Crissy's heart dropped at the sight before her. Black curls of smoke billowed out of the kitchen, crawling across the ceiling like tentacles. For a split second, she couldn't move, frozen to the spot in horror. Then she surged forward, snatched the fire extinguisher from beneath the front counter and burst into the kitchen.

White hot flames licked up the walls and chewed through the ceiling. A massive hole had already been burned away, exposing an innocent glimpse of the robin's egg blue walls of her apartment overhead. Waves of heat blasted across her skin and made her eyes water, sending her stumbling a step or two in retreat. Crissy put her arm up to shield her face as she fumbled with the extinguisher and turned it on the fire.

It was already a lost cause, she knew that. The fire was growing faster than she could put it out, eating into her apartment upstairs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a sensible voice told her to leave while she still could. But she couldn't stop. This was her home. She couldn't leave. She couldn't let it go.

"Crissy!"

Amy's voice filtered through the haze of smoke and snapped Crissy out of her thoughts. She spun, arm over her mouth, her lungs screaming for air. She waded back in the direction of the kitchen door, seeing nothing but a wall of gray smoke. A questing hand clamped around her wrist and yanked her forward. She stumbled into Amy's crushing hug.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Amy demanded.

"Amy, the baby," Crissy yelled over the bellowing flames. She broke off, her throat scratchy and rough, her back burning from the heat of the fire behind her.

"I'm not leaving you behind, Crissy. Let's go."

Crissy shook her head and tried to pry herself away. "No, I can still save it."

Amy grabbed Crissy's face in her hands. "It's gone, sugar. It's over."

The building creaked overhead, groaning from the assault of the fire. For one agonizing second, Crissy didn't move. Then she nodded and dropped the extinguisher, following Amy out of the shop. They bowed their heads, shirt collars pulled up to cover their faces.

As they stepped out onto the street, sirens filled the air. The street was already crowded with onlookers huddled together in coats thrown hastily over their pajamas. Two fire trucks came around the corner and parked on the street. Firefighters Crissy didn't recognize herded people away from the building and over to the other side of the street, a safe distance away from the fire.

Crissy and Amy huddled together against the cool morning, watching as flames danced across the roof, red and orange and gold, blindingly brilliant against the jewel blue sky. Distantly, she heard her name being called again but she didn't move, didn't look away from the shop, from her home.

Then Quinn was there, in full gear, oxygen masks in hand. He pressed one to Amy's face gently and pulled her hand up to hold it there.

"I'm fine," she said. "I only ran in to get Crissy out. I wasn't in there long."

"It's just a precaution," he replied. "Especially for the baby." He turned to Crissy and placed the second mask over her face.

"Crissy, look at me," he said.

She tried to pull away, to brush the mask aside, but Quinn's hand came around the back of her head with such gentle insistence that her protests melted.

"Fight me all you want, sweetheart," he said. "You need fresh air in your lungs."

Crissy went still and allowed him to hold the mask over her face, waiting and watching as she took a few deep breaths, the sweet, clean air filtering into her lungs. Her gaze drifted over his shoulder as a shower of sparks popped into the sky like fireworks. He moved to block her view and she craned to look around him but he caught her face and tipped her head up until she saw him and only him.

"Hey," he said. "Eyes on me."

Crissy squeezed her eyes shut for a moment then concentrated on keeping her gaze trained on Quinn's face.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

She blinked once, twice. Was she? There was a gaping, throbbing hole in her chest where her heart was...used to be. But a flicker of logic, dim though it was with her brain slow from shock, said that wasn't what Quinn was asking.

"No," she managed, her voice a hoarse croak.

Quinn watched her for a few seconds. His blue eyes were so concerned, so...scared. She'd never seen him like that. He finally let his hands slide away and he nodded to Amy.

"Amy, make sure she keeps that mask on for a little while longer," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Quinn was pulling away, leaving. A flicker of panic licked in Crissy's chest and she reached out for him, caught his arm. He wrapped his fingers around her hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze before he turned and disappeared into the swarm of firefighters, struggling to get the blaze under control. Crissy's hands were cold with his absence and she wanted....needed...him back again. She didn't want to look at this burning building anymore, this place that was her home. She didn't want to see her life going up in flames. Amy wrapped an arm around Crissy's shoulders in silence.

