn’t convinced that it was the fault of the medication entirely, but just to be safe, I’d stopped taking it completely anyway.

“Are you serious?” Mercy gawked. “What in God’s name did she put you on? That’s terrible!”

“Well after that, I quit cold turkey,” I said. “Gonna have to figure out something else to get my shit together, I guess.”

She let out a deep breath. “Manny, that is so scary, I’m so sorry you had to go through that…”

“It’s okay,” I replied. “I… I know I scared you too. I’m sorry. I tried to call you before I got there, but—”

“Manu, please don’t apologize,” she interrupted. “After you left, I was really worried about you, but I wanted to give you space since I know you’re… well, you’re pretty private about that stuff.”

Before I could interrupt, Mercy let out another breath - one that felt purposeful, measured.

“I’m glad you trust me enough to have told me,” she said quietly. “And I want you to know you can always turn to me if you need to, okay?”

I ran a hand through my hair. “I hate making you worry, Benz.”

“Oh, please!” She laughed. “If that were true, you’d be working nine-to-five selling insurance policies instead of hopping into burning buildings all the time.”

“What, and steal your thunder?” I smiled. “You make it look easy, but I don’t know if I got what it takes…”

“Okay, well, you certainly sound like you’re feeling better, so I guess I’ll go ahead and let you go,” Mercy said. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Mmhm,” I hummed. “Thanks for checking in on me, Benny.”

“Of course,” she replied sweetly. “Take it easy, Manu.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

When the call ended, I was met with my reflection in the dark screen of my phone, eyebags and all. When I checked the clock, I saw it was close to dinner, so the nap I’d hoped so desperately to take would have to wait.

･ ･ ･

Tonight was my turn to cook for everyone at the station. We were supposed to take turns when it came to cooking, but as a chore it usually fell on Heather. At first, she considered it an assignment based on her sex, but it was actually because she was the best cook out of all of us. Whoever it was, we’d all silently agreed that it couldn’t be DeShawn, who’d been banned from cooking since he found a way to set the kitchen on fire… in a fire station.

Still, in honor of fairness, we tried to share the responsibility as equally as we could, and I wanted to do my part if only to feel normal again. When each day felt like living in the eye of a hurricane, it was its own relief to do something as basic as washing vegetables and heating up pans.

While I was cooking, I heard all kinds of activity around the firehouse, from DeShawn’s forceful laughter in the rec room to a discussion that Heather and Chief Cormorant were having as they walked through the halls. Between the background noise of the station and the simmering of oil on the stove, I didn’t even hear Garrett come into the kitchen until he appeared out of thin air right next to me.

“Woah!” I gasped, a little startled. “Um, hey there.”

“Oh, did I scare you? Sorry, I should’ve said something,” Garrett replied, looking a little guilty. “My bad. I know you can get in your own head sometimes.”

“No, it’s fine.” I shrugged dismissively as I rolled another onion out of the bag, chopping it roughly in half so I could peel the skin off it.

His lips broadened into a friendly smile. Then, Garrett motioned to the cutting board and the various vegetables that populated the counter in varying states of preparation.

“Do you need help with any of this?” He asked, tossing a bell pepper between his hands.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it from here.” I tried to return the smile, but my face felt stiff and plastic. “Appreciate the offer, though.”

I turned my focus back to getting dinner ready, but Garrett didn’t seem to get the hint. Instead, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms like he was settling in to watch a show, which made me feel strangely monitored.

I shot him a curious look. “Um… do you need something?”

“No, no,” Garrett said sweetly. “I’m just making sure you’re being careful.”

“Does it look like my first time chopping an onion or something?” I raised an eyebrow. “You probies think you know everything, huh?”

“Nah.” He wrinkled his nose in a sneer. “I’d just hate to see you have another ‘accident.’”

In the middle of a chop, I froze. “What did you say?”

Garrett’s eyes darted from the knife to my face. With a push, he moved himself off of the counter and drew uncomfortably close to me, closer than he’d ever been before. As he gazed at my arm, he trailed a finger along the lines of my tattoo, stopping right where my wound had been.

“Look at that— didn’t even leave a scar…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Really seems like a waste to do that kind of stuff when you’ve got all this nice ink.”

My stomach lurched. Immediately, I jerked my arm away from him. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

“Whoa, no need to be like that!” Garrett said loudly, reeling his hands back as if performing for an audience. “I was just saying they’re cool tattoos, that’s all.”

“Go fuck yourself.” I tried to continue chopping the vegetables, but the rising fury made my hands quick and sloppy. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, I’m saying you have cool tattoos,” he repeated, blinking innocently. “Kind of sensitive these days, huh?”

My scowl became a snarl the longer that I glared at him. Under my skin, a tingling began from my elbows and snaked its way down to my hands, as if my arms had been asleep; despite its absence in the past few days, the buzzing now returned with a vengeance.

Garrett crossed his arms once more, resuming his place at the counter. “Damn, what’s got you so mad all the time?”

“Don’t fucking play with me.” I narrowed my eyes at him in disgust, each chop becoming rougher and rougher. “You got the nerve to not only make fun of me to my face, but then act stupid about it? What’s your fucking problem?”

“I’m not making fun of you!” He said. “I mean it!”

Chop.

“Save the bullshit for someone else,” I growled.

Chop.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” He almost sounded sincere. “Hey, we started this off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over—”

Chop.

The thrumming in my arms was so powerful, so distracting that I’d lost track of where the onion ended and my fingers began. Upon the last chop, I slammed the knife right into my finger.

“Shit!” I reeled my hand back to keep the blood off of the food, the knife clattering to the kitchen floor from the momentum. “Damn it!”

“See?” With a noxious laugh, Garrett gestured at me. “This is exactly what I thought would happen!”

My finger throbbed as I turned my back to him to check the damage. I’d honed in on my finger so closely that I hadn’t noticed Garrett moving in closer until I could feel the heat of his body radiating along mine. With a chilling satisfaction, he traced the tip of his finger along my cut until it was just as bloody as mine, and then he flashed me a smile with too many teeth.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he whispered darkly, rubbing his fingers together, “I might think you just did that on purpose.”

Before I could retaliate, Liam dropped in through the doorway, totally unaware of what was going on.

“How’s that food coming along, Herrera?” He grinned. “Smells great in here already!”

Liam didn’t wait for an answer from either of us, walking up to Garrett’s side and clapping him violently on the shoulder, which Garrett endured with subtle contempt. He moved to pat my shoulder as well, but when he saw my cut, Liam stopped and let out a whistle.

“Nasty!” He pointed at it and stuck out his tongue childishly. “Just a tip— blood only belongs on meat, not vegetables!”

“Very funny,” I replied flatly. I stepped away from the counter to dig around in a cabinet to find some bandages, which we kept nearby just in case of accidents like these.

“Don’t blame him, it’s my fault,” Garrett sighed softly. “I guess I was just distracting him too much.”

“Well, knock it off!” Liam laughed, shoving Garrett playfully. “You can grab each other’s dicks as much as you want after dinner. Don’t let me starve!”

Garrett laughed with him, but it was obviously forced. Now that they were tied up with one another, I moved to the kitchen sink so I could get the blood off of my hands and return to cooking. While I watched my blood circle the drain, Liam and Garrett’s conversation shifted to something I didn’t care about, and eventually, they left.

Once the blood had been washed away, I inspected my finger more closely, and my heart nearly stopped in my chest.

A little wing was sticking out from it.