Disclaimer: all references and characters from the movie belong to Disney, the American Helicopter Museum & Education Center hasn't gone bankrupt, some dictation within has been "learned" via other RPers/head cannons, and this story may/may not 'shift' without warning as more research and character building is conducted in the future.

This story is a joint writing mission between DeviantArt's daQUIET-1 and Fanfiction's Garnets-and-Dragons; modified from an on-going, multiple character roleplay, that is evolving with every post. Even we don't know it's outcome. To quote; "It's a mysterious mystery."

We welcome you to journey with us as our characters adapt and overcome unexpected challenges and cheese. Especially the cheese. A lot of coffee and napping and ice cream went into this, thus constructive criticism welcome. Any flame will be swiftly put out in ways that would honor those that serve without question.

Thank you and enjoy … our feature presentation!

Edit: Chapter One has been split into Chapter One and Chapter Two, so all subsequent chapters have been bumped up in number.

"Hello?"

The remaining tendrils of vapor vanished into the thick fog surrounding her, the only clue that she was still breathing and conscious. How long had she followed this road? It couldn't be that far from the highway ..right?

Distracting her panic by sniffing the asphalt beneath her own tires, the lonely V-22 continued on, keeping her wings tucked above and blades secure at her sides. Whatever damage encored from the fall yesterday was definitely felt today, even as she tried to unfurl again only to receive a harsh metallic whine that said something was broken and to cease further action immediately. Could be the auto-fold system, since she did sort of land square on her back and took in the most water from there. Chrysler it hurt up there though.

Another four hours of rolling along the roadway saw the morning mist vaporize as the rising sun gained in strength. Though most of her instruments weren't reading correctly, the intensity of the solar warmth along Nova's panels told of a promising scorcher by noon. Joy. Upon noticing the parched looking conifers surrounding the roadway, rain seemed to be lacking in the area as well. Double joy. On cue, past news reports of the wildfires of California jogged her memory, prompting her to take no further chances on the sidelines and continue her taxi near the yellow line. Though her engines weren't running, nor was anything online so as to spark a fire, heaven forbid she be the cause of one.

But someone else was...

A familiar acrid scent slammed into the intake valves around her snout, snapping her attention upward. Unable to see too much around her port engine, the stress induced panic once again reared its ugly head and took over her sensibilities, bidding her to take cover ..in the forest itself. Of course it was foolish, but day-old river water mixed with the remains of her fuel from a week ago, making any sort of cognitive thought impossible. Blindly, the Osprey crashed through the dead and dying brush, hitting nearly every log and gopher hole as she fought to escape. But it was no use. Once again her directions failed to lead her to safety, and as the smoke thickened, so did her confusion. There was no one out here. Hopes of reuniting with her friends from the museum will be turned to ash, along with her frame.

What a way to go…

Between her coughing fits and the constant crackle of branches exploding under intense heat, Nova almost missed it. But it was unmistakable. A pitch far out of the range of the low roar in the not-so-distant flames, and from above. Willing her weakened self to hold its breath, she exchanged lungs for auditory system detection.

And heard the clear whine of a jet's engine.

Unable to retrace her haphazard trail, the disoriented Osprey continued her plow with new intentions. Make herself seen. Surely the white of her livery was enough to catch the right eye if the sun would cooperate, but in order to do that, these blasted saplings had to go. And go they did for almost ten minutes, until a makeshift clearing of flattened saplings and yearlings circled her.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

By now, more craft were overhead, still veiled by the horrible smoke that continued its march in her direction. From what she could tell, at least two were heavy duty, one surely a Skycrane. Regardless of the Sikorsky's strength, one would definitely be hard pressed to lift even the emptiest V-22, not to mention carry her to safety. No, she'd have to do a lot of the work on her own ...again.

No one would know, until she made some noise.

Speech in general would help her least because her throat couldn't take the strain without throwing her to the dirt in a coughing fit. Nova would have to do the one thing she tried her hardest not to, just so she could pass as being civil. Well acting civil left as soon as her transport crashed. Out here, civil could take a hike.

If only she could unfold her wings and catch a proper glimpse of who she was trying to contact.

"MEDIC!" Nova cried out, hoping to be heard over the blade-like slice of metallic wings and high powered engines as the jet circled above her clearing. Although, she was fast for a turbine, jets always made her a bit jealous. Then again, what business did she have with that kind of speed to begin with? As she waited, the tilt-rotor could only assist in determining the urgency of her situation, keeping one hazel eye on the fire while the other keyed in on the action above. Anytime the smoke thickened enough to blot out the sun, she kicked up her eerie shriek, just to let them know she was still in the same spot. Of course it didn't sound that way from above.

