Author's Note: Time to wrap this story up! Thank you for all of the support! Please enjoy the final chapter and feel free to leave a review. Expect to see new work from me in the near future! :)

"Got your toothbrush?"

"Uh-huh."

"Snacks for the bus ride?"

"Alfred, I have enough to feed the entire school! I'll be okay!"

"I'm just checking. You know how finicky you can get with eating when you're focused on something," Alfred explained, sneaking a quick kiss onto Zoey's forehead. "Call me when you get there."

"I will. Don't worry, D.C. isn't that far. I'll only be a few hours away. What are you going to do if I go away for college?"

Alfred zipped up Zoey's luggage and scanned her form with a nod of approval. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. When I agreed to let you go on this youth writers' get-together, I made it clear that you had to check in with me throughout the day. Also, 'I forgot' isn't a good excuse if I don't hear from you."

"I'll keep you up-to-date."

"Good, because if you didn't, then I'd have to punish you, and then you wouldn't be able to enjoy the summer vacation I have planned for us."

Zoey's eyes immediately widened, heart racing as blood rushed to her ears. "What vacation are you talking about?"

"Well, Arthur and I were thinking that since we never go on any proper trips, we could save up over the next few months and possibly spend a few weeks in Europe, unless you object, of course," Alfred teased, feeling a bubble of excitement burst in his stomach. The way Zoey's face lit up at his statement made him believe he was the best uncle-turned-father in the world.

"Object? Are you kidding me? I can't—I've never been abroad before!"

"I know."

"I've wanted to travel since I was eight!"

"I know."

"I can't believe you'd plan something like that!"

Alfred shrugged his shoulders and gave Zoey a reassuring squeeze. "I guess I'm still full of surprises, huh?"

"You have no idea how amazing this is… I can't—I can't even explain how happy I am right now!"

"Then don't say anything. Let it be, Zoey. We need to have a good time every now and then," Alfred murmured, running a thumb over Zoey's cheek, which was suspiciously damp and tear streaked.

The teen drew her shoulders back and stood tall. "I think we've earned it," she agreed, still quite giddy. "I love you, Alfred. Thank you…"

"Love ya too, kiddo.

They'd dreamed about it for years—catching a plane, tasting a part of life and culture that was unfamiliar—and now it was finally happening. Somehow, the time had never seemed right, but now the fruit was theirs for the picking, and Zoey didn't dare to dwell on how long she'd waited for this opportunity.

"So, I guess I'm going to need a bigger suitcase," she joked, beaming with sparkling energy. "Please, if there's one place I want to go to before I die, it's Barcelona."

"We can arrange for it. I'd have to pencil that in on our list of cities, but if you don't mind me asking, why Barcelona?"

"To see FC Barcelona, duh! How can you go to Spain without seeing a soccer match?"

"True, how dumb of me to overlook that," Alfred said with a grin, dropping a pair of Zoey's sneakers by her feet. "I'm sure I can scavenge two tickets for you and Arthur to go. I'm not a big soccer aficionado, unfortunately."

Zoey scoffed and pulled on her shoes. "You're missing out."

"You'll miss your bus soon, if you don't get moving. Breakfast is on the table. Be ready to get in the car in around twenty minutes, okay?"

"Got it."

"And I hope you didn't forget to pack your camera. I want lots of photos."

"Of course I have it! Have some faith in my packing abilities every now and then."

Alfred sauntered over to the doorway and gave Zoey a wink. "I wouldn't doubt you for a second."

When her uncle was safely out of view, Zoey rushed to the drawer of her desk and pulled out her camera before stuffing it in her backpack.

"Have I really become that predictable?"

Matthew,

Remember how proud Mom was when you first became a firefighter? She bragged to everyone on the block that her child was a hero—a savior, a messiah, and the one with nerves of steel. You were invincible and everyone believed it. You knew how long it took for a burning ceiling to cave in on itself and how to coax a dog out of a fire. You could carry men that weighed two hundred pounds without breaking a sweat, and don't even get me started on all of the women that fawned over you. I mean, could you blame them? What woman doesn't want a sexy fireman to save her from a potentially life threatening situation and carry her off into the night?