Distantly, Crissy heard someone else approach, heard Amy talking in low tones. Pete, she realized afterwards. He'd brought blankets to keep them warm and help with the shock, and he brought bottled water too, for their raw, smoke-coated throats. Pete placed a hand on her shoulder and said nothing more before he returned to his crew again.

A chorus of shouts went up between the firefighters. Crissy's fingers tightened on Amy's hand. The building wheezed, shifted. Firefighters skirted away from the shop as it seemed to fold in itself, as if it was made of nothing more than cards and toothpicks. A strangled noise tore from Crissy's throat and she placed a hand over her mouth.

Within the hour, the building was lost, a charred, blackened skeleton left behind. The surrounding buildings were safe, a bittersweet victory in and of itself. Just the shop was gone, plucked from the town, completely unsalvageable.

By the noon, the onlookers had drifted away and the firefighters were rolling up their hoses, tucking their equipment away again. Crissy and Amy sat on the curb across the street. Crissy's throat felt stripped raw from coughing and smoke inhalation but at least she could breathe without the mask now.

Quinn crossed the street, jacket hanging open, face streaked with smoke and grime. He sat on the curb next to Crissy and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. She pressed herself into that kiss, into him, her fingers digging into the rough, heavy fabric of his jacket. All she could smell was smoke, cloying, suffocating, and she wondered if she'd ever be able to smell anything else ever again.

"I found this," he said, sliding something into her lap. "I wish I could have saved more."

Crissy looked down. Her scrapbook. A little melted at the edges, plastic bubbled and warped from the fire. Singed recipes and photographs poked out of the edges. She ran her hand over the buckled cover, curved into a slight horseshoe shape after the intense heat. This was it. All that was left of her dreams, her hard work.

"How are you holdin' up, sweetheart?" Quinn asked softly.

Slowly, Crissy looked up and managed the smallest, weakest smile. "I'm okay," she said.

Quinn frowned and reached out, brushed his thumb over her chin. "No, you're not."

That was the final straw. She had held herself together all day. She hadn't cried when she lost her kitchen. She hadn't cried as Amy stayed by her side on the cold pavement.

Crissy let out a tiny sob as she leaned into Quinn, her scrapbook clutched to her chest. Quinn wrapped his arms around her and Amy rested her cheek against Crissy's back as she cried.

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The tears eventually slowed to hiccups then to silence. Quinn didn't move, didn't say anything. Amy's hand rested between Crissy's shoulder blades, a steady, soothing pressure, reassuring in the knowledge that she wasn't alone despite her life falling to pieces.

Finally, Crissy pulled back, wiped the palms of her hands over her eyes. A headache was beginning to blossom behind her left eye, from crying, from the stress of the whole day. Her skin felt grimy and gritty from soot and ash. She glanced at the remains of the coffee shop and tightened her hold on her battered scrapbook.

Quinn slid his hands down her arms and wrapped his fingers around her wrists, pulling her to her feet.

"Let's go home," he whispered. "I just did laundry yesterday and there will plenty of my clean shirts to choose from."

Crissy nodded slowly and let herself be guided back to Quinn's house with Amy trailing after them. Quinn pushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower until it was steaming hot, fogging up the mirror. He cupped her face in his hands and she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Get cleaned up," he said. "The water will do wonders, I promise."

Quinn turned to leave but Crissy caught his little finger. He glanced at her, waiting. She tucked her fingers under the hem of his shirt. Without looking away from her, Quinn shut the door and shrugged out of his jacket, allowing Crissy to shove his shirt up and over his head before she let it drop to the floor.

Slowly, carefully, Quinn and Crissy peeled the offending smoke-thick clothing off of each other. Crissy sucked in a pained breath when Quinn turned her hands over and let the hot water pound on her skin, bringing her blistered skin to the forefront of her attention. He scrubbed the smoke and ash out of her hair, has hands gliding in smooth, even strokes over her head. When he washed her hair clean, the faint smell of smoke still lingered and he started all over, washing her hair three times through until she smelled nothing but strawberries and vanilla. Then she did the same for him, placing feather light kisses across his shoulders.

