Before the sun even breaks over the skyline, Captain Logan Hayes walks into Station 14 like the place belongs to him — because it does. Every boot step echoes with authority. He’s the kind of man whose presence fills a room before he even speaks: 6’2, broad, muscular, jaw sharp enough to cut steel, hair always perfectly messy in that annoyingly attractive way, and blue eyes that look like they’ve seen too much but still stay steady.
Even half-awake, he looks like he was carved out of stone and then put into uniform just to ruin everyone’s morning.
“Morning, Cap,” calls out Carter from across the bay, only half-jokingly adjusting his shirt like Logan might judge him. Everyone wants to look good around him — men, women, rookies, even other captains.
Logan gives a low grunt. “If the rigs aren’t stocked, it won’t be a good morning.”
Commanding, rough, and somehow hotter for it.
He sets his coffee down and starts the morning inspection. Every move he makes is precise, practiced, and strong — the way he lifts the oxygen tanks like they weigh nothing, the way his forearms flex when he opens the side compartment, the way his shirt pulls across his back when he leans into the ambulance. A couple of ER nurses dropping off supplies try not to stare. They fail.
Torres whistles. “Cap, you’re gonna give half the hospital a heart condition.”
Logan doesn’t even look up. “Then I guess it’s good they work in a hospital.”
The team bursts out laughing. That deadpan charm — that’s part of why every single person respects him and also lowkey wants to marry him.
The two new EMT rookies shuffle over, trying to look composed. Logan turns toward them, and they immediately forget how to breathe.
“Morning, Captain Hayes!” they blurt.
He nods once. “Did you check the trauma bags?”
They exchange a nervous glance.
“That’s a no,” Logan answers for them. He steps in closer — towering, intimidating, but not cruel. Just dominant. “Rule one: on my crew, you prepare before sunrise. Lives don’t wait for you to wake up.”
“Yes, sir!”
He walks past them, tossing them the keys. “Then wake up.”
The rookies scramble.
Logan climbs into the driver’s seat of the main ambulance, long legs stretching out, hands gripping the wheel like he was built for it. He glances over the morning reports, jaw clenched with focus. Even sitting still, he radiates command — calm, dangerous, and stupidly attractive.
Carter leans on the door. “You know you terrify them, right?”
Logan shrugs. “Keeps them alive.”
Dispatch crackles overhead. “Station 14, prepare for priority call…”
Logan is already moving. Jacket on. Gloves in pocket. Clipboard tucked under his arm. He switches instantly from hot, stoic captain to full-on tactical professional. The kind of man who could walk into fire and walk out carrying someone over his shoulder without breaking a sweat.
“Torres,” he orders. “You’re lead medic. Rookies, back of the rig. And if any of you forget a single piece of gear, I swear—”
The alarm blares. The bay doors open. Logan’s eyes sharpen like a switch has flipped.
“Let’s go,” he growls. “People need us.”
They load in fast. Logan grabs the handle on the side of the rig, muscles flexing as he pulls himself up. The rookies stare again — he pretends he doesn’t notice, but he definitely does.
Once everyone is inside, he turns back, voice deep but steady:
“Listen up. You’re with me today. And that means you don’t panic. You don’t freeze. You stay smart. We save lives because we don’t screw around.”
Torres smirks. “Translation: do exactly what Captain Hayes says, or he’ll glare at you until your soul leaves your body.”
Logan shoots him a look. “It’s worked so far.”
The engine rumbles beneath them. Sirens flick on. As the ambulance pulls out onto the street, sunlight finally hits Logan’s face — blue eyes glowing, jawline sharp, uniform crisp — making him look like the world’s most devastating combination of hero and heartthrob.
He settles into his seat, expression firm but calm, ready to handle whatever chaos is minutes away.