Chapter Text
The first time is an honest-to-God accident.
Derek Nurse was hungry and a little brain-fried from staring at a computer screen all day and the thing he wanted most in the world was a chicken pot pie. It was getting colder by the day in the city, and the windows in his apartment were not properly insulated. It was way too late to text Bitty about the possibility of a pot pie delivery, so his only option was to bundle up, give Lemon a kiss on her furry, ginger head, and head out to the bodega around the corner for a box of Marie Callender’s and a bottle of cheap pinot grigio.
Hudson Deli was a little hole in the wall stop and shop that Derek had been patronizing since he had moved into his apartment in the Bowery a few years ago. As a born and bred New Yorker, Derek always tried to patronize those small businesses that were at the heart of the city, even if the convenience of Target was oh so tempting.
“Hey kitty-kitty,” Derek cooed at the tortoiseshell bodega cat perched on a shelf near the front door. The store was nice and warm, thanks to a space heather plugged in by the counter.
“Sup,” the bored teenage cashier called out, not bothering to look up from his phone as Derek made his way back to the freezers. The pot pies were nestled between bags of frozen soup dumplings and cans of juice concentrate. After a few moments of consideration, Derek grabbed a pot pie and a bag of soup dumplings.
He circled back through the liquor isle, grabbing a bottle of wine before setting everything on the counter. The cashier put his phone down as he rang Derek up. “You need a bag?”
As per usual, Derek had forgotten his reusable bags at home. “Yeah, thanks.”
The cashier nodded and bagged his food and punched a few things into the register. “It’s $13.45, cash or card?”
“Card,” Derek replied, tapping his debit card on the reader, and accepting his food and the receipt with a "thanks man,” thrown over his shoulder. He was in brighter spirits as he walked back to his apartment, with the promise of food in his near future.
The rickety old elevator in Derek’s building rose the six floors towards his apartment, shaking ominously as it arrived on his floor. One of these days it was going to give out entirely, and knowing Derek’s luck he would be stuck inside it when it happened. But today was not that day.
Lemon mewled plaintively as Derek shouldered his way through the front door. “Yeah, yeah, little lady, I’ll feed you in a minute. Let me just get my food in the oven,” he said, toeing his shoes off. Dropping everything on the kitchen counter, Derek gave the instructions a once over as he turned the dial on his rarely used oven to pre-heat.
He filled Lemon’s bowl with kibble and little wet food from the fridge petting her idly to keep her from eating too fast and throwing it all up in fifteen minutes. The oven beeping just as Lemon finished her dinner. “Perfect timing as always,” he said, gving her a little scratch between her ears.
Derek tore the top off the box, poked a few holes in the top of the pie with a knife, and put the whole thing in the oven. He set a timer on his phone and padded off to the bathroom for a hot shower. A few minutes later, smelling of lavender and honey, Derek returned to his laptop and the intimidating blank document on his screen, the cursor blinking menacingly.
Derek’s first poetry collection, Fault Lines, was published more than a year ago. The world (and his publisher) was eagerly awaiting his second collection. The problem was that Derek hadn’t been able to write a line of poetry in upwards of eight months. He had never had a bout of writer’s block this bad before, his once overflowing well of inspiration had runneth dry.
It didn’t make any sense. Derek had a good life. He lived in the best city in the world, he had three loving parents, and a great, if not small, group of friends. Perhaps his life was less exciting than it used to be as he crossed the line from his early to mid-twenties, but he was happy.
(Maybe that was the problem. In college and grad school, he was just clinically depressed enough to fuel his art without feeling like he wanted to die all of the time. Or at least, most of the time. So, he took his 50mg of Zoloft with his coffee every morning, and he went to his appointments with Dr. Adebayo every three weeks, because no sonnet was worth his life or his sanity)
Derek was so lost in the trance of the blinking cursor that he didn’t notice the smell of smoke until his fire alarm was beeping. He spun around in his chair to see smoke seeping out of his oven.
Shit.
He ran over to the oven, shutting it off before opening the door enough to peek inside. This was the wrong course of action, because it mostly succeeded in letting more smoke pour out, but Derek was able to see that his pot pie engulfed in a small flame. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, manically looking around for something, anything.
For once, Derek’s procrastination was his saving grace, and the pitcher of water he had filled earlier to water his plants and promptly forgot about was sitting on the counter next to the sink. Derek grabbed the pitcher and tossed it on to the burning pie, extinguishing the flames.
“Thank god,” Derek sighed.
Derek’s relief only lasted a few moments, because from somewhere out in the hall, the building’s fire alarm started to go off, sharp and discordant with Derek’s smoke detector.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he said to no one in particular.
There was the sound of doors and voices and footsteps out in the hall as people evacuated their apartments. Derek mumbled a string of unpleasant expletives as he gathered his coat and Lemon’s soft-sided carrying case, coercing her inside with a few treats before zipping it up.
“Sorry, Lemon. Daddy has done fucked up,” he said under his breath as he exited the apartment, following his neighbors down the stairs to the street. He kept Lemon’s crate close to his body in hopes of not jostling her around too much, though she made her displeasure at the whole situation very well known. As they poured out on to 3rd St., Derek’s neighbors eyed him warily, some of them with their own pets in tow. “Sorry,” he apologized, “she really hates being in here. But she should calm down soon.”
“Nursey!” a familiar voice called over the din. Derek turned around to spot Shitty making his way through the crowd. He edged away from the crowd, for a little semblance of privacy. “Bro, do you have any idea what happened?”
