Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1 - NEW FRIENDS, OLD CAREERS

– 911, what’s your emergency?

– I put a bomb in Dallas Fort Worth Airport. See if you can find it.

“Ever played hide and seek with a bomb before?” One of George’s new colleagues - Max, his name was - asked lightly as they clambered into the SWAT BearCat and began following the several police cars ahead.

“Can’t say that I have.” George said tightly. His colleague on the other hand seemed much calmer about the fact that they were walking into a probable death trap and it pissed him off. “Have you?”

George could see Max smirk under the helmet, “Not like this.”

The ambulances were first on the scene, parking near the several other ambulances on the tarmac far away from the entrance to the airport.

“Now we wait?” Arvid, the newest member of the Dallas EMT team asked tentatively.

“Now we wait.” Lewis, the EMT Chief confirmed, “We might not be needed if SWAT and the army give us the okay.”

“What if the bomb goes off before then?” Lance, the more experienced EMT asked, opening the back door to pull the stretcher out in case it needed using.

Lewis shrugged seriously, “Hope it won’t.”

“Do they evacuate the entire airport?” Arvid squinted at the huge building, as if he could try looking for the bomb from his position.

“I don’t really know. Depends – making, what, twenty-five thousand people panic? There’ll be deaths by trampling, injuries galore, maybe stress related heart failures. If they don’t, the bomb could hit any number of people. It could be a lose-lose situation...”

“Do you guys think there’s actually a bomb in there or do you think he’s bluffing?” firefighter Lando Norris asked.

“If he’s called 911… he’s either psychopathic and wants the attention, or he’s psychopathic and wants people to die. Either way he’ll be arrested.” Sebastian Vettel, their Fire Captain added unhelpfully.

“Bluffing.” Kimi Raikkonen, one of the crew’s two driver operators and Sebastian’s husband, said simply. Lando had known him for less than a day, given this was all their first shifts in Dallas, but he could already tell Kimi was a man of few words. And Sebastian, maybe too many words.

The other fire truck pulled up alongside and Nico Hulkenberg, their other driver operator, called out of the open window, “Anything?”

“Nope!” Valtteri Bottas, one of their other firefighters, called back.

“Lets hope it stays that way…” Sebastian muttered.

– You put a bomb in an airport? Where?

– Come on, I’m not just gonna give that information away. You have to work for it.

– Okay. Can you at least tell me how long is left on the timer?

– Maybe.

– Is that a yes?

– It’s a maybe.

“Okay, come in dispatch?” Max spoke through the radio on his vest.

“Dispatch. This is Oscar Piastri.”

“Oscar, this is Max Verstappen, SWAT. You’re on radio to every emergency responder at Dallas Fort Worth, as well as the army and bomb squad here too. What have you got for us?”

“The caller cannot disclose the location of the bomb, nor the time left until detonation.”

“Great.” George muttered besides Max. Their two other SWAT colleagues, Checo and Carlos, had similar reactions.

– You’re speaking to SWAT. Keep doing that, and I’ll hang up.

– Okay. If I promise to not say a word to SWAT, will you give me some information?

– ...Yes.

At the dispatch centre, Oscar nodded to Fernando, his colleague sat at the next desk over as he turned his own radio off. He unplugged his headset and instead broadcasted the call to the whole room.

“This is Fernando Alonso, dispatch. Piastri is unable to continue holding contact, or the caller has stated he will hang up.”

“Fernando, have you got the caller’s location?”

“Working on it.”

An army soldier approached the SWAT team, “Who goes in first?”

“Depends. Do you want thousands of civilians to panic?” Max retorted cockily. God, George already hated him.

“We don’t want anyone to die.”

“You send anyone in there in tactical gear carrying guns and people will panic. We have two choices. We go in, unarmed as we can and look for the bomb. Or we can stay here and wait until that man caves and tells us exactly where the bomb is. Thing is about those types of men, Sergeant, is they crave to act as the saviour - he won’t let the bomb go off, otherwise he wouldn’t have called 911.”