There were more tears, lost in the shower spray that drifted down the drain. But it was different here, crying alone with Quinn rather than in the street. She felt even more raw now, like she was extracting her grief from a deeper place, a more damaged place she hadn't wanted to allow herself to touch until now.

Quinn said nothing. He simply let the water run over them both as he pulled her down into the tub, his chin tucked against her shoulder, and let her cry until there was nothing left.

When Crissy was quiet again and the water had cooled, goosebumps shivered over her skin. He wrapped her in a towel and retrieved one of his shirts for her and a pair of leggings she'd left behind earlier in the week.

Amy was waiting in the kitchen with fresh coffee, her feet tucked underneath her as she sat at the table. She slid a mug across to Crissy. Quinn stood off to Crissy's right, well within reach if she needed him.

"I called Manu," Amy said. "We're going to put up a partition in the living room. It'll be all yours. You can stay as long as you like."

Crissy nodded slowly. What was she going to do now that the shop was gone? She'd have to start over somewhere else, find a different restaurant to cook for.

"You've got a baby on the way, Amy," Crissy said. "You don't need me crowding up your apartment."

"That's months away still."

She sighed. It wasn't like she had many options at this point. There was no way in hell she was going to call up her family and ask to stay with them.

"You could stay with me," Quinn said softly.

Crissy looked up at him.

"If I start driving you crazy or if you just need space," he continued, "I've got an extra room. You have a few things here already. And it doesn't have to be permanent, if you don't want it to be."

Crissy glanced at Amy, gauging her reaction. Amy shrugged, her gaze searching Crissy's face.

"Would you be comfortable with that, sugar?" she asked. "I don't care if I've got a dozen fat, screaming kids stuffed into my apartment. I will always make room for you, no matter what."

Crissy hesitated, tracing her finger over the rim of her coffee cup in thought. Amy reached across the table and took her hand.

"Whatever you choose," she said, "we will support you, both of us."

Crissy smiled slightly and nodded. "I think I'd like to stay here, just for a little while."

Amy squeezed her hand. "Sounds good to me, sugar. Try to get some sleep, okay? You've been through hell and back again today."

Amy lingered for a few minutes more before she left, hugging Crissy tight. As Quinn walked her to the door, they spoke in hushed tones, low enough that Crissy couldn't hear. Not that she needed to. They knew they were talking about her, about the shop, and what to do after this.

"Keep an eye on her, would you?" Amy said.

"I'll call you if anything changes," Quinn replied. "I promise."

"You're a good man, Quinn. Thank you for taking care of our girl."

After Amy left, Quinn shut the door and came to stand behind Crissy. He laid his hands on her shoulders and pressed his thumbs deep into the tight muscles in her back. She hissed a breath and bowed her head. He kissed the top of her head as he massaged her shoulders until she was practically limp in her chair from the pressure of his hands.

"What am I supposed to do after this, Quinn?" she said softly, rubbing at her forehead.

Quinn took her hand as he sat next to her and pulled her out of her chair until she stood between his knees, looking down at him.

"You'll be sad, frustrated, upset," he said. "You'll take it easy for a few days. Then you'll pick yourself up again and keep going."

"Keep going with what? There's nothing left."

"With your abilities, there will be plenty of places that will hire you in a second."

He reached around her and picked up her scrapbook, holding up in front of her.

"Do you see this?" he said. "Do you see how much work you've already put into this?"

She nodded.

"Years," he said. "You have been at this for years. No matter how many setbacks you've had in the past, you've always made it through. This is just another setback, sweetheart. It feels huge, impossible to overcome right now, but you will." He placed the scrapbook on the table and cupped her face in his hands. "You will, Crissy. You always have. This won't stop you either."

She turned to kiss his palm as she sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."