“Uh, no clue,” Derek lied, struggling with Lemon’s crate.
“Dude, let me.” Shitty took the carrying case from Derek, lowering his voice to speak to her. “Hey there little lady, it’s okay.” Lemon immediately settled down at the sound of Shitty’s voice.
“It’s not fair that she likes you more than she likes me,” Derek grumbled.
“You’re too high strung, it’s just gonna stress her out when things are already stressful.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek huffed, “I’m totes chill.”
Shitty didn’t even try to hide his incredulous laugh. “Dude, you are the least chill person to ever walk this mortal coil. You just hide behind this ‘chill’ veneer to keep people from seeing your true feelings about things because you’re convinced that they won’t like the real you. It’s better that they like the fake version of you than hate the authentic Nursey, y’know?” At Derek’s expression, he added, “it’s not a bad thing.”
“Oh really? Because you made it sound super fun and not sad,” Derek replied, turning towards the approaching sound of sirens. A bright red fire engine turned on to 3rd Street from Avenue A, lights flashing. Derek watched on in humiliation as the truck pulled up to the curb, the crowd parting for the handful of firefighters who jumped off the truck in their gear and ran into the building.
“Dude. Dude,” Shitty said, punching Derek in the arm to get his attention. “What’s with the face?”
“This is just my normal face,” Derek attempted to arrange his features into his usual mask of chill.
Obviously Shitty could see right through Derek’s carefully placid smile. “Cut the bullshit, Nursey.”
“Ugh, fine,” Derek stepped closer, dropping his voice even lower. “I may or may not have burned my dinner to a degree that it not only set off all the fire alarms in my apartment, but the building’s alarm system as well.”
“What the fuck?” Shitty said at full volume.
“Dude,” Derek slapped him in the sternum with the back of his hand. “Could you be any louder? I don’t think my moms all the way in Brooklyn could hear you.”
“Sorry,” Shitty replied, at a much lower volume. “What the fuck?” he repeated in a whisper.
“It was an accident! I don’t know how it happened, I followed the instructions exactly, but it still caught on fire.”
“You obviously didn’t follow the instructions exactly if it might burn the building down.”
“It’s not going to burn the building down, I put the fire out. Just not fast enough to keep the whole building’s alarm from going off.”
“Well, in that case, can I laugh at you?”
“Why would you laugh at me? I’m in distress!” Derek’s voice was loud enough to pique the interest of a few of his neighbors. “This is not funny, Shitty.”
“It’s pretty funny. This would only happen to you.”
“I hate you.” Derek watched the silhouettes of the firefighters through the windows as they walked the floors of his building. “If they arrest me, I need you to be my lawyer.”
“You know I mainly do wrongful eviction cases, right? But ch’yeah, I’ll be your lawyer.”
They loitered on the sidewalk for an interminable amount of time. Lemon had all but fallen asleep in her crate, with Shitty rocking her gently back and forth, whispering his gentle praises. After what felt like an eternity there on the curb, one of the firefighters came out of the building, stalking over to the truck, only to produce a bullhorn.
“May I have your attention?” the firefighter said, everyone turning to face him. “I’m looking for the tenant of 6F, a, uh,” he paused for a moment, looking down at a piece of a paper in his hand. “Mr. Derek Nurse? If you’re here, please meet me over here at the truck. Again I’m looking for—”
“Here we go,” Derek said to Shitty. “Can you—”
“I’ll hold on to Lemon and bring her up to your place later.”
“Thanks, Shits. You’re a lifesaver.”
Derek wove through the crowd, a million pairs of eyes on him, as he made his way to the truck. He lowered his head as he walked, embarrassed. The firefighter with the bullhorn was talking to another firefighter in the truck, but he trailed off as he clocked Derek approaching.
“Hi, I’m Derek Nurse from 6F.”
“Hello, Mr. Nurse. Let’s speak inside.”
The walk from the curb to the front door of the building dragged on forever, the whole thing feeling distinctly like being called to the principal’s office over the school’s PA system, your second period algebra class watching as you packed up your things and make the walk of shame out of the room. Only this was worse, because Derek had to live with the people who were giving him dirty looks as the firefighter led him inside, he had to share elevators with them and see each other at the mailboxes each day.
Derek would truly never live this down.
The firefighter led him into the small lobby, the sound of footsteps echoing on the stairs above. Time seemed to slow as he turned around to face Derek, because it was not simple enough for Derek to have to endure this whole embarrassing ordeal, but to add insult to injury the firefighter witnessing this whole embarrassing ordeal was cute.
The first thig Derek noticed was his auburn eyebrows framing his golden-brown eyes, they were furrowed together, a serious expression on his face. He was tall and broad, with strong looking arms and large square hands. His russet hair was cut close on the sides but swooping over his square freckled forehead. And the freckles.
W. Poindexter, according to the shiny gold nametag affixed to his jacket, was absolutely covered in freckles. Honestly, the way they spread over his neck and dipped down into the collar of his shirt, was fucking obscene. This was too much for the lobby of Derek’s apartment building.
Derek’s ogling was cut short by W. Poindexter’s voice. “So, the system indicted that the alarm originated from your apartment, does that seem right?”
Derek steeled himself. “Yeah, I was making dinner and things went awry. But I put it out before the building alarm went off.”
Poindexter nodded solemnly. “These older systems have a bit of a hair trigger, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Do you mind if we check your apartment out?”
“Of course not.”