We couldn't wrap our heads around the seriousness of what you were doing until the first time you were admitted into the hospital for smoke inhalation. Mom threw a fit, and she took it out on me. She smacked me over the head with her latest issue of Cosmopolitan one evening and said, "Your brother was almost killed!"

It was an exaggeration, of course. You know how dramatic Mom used to be when she was young and had the strength for theatrics. I grabbed the keys to our station-wagon and drove us down to where you were being treated. You were kept for the mandated six hours and given some humidified oxygen. You were just fine afterward, but Mom never seemed to fully recover from the shock of the incident.

She couldn't bear to think that perhaps you were only human after all.

She begged you for months to consider another profession. You were still really young and could've gone back to school to study something else, but you were adamant. You loved being a firefighter, and Mom and I knew that, even though we didn't like to admit it.

The first year was the worst. Whenever you were gone for the night, Mom would stay up and wait, expecting the telephone to ring and for someone to tell her that you'd been injured again.

Things got better after you moved to New York, where she couldn't really nag you because of the distance, but she was still in this constant panicked state, jumping at every knock at the door and every ringing phone.

She was a better person when you were around—I think you had that effect on her. You were the type of guy who made other people want to strive to be kinder and more empathetic. Maybe you did have superpowers.

You sure saved me a lot of times.

You were the one who pushed me to start taking my life seriously. We had that really terrible fight one summer, and it shook me to get a job and make something of myself. I was content with sitting around Mom's house until the end of time, but she was already sick of me sitting around all day on the couch. You saw the potential I had. You knew I could take responsibility by the reins when I had to. And I swear you saw perseverance in me—something that I chose to be blind to. Thanks for holding it up to my face.

Sometimes, when I have too much time to think, I wonder if I could've stopped you somehow. If I had used the right words for once, you wouldn't have stayed a fireman. Or, at the very least, you wouldn't have gone into that building.

But since when did you ever listen to me? It would've been futile anyway. You knew better than me—you always did. And it hurts me to put it this way, but I think you knew you weren't likely to make it out. You knew you could lose everything. The stakes were high, but you took the freefall. You had to. You did the right thing, and maybe you saved a life or two while you were at it. I hope those lives turned out to be so beautiful and full of warmth—anything short of that would be an injustice to you.

You were too god damned good for this earth.

But I'm still proud to call you my brother.

-Alfred

"I'm glad to hear that your trip was rather successful."

"It wasn't exactly the way I planned for it to go, but it could've been a bigger disaster than it was," Alfred muttered, licking the whipped cream off of his hot chocolate. He'd treated his sweet tooth today. "Mom's all right for now—she's just got to take some extra precautions from now on."

"It must've been hard to see your mother sick."

"We both dealt with it pretty well."

"Well then, I'm going to have to ask you the question you've been waiting for," Ivan forewarned, stealing a piece of Alfred's glazed doughnut with a cheeky smirk. "How are you feeling?"

Alfred smacked his lips and leaned back in his chair, shoulders relaxed. "Like the fires of hell have been put out for a little while."

"Hmm… That's a good sign. Thank you for using the right medical terminology to explain your state of mind."

"I've said this before, Braginsky, and I'll say it again—I aim to please."

Ivan played with the end of his tie and rolled his eyes. "Jones, I think you're ready for the next phase of treatment."

"What's that? Are you going to zap my brain cells or perform a lobotomy?"

"If only that were the case."

"What a letdown, man."

The psychiatrist scribbled a note down in his reference book and Alfred listened to the scraping of his pen. "We're ready to move you on to maintenance. We'll be cutting our weekly sessions so that we can meet once a month. I'll still be checking to see that you're working on your journal entries and aren't regressing."

Alfred frowned. "I'm hurt. You don't want to see me as often anymore? Was it something I said? I can change and start compromising to make this relationship work."

"It's me, not you," Ivan supplied dryly before handing Alfred a piece of paper with his next appointment date on it. "I think we need some space, Jones."

"You wanna start seeing other people?"

"The truth is, I've already been seeing other people."

Alfred brought a hand over his heart and took another gulp of his hot chocolate. "How can you live with yourself?"

"We were doomed from the very beginning," Ivan consoled, flicking through the pages of Alfred's journal without reading into anything. "Feel free to give me a call if you're overwhelmed again," he added with a stern tone.