That was… smart. George had to admit – and hopefully Max was right as well. He was sure no-one here wanted to go in undressed and unarmed looking for a device ready to kill anyone in a kilometer radius.

The sergeant conceded, turning to head back to his troops, “On your shoulders be it.”

– What’s your name?

– Hmm. Call me One.

– One? Can I ask my promised question now, One?

– Sure. You can’t ask where it is. You can’t ask how long is left.

– Okay. What type of bomb is it?

– Modified C4.

– Modified?

– Stronger. Much longer timer.

– Okay. Thank you, One.

– I built it in my basement. Quite impressive really, it took me forever and a hell of a lot of stress.

– Were you not scared of it blowing up your house?

– Nah. I’m ex-military – I know my stuff. Are we friends–

– Oscar.

– Are we friends, Oscar?

– Sure. We’re friends.

– Good. 

– Because we’re friends, can I tell you something, One?

– Mmh.

– Your daughter, Amelie, I believe her name is, she’s going on holiday to Barbados, no?

– Yes, for two weeks with her boyfriend. How do you know of Amelie?

– Amelie has a flight today. One just about three hours from now. A few things, stay with me here. Statistically, people arrive at airports three hours before departure. Check in and security take forever, blah blah blah. Now also, unless you’re airport staff and you know this specific building inside and out, of which I highly doubt given you’ve only lived in Dallas for three months and you’re unemployed, you can’t have gotten a bomb through security. That’s like their whole thing.

– So?

– So you’ve hidden C4 at the check in desks, but not at the check in desks because it would have been spotted by now, so you’ve probably hidden it in a trash can. They have a trash can between each airline, so that's twelve trash cans. Smart, people don’t stare into trash cans when they throw their rubbish away. But what, Simon Cross, are the chances of your daughter being at the check in desk closest to that trash can right now?

Silence on the other end of the line was a clear indicator that Simon  had been busted.

Fernando hopped on the radio immediately.

“This is Fernando. The suspect has admitted to hiding modified C4 in one of the bins at the check in desks.”

“Okay, SWAT and bomb squad, go, go, go!”

– Can I let you into a secret, Simon? I’m also ex-military.

George was the one to find the bomb, three trash cans from the left side of the room. It was an amateurly packed thing, rushed and ugly looking with a tangled mess of multicoloured wires and a timer that read thirteen minutes and six seconds.

Bomb disposal took the whole bin, disarmed it and took it back with them to be examined or destroyed or whatever it was they did.

It was their first day on shift in Dallas, for many in the 120 their first callouts.

One thing was for certain.

Give it five years and none of them would be the same…

“The 120 is a new campus built with the intention of creating the most successful emergency services operation in the world with only elite workers brought in from several countries. The city of Dallas is about to be the safest it has been in a very long time, with a fire department, police station, dispatch centre and hospital all decked out with the finest equipment money can buy. It also boasts a small SWAT team, with the bravest and strongest hires from places like the Netherlands, Mexico, the UK and Spain.

It doesn’t stop there – there’s a medical school that only the top one percent can dream of getting into, an onsite gym, park and subsidised luxury housing for anyone employed on campus. The wages are strong, but the operators are even stronger. Will more of the world follow suit on this ingenious idea? This is Cara Davies and you’re watching Miraculous Cities where this episode we tackle the feat that is the 120.”

Kimi Antonelli switched YouTube off, not having the attention span for such long winded videos anymore (cheers TikTok). Besides, he was already living the 120 life, he didn’t need someone’s shit tour video to entertain him.

The front door to the apartment clicked open. George. He launched himself off his bed and out of his room, down the corridor to the front door and jumped onto his big brother.

“I’m so glad you’re alive! I was scared I’d have to see you in residency in the morning missing both legs.”

“Uhh… Cheers?”

“But you’re not missing any legs so it’s okay!”

“I’m about to be missing a spine holding up all your weight – get off me you absolute heathen.” George laughed, but hugged his brother back nonetheless.