At last, the dull orange glow of merciless flames appeared at least a hundred yards beyond the treeline. Somehow, Nova managed to keep her head (whatever was left of it) and think through a way to bide her time. Taking note of the sudden downdraft that came from a powerful thrust system, she counted the minutes and the space provided in her little meadow. If her memory served correctly, the few vehicles capable of VTOL were at least 45 ft long and over; much bigger than what her clearing provided now. With this in mind, and hellbent on keeping it made up, she sought to remedy what could easily trap two aircraft in an unnecessary location.

One by one trees were felled by brute force, some tearing in half to leave jagged stumps while others toppled with roots intact. The Osprey was more than sure to have a good dent in her port engine for using it in place of a battering ram, but the appendage held fast. Hopefully, as the fallen pillars of wood lay towards the approaching flames, the inferno would stall and divert around the cleared space. But the effort cost her the remains of her fuel, forcing her to list onto her left side while gasping for air that was not available.

Running on vapors mixed with water; never a good combination.

- Earlier -

Beams of early morning sunshine had illuminated the inside of a small dusty, hanger; casting a warm glow over the sparse decor and even sparser utilities it contained and finally came to rest on a large, tan quilted blanket, rousing the hanger's owner from her slumber.

Epsilon Canis Majoris let out a long, tired yawn as she lifted her nose and cockpit out from under her comfy canopy. She drowsily glanced around the hanger, her normally eagle sharp eyes still glazed over and blurry as they struggled to take in the sudden bombardment of sensations.

The rest of her frame decided to join her mind in the waking world, slowly lifting off from her "nest". She yawned once more and stretched, making sure to flex and check every flap and all her instruments. Everything felt reasonably intact, so she decided that everything was in order. She quickly went through the rest of her morning routine, including touching up her paint. She had become so used to keeping a sharp appearance while in the Air Force that it was purely habit now.

Once she was satisfied that she had finished all she needed, the Raptor opened her hanger door with the sharp point of her nose and taxied to the main hanger. She paused on the taxiway and looked around the small base. It was still early, most of the team were still finishing up their routines. The few that had finished were already congregated at the main hangar, ready for breakfast and morning briefing. The sky held not a cloud in sight, a nice day if it hadn't shown signs of becoming disgustingly warm. Just what they needed. A heat wave this early in the season could spell disaster in big, flaming, red letters.

The Lockheed suddenly directed focus to scanning the forest edge, letting her predator instincts take over for the moment as ice blue eyes shifted from bush to bush, following signs of movement. A twig swayed suspiciously in the dappled light. She huffed and approached quietly, her massive 22 ton air frame was now held close to the ground and afterburners almost completely off. Eyes were kept locked on her target, all senses on high alert. She continued to creep closer until her head just barely crested the bush. The stalk had been successful, her quarry left completely unaware as she craned her neck and unveiled her target.

"If you want to sneak up on Cabbie, you'll have to quieter than that."

Her prey, in this case Drip, Blackout and Avalanche, all but leaped into the air, startled by her sudden appearance. "Hey!"

Cheekily, Epsilon grinned and turned away from the troublemakers, back on her way to the main hanger. Her tail flaps fluttered as she entered, ducking under Cabbie's wing and past Blade's tail rotors. There were only three others besides herself in the hangar at the moment; the massive Troop Transport, the bright red Agustawestland and the Sikorsky Skycrane. Her destination was the corner opposite of both entrances, a cozy corner where she could gaze about the whole room. There, she could wait quietly, finding little to add to the already established conversation. The smokejumpers were next to arrive, followed closely by the bubbly Dipper. Epsilon made a mental note look to keep an eye on her. Nothing good came from an over excited Dipper, only crazy pranks or endless fangirling. Patch followed soon after, only to slip out just as quickly with her ration of breakfast to squirrel away in the control tower. Finally, Maru made up the last soul inside, fashionably late for reasons best known only to him.

Everyone soon settled down with their fuel of choice as Blade began the morning safety briefing. About halfway through reports of fires in neighboring counties, the klaxon sounded. Breakfasts were abandoned as the team quickly made their way onto the runway. Dynamite and her team were loaded up into Cabbie's cargo hold, Blade and Dipper received their fire retardant, and Maru hooked Windlifter up to his tank before filling up Epsilon. The traditional Lockheed bombay had been cleverly modified hold slurry, with two large water balloon like vessels of retardant snugly wedged next to it. Useful in emergency precision "water bombing", which involved dousing smaller areas that desperately needed a soak.