“Great,” he nodded again and set off towards the stairs. With a sigh, Derek followed after him. Along the way, a few other crew members joined them, having completed their investigations of each floor. They chattered amicably with one another, casting not unkind glances at Derek as they all ascended the stairs.
“This is me,” Derek down the hall to his apartment, the cadre of firefighters following in his wake. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, stepping aside to let the crew in before him. “Kitchen’s on the left, I was baking a pot pie in the oven.”
Poindexter made a grunt of acknowledgement, leading the other first responders towards the kitchen. Derek slunk off past them, settling on his beloved green couch.
“Mr. Nurse?” Derek looked up to see a buff, but tiny, firewoman in front of him. “Hi, I’m Lieutenant Duan.”
Derek straightened up, there was a good chance Lt. Duan was this crew’s commanding officer. “Hello, Lieutenant.”
“I just need to get some of your information for the official report, do you have a photo ID I could use?”
“Of course,” Derek dug through his pockets for his wallet, handing over his driver’s license.
“Thank you, this’ll just be a minute.” Lt. Duan stepped out into the hall, Derek watching on in dread.
The hot redheaded firefighter came back over to Derek, eyebrows furrowed in dismay. “Mr. Nurse—”
“Just Derek is fine.”
W. Poindexter considered him for a moment, amber eyes narrowing. “Very well, Derek. Can you recount the events of tonight’s fire for me?” He produced a notebook and a pen out of nowhere.
“Yeah, uh,” Derek cleared his throat, a little overwhelmed. “I was making dinner, and while it was in the oven, I was working at my desk,” he pointed at his makeshift office, “when the fire alarm went off. I ran into the kitchen and opened the oven, and the whole damn thing was on fire.”
“Uh huh,” Poindexter hummed, eyes trained down on his notebook.
“Luckily I had a pitcher of water on the counter, so I used that to put the fire out.”
“And did it?” Poindexter looked up.
“Yeah, but not quickly enough, I guess. Just when the fire went out, the building’s alarm started going off. I was pretty sure it was my fault, but just in case there was actually another fire, I grabbed Lemon and my coat and evacuated.”
Poindexter’s furious notetaking stopped all of a sudden. “Lemon?”
“My cat.”
The redhead looked around the apartment, amber eyes scanning the room suspiciously. It was obvious that a cat lived there, a scratching post in the corner, a cat tree by the window, a pet water fountain on the floor of the kitchen. Not to mention the thin layer of orange hair that covered everything in his apartment.
The only thing missing was the cat itself.
“Oh! My friend held on to her when you called me over. She’s obsessed with him.”
“Right,” Poindexter replied, wary. “And after that?”
“Uh,” Derek took a moment to think. “That’s it really. I went out to the street, and then you guys arrived. Then you called me out in front of all my neighbors, so thanks for that. They already hate me.”
That seemed to pique the firefighter’s interest, if the barely perceptible quirk of his eyebrow was anything to go by. “And why is that?”
“God, where should I even start? Two days after I moved in here, I accidently broke the intercom system, and everyone had to physically go down to the lobby to let people in for almost a month. Three weeks after that, I broke two of the washing machines down in the basement.” There was nothing Derek could do but laugh at himself and his own ridiculousness. “I also, very recently, broke off my key in the door up to the roof, and we had to have the whole damn door replaced. I’m a disaster.”
“No kidding,” Poindexter said. After a moment, his amber eyes widened in shock, realizing what he just said. “Oh my god, I’m so—”
Derek was too busy laughing to hear the rest of Poindexter’s apology, the redhead sputtering out apologies. “Oh, man.”
The firefighter stepped closer, voice dipping low to keep his crew from overhearing, Derek had to guess. “Why are you laughing?” Poindexter almost looked mad that Derek wasn’t mad, which only made him laugh harder. “Fuck, I’m going to get so in trouble for this.”
“It’s fine,” Derek finally managed to get out. It wasn’t even that funny, but Derek had experienced the whole range of human emotions today day, and the hot, and a little bit mean, firefighter was just icing on the cake. “I won’t report you, or anything.” Derek took a deep breath. “I’m fine,” he said around a giggle. “Sorry.”
“Don’t fucking apologize to me, that comment was extremely inappropriate and I’m very sorry.”
Derek thought about waving off Poindexter’s apology again, but it really seemed to bother the firefighter, so he just said, “thank you.”
Poindexter’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Fine.”
“Fine,” Derek replied.
“Here you go, Mr. Nurse,” Lt. Duan said, appearing out of fucking nowhere.
“Jesus fu—” Derek exclaimed, jumping at the sound of her voice. She was holding out Derek’s ID, a knowing smile on her face. “Oh,” Derek said, willing his heartrate back to normal. “Thank you.”
“Dex, you want to fill out the report?” Lt. Duan held out her clipboard to W. Poindexter.
“Sure thing, Lards,” was his inexplicable reply.
“Lards?” Derek said, mostly to himself at Poindexter’s (Dex) retreating figure.
“Nickname,” Lt. Duan shrugged. “Now, let’s go see the damage to that kitchen, huh?”
***
So, as it turned out, Derek didn’t actually know how to cook frozen chicken pot pies.
“You’re supposed to take it out of the cardboard box,” Dex said, just accusatory enough to technically be considered polite.
“It said to leave it in the box,” Derek countered, not caring how pathetic he sounded, the hot firefighters had already seen him at his worst, that was the good thing about hitting rock bottom. “I read the directions.”