“So how was it? Your first job.” Kimi asked seriously, retreating into the kitchen to get orange juice.

“I don’t think there could be a worse first mission than that if I’m being honest.”

“You could have had a shootout and got shot and died.”

“Well– do you want me dead or something because you seem weirdly fixated on that…”

“Depends. Are you gonna order Taco Bell? I've been here starving for three hours, George!”

“Order it yourself!” George cried utterly perplexed, “And there’s a full food shop in the fridge that I did yesterday.”

“I didn't want any of it. So Taco Bell?”

“Fine! Take my phone. Anyway, the kit’s nice and so are most of the team.”

Kimi raised an eyebrow, “Most?”

George’s face twisted into something sour, “This one guy, Verstappen – he’s a full on dick. Cocky and brash and correct. He’s good at his job, Kim, that’s what winds me up the most.

“Because you want to be the best?”

“No. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t already up there. It's just… How do you go through life being so calm and cocky and smirking at the idea of hidden bombs but being so utterly devastatingly correct about every single detail. How do you do all of that, and then tell an army guy who’s way higher up than him to practically fuck off – and then that army guy listens! I just don’t know if I can trust a guy so emotionally unaware and available.”

“Okay, who cares if he’s emotionally unavailable – you’re not dating him. Give him a chance, maybe you’ll change your attitude by next week.”

“Maybe…”

“So what happened to the bomb guy?”

“Turns out he nearly blew up his own daughter. Dispatch got him to fold immediately and he was arrested. He’ll be getting a long sentence, that’s for sure. Anyway, there’s a bunch of us heading out to a rodeo bar tonight at nine and I think you should come. You get to wear cowboy hats and line dance to whatever song they put on about having sex with your truck and cheating on your wife and you're 21 now so if you got hammered, who’s to say?”

Kimi sighed wistfully, eyes cast down to the Taco Bell menu on Doordash, “I wish I could but I’ve got a bunch of shit to do and my first residency at eleven am.”

“Oh. Well… I’ll just let Ollie and Isack know that you won’t be making it…”

Kimi’s head shot up, “What time did you say? Nine? Pfft, I’ll be so ready by then.”

George couldn’t help but snort into the air.

The bar – Shakin’ – was dim, loud and full of people. There was a pool table in the middle, a mechanical bull (that George would absolutely not be going near anytime soon) on a platform behind the tables, a circular wooden bar directly in the middle of the room, and several animal skulls hung along the walls that he couldn’t even begin to identify. 

George had been living in the US for seven years now, since he was eighteen, and he’d been to copious bars but never one like this. It was Kimi’s first bar too, given that he only turned twenty-one a month ago and since then had thrown himself headfirst into med school.

Kimi left George’s side as soon as the door closed behind him, running off when he spotted Ollie’s tall frame muddled somewhere near the bar which… yeah he expected nothing less. Besides, Alex and Lando would be around here somewhere…

He headed to the bar and ordered an Aperol Spritz, but they didn’t do Aperol and instead did a Cowboy Spritz which was bourbon instead. George didn’t like brown liqueurs much, but he wasn’t about to start drinking beer. As he paid the bartender, he felt a hand clap his shoulder and turned to see Alex, his best friend grinning so bright he could almost identify as a light source.

“Georgieeee! Come and sit, me and Lando have been waiting for you for ages! Oh, and there’s Charles and Carlos too, I think Carlos is SWAT like you?” Alex yapped as George was pulled to a round wooden table, high enough up to need stools instead of normal chairs. Lando was the first to see him, jumping up and hugging him with the energy of twenty vibrating suns that he always seemed to have.

“George! I haven’t seen you in ages! How are you after the bomb call this morning – you found it didn’t you? I can’t believe this was most of our first callouts. At eight in the morning too – I'd barely gotten to work. Oh! George this is Carlos, you might’ve met him, and this is his boyfriend Charles who works with Alex in the hospital.”

“Nice to meet you formally, Carlos.” George shook their hands, “And you too, Charles. What is it you do in the hospital?”