Within moments the team was off and on their way to their first blaze of the day. Epsilon fired up and shot ahead, slowing down only after reaching a speed just below a normal cruise. She was the fastest by default, jet engines could out-pace rotors any day of the week.; making her fast enough to fly back to base and to restock. Unfortunately this had it's downsides. While ash was of little concern to her afterburners; her sensitive filtration system and high performance intake valves were particularly vulnerable to dust and ash particles. The slow speeds needed to fight fires were difficult to achieve without losing vital lift. Not to mention jet fuel was EXTREMELY flammable.

Upon closing in on the blaze, the F-22 flipped down the visor of her helmet and scanned the ground ahead. Billowing plumes of gray smoke towered just over the next ridge. She cranked up her speed and soared right over the ridge top, diving lower and keeping her eye on the the ground for hikers and campers.

"The fire's exactly where Patch said it would be," she radioed, only to miss Chief's response when she spotted what looked like ...a parked aircraft of some sort. Epsilon turned away momentarily to drop her load of retardant before falling into a wide loop, swooping lower with the second pass.

Wait… was that … an Osprey?!

Distracted by the unusual find, her mind immediately questioned all that she was seeing. What was a Bell-Boeing V-22 Osprey doing on the ground? In the middle of the woods? Flipping her iridescent visor away from her eyes, she hoped to get a better view.

"HEY! YOU ALRIGHT?" Epsilon yelled over the deafening roar of her afterburners. It was rhetorical, but there wasn't much else to ask. She considered the risk of landing, and weighed her options. It was unlikely Windlifter could lift the tilt-rotor without help from the civilian's own engines, so she needed to know how bad the damage was. If they needed to call in a larger, stronger heli, it would take several hours. Also, should the downed aircraft turn up severely wounded, outrunning the blaze in the thick of a forest was tossed out the window of "immediate". Creating a back burn seemed to be the safest method of rescue. Such would keep the tilt-rotor relatively sheltered until the fire could be contained and burn itself out.

Epsilon took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was times likes these that being VLTO capable was the best advantage one to could have. Wobbling awkwardly as she began hovering closer and closer to the ground. Only after reaching a reasonable height, did the Raptor cut power and let gravity do the rest. It wasn't graceful, but it did the job. Shaking, she approached the Osprey, now able to clearly pick out wounds from roots.

"My name's Epsilon," She offered as she inspected the other aircraft. "We won't be able to airlift you out of here before the fire gets here, but I'm going to create a back burn to help you. Once the fire clears, we'll call for someone to lift you out of here and get you some medical care."

For an agonizing moment, the prototype could do little but focus on her breathing and stare at the F-22. No fighter jet christened with the name Lockheed, Martin, or Raptor, was built to take nonsense, modified or not. But how Epsilon ended up here, as a firefighter, was an enigma just as crazy as her own backstory. Something to share around the campfire later on. Using her afterburners she set a small fire to the trampled bushes, controlling the small blaze just enough to create a large patch of burnt ground, where the main fire would have no more fuel left to burn, creating a space of relative safety. Once satisfied with it's size, she used her tires to smother any remaining embers. "Can you get up? I need you to move into the dark patch."

"Yes," Nova croaked, finally regaining control of her waning consciousness to answer her rescuer. Though she wished to assist the fighter jet as she spoke of constructing said back burn, common sense knew it was best that she keep out of the way of professionals. Her interference ran as far as the trees she'd just leveled, and she was certain even that mess would turn into a hazard as the blaze continued it's prowl. The aircraft craned her head just enough to spot a stump within wings reach of where she lay, and a morbid idea formulated just as quickly.

This was going to be interesting.

Step one involved using her head to pivot closer to the tree's remains, having all but recoiled her near useless landing gear by now. Step two involved grit, for the auto-rotation unit buried in the center of her wingspan still shot nerves of pain clear to each engine, back, and down her vertical line. The V-22 had to bite back each agonizing wave of pain as she forced herself to unfold, pushing against the stump and righting herself.

The unnaturally quick recoil that followed emitted a sharp metallic crack, immediately answered by a yowl of pain. There was no time to cry about her injuries as Nova once again dug deep into her genetics, pushing past the hurt and settling square in the middle of the burn patch. Maybe now she can be allowed to loose her grip on reality.

Epsilon waited until the tilt-rotor had made it to the patch of charred earth before clearing out more of the surrounding brush. Powerful jaws ripped low hanging branches from their places, hurtling them deep into the woods. The Raptor made sure to further secure the area with a sort of trench around the edge of the clearing, tilling the dirt until enough moist earth was exposed. Surely, Epsilon had been at this job for quite some time, throwing out everything but the red carpet to ensure Nova's safety. Once the latter was well enough to speak in complete sentences, she'd have to thank the firefighter properly.

