Page 20 of Christmas with Three Firemen

Some things you learn not by asking, but by listening and paying attention. One thing that I’ve learned recently is that, just like me, Noelle Meadows doesn’t sleep much.

Maybe I should leave her alone, but I find myself heading upstairs anyway.

The winter air hits me the moment I push through the access door, sharp and smelling of snow. The city feels quieter than normal with the muffling blanket draped over it.

Noelle stands near the edge of the roof with her hands buried in the pockets of an oversized sweatshirt. She doesn’t even have a hat on, and pinpricks of silver dust her hair as the wild red hungrily snatches drifts of flurries out of the air.

She doesn’t turn when she hears the door groan open a few more inches.

I approach slowly, making sure my footsteps are loud enough for her to detect without sounding too intimidating. You never know what might spook someone.

When I come to stand beside her, I keep my gaze trained forward even when I sense her head tilting in my direction briefly.

Before us, Manhattan glitters and glows.

Down below, Christmas lights wrap around the station’s front columns and provide a warm glow alongside the streetlights. Across the street and all around us, apartment windows glow in all shades of the rainbow as the city that doesn’t sleep forms its usual kaleidoscope. A delivery truck rolls through the intersection at the end of the block. Somewhere further east, someone’s booming laugh echoes.

The city never really rests. It just changes volume. I think that’s why I feel so at home here.

Noelle sniffles in the cold, but she doesn’t seem to be shivering. She’s made of the tough stuff, which was evident from the moment I witnessed her hold her own against Cap’s rotten mood when she arrived.

I don’t ask why she’s up here. It’s not really my style to pry. People talk if they want to and when they’re ready.

We stand in unexpectedly comfortable silence. Maybe I should leave her alone, but something tells me that she might need a steady presence beside her right now, even if she isn’t explicitly telling me so.

I have no way of knowing for certain if it’s because we share a tendency toward holiday season melancholy, but I know that I sleep less and talk even less often around this time of year. For some people, it’s full of joy.

For others, like maybe Noelle, too, it’s a little more complicated than that.

From a vent below my feet, I can hear voices in the gear room carrying faintly through the ventilation system. Mateo again, so boisterous and lively that sometimes I think the firehouse might collapse if he transferred somewhere else and we lost his energy. If Cap is the foundation of this place, Mateo is the glue that holds it together.

I don’t really know what I am.

“Do you ever sleep?” Noelle asks suddenly. It’s the first thing she’s said out loud, even though it feels like we’ve been having a silent conversation this whole time.

“Sometimes,” I answer simply, stealing a glance at her.

Her mouth twitches into a suggestion of a smile. A tiny crack in a carefully constructed wall. Another familiar thing.

We fall quiet again.

Minutes pass, but I’m not sure how many. Time always feels different at three in the morning.

Beside me, Noelle is chewing on her bottom lip.

Her eyes are stuck on the far end of the street, where our engines can always be seen leaving and returning.

Then, it clicks. I know that look. I’ve worn it myself.

She’d been waiting for us. Unable to get a clear view of the street corner from her window, she must have come up here to wait. Which means that she must have been up here for at least an hour already.

“Everyone is okay,” I tell her. “It was an easy call. Relatively speaking.”

Noelle merely shrugs. “It was just kind of… empty in here. Without all of you.”

“Ah.”

“I mean, I know there’s always a skeleton crew left behind no matter what, but with everything that’s been going on…”