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In the middle of the night, Crissy sat bolt upright with the sharp scent of smoke filling her nose and lungs, coating her tongue. Quinn still slept soundly, face pressed to her shoulder, one arm around her waist. She eased out of bed and into the kitchen, searching for the source of that smell. She pressed her hands to the burners on the stove but they were all cool, no heat to speak of. She checked the outlets and unplugged every appliance on the counter she could reach.

But still, she smelled smoke.

"Crissy?"

Quinn stood in the living room doorway, hair ruffled with sleep, squinting at her.

"What's goin' on, sweetheart? It's three in the morning."

She stood in the middle of the living room, feeling helpless and confused.

"I could have sworn I smelled smoke," she said. "I thought maybe I'd left the stove on or something."

Quinn crossed the room and cupped her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I don't smell anything," he said. "Let's get to bed, okay?"

She glanced around the living room, hesitating, wrapping her arms around her middle. Quinn slid his hands down her arms and took her hands.

"I'll check the house," he said, "while you go back to bed."

Reluctantly, she nodded and headed to Quinn's bedroom. She sat in bed, knees tucked up to her chest, until Quinn returned. He slid under the covers with a sigh and pulled her into his chest.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he said. "Coast is clear."

"You're sure?"

"Yep."

She hummed, her mind still haunted by that ghostly sharp smell of smoke. Quinn nuzzled into her neck and his hand came to rest against the back of her head, warm and heavy and comforting.

"I still smell smoke sometimes too," he mumbled against the crook of her shoulder and neck.

She went still. "You do?"

"Fire's like that," Quinn mumbled, voice hoarse with approaching sleep. "It doesn't just destroy homes and possessions and lives. It gets in your head. Doesn't let you have any peace, even when it's been put out hours, days, years ago."

Crissy said nothing for several seconds then wrapped her arm around Quinn's waist, sliding her knee between his legs and hooking her ankle around his calf.

"I don't know how you do it," she whispered. "Face fires all the time."

"Well I don't know how you bake all the time without dropping from exhaustion."

"That's entirely different. Baking is not dangerous."

Quinn grunted and pulled away just far enough to peer at her with one eye.

"I happen to distinctly remember your kitchen on fire after a certain small cooking accident," he said.

She squinted at him. "Fine. I'll let you win this round just so you can go back to sleep."

He smiled softly and tipped his chin up to kiss her. "I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you."

She merely hummed in response as his head drifted back down to her shoulder again and her fingers twined through his hair. She knew she wasn't likely to fall asleep again, not as quickly as Quinn could, not with the smell of smoke still lingering faintly in the corners of her mind.

"I watched my house burn down when I was little," Quinn said quietly, eyes closed.

Crissy's fingers stopped in Quinn's hair. "I'm so sorry."

"Megan and I were little, around six, seven years old. I don't remember much but I remember the heat. I remember how fast everything went up. And I remember feeling...so, so helpless, watching it all go up in flames and I couldn't do anything to stop it. We lived in the mountains, a good hour's drive away from the nearest town. And that was on a good day, when there wasn't two feet of snow to get through."

Crissy said nothing and kissed Quinn's neck instead. She knew a little of that heartache, feeling helpless, unable to do anything while your home burned. But being so young...she couldn't imagine how much that must have hurt.

"It broke my dad," Quinn continued, his voice so soft, barely a breath in the silence, Crissy almost missed it. "We moved. We started over. But...he wasn't the same after that."

Crissy waited, not wanting to interrupt Quinn's sudden bout of honesty. His father wasn't a topic he touched on very often and she wasn't sure how much she should push him to talk, if at all.

His arms tightened slightly around Crissy and he kissed her collar bone. "I face fires every day because I have to," he said. "Because I need to keep my family safe."

He nosed up the curve of her throat and brushed his thumb along her jawline.

"Because I need to keep you safe," he added, slowly opening his eyes to look at her. She smiled, kissing him lightly, and melted into him. In a matter of moments, she felt herself drifting off to sleep, listening to the steady thrum of Quinn's heartbeat, the warmth radiating from his skin beneath her fingertips. She was safe. As long as she had Quinn, she would always be safe.

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