“I’m an ICU nurse, but I also work in the emergency department. I’m always seeing something.” The man spoke with his hands and with a coy smile.

“Are you French?” Lando asked bluntly.

Charles laughed into his drink, something brown and gross looking, and said, “No not at all. Monegasque.”

“You’re from Monaco?” Lando gaped, “Mate, I’m from fuckin’ Bristol.”

Alex and George snorted at their friend as he explained the joys of living in a UK city and how he much preferred Dallas despite only being there for three days. Charles seemed to not agree with the sentiment, but who would when you’ve roamed the streets of Monaco for half your life.

They learnt that Carlos was the son of a very successful doctor in Spain, and that he and Charles met during a callout in Barcelona, where Charles had been for medical school and Carlos was serving as a G.E.O. Charles had started out as a Paramedic before moving to nursing, completing med school at twenty- four and was now halfway through his residency – which he claimed was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. They’d been together for three years and if not for moving to the US, they’d have stayed in Barcelona and had kids.

Alex told them how he, Lando and George had all moved to the US together and had a flat share for three years in Georgia before they found enough money for their own places. He talked about how he was doing his residency for surgery, and how he was dating pro golfer, Lily Muni-He, and had been for five years.

Lando mentioned how he tried to go to a community college in Georgia, but hated it and dropped out. Then he considered joining the Navy, but backtracked and instead joined the fire department. He talked about his first precinct and how miserable everyone was and how he nearly quit, and voiced how this place was ten times better already.

“So, George, what about you?” Carlos asked as he finished his whiskey.

“Well… I grew up on a farm in England as a kid. My parents got divorced when I was eight and I lived with my dad near London until I was eighteen. My Mum moved to Italy and had my brother, Kimi – he’s over there, the short one with the curly hair. He’s in med school. I’d known these guys since moving to London, and when we came over here I got a degree in criminal justice, joined the police at twenty-one and by twenty-four I was working in SWAT because they wanted to train me for the 120.”

Charles cocked his head, “Why’d you choose SWAT? No offense, but you don’t really look like the SWAT type.”

George laughed, “I suppose I don’t, no. I guess I didn’t really choose it, but the directors of the 120 came to me with the proposition and I couldn’t really see a future as a patrol officer. I needed something to keep me interested. But now I’m here I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“Oh, don’t let him fool you he’s like, so ripped under that shirt. One of the strongest people I’ve ever met. It’s not fair.” Lando joked, but what he was saying was true, “Oh! Guys, I’ve got so much gossip about the 120 already.”

Alex’s eyes twinkled, reflecting the light above the table, “Wait, let me get another drink then I want to hear all of it!”

“What you did with that bomb guy was pretty incredible, Oscar. And you too, Fernando, of course.” Lance took a swig of his drink. Fernando smiled, putting a hand on Lance’s back as he sat back down with another round for the table.

“Ah, thanks Lance.” Oscar said nonchalantly, “The FBI pulled through with his information so it was really all them, but it was quite satisfying catching him out.”

“Don’t discredit yourself, seriously.” Esteban spoke earnestly, “Were you actually in the military? You seem so young!”

“Im twenty-four. In Australia you can enlist at seventeen. I was in the army for five years and got shot in the shoulder by a newbie who hadn’t been taught how to handle guns properly. It's whatever, no bad blood – shit happens, doesn't it. I got discharged and worked triple-zero dispatch until the 120 plucked me up and dragged me halfway across the world. Similar things for you guys, I’d imagine.”

“Fernando’s been doing dispatch for 25 years–” Lance spoke confidently and Fernando nodded.

“Only job I’ve ever had.”

“–and Esteban travelled the world before he was inspired to join the police force in Canada.”

Esteban nodded solemnly, “I witnessed a shootout in an elderly neighbourhood. No one was injured except the ones doing the shooting, but I thought what would have happened if the police hadn’t been there, so I applied the next morning.”