Epsilon took a deep breath before moving to the center, knowing better than to get too close to the fire when her tanks still had fuel left in them. She settled down next to the Osprey and began digging up more dirt, mixing mud in with her remaining retardant.

"Once the flames surround us, put this on anything that might catch fire," she instructed, nudging some of the mud mixture in the tilt-rotor's direction before removing one of the large, water balloon like contraptions from her bombay. A last defense in case someone caught fire. "As long as you stay calm and don't move too much you should be fine."

"I ...h've ..no ..fuel ...save ...y'rself...," slurred the Osprey, teetering once again on the edges of consciousness. Jeeps she was getting sick to her tanks from this. Yes, it was the fighter's job to make sure both survived this onslaught, but what is the loss of the prototype's life compared to a fully functioning (and stable) F-22?

Epsilon started to growl quietly, putting on her very best 'Drill Sergeant' expression. She'd heard this "save yourself" nonsense way too many times in her still short life. If she hadn't given up on anyone before, she wasn't about to start now. Straightening on her landing gear, the Raptor held herself up as high as she could, "Alright. Listen up. You ARE NOT going to die, GOT THAT? I won't let you. You'll be fine."

The large fighter jet made sure to look her charge in the eye. Her stance between the tilt-rotor and the firelight revealed silvery, glittering scars on her wings and fuselage as well as several along the seam of her vertical and horizontal stabilizers. She took the thick mud substance she'd created and began plastering it onto any exposed fuel lines. Anything that looked even remotely flammable got covered. ""We'll get you some fuel as soon as the fire dies out, for now it's still too dangerous. Now, I need you to keep talking. Talk about whatever you want, just keep talking. I can't have you passing out, it makes all our jobs a lot harder. So if you need me to, I'll splash retardant on your head."

The poor choice of words and Raptors' typical biting reply conjured an ill-timed grin to tear itself across the Osprey's muzzle. Good Land Rover she really was losing it; but the bravado was sourly missed, and the F-22 was the only one close enough to deliver such a speech while brandishing the right credentials. The tactic was clever, but unfair. In a court of law, however, she technically could plead insanity.

"Pardon ...my ..French..."

Nova found it interesting that, even though the fire's warmth was more than uncomfortable for at least an hour, only now did the caustic heat finally eat away at the oxygen layer closest to the forest floor. Of course it would happen, the downdrafts had to be horrendous to feed a blaze that refused to be tamed even by the skilled helitankers that continued to pace high above the forest canopy. Regardless of the danger, she felt the odd sense of peace that's often portrayed in movies before a character dies; mesmerized by the dancing tongues of fire. A beautiful display of elemental force, nearly as strong as lightning, water, and wind.

"You'se got more talent in one blade than most 'o us do in our whole bodies. Stop cuttin' youself short all the time..."

Hilarious. Even in the final throws of her sanity, the wisdom of bygone friends still rang loud from the depths of her memories, goading her to fight on. For them, at least, she would sit tight just a little longer. In the meantime, her eyes could rest. All this ash floating about was really making them itch.

"What's today?" quizzed the tilt-rotor suddenly, numbly obeying the command to keep talking despite how desperately her systems bid her to shut down. Moving around would help her most to stay alert, but, such a luxury was denied given the situation. Then again, the rudders in her tail dice voted otherwise as each panel took its turn to flap lazily in tune to each passing second.

"The 28th," Epsilon answered, slightly taken off guard by the sudden, unexpected question and taking a moment to remember the date. Of course she should have expected something loony, since she was asked keep talking after all.

Watching the flames carefully, the Lockheed could see the fire rapidly burning up all of it's fuel and oxygen. It would be burnt out within the hour. Similar questions that burned deep within Epsilon's mind revolved around what really happened to the civilian that lead to their current predicament, but that could wait. First, she needed to start a long conversation. As long as she kept the Osprey talking, she stayed conscious. As long as she stayed conscious, she stayed alive. That's all that mattered.

And thus ends the first chapter of Dance with Fire. We hope to see you all again with the release of future installments. Any questions will be answered to the best of our abilities.

Any reviews, comments or critiques are welcome. Cake is welcome too.

Again, we thank you for your time and hope to see you soon!

Sincerely,

The Quiet One and The Garnet Dragon

*no vehicles were maimed or killed in the making of this fanfic. Instead, they enjoy special effects and the writers' anguish.*