FRIENDLY FIRE: A 9-1-1 fanfiction

Part One: Emma

Notes: We are beginning this fanfic at the beginning of 9-1-1 season 3, in 'Kids Today'.

•

EMMA

•

We're all running from something, you, me... hell, the whole, damned world is on the run from something, somewhere, at some point. We don't always realise it either, in those moments when we're gasping for air and our heads are spinning and we've got to make a decision, any decision, it doesn't have to be the right one, any will do. The decision to stay and fight... or run.

We've been taught our whole lives that humans have two instincts, fight or flight... and somehow, one makes you a coward, and the other doesn't. But I think that's bullshit...cause I didn't fight... and I didn't run. I got stuck instead, no way forwards and no way back, in deep enough water to sink but not drown, never really knowing if I was safe or seconds away from the worst... whatever the worst really was.

I really thought that I was doing the right thing, staying frozen where I was; not like a deer in headlights but like a corpse in a coffin, nailed in and ready for burial. I thought that if I stayed, eventually, that would somehow fix everything, but not everything can be fixed; some things are broken beyond repair, and it ain't anyone's fault... it's just too far gone to be saved.

But not me. Not yet, at least, and it only took someone dying for me to realise that. A life for me to realise that I needed to get away before I became the one on the wrong side of a 911 call. A life for me to realise that I couldn't save the world... and maybe the world didn't deserve to be saved.

Don't get me wrong, I love to save people. It's my job. It's my life. But like everyone else in the world, my favourite emergencies are the ones that don't need a fire truck. Emergencies like a kids candy falling on the floor or a grandad eating alone in a diner, easy emergencies where no one gets hurt. Where anyone can help if they want to.

But what about the big, bad emergencies? What about the woman across the street about to have a heart attack or the wife facing a gun at the hands of her abusive husband? What about the girl about to be run over by a drunk driver or the boy standing on the ledge? We all want to say we'd help, but would we? Would we if we knew we might die instead? Would we if we knew the true nature of the people we were saving?

What if I told you that the woman having a heart attack was a businesswoman who had put hundreds out on the streets? Or if I told you that that the wife had been poisoning her husband? What if the drunk driver had lost his entire family that morning, and what if the boy about to jump was a drug dealer, responsible for the deaths of countless people? Would you want to save them then?

Probably not, but lucky for them, we aren't the ones making the decisions, and when it comes down to that fateful 9-1-1 call, whether I like it or not, I save them... most of the time.

But how could I help anyone when I couldn't even help myself?

That was the question that had me packing up my bags in the dead of the night, creeping out of the front door towards my car, telling myself that I had a future somewhere; just not here. No one had to know where I was going. No one needed to hear an explanation.

Maybe it was running away from my problems, but don't we all do that? Is it really that bad if we run sometimes, from the good and the bad? Does that make us bad people... or just tired? I don't know, but I'm leaving this place behind, I may be running, but at least I'm running towards something this time.

For once, my biggest emergency is myself.

One Week Later

Station 118 was practically empty when I arrived, with only one truck parked to the far left, a few firefighters working on prepping and polishing it. I half-expected to see Casey or Marina running up to greet me from behind the rig, but of course, no one came, which sent a soft pang through my chest.