“That’s for the microwave,” Lt. Duan said. “When you cook it in the oven, you have to take the box off completely.”
“Huh.” Derek watched as Dex took the burnt and soggy mess of cardboard and pie crust and tossed it into his kitchen trash. “It’s been a long day.”
“Well, thankfully you were able to act fast and the fire didn’t spread.”
Before Derek could respond, there was a knock on his door. “Just a second.” He slipped past the two firefighters and walked over to his door, pulling it open.
Shitty was standing in the hallway, Lemon’s crate cradled gently in his arms. A few of Derek’s other neighbors were walking through the hallway to their apartments, some of them shooting him dirty looks over. “Hey, Nursey.”
“Hey, thanks for taking her.”
“No problemo,” Shitty handed over Lemon, who started meowing plaintively as she went into Derek’s hands. “Are the firefighters still here?”
“Yeah, they’re still working on the official report.”
“Did they figure out how it happened?”
“Yeah, it was pretty obvious by the hunk of charcoal that used to be a chicken pot pie they found in my oven.”
“Oh shit, you burned one of Bitty’s pot pies? Brutal.”
Derek, struggling with Lemon’s crate, didn’t even think to lie to Shitty about the provenance of the pie. “It wasn’t one of Bitty’s. I picked up a frozen pot pie from Hudson Deli.”
“Dude,” Shitty said emphatically, mouth agape. “Have you lost your mind? Cheating on Bitty’s pies like that, do you want to die?”
“Well, he’s not going to find out, because neither you nor I are going to tell him.”
“I won’t have to tell him, he’ll just know,” Shitty countered. “The next time you see him. He’s gonna be able to smell it on you.”
“He’s not a bomb-sniffing dog, Shitty, Jesus.”
Dex appeared over Derek’s shoulder. “Did you say something about a bomb?”
Derek sighed, world-weary. He was so fucking done with this day. “Sorry, bad choice of words when there’s a bunch of fucking first responders in my living room.”
“I’ll take partial credit for that,” Shitty said magnanimously. “Anyways, I should go. See ya later, Nursey.”
“Bye,” Derek waved him off and closed the door soundly. Lemon was doing her best impression of a baby screaming on an airplane in her crate, now that Derek was the one holding her. “Just give me a minute, I need to let her out of her crate.” Dex, who Derek had only seen as confident and competent so far, glanced down at the wriggling carrying case warily. “Don’t worry, I’ll put her in my room.”
Derek set the case arm of his couch, easing the zipper open and artfully catching Lemon as she darted out of the crate. At least he had managed to do one thing with grace in front of Dex, if this whole embarrassing situation wasn’t enough to turn the redhead off completely.
With Lemon cradled in his arms, Derek turned to Dex. “Look, you’re twins.” Dex looked nonplussed as Derek held Lemon up to his eyeline. They were both about the same shade of ginger, though Lemon didn’t turn that adorable shade of red Dex did as he blushed furiously.
“Woah,” Lt. Duan said, rounding the corner. “It’s uncanny.” She closed the distance. “Can I pet her?”
“Of course.”
The lieutenant reached out slowly, letting Lemon sniff her hand before tracing a finger across the bridge of her nose and between her round, yellow-green eyes.
“Do you want a go?” Derek asked Dex, who was still looking unwary, once Lt. Duan retreated back to the kitchen.
“No thanks,” he said gruffly.
“No problem,” Derek dropped a kiss on to Lemon’s furry head. “Let me go put her in my room and we can finish this up.”
Dex held out a silent hand for Derek to pass him, and Derek mourned the loss of being able to check out the fireman’s ass like he had planned. Nonetheless undeterred, Derek padded across his apartment to his bedroom, Lemon leaping from his arms before he closed the door behind her. When he returned to the living room, Dex was filling out the incident report as a tall and handsome blond firefighter spoke to him. Before Derek could insert himself between the two, there was another knock at the door.
Derek wasn’t sure who it could be, but for a lack of anything else to do, he answered it. Standing on the other side of the door was one of the most objectively handsome men Derek had ever seen. And it wasn’t just the uniform.
The man at the door was another member of this crew, if his gear was anything to go by. He had jet black hair and pale skin and the bluest eyes Derek had probably ever seen in person. “Hello, you must be Mr. Nurse,” the man stuck out a hand for Derek to shake. “I’m Captain Zimmerman.”
“Oh, hello, Captain.” Derek shook the Captain’s hand, his shake firm and concise.
“I’m just here to wrap up this scene with my crew,” he said after a beat. Derek realized that he had just been staring at this man like a creep, trapping him in the hallway.
“Oh! Right, of course. Please come in.” Derek stepped to the side, barely making enough room for the Captain to slip past. While he had lost the opportunity to stare at Dex’s ass as he walked down the hall, Derek was no less satisfied to study the ZIMMERMAN emblazoned on the back of the captain’s coat as he made his way into Derek’s apartment.
There was a chorus of hey, Cap’s as Captain Zimmerman rounded the corner into Derek’s living room. He got right to work, checking in with each member of his crew, getting the details of the fire. Derek returned to his couch, sitting down next to where Dex was standing, still filling out the report.
After few minutes, the captain came back over to Derek, a pleasant, if not professional, look on his face. “So, I’ve spoken with my crew, and it seems that the cause of the fire was a result of a dinner gone wrong?”
“That’s a kind way to put it,” Derek said, getting to his feet. “It all feels a bit more embarrassing than that.”
