"Kingston, you're up."

Chase glanced around the room as he came back to himself. His brain had dropped him right in the middle of a steamy daydream about Sookie, and for a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. Then he took in the faces of the men seated around him, some familiar, most belonging to members of the local fire department, and remembered where he was.

They had all agreed to meet at the Cedar Springs station today to receive their assignments. It was his first official day on duty, and the local fire chief was staring at him from the front of the room.

Chase straightened in his chair. "Ready, Chief," he said.

"I want you to be my eyes in the air today," the Springs chief said. "You'll be going up in the chopper with a member of the National Guard." The chief nodded toward the back of the room, and Chase turned. He had been so preoccupied with his torrid fantasy of Sookie that he’d failed to notice when the woman herself actually walked in.

Sookie leaned against the back wall, arms crossed over the front of her flight suit, her glossy chocolate hair pulled back from her severe face. She looked . . . ambivalent. Chase turned forward, nodded, decided to look the same.

On the inside, he was a mess of nerves.

Hank watched him suspiciously. Chase met his eyes, had an oh shit! moment, before remembering that his chief could not, in fact, read his mind, nor could the man telepathically rifle through the filthy contents of his thoughts . . . even if that was exactly what Hank’s scowl suggested.

"You got it, Chief," he said. The meeting moved on to the next assignment, and Chase sat back in his chair.

Fifteen minutes later, he was geared up and strolling across the tarmac to the chopper. Sookie was waiting for him, and beyond her, he could see the silhouette of her copilot already belted in, anonymous in his helmet, head bent over a checklist.

They stared one another down from behind their aviator shades.

"Ready?" she asked.

Chase gave her a thumbs-up.

"You're nervous!" she crowed.

"Shut up and fly this thing." He would have felt bad, normally, for letting his nerves get the better of him in that moment, but Sookie seemed too delighted with her discovery to notice. After instructing him on how to strap in—and enjoying herself far too much as she tightened his belt to a setting just short of strangulation—

And they were off. Literally, off the ground. Chase barely felt a lurch as they departed, but his hand shot out to grip the lip of the cabin door. He stared at the ground as it shrank beneath them; pretty soon the tarmac was the size of a postage stamp.

A chill went down his back. The pit of his stomach burned. Chase tasted that morning's coffee, revisiting him in the base of his throat.

"Relax," Sookie's voice said over the comm. "You're so nervous, you're making me nervous. And trust me, you don't want your pilot to be nervous."

"You're not nervous." It was cruel of her to even suggest that she was. "And I'm not nervous," he added for good measure—which was rapidly becoming true, but did nothing to remedy his growing certainty that he was going to vomit.

"If you're going to be sick, try to be sick out the door," Sookie advised, and he could swear he heard the copilot—Raj, he’d introduced himself—chuckle. The Hawk banked a sharp right, and Chase white-knuckled the opening, watching as the world smeared and tilted the wrong way. He felt like he was in a carnival funhouse, and only the depraved architect was having fun.

"When you're finished, I'd like to go observe a fire, please!" he shouted.

The comm crackled, but even feedback couldn't make Sookie's laugh ugly. "You're doing great, Hotshot. I'm impressed. One fire coming right up."

And then, suddenly, they were right on it. Chase craned himself as far forward as he could. A wall of intense heat hit him, and he gasped; sweat broke out on his temple, prickled beneath his arms and along the seam of his back.

"Holy shit," he said. Either there was an echo in the cab of the Black Hawk, or the pilots’ sentiments were his exactly.

The blaze had cooked the entire landscape for miles around, and it only seemed to be gaining momentum. This was not the same wildfire Hank had briefed him and Garrett on only days ago.

"This isn't a fire," Sookie said in wonder. "This is a hellscape."

"We haven't gone nuclear yet." Chase pulled his phone out and began to record video. The chopper banked again, and this time, he barely noticed the way the cabin leaned. Sookie circled the dead center of the blaze, before Chase instructed her onward. This wasn't the quadrant they had been assigned, but that wasn't going to stop him from putting this shit down on the record. "Glad you're here," he called up to Sookie. "If you weren't sharing the view, I doubt anyone would believe me."

"Why wouldn't they believe you?" She nosed the chopper forward around a streaming column of smoke.

"They'd think I was exaggerating my data, even if it was by accident. They still think I'm green. That's why they stuck me with you."

"Oh, thanks!" she shouted tartly.

Chase shook his head, before realizing the move would be lost on her. "I'm not saying you're green! This is your job, Sook. My job is to fight fires, not spectate." He realized too late that he had used Hank's nickname for her, but Sookie either didn't mind, or didn't notice. If Chase had to guess, cutting through the smoke-choked air above a blazing inferno tended to put minor annoyances into perspective.

"Whatever assignment they give you, you can always count on me to back you up," Sookie said.

Chase nodded. Again, the move was probably lost on her, but an adequate response was lost on him as well. He hadn't expected to feel touched by her words.

They continued their observations for a half hour more, until a combination of the heat and a half-empty fuel tank drove them home. Once the chopper touched down, Chase threw off his headset and ripped free of his seatbelt. The blades hadn't even stopped rotating yet, but Sookie was already out of her seat and headed toward the hangar while Raj finished the shutdown checklist. Chase sprinted after her, phone still in hand. He shouldered past the Guard crew chief, who was already crouched beside the Hawk scrutinizing something and, Chase thought, about two beers away from patting it and whispering sweet nothings to its console.

"Hey! Ice Queen!"

Sookie turned. Chase felt encouraged by her fleeting, amused look. "I just wanted to tell you how fucking cool it was being up there today."

