Chapter Text
Prologue
It's been a while since I last dreamt- barely remember what it's like to dream- finding it hard to get to sleep, too stressed and there ain't anyone to sing a lullaby to me.
Stepping into his apartment, he sighs loudly, feeling all of the pressure and intensity of the day rinse out of his muscles and veins.
He shakes out of his jacket with the smallest amount of energy possible, considering he feels there is no energy left in his entire being to do much more.
After stripping down to his underwear, leaving all of his clothes in a rumpled pile on top of his shoes by the door, he trudges to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water, downing it in mere seconds before grabbing another and heading toward his bedroom.
He deposits the water bottle and his phone on the nightstand and goes into his bathroom.
Flicking the light on, he winces at his reflection in the mirror briefly before brushing his teeth.
He takes out his contacts and blinks a few times.
One last frown at the mirror and he exits the bathroom with a flip on the light switch.
He drops into his bed and gets a sheet half over him before he's asleep.
The next morning his alarm goes off, signaling him to wake up.
He looks up at his phone from where he's sitting on the edge of the bed with his head hung in exhaustion as his fingers tightly grip at each other.
Sighing, he stands and goes to pick it up, flicking the alarm off.
He goes through his morning routine on autopilot, showering and ignoring the scars on his body, staring vacantly at the dark eyes in the mirror like an abyss he's never seen before and never wants to again while brushing his teeth.
He looks as hollow as he feels.
His shrink used the term ‘haunted’.
He's sure that's probably fair.
But he puts himself together like always. Presentable. Hair slicked to the side and back, neatly shaved, takes his glasses off, puts contacts in, decently dressed in nice enough clothes.
Sounds like I'm in the 1950s, he thinks with a grim smirk.
He grabs his bag and keys, heading out the door.
In the elevator to the parking garage, he looks at his phone, opening a message from his mom.
I love you, Jamie.
The same as every day.
And the same as every day, he sends back, I know. I love you too.
He gets to the firehouse early, still dark outside, and prepares for the day quietly.
As his team starts to file in around him, he greets all of them like a good captain, asking how wives and kids are, smiling and joking with the guys.
Despite everything, he feels at home here with them.
A lot of people expected him to resign. Some close friends and family even urged him to when they saw the toll being here was taking on him after what happened.
But the truth is, he wasn't the only one who lost someone that day. A lot of people did. And even those who didn't felt the painful impact of the events.
Watched it on their tv screens around the world in shock and horror.
The September 11th attacks all over again.
Except on a much, much larger scale.
Three years in another 25 days.
He tries to wrap his mind around how it's been that long and he's been carrying on like this.
Three years without his brother, his best friend.
Three years of regretting his team getting separated. Of wishing he could have switched places with Jordie. Or been with him in there.
Although, all that would have changed is that his mother would have had to bury both of her sons.
Jenny cries every time he says he wished it could have been him instead.
Survivor's guilt , his brain supplies as he runs his fingers over the tattoo on his forearm.
He never says anything in front of Morrow, who had been in his second year when he watched helplessly from the street as the Twin Towers collapsed, after watching people jump from over 50 floors up, thinking they'd have a better chance of surviving the fall than the burning building they were trapped in.
Morrow who had worked through that day- and the days that followed- 18 years ago as a kid. Morrow, who had been made sergeant a year before the attacks 3 years ago. Morrow who looks at Jamie with sad eyes and guilt for what happened to Jordie. As if he could have prevented it.
Truth is, he feels like he should have. It's his job to be responsible for his men. And the team got separated on his watch. Jamie can understand that. He'd be the same way.
Jamie would never blame Morrow, though.
Morrow who is walking over to him.
He claps a hand on Jamie's shoulder.
“Hey kid.”
Jamie smirks.
“I'm 29, Brenden. I'm hardly a kid anymore. ”
Morrow chuckles.
“Yeah, I bet you don't feel it most days anymore, huh?”
Jamie smiles reluctantly, and says, “No. I feel 80 most days,” he thinks for a moment and, smiling, adds, “Can't imagine how you feel, old man.”
Morrow laughs heartily and socks Jamie's arm, saying, “Watch it, Benny. You're still my rookie, and I'll still kick your ass.”
Jamie smiles and ducks his head, not arguing.
“How's your family, J?” Morrow says, suddenly serious, voice dropping low.
Jamie chews his lip and says, “they're coping. Trying. Trying to remember that Jordie wouldn't have wanted us to mourn forever.”
Morrow nods and says, “And you?”
Jamie looks down.
“I'm doing my best.”
Morrow wraps an arm around Jamie and squeezes.
“If your best is ever not enough, you better come find me.”
Jamie nods.
“I know. I will.”