Captain Zimmerman considered him for a moment, mouth twitching in a small smile. “It’s okay, Mr. Nurse. Accidents happen all the time. Everyone makes mistakes. Thankfully, this time, no one got hurt and nothing was damaged.” Derek still wasn’t reassured about the emotional implications of this whole disaster, and he was sure that it was written all over his face.
Thankfully, before the fire captain had to reassure Derek that he wasn’t a failure, Dex definitively clicked his pen and handed Zimmerman his report. “Here you go, Cap.”
“Thanks, Will.”
Will. That was new.
The captain started perusing the form, “will you go over the safety debrief with Mr. Nurse?”
“Of course,” he said to his captain. To Derek, he said, “come with me.” They stepped off to the side, giving Zimmerman some space, Dex (Will) producing a pamphlet also out of nowhere. “So, there are certain things you can do to help prevent fires, as well to keep them from spreading. Not cooking when you are tired or out of it is a big one,” he said pointedly. “Also, it’s good practice to make sure that the batteries in your smoke detectors are still good every six months.”
“Oh, there’s no worry there. They definitely work.”
That almost got Derek a smile, but Will continued on. “You should also have a fire extinguisher in your kitchen. It’s not the law, but it is recommended.” The especially for accident-prone people like you went unspoken. “Most fires nowadays are started by electrical malfunctions, power surges, faulty wires, that sort of thing. Candles are another big one, but you don’t seem to have any of those around,” Will glanced around Derek’s living room.
“Yeah, that’s a conscious decision. I am very self-aware of my own predisposition for accidents and disasters.”
Derek finally earned a little quirk of a smile from Will, his stomach flipping pleasantly. “That’s half the battle really.” Will considered the pamphlet in his hand. Satisfied that he covered everything on the safety debrief, he handed over the pamphlet with a decisive nod. “There’s more information on there if you’re interested.”
After a cursory glance, Derek noticed something peculiar. “I’m sorry, is this for children?”
The pamphlet was done up in red and yellow, the page littered with the visage of an anthropomorphic fire engine. At the top of the page, he even introduced himself. Hey kids! it read, I’m Finnegan the Fire Engine!
Will at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “Ah, well,” he cleared his throat, which shouldn’t have been sexy, but totally was. “It’s all we had in the truck.” He paused for a moment, Derek taking the time to glance over the pamphlet again, not sure if he should be offended or not. When he looked back up, Will was even redder, if that was possible. “If you, uh,” he paused again, steeling himself. “You could always come by the station if you wanted something more adult.”
Derek wanted to make some kind of comment or chirp about that, but the words died on his tongue as Captain Zimmerman approached them. “This report looks great, Will, so I think it’s about time we get out of Mr. Nurse’s hair here.” He turned to address Derek straight on, blue eyes boring into him intensely. “We’ll file this report, and you’ll get an official copy in the mail in the next few weeks. If you need one sooner than that, for an insurance claim or what not, you can contact me here,” the captain produced a business card and handed it over to Derek.
“Thank you.” He turned to Will as Captain Zimmerman left them, smiling broadly, “and thank you too.”
“Of course,” Will replied gruffly.
There were so many things Derek wanted to say, the let’s get dinner sometime at the top of the list, but as he watched the fire crew pack up and head out, he was reminded that Will was here working, and Derek knew from experience that getting hit on and asked out while you were working was one of the things in the world. And hell, he had laid enough groundwork for the day, and Will had even invited him to come by the station sometime. No big deal. Derek could wait a few days.
“You guys have a good night,” he addressed half to the room and half to Will. “And be careful of the elevator,” he warned, “it loves to threaten to get stuck. And if you guys are trapped in there, no one will be around to rescue you.”
That got a snicker from Lt. Duan and a narrowed glance from Will, which Derek counted as a win, sending the crew off into the night.
As he closed the door behind them, Derek tucked Captain Zimmerman’s card into his wallet and made his way over to his desk. When he unlocked his laptop, the blank document was sitting right there on his screen just as he had left it.
And for the first time in months, Derek began to write.
***
Derek woke up in an uncommonly good mood a few days after his culinary disaster. It was a gorgeous Saturday, the sun was out, the ever present autumnal gray clouds making way for blue skies. It was unseasonably warm, thank you climate change, and Derek wanted to do something to keep those good vibes going.
He made Lemon her breakfast as his coffee was brewing, mind consumed by the thoughts of his latest poem. Derek had been on a bit of a writing tear as of late, the words pouring out of him in a way that they hadn’t done since he was in college. He had two pretty decent pieces done, with the skeleton of a third, just lines and couplets needing to be polished up.
Derek had emailed his agent about his recent bout of inspiration, and she was eagerly awaiting a draft, but he wanted to have at least five pieces to send her. He still wasn’t sure if this momentum could carry him to a complete collection, but it was a good start. Maybe he could publish a few pieces in some lit mags in the meantime...
His coffee finished brewing, which definitely took precedent over drafts and publishing, at least in the short term. Lemon finished her breakfast and trotted off for her morning nap, Derek taking his coffee and a bagel over to his desk, jotting down a line about amber eyes glowing like embers in his most recent draft document.
As he ate, he studied Captain Zimmerman’s card. Derek had taken up a habit of staring at the card when he needed a bit more inspiration. It was a simple piece of white cardstock with the FDNY logo printed at the top, the captain’s name and company number underneath that.