“I got engaged to Fernando three months ago, and I’m a fully licensed paramedic. That’s all there is to it on my side.” Lance finished, knocking back the rest of his drink and starting on the next one that Fernando brought over.

“Wow congrats! Can’t say I’ve had much luck in that department.” Oscar chuckled lightly.

Fernando clapped his back, “Your time will come, my friend.”

“This is like, some detective shit. I did a bunch of research after my shift as well, so screw the fire department I’m joining the CIA.” Lando said excitedly, “Where to begin… Now, pretty much all of us here know someone – you know, working in the same places, going to the same schools, being childhood friends or married or whatever. So Seb runs our crew, he’s been married to Kimi for like ten years. Kimi seems nice, but he doesn’t talk enough for me to properly get a grasp on him. Seb never stops talking but he might be the nicest guy I’ve ever met. Now Seb allegedly nearly died once when he got stuck under a collapsed building. Apparently it took seven hours to get him out, and apparently Kimi was going off the rails as you’d imagine. Seb is best friends with Nico. Nico is head of a department in the hospital. I don’t know what department – Charles, Alex do you know?”

“Pediatrics.” They both said at the same time.

“Pediatrics. Great. So Nico used to date Lewis, the EMT Chief. Apparently there’s a bunch of bad blood there now or sexual tension or whatever, I don’t know. Both of them, Seb and Kimi are like, best in the world at their jobs or something like that. Lewis has two guys in his ambulance – Lance and Arvid. Arvid is new, like ‘fresh out of the womb’ new, I know nothing about him. Lance however, he’s quiet and shy but apparently pretty outgoing if you give him the chance. Pretty much nothing is known about him too, but that’s because he keeps it that way. His best friend is Esteban and he’s engaged to Fernando, which honestly – good for him because I'd go for an older man too if I could. This is where it gets fun. Esteban, he used to date Pierre and now they hate each other.”

“Can confirm!” Charles chipped in, “He’s my best friend – Pierre that is.”

“They like despise each other apparently, more than Nico and Lewis do. Fernando used to date Mark Webber ages ago who is Director of Dispatch at the call centre. There’s no bad blood between them two, but apparently Mark really hates Lance, so really there is quite a lot of bad blood because obviously Fernando isn't going to stand for that. To round out dispatch, there’s Oscar Piastri and I think he’s the only one who didn’t know anyone here before joining, and as we learnt today he’s ex-military.

“There’s Nico Hulkenberg, who works as Driver Operator in the fire station, he’s chill. Streets say he’s been divorced twice, once to a woman and once to a man and he’s only like… thirty five so that’s pretty rough going. Checo, full name Sergio Perez, he’s taken down cartels in Mexico before and apparently he’s had a will-they-won’t-they with Valtteri Bottas for like three years now, so we might just have to lock them in a small closet at some point. Valtteri is Finnish, but he looks Australian. He’s a firefighter, he moved to Australia in his twenties and shared a flat with Daniel until they both moved here a few years back.

Daniel – the one attempting to teach line dancing over there with the cowboy hat – he’s the Police Sergeant and apparently the happiest guy you’ll meet ever. Then to round it out, he’s been good friends with Max Verstappen who’s famous for doing all sorts of brave and dumb shit and always pulling it off. He’s a madman, but he’s also apparently very protective of the ones he loves and very easy to get along with. And then, of course, the rookies. Gabriel, Liam, Isack, Kimi, Ollie and Franco. I know nothing about any of them, except of course that Kimi is Georgie’s brother.”

George had to disagree on what had been said about Verstappen. He looked at him across the bar laughing while he played pool with Checo and Gabriel and felt a fire rise in him (that was probably the heat collecting in his stomach as Max was bent over the table in a borderline pornographic way trying to hit the cue ball. Which of course, George paid no heed to and instead focused entirely on his resentment).

Carlos was flabbergasted when he finally spoke, “How the hell did you get all that in one day?”

“It’s a talent, honestly.” Lando grinned coyly, “Oh! I know this line dance! Come on, up you lot get, we’re going dancing!”