Summary: Why do the Tracys do what they do?

Author's Note: Written many years ago, this story has been archived at the Tracy Island Chronicles. Just adding it to my fanfic repertoire on here!

BECAUSE I CAN

Gasping, he pulled the oxygen mask over his mouth and strapped it into place. The acrid smell of smoke made him cough. Wheeze, was more like it. He knew it would be days before that smell would leave his nostrils.

Goddamn electrical fires. They were the worst.

Cautiously he approached the long hallway of the fourth level, the top floor of this small apartment building. He'd already passed two dead bodies, but his eyes stared straight ahead. He couldn't think of those they'd been too late to save. He could only think of those who still needed saving.

Please God, let there be someone still alive.

Sure, they failed. It came part and parcel with the job. They couldn't possibly save everyone. Explosions, earthquakes, fires...you name it. There was only so fast even International Rescue could arrive on the scene. And by the time they did, inevitably lives had already been lost.

Why do you do this?

Because I can. Because I can.

Flames licked his right elbow, and he jumped back, quickly spraying dicetyline to douse them. Heart racing, he picked up his pace. Most of this floor was gone anyway. Had the oxygen mask not been in place, he knew he would've been able to smell the unforgettable odor of burnt flesh. So many dead. Undoubtedly thanks to faulty wiring.

So senseless. To know these people died because of a cheap landlord made him want to retch.

Why do you do this?

Putting himself through it time and time again. Why did he do this?

Because I can.

Three-quarters of the way along the hall, he noticed a door further down toward the end. A door which was closed, the apartment behind it seemingly saved from the fire his own brothers had helped extinguish.

Could it be? Could there be someone alive in there?

Only one way to find out.

He loped the rest of the way. Pulling the glove off his left hand, he placed it palm-flat against the door. It wasn't hot. No fire on the other side. He hoped.

He put the glove back on and tried the doorknob. It was locked. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. There could be someone alive in there! The building was in danger of collapsing. The fire had destroyed much of the foundation. He knew time was running out. He had to make this a good one, but make it fast.

He walked away, turned, and ran into the door full-force with his shoulder. A jolt of pain shot through him, but he kept at it.

WHAM!

WHAM!

Why do you do this?

WHAM!

WHAM!

Because I can.

Because nobody else will.

WHAM!

The door cracked and gave way under pressure. He nearly tumbled to the floor, but managed to keep his balance.

"Hello?" he called out from beneath the mask, but realized no one would be able to hear him. He pulled it down and let it hang at his neck and repeated, "Hello?"

The stench he dreaded came to him and he fought the urge to gag. Burning to death had to be one of the worst ways to go. You just sit and watch the flames approach you. You'd know you were trapped. You would be fully aware of what was going to happen. And you would be alive as the flames took you.

He shivered.

God, why do I do this?

Then a sound caught his ear. He perked up, all senses on high alert. There was a closed door on the other side of the living room. The sound had come from that direction. His spirits lifted. Someone was alive. Someone was alive!

He ran across the room and turned the doorknob. The room was dark, the blinds drawn. And very faintly he heard a whimper. Someone crying.

He moved across the bedroom to the closet and slid the door panel open. There before him, huddled on the floor amidst stuffed bunny rabbits and teddy bears, a small girl was curled into the fetal position, hugging her legs and crying softly.

He knelt down and laid his hand on her back. "Shh, don't cry. We're here now. I'm going to get you out of here."

At first she didn't respond. She was wearing pink shorts and a pink tee-shirt. Her hair must have been done up with a pink ribbon at some point tied into a perfect bow. But now the blonde tresses were mussed, ribbon hanging down over her shoulder.

She whimpered as she looked up into his face. When she saw what he was wearing, her tears transformed into a smile.

"International Rescue," she breathed, rising to her feet, her small hand in his larger one.

"That's right. You ready to get out of here?"

She nodded and raised her arms. She couldn't have been more than five. He strapped the dicetyline canister onto his back and lifted her into the air. Her legs wrapped around his stomach, her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his blue uniform.

He turned and ran back down the hall, her weight not even registering as he headed for the stairwell. He felt the building begin to shake and knew there was precious little time remaining. That building was going to go at any minute.

Third floor.

Her arms tightened around his neck, nearly cutting off his air.

Round the landing. Down. Second floor.

The building shuddered. Her legs tightened around his middle. His arm pulled her into his body.

Round the landing. Down. First floor.

"Over here!" one of his brothers yelled. "We've got a live one!"

A live one.

He smiled as he ran across the grass. He heard the building behind them begin to fall and crouched down with his back to it, using his body as a shield, enveloping the little girl in his embrace, bowing his head over hers. Small bits of concrete pummeled his back, his neck, his head.

The girl began to cry. Long minutes passed until at last the building was nothing more than rubble.

"Shhh, it's okay," he whispered as the roar of falling debris quieted. "You're safe."

He rose to his feet and looked across the lawn. A man and a woman were headed right his way, and he figured he knew why. The girl practically crawled back up into his arms.

"Leah!" the woman cried.

"Leah!" the man cried.

She turned, and a wide smile broke out across her face. "Mommy! Daddy!"

She wriggled out of his arms and ran the rest of the way to her parents' embrace. They kissed her, hugged her, checked her over as the men from International Rescue looked on. Then suddenly the girl broke free from her parents and ran back to him. He got down on one knee.

"Are those your parents?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, I'm glad you found them. You going to be okay?"

She nodded a little more slowly and looked down at the ground, her hands clasped behind her back. Then, on impulse, she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he rose to his full height once more. The little girl turned and ran back to her parents. Her father picked her up and saluted him, while her mother waved. He just nodded.

Why do I do this?

That's why. She is why.

I do this because that little girl's life was meant to be spared. I do this because I can.