Alfred's smile faded as he became genuine once more. "I won't put myself in a dangerous situation again without getting help."

"That's a relief to hear. So, Jones, I think that's everything we had to go over today. I'll see you exactly thirty days from now."

"It's a date. Thanks, Ivan. You've been surprisingly great."

Ivan stood from the table and shook Alfred's hand firmly. "You don't need to thank me. This is my job."

"No, I'm fairly certain that taking me on all of those crazy trips wasn't part of the job," Alfred said, unable to conceal the gratitude pouring out of him. He'd let the Russian witness his appreciation for a little bit—but only for a little bit! "You went above and beyond. I never used to believe in fate or anything, but I think our meetings have changed that. I believe people come into our lives when we most need them, and I needed someone like you to whip me into shape. I don't know how to thank you properly."

"Stay healthy," Ivan instructed, making his way for the door. "That's how you can thank me."

"We don't have to do this if you're not ready."

"I wouldn't have asked you to come with me if I didn't feel ready. I've thought about this for a long time, Arthur, and it's been bothering me. Now that Zoey's on her trip, I need to do this."

Arthur glowered and rested a hand on Alfred's shoulder to soothe his anxiety. "But you've already made plenty of progress. You can take it step by step."

"Don't talk me out of it."

"Okay."

Alfred allowed himself a deep breath and made his way down the Financial District with Arthur in tow. It was as crowded as always, and among the chattering tourists, he could hear the clicks and flashes of cameras taking photos. "I've avoided this neighborhood for a long time. I couldn't bring myself to walk these streets."

Arthur didn't comment, allowing Alfred to continue his muse without interruption. He'd be there for the younger man to lean on if it became too difficult for him to go on.

"I used to visit the city when Mattie first left Boston. I'd play the tourist for the day, and he'd take me to all of the best restaurants and sights. I took the time we spent together for granted."

Alfred's pace began to slow, and Arthur shot him a worried look. He suspected it was too soon for such an adventure. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he soldiered on. "I've seen the pictures of what they've done to Ground Zero. I know all about it, but I could never come here again. It seemed wrong."

"It's miraculous how the city has healed," Arthur encouraged, jogging after the other to keep up. "And the new towers are spectacular."

"But it'll never be the same."

"No, I suppose not, but it's better than nothing."

The sound of rushing water alerted Alfred that he was close to the site, and he shut his eyes for a moment, vertigo clawing up his spine. The rubble had been cleared years ago, and yet, he still felt the dreadful presence of mourning upon him.

"Almost there, Alfred."

The sirens blaring in his mind were back, screeching and howling. Thankfully, there was a hand on his arm, coaxing him onward.

"Open your eyes when you're ready."

He'd never be fully prepared, so it was now or never. With a sharp gasp of breath, Alfred snapped his eyes open and felt his knees weaken beneath him, threatening to collapse.

The sheer size of the two fountains that burrowed into the earth where the twin towers had once been rooted baffled him more than anything else. He'd forgotten just how large the buildings had been, and the names engraved along the marble sides of the flowing water squeezed his heart and wrung it out.

"D-Do you think his name is here?"

"It must be."

He jostled his way between the people still snapping pictures, bile rising into his throat as he searched for his brother's name among a thousand others.

He was listed among the other first responders who had lost their lives, his nameplate pristine and well-kept. Someone had even left a bouquet of flowers beside the column of names, fastened together with a red ribbon.

And then, there were tears dribbling down Alfred's nose and onto the concrete. "He's part of the city now. He'll be remembered, at least in some small way."

Arthur slung an arm around his midsection and drew him near, the ghost of a frown on his face. He didn't have to say anything for Alfred to feel his sympathy, and the comforting touch alone seemed to ease some of the younger man's sorrow.

"This is the closest thing to a grave that he'll ever have," Alfred whispered, flinching at the thought. "My Mattie's beneath this memorial, somewhere, dreaming forever… They did a really beautiful job. Just a few years ago, they had a giant fence up to block off the area, and all you could see beyond it was dust and debris. People had to walk past it every day… I walked past it too many times."

Arthur stepped away for a moment, spoke to a nearby vendor, and returned with a single rose, which he then placed in Matthew's inscription. "To pay our respects," he said.

"Thanks."

And Alfred realized that he'd found the closure he'd been seeking.