There was a phone number and address for the station, which was just a few blocks away from Derek’s apartment, which made sense given their quick response the other day. Staring at the card and munching on his bagel, a plan began to form in Derek’s mind.
After he cleared his plate and his coffee mug, Derek pulled out his cellphone and punched in the number for the station, taking a moment to steady himself before dialing.
The phone rang a few times, Derek considering hanging up with each trill. Before he could check out, the call connected and a kind and chipper voice said, “FDNY Engine 33, Ladder 9, this is Annie speaking.”
“Hello, Annie,” Derek took a steadying breath. “My name is Derek; I’m calling with a sort of strange question.”
Annie laughed kindly, “ask away.”
“Thank you. So, I had a small fire in my apartment the other day, and one of your crews came out to help me, and I wanted to bring something by the station as a thank you, but I wasn’t sure if that was something I was allowed to do.”
“Oh, absolutely!” Annie said. “Our doors are always open to members of the community, which crew came out to help you?”
“Captain Zimmerman’s,” Derek glanced down at the card, like he didn’t have it memorized. “Company C.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” she said. “They just went on duty this morning, if you wanted to come by today.”
“Oh, that is lucky,” Derek chuckled.
Annie laughed again, “if you do make it by today, you can just ring the bell at the front door, and I can buzz you in.”
“Great, thank you so much, Annie.”
“You are very welcome and have a wonderful day.”
“You as well,” Derek said before ending the call. He placed his phone on the table, the screen flicking over to a close-up photo of Lemon, which was his current wallpaper. She was staring up at him judgmentally, like she knew Derek was about to do something that would most likely embarrass himself.
The real Lemon meowed from the doorway between his bedroom and the living room, demanding her morning cuddles. Embarrassing schemes could wait, he had a kitty to snuggle.
***
Derek walked the familiar path to Bitty’s Bites sans headphones, taking in the sounds of the city. He made the four-block sojourn multiple times a week, and rounding the corner on to 1st St. always perked him up, no bad mood could hold up to the promise of Bitty’s baked goods. And on a day like today, when Derek was already in a good mood, the excitement was unmatched.
Bitty’s Bites, home of the best pies in New York City, was tucked between a string of restaurants, and was always the most popular spot on the block. Derek skirted around the long line, glad to see that Bitty was working today, catching his friend’s eye.
Derek had met Bitty not long after he moved back to the city when he started his master’s degree at Columbia. At the time, Bitty had been working at a bakery uptown, which was on Derek’s route between his apartment and campus. His first year in the program had been rough, Derek dealing with an unpleasant break up and a severe case of imposter syndrome, so he spent a lot of time going into Bloomingdale Bakes to eat his feelings. In that first semester alone, Derek gained fifteen pounds of pure pie crust.
Bitty was the kind of person who made everyone feel like a regular, and after three or four times, he had Derek’s americano with two sugars and slice of strawberry rhubarb pie ready before he even got up to the register to order. He always seemed to be working when Derek stopped by the bakery, night or day, which Derek soon learned was because Bitty was saving up to open up a bakery of his own, which he managed to do a little over a year ago.
Derek was lucky (and his cholesterol was extremely unlucky) that Bitty had found a space to lease so close to Derek’s apartment. Bitty lived a bit farther southeast of the bakery in Two Bridges, but he wasn’t too far away for late night pie cravings. And Bitty was the kind of friend who would gladly stay up into the late hours of the night or the early hours of the morning to make someone their favorite pie when they were feeling sad or sorry for themselves.
Over the last few years, Derek had really learned who his real friends were. There weren’t any major or dramatic falling outs with anyone, but he had drifted away from the vast majority of his Andover and Yale friends, even those of them that lived in the city. He had learned that true friends were the people that baked you pie when you were sad, or offered to watch your cat without having to be asked, or sent you a constant stream of memes and funny videos when you couldn’t be together in person. From his real friends, Derek had learned to be a better friend and person, and he felt so incredibly lucky to have people like Bitty in his life.
“Derek!” Bitty exclaimed from behind the counter, smiling broadly. He turned to one of his employees who took over Bitty’s register. Eric walked around the counter, arms outstretched for a hug. Derek stepped into his embrace, Bitty’s blond head tucked under his chin. It had been a while since they had last seen each other at Chowder’s surprise birthday party a few weeks ago.
Bitty pulled away, looking him up and down, not unlike a parent would when their kid came home from college. His brown eyes narrowed, a suspicious expression crossing his face. “Did you eat someone else’s pie?” he asked accusatorily.
Derek’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I—I’ve never,” he glanced away, unable to lie straight to Bitty’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bitty sniffed him pointedly. “You smell like Marie Callender’s.”
“What the fuck? How did you even know that?” Bitty crossed his arms over his chest, expression pinched. “It was like, four days ago. And I didn’t even get to eat it.”
Bitty didn’t say anything for a few beats before his expression morphed into mirth, bursting into laughter at Derek’s confusion. Through his laughter, he said, “good lord, if you could see your face right now. You looked so guilty.”
It was Derek’s turn to be upset. “I felt guilty,” he huffed. “But seriously, how did you know?”
One of the baristas brought over two cups of coffee, one for Bitty and one for Derek. “Thanks, Wicky. Let’s sit,” Bitty pointed to a free table in the corner. Once they were sitting, he said “Shitty came over to watch Bake Off last night and he told me about the whole thing.”
“And I didn’t get an invite? Rude.” Derek paused. “Oh god, that means you know everything.”