"You think so?" She studied him, and after a few seconds, took off her aviators. Chase was surprised, and took his off as well. "Nothing beats flying. I'm addicted to it," Sookie confided. Her hazel eyes glowed.

"I can see why." Chase watched the dreamy look cross her face, and realized she had never been this vulnerable with him before. He needed to make the jump, now, while the cabin door was still flung wide. "Although I can think of maybe one or two things that beat flying."

"Oh yeah?" Sookie grinned, planting her hands squarely on her hips. "I'm all ears, Hotshot."

"Listen, Sookie . . ." Chase licked his lips, dry from the day's heat exposure, before carrying on. "They'll likely have me on trench crew, next. Probably the eastern side."

"Makes sense, considering what we saw today," she agreed.

"So I might not get another chance to ask you this soon if you'd like to grab a beer with me."

Sookie shifted. She tucked a windswept strand of hair behind her ear. "I wasn't exactly my best self the other night when we were out drinking," she admitted.

It wasn't a no. Chase could work with that. "This time we'd be out drinking as . . . colleagues."

"Colleagues?" She stared at him dubiously.

"Colleagues," he repeated firmly. He knew that it was the word he needed to use to describe their situation. Never mind what was in his head.

Sookie tipped her chin. She considered him, and he stood strong beneath her scrutiny. Then she flipped her aviators open and pushed them back up her nose. "All right, Chase. If that's what colleagues do."

"It is," he said.

"Then I'll meet up with you for a beer later down at the Springs Well."

"It's a work date."

"Oh, and Chase?" Sookie was already turning to go, but threw a glance back over her shoulder. "Why don't you, ah, let me know when you want me to get you up again. Into the air, that is."

Chase's mouth nearly fell open at the quip.

Sookie's lips quirked, and she turned to saunter off, leaving him alone and speechless with a phone full of bad news.

"Fuck, I'm beat," Chase said to no one as he dropped down into his bunk back at the station. He was the first one back, and he tried not to let the realization get to him. He was still a junior member of the team, after all—of course he would have been handed one of the easier assignments. It made sense that they wanted him to get his feet wet before diving right in.

Still, he couldn't help thinking he was being punished somehow.

You'd think I'd already fucked the chief's sister.

Chase groaned and turned over. He turned back, staring at the underside of the bunk above him. Sunlight filtered in through the slats in the window blinds—not the warm, golden sunlight of a clear California day, but the angry red Martian light of a sun trapped behind a veil of haze. Chase reached for the window wand and twisted. The room sunk into more serene darkness.

He draped a hand over his eyes, inhaled, and sighed deeply.

Suddenly he was back inside the Black Hawk. The chopper was grounded, and Sookie . . . Sookie wasn't in the pilot's seat. He was in the pilot's seat, and Sookie was in his lap.

Chase's hands found her waist, smoothed appreciatively down her curvaceous hips. The flight suit did a good job of hiding Sookie's figure from the outside world, but she was out of it now. Hell, why stop there? Sookie was completely naked, her hips undulating, perspiration beading her skin like drops of dew, sequins. Chase bent his head, and his tongue flicked along the curve of her neck, tasting. Sookie's head fell to the side in submission. Her breathing was labored—she was fighting for control of herself, had been fighting for a long time, but she was losing now.

Chase folded his tongue back between his teeth and glanced down. Below him, Sookie's breasts bounced and settled, bounced and settled. Her nipples were so tight, they looked painful. He breathed on them, and the dark pink flesh pebbled even more. He drew one into his mouth, and she groaned wildly. Her fingers clawed at his back, but she wasn't fighting to extract herself; if anything, her touch urged him on.

Below her breasts and taut navel, their bodies moved as one.

In his daydream, he was buried inside Sookie. She was tight, and warm, and slick with desire, both his and hers. His hands were planted on her hips, and he raised and lowered her, raised and lowered her, his fingers digging into the plump round muscle of her ass. He was a master playing an instrument, and she performed beautifully at his slightest touch. She leaned into his chest, panting, her arms wending around his neck.

"We shouldn't," she begged. "What if . . . Hank . . ."

"Hank can go fuck himself." Chase imagined himself echoing Sookie's own words to her in his daydream, the words she had accused him of not being brave enough to say. Now he threw them back in her face as he thrust upward, intent on driving any thoughts of her brother from her mind. She cried out and clutched him, sobs of pleasure escaping past her lips as her body bounced in time to his thrusts. He buried his cock deep inside that forbidden slit, and it was everything he had ever dreamed it could be. He was fucking Sookie, just as he had promised himself he would, and Sookie was riding his dick like her life depended on it. Her protests had devolved now to howling, passionate cries. Even the Ice Queen couldn't withstand the heat.

The windows of the Black Hawk fogged around them. Good, Chase thought. Now no one on the outside could see all the depraved things he was doing to its pilot. Just doing my patriotic duty, Hank . . .

"Ugh!"

Back in his station bunk, Chase overturned himself angrily as he gave up his fantasy, yet again, to intrusive thoughts of his disapproving chief. Flopping onto his stomach was a mistake—his erection was unceremoniously flattened beneath his full body weight, and a jolt of pain shot through him. Chase sat up abruptly; his head hit one of the metal crossbeams of the bunk above, and he saw stars.

"God . . . dammit!" He bellowed his frustration, but of course, there was no one around to hear him. His fellow firefighters were still out there, doing exactly what they had been called here to do. He could appreciate any frustrations they faced that day.

Unfortunately, Chase was pretty sure no one could appreciate his.