"What's on the menu today?"

"There's an upper respiratory infection across the hall with suspected pneumonia, a severe toothache with a fever next door, and possible appendicitis in room eight."

"What a fun mix."

"Oh, and Gilbert has symptoms of a concussion."

Alfred spit up some of his coffee and quickly searched for some napkins to wipe up the mess. There was a small stain on the front of his scrubs. "How did that happen?"

"You should ask Zoey," Arthur replied, swiping up a medical file off the counter. "Ludwig is furious. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to drain an abscessed tooth."

"Couldn't the guy go to a dentist for that?"

"It's Memorial Day and everyone's on vacation for the three-day weekend."

"Except for us, of course," Alfred sighed, downing the rest of his coffee before getting up from his chair at the nurses station. "You fix that tooth, and I'll check on our niece's concussed love interest."

"All right. I'll be there as soon as I'm done extracting pus."

Alfred made a face and stretched his lips into a playful grin. "Don't forget to save me some as a souvenir!"

What had those two done this time?

Bracing himself for a summary of antics, Alfred treaded into the room and shook his head at the pair of teens.

"I hope you know that your father is going to arrange for your funeral if you don't stop getting injured like this," he cautioned, glaring at Gilbert and then Zoey. He bounded over to the bed and ran his fingers over the lump on the boy's head with a terse grimace. "How did this happen?"

Gilbert cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead with vigor. "First off, this is all Zoey's fault!"

"Is not!" the girl defended, crossing her arms as she stood beside the bed. "You're the one who did this to yourself."

"We were leaving school yesterday when we saw a guy on a skateboard. Then, in that condescending voice of hers, Zoey said that I'd never be able to skateboard because I'm uncoordinated. I decided to prove her wrong, so I borrowed one of my friend's boards this morning and thought I should try it out. Everything was fine until Zoey came along and started criticizing me!" Gilbert explained, pointing an accusatory finger at his partner in crime.

Zoey huffed and rolled her eyes. "I was criticizing you for being an idiot and having a stubborn pride. I told you that you were going to get hurt."

"Can you let me finish my story? Anyway, after that, I tried to do a three-sixty and banged the back of my head on a railing."

Alfred clicked his tongue in disapproval and checked over the rest of Gilbert's head for additional cuts or bruises. "Who dragged you to the ER?"

Looking like he'd just taken a bite out of a lemon, Gilbert meekly said, "Zoey."

"Good. Head trauma can be serious even if the injury doesn't look too bad. Arthur will be here in a minute to assess the severity of the concussion and order a CT scan," Alfred informed, pushing away the hair covering the swelling bump. "You should be able to leave tonight if your dad agrees to monitor you for the next twenty-four hours. You're gonna be on bedrest for a while. What's your pain level, bud?"

"Twenty-five million," Gilbert groused, squinting his eyes to see properly. "I probably have internal bleeding, and won't make it till morning. Zoey, tell my family I love them, except for Roderich."

Alfred chuckled and procured an icepack for the teen. "That's highly unlikely, but even if you were bleeding internally, we'd never let that happen. You're going to be fine as long as you stop any strenuous physical or mental activity for the next few days."

"Does that mean I get to skip my school assignments?"

"I'm sure you can make them up when you're better," Alfred remarked with a sly smirk just as Arthur interrupted their powwow.

The general practitioner heaved a sigh and pursed his lips at Gilbert much like Alfred had done. "You're supposed to be the one volunteering to help patients. You can't do that if you keep landing yourself in bed."

Gilbert glowered. "Sorry, Dr. Kirkland. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I'm sure you didn't," Arthur said, directing the light from his otoscope at Gilbert's eyes. "Follow my finger."

The boy's languid pupils tried to follow the movement, but he had to pause to refocus his vision after a second. "Did I pass?" he asked, sounding a bit nervous.

Arthur furrowed and peeled back Gilbert's eyelids carefully. "Don't worry about that for now. What month of the year comes before August?"

"Uhmm. July?"

"And before that?"

"June."

"Good," Arthur praised before handing Gilbert a paper cup with two pills inside. "Take those for the pain."

Once the teen had swallowed the medication, Arthur continued his questioning. "I'm going to give you a sequence of five words, and I want you to recite them back to me in the reverse order, okay?"