Bitty’s expression softened. He was only a year older than Derek, but he was such a mother hen. “I do, are you alright? Is your oven okay?”
(Leave it to Eric Bittle to care about an oven almost as much as he cared about his friend.)
“I’m fine, my apartment is fine, and I’m pretty sure my oven is fine.”
He reached over to squeeze Derek’s non-coffee holding hand. “I’m glad it didn’t get out of control.”
“Me too, I don’t want to go apartment hunting any time soon. In this economy?” Derek scoffed.
Bitty’s expression narrowed again, getting that I’m going to bully you into having self-esteem look in his eyes that Derek hated. “Derek Malik Nurse,” he started. “You—”
“Are smart and kind and worthy of health and happiness. Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ve gone over this a million times.”
Bitty didn’t seem all too pleased with Derek’s flippant attitude, but he thankfully didn’t push it. “You know that if something happened, you could stay with me for as long as you needed, right?”
“I know. Though, if I had burned down our apartment building, Shitty would be houseless too. Would you really let me stay with you over him?”
Bitty took a moment to consider it, probably thinking about Derek and Shitty’s respective untidiness. “I’d get you two a hotel.”
Derek chuckled, taking a sip of his, as always, perfect coffee. “I really am fine, just a little embarrassed. But I was actually thinking of bringing the crew some pies as a thank you.”
Without even blinking, Bitty said, “they were hot, weren’t they?”
Derek doubled over and pressed his forehead onto the table. “So hot, Bitty, oh my god.”
Bitty laughed, bright and only a little teasing. “Well, I’m happy to supply you with pies so you can woo the firefighters. Any preferences?”
“As always, I defer to you on all matters pastry.”
He cocked a pale eyebrow at that, “then why did you buy a frozen pot pie?”
***
Bitty had decided that three pies were sufficient for a crew of five, maybe six, firefighters (Derek didn’t get an accurate count the other night on account of the fire and the distracting Will Poindexter). He boxed up a pecan and a strawberry rhubarb pie along with their special pie of the month, maple crusted apple. Bitty, the ever-prepared man that he was, had a reusable shopping tote for Derek to use, wanting to give him the best chance of transporting all three pies from Bitty’s Bakes to the fire station.
Against all odds, Derek managed it, arriving at the station with three fully intact pies. The building was done in the Beaux-Arts style, with exposed bricks and red trim and gorgeous arches. There was a small wrought-iron balcony overlooking the street. It was striking even compared to the other historic buildings it shared the street with.
With a steadying breath, Derek pressed the button on the intercom. After a few moments, a semi-familiar voice said, “hello?”
“Hi, I, uh, called earlier?”
“Oh, Derek?”
“Yes, hi.”
“Let me buzz you in, just one moment.” After a few seconds, Derek heard the door unlock, Annie saying, “just head up the stairs and to the right.”
“Thank you,” Derek replied, unsure if she could even still hear him. Walking into the station, Derek followed Annie’s instructions, ascending the stairs and turning right at the landing. There was a glass door, a kindly looking older woman sitting at a desk, typing something on her computer. “Hi,” he said, walking through the door. “You must be Annie.”
She looked up, her straight, salt and pepper hair pulled back into a tidy chignon. “Yes, I am,” Annie stood up, hand outstretched, “very nice to meet you, Derek.” He shook Annie’s hand, smiling. Annie rounded the desk, “follow me, the crew is just in the lounge.”
Derek was suddenly very nervous, trailing after Annie as she led him back out the door and across the landing. “What’s in the bag?” she asked conversationally.
“Pie, I have a friend who owns a bakery not far from here.”
“Oh, I love pie!” she rounded another corner passing by a few unmarked doors. “What flavors?”
“Pecan, strawberry rhubarb, and maple crusted apple.”
“How delightful!” Annie said, stepping aside to let Derek into a lounge area. There were a few mis-matched couches and armchairs gathered around a nice looking flatscreen TV, on the far wall was a simple kitchen set up, fridge, sink, stove, and white-painted Formica counters.
The first person to look up as Derek and Annie walked in was Lt. Duan who was sitting cross legged on a leather armchair, eating soup out of a large ceramic mug. She looked surprised to find Derek standing there, which, fair, it was surprising.
“Mr. Nurse?” Lt. Duan asked. This piqued the interest of the rest of the crew gathered there, the other members of Company C looking up from their phones and books, and in the case of Will, his spot at the stove. He spun around too quickly, splashing hot soup down the front of his shirt, swearing viciously under his breath.
(At least Derek wasn’t the only disaster)
“Hi, everyone,” Derek said, still feeling a little embarrassed.
“Mr. Nurse,” Captain Zimmerman said standing up and crossing the room to where Derek was standing. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Well, I wanted to thank you all for coming out the other night, so I brought some homemade pie,” Derek held out the bag of pie boxes.
Captain Zimmerman studied the proffered boxes warily. “You baked us a pie?”
Considering the fact that Derek almost burned down his apartment building while warming up a frozen chicken pot pie four days ago, Captain Zimmerman had every right to be suspicious.
“Oh, god no,” Derek clarified. “My friend Bitty owns a bakery and he made the pies. So they’re store bought but also homemade?” Derek met Will’s gaze from across the room, the redhead having finally sopped up the soup staining his shirt. He gave Derek a nod, which wasn’t great, but it wasn’t nothing.