"Okay, but can we do it later? I'm tired."

"I'm afraid not. I need you to stay awake for a while longer. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yeah, I guess," Gilbert assured, though his eyes were drooping.

Arthur patted the boy's arm to rouse him. "Stay focused, now. Here are the words: cat, bicycle, letter, almond, dancer. Try to say them in reverse."

Gilbert closed his eyes and groaned at the pressure in his head. "That's a dumb set of words. Dancer, almond…cat… Ugh! I don't remember! The lights in here are too bright."

"Don't strain yourself," Arthur murmured softly, taking note of each of Gilbert's movements. "Just a few more tests, and I'll let you relax. Now, can you spell the word 'message' for me?"

"M-e-s-s-a-g-e," Gilbert responded, pulling at his hair. "I'm kinda dizzy."

"I know. Almost done. Grab my hand and squeeze it."

Although his grip was not very strong, Gilbert managed the maneuver, making a fist around Arthur's fingers.

"You're doing well," Arthur encouraged, writing down a few notes. "We have one test left. Extend your arms in front of you, palms upward. Hold that position for me."

Alfred and Zoey looked on in concern, noticing Gilbert's patchy attention span. Arthur, however, seemed unfazed.

"Excellent. No signs of pronator drift," the doctor remarked, allowing Gilbert to lower his arms. "Well, Gilbert, it looks as though you have a moderate concussion. It's nothing too terrible by the looks of it. We'll arrange for a scan just to be certain. Rest is extremely important for your recovery. No physical activity or reading for a minimum of two days, understand?"

"Yeah, Gil, and no more skateboarding unless you have a death wish," Zoey commented, taking the boy's hand in her own. "Thanks, Uncle Arthur."

"My pleasure. I'll be back to check on you in an hour, Gilbert. If there's anything you need before then, have Zoey contact Alfred. I don't want to see you in the ER again unless you're assisting patients."

Gilbert managed a little laugh and nodded drowsily at Arthur's retreating figure. "I won't let you down, Dr. Kirkland."

When all they could do was wait, Alfred left the room as well and met Arthur with a bright smile. "Those crazy kids are a hazard to themselves."

"Yes, but somehow, I think they'll be fine adults," Arthur said, accepting the Twizzler that Alfred offered him from the nurses' station.

Taking a bite out of the strawberry licorice, Alfred mumbled, "We usually keep these in stock for the kids, but I think we've earned it. We've been good."

Everything felt so right in that moment. There they were, doing the jobs they loved within the support system of their little team. Alfred was sure he'd never get sick of talking to patients and learning their stories. He'd never stop wanting to ease someone else's pain, if only marginally. He'd always tell his cheesy jokes and watch the faces of the city lighten up with a smile. Each patient had this radiating tenacity about them—a strength he could only admire and try to protect.

And within the confines of their hospital, he was content. It was through guiding others out of the darkness that he realized the sirens in his own head seemed to be hushed.

He understood, on some level, why Matthew was the kind of person he was, and why he felt the need to pull others to safety.

Arthur leaned against the nearest counter and rubbed the side of his face. "I still have that upper respiratory infection to deal with."

"Mmm. Hey, Artie?"

"Yes?"

"Why'd ya become a doctor?"

"For the pay."

Alfred felt a laugh rumble out of his chest. "Seriously?"

"No, I love the sound of people coughing up phlegm in the morning."

"Hmm. I figured you'd be the type," Alfred teased, only mildly bummed at not getting a proper answer.

He imagined the dreary days of working at the diner, struggling to feed Zoey as the future grew bleaker and darker before their very eyes.

But now—now he wished he could've told himself what an amazing life he was going to lead, and the beautiful people he was going to have the privilege of meeting. It was hard to recall how drastically his circumstances had changed.

He would've told himself that Mattie was with him more than ever before, and that Zoey was brimming with his life and vitality. They had made something of their desperate little lives at last.

They would never forget what had been lost.

But that was okay. They would go on. They would breathe. They would live just as they always had. They would seek joy wherever it could be found.

"For the happiness."

"Huh?"

"I got into the field for the happiness," Arthur stated.

And as they overheard Ludwig yelling at Gilbert to stay put, Alfred completely understood what Arthur had meant.

"Me too, Artie. Me too."