“Well, I’m starving,” Lt. Duan said, loping over to where Derek was still just standing like an asshole. Derek handed over the boxes, the lieutenant taking them gratefully. That motivated the rest of the crew to jump into action, Company C descending on the pies, talking over each other and elbowing each other out of the way to get at the pastries.
Well, all but one member of Company C, that was.
Will made his was over to where Derek was standing, his ginger head tucked down as he crossed the room. “Hi, Derek.”
Over the last four days, Derek had thought a lot about seeing Will again, but now that he was face-to-face with the objects of his affection, he wasn’t even sure how to greet him. “Hello, offi—” Derek paused, that couldn’t be right. “Mr. Poindexter?” Will breathed out a laugh. “How are you supposed to address a firefighter?”
“Technically I’m ‘Firefighter Poindexter,’ which is just an insane number of syllables.”
It was Derek’s turn to laugh, Will’s mouth quirking up in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile. “Then what should I call you?”
“Just Dex is fine.”
Derek couldn’t help but deflate at that, was he just supposed to pretend that he didn’t know his first name and just call him by some silly frat-boy nickname? It was a stupid thing to be disappointed by, but Derek was disappointed, nonetheless.
“Or Will,” he added after an awkward moment. “Really only my parents and Cap call me that, though. But I do answer to it.”
“Will it is, then,” Derek smiled, his grin growing as Will’s cheeks reddened in a blush.
“Yo, Dex!” the tall blond firefighter from the other night called from the other side of the room. “What kind of pie do you want?”
Will turned back to Derek to ask, “what do you recommend?”
“The strawberry rhubarb is my favorite, but you can’t go wrong with any of Bitty’s pies.”
Will nodded, before saying “grab me a slice of the rhubarb, Holtzy.” To Derek he said, “I’ll be right back. You want any?”
“Nah, I brought the pies for you guys. I go by Bitty’s shop like, four times a week.”
Will nodded before braving the throng of ravenous firefighters for a slice of pie. Captain Zimmerman sidled up to him then, a plate with a mostly demolished slice of maple crusted apple pie.
“Mr. Nurse,” he started.
“Just Derek is fine.”
Captain Zimmerman nodded sagely. “Derek. What did you say your friend’s bakery was called again?”
I didn’t, Derek wanted to say, but it seemed unfair to tease the firefighter who so kindly didn’t embarrass Derek for being an absolute kitchen disaster. “It’s just a few blocks from here, actually, on First and Bowery. It’s called Bitty’s Bites.”
“Bitty’s Bites,” the captain repeated. “I feel like this is dangerous information for me to know.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
By the sounds coming from the cadre of firefighters in the corner, they agreed. Derek couldn’t help the grin that overtook his face. This was exactly what he needed today. A little pie, a little kindness, a little cute boy. What more could you want from life?
***
The pies were demolished pretty much immediately, Derek preening under the attention of Company C coming over to him to thank him for bringing the pastries over. He was introduced to the rest of the crew, the tall blond one who was very buddy-buddy with Will was Adam Birkholtz, but all thoughts of jealousy were dashed from Derek’s head when he met the crew’s EMS Justin Oluransi. If Adam and Will were close friends, Justin and Adam were basically husbands.
There was also Connor Whisk and Denice Ford, who Derek recognized from the other night. They seemed the greenest of the whole crew, but no less capable. Lt. Duan introduced herself as Larissa between bites of pecan pie, before also demanding that Derek give her the address of Bitty’s bakery.
Will did eventually return to Derek’s side, though it was hard for the two of them to speak with the rest of the crew jostling for Derek’s attention, which was sweet, but didn’t they know that the real reason he had done all of this was to spend time with Will? He was so sure that his stupid little crush was written all over his face.
In the middle of Adam’s rhapsodizing about the maple crusted apple, Will excused himself to a small balcony overlooking the street for a phone call. Derek watched through the glass as Will chatted and laughed with the person on the end of the line.
Derek had wanted a bit more time to talk to Will, maybe get his number and a dinner date in his calendar, but it seemed like the moment, had there been a moment at all, had passed.
“I should probably head out,” he said to Adam. “But I’m glad you guys liked the pies.”
“Feel free to come back any time,” Captain Zimmerman said, working through his second slice.
“I’ll definitely bring some by the next time you save me from burning down my apartment,” he joked, which got a good laugh from everyone gathered there.
Derek insisted on walking himself out, making a quick stop by Annie’s office to say goodbye. She had taken two small slices of pie, one pecan and one custard, and returned to her desk a while ago.
“I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you for all your help today.”
“There’s no need to thank me, dear,” she replied, smiling kindly. “But before you go,” she rifled through a file cabinet, “here’s our community event schedule, we do a monthly pancake breakfast on the first Saturday of every month. We also have some other community outreach programs if you’re interested.” She slid a calendar printed on bright pink paper over to him.
“Thanks,” Derek took the fliers, but before he could leave something else caught his eye. “Are those 2023 calendars?” he asked, pointing to a stack of glossy wall calendars on the corner of Annie’s desk. “I though the FDNY discontinued the firefighter calendar.”
“Oh, they did, but our state funding doesn’t cover all of our expenses, and we have to do a fair amount of fundraising. But we’ve found that the calendar is a good option for our station.” She paused, “they’re only $20.” Annie took an unwrapped calendar and handed it to Derek for him to peruse.
Derek only had to flip to February to know that he was buying himself a calendar. “I’ll take one,” he said, trying to keep his voice carefully neutral, sliding the sample calendar back over to Annie.
“Great! Will that be cash or card?”