Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just borrowing.
A/N: So, this was originally going to be the first fic I posted for CF, but then I got carried away with the other one. Also I got this idea before I saw the episode where they took in Pouch, which means this little story would be AU. This is what I get for looking up 'firefighters and cats' on Google. Seriously, do it. You'll be flailing from all of the adorable pictures. Anyway, enough rambling. Hope you enjoy.
At least it's not in a tree.
That's all Matt Casey could think while he was crouched in front of a ratty armchair laden with soot. Around him, he could hear the crackling and shifting of the abandoned house as the fire tore through it, turning its vacant hallways into charred ruin. Smoke swirled in like a tidal wave and if the cat stayed put underneath the armchair any longer, Casey worried about the animal suffering from smoke inhalation. He'd been trying to coax it out for a minute he didn't have; any longer and they'd have to retreat. So far, all the cat had done was bite his hand and hiss at him for his valiant efforts.
The cat had wedged itself underneath the sagging cushion and springs, which had sometime, in the course of either the house's demise or the fire, ripped through the bottom of the chair. All Casey could see from his vantage point was a supremely pissed off feline with yellow eyes aglow against the flames and a ridiculous amount of fur in between the cushion matting. Heat licked at his face, provoking beads of sweat to drip from his brow. He did not have time for this.
Maybe he would have preferred the tree.
"C'mon, buddy," he called. He reached a hand in and made a clumsy grab for fur. The cat protested with an angry meow, which sounded nothing like any noise Casey had ever heard from a cat.
"All clear?" Severide asked from somewhere to his left.
Casey looked over. "Not exactly. There's a cat under here."
Severide gave him a, are you fucking serious? kind of look, interrupted by the static crackle of Casey's radio.
"Casey, you guys need to hustle," Chief Boden's voice commanded. "I want you out of there now. Place is deserted, there shouldn't be—"
"Hold on, Chief, we got an animal trapped. We'll be out in two minutes."
"Two minutes is cutting it close. It's not worth risking."
"We'll be right out," Casey promised. Motioning to Severide, he said, "He's stuck. Try lifting up the chair and I'll grab him."
"Casey—"
"Count of three," he said.
He got up on his knees, ready to pounce forward to grab the cat. Severide rolled his eyes and went to the side of the chair to tip it to the right.
"One, two, thr—"
Several things happened at once and both lieutenants would never cease to argue about the details later on. The chair went up, the cat made its mad dash from the depths of its fluffy hell, and Casey leapt to grab him from running straight into the fire, with Boden hollering at them to get their asses out of the building ASAP. Casey had thrown his body at the cat, trapping it beneath his torso while he was on all fours, one hand wrapped around the scruff of its neck. The cat was so angry about this turn of events, Casey could feel him trembling and working up another growl. There were claws and teeth sinking into his jacket, and he swore he saw a chunk of fur from its tail float away somewhere. Severide let the chair sink down and clasped Casey's shoulder.
"Take your damn cat and let's go!"
"Not much to look at, is it?"
Dawson stood in front of the crate set on one of the tables in the break room, arms folded across her chest. She could see the cat glaring at her and Shay from between the metal bars of its temporary holding space. After being rescued from the burning house a few days ago, the cat had been transferred to an animal shelter to be bathed, treated, and updated with vaccinations. It was a stray, male, and most likely two years old.
Well, it was a stray until Casey showed up to adopt it. And then, somehow, the disgruntled feline ended up in their break room to greet everyone who walked by with an irritated hiss.
Shay held up her hand to the bars, thought twice, and retracted her fingers before they were chewed off.
"It's cute," Shay replied. "Kind of. If you squint."
"I guess I don't see the point. Why do we need a cat? I'm sure if it had been left at the shelter a little longer, some family with a couple of kids would've taken it home."
"You'd honestly trust this around small children?" Shay asked. "I heard Casey had to get rabies shots because it bit him."
"And he still wanted to keep it," Dawson said, sighing.
"Yeah, well, either he's got a soft spot for animals or it's a rebound pet."
"A…rebound-what?"
"You know, with the Hallie thing, he probably just wanted a companion."
"Oh, come on," Dawson laughed. "That's—"
"Hey," Casey drawled, breezing through the doorway, a helmet in his hands. "Meet our new resident?"
"He's delightful," Shay said, the statement drenched in sarcasm.
"Does he have a name?" Dawson asked.
Casey shrugged. "Figured we could vote on it."
As if on cue, the rest of the occupants of Firehouse 51 entered the room in a flurry of chatter, Chief Boden bringing up the rear. The cat, nestled in his crate, inched closer to the bars and started screeching in response to the influx of noise. Severide flopped down into a recliner, exasperated.
"I can't believe you and this cat," he said with an animated gesture in the animal's direction. "Chief, how'd he make you agree to this?"
Boden lifted a shoulder, indifferent. "He's harmless."
"I dunno, he looks kinda mangy," Herrmann said.
"A cactus could have more personality than that thing," Severide argued. Mouch and Otis stifled a snort from where they sat at the table. "And harmless? Sure, tell that to Casey's rabies shots."
"He was scared, he didn't mean anything by it," Casey said.
"It's the ugliest cat I've ever seen in my life," Severide said between a mocking burst of laughter. "Just…keep it away from me if it's going to stay here, then."
Shay and Dawson couldn't help but agree to Severide's former statement. The cat wasn't the cutest thing they'd ever laid eyes on—it wasn't a pet that would attract attention from a store window, for sure. His fur was poofy, giving him the appearance of an oversized ball of cotton. He was several different colors, his coat a patchwork of black, dark brown, and russet among the white splotches. He was also missing part of an ear—probably from a fight prior to the fire—and his tail had been singed from the inferno. To top it all off, he had a nasty permanent scowl to rival Severide's current bitchface expression.
Casey sighed and started to pass around pieces of paper and pens. A low, intermittent, guttural sound radiated from the dark recesses of the crate, causing both Mills and Herrmann to give it a suspicious side-eye. Once they scribbled down their ideas for names and tossed them into the helmet, Casey picked them out one-by-one to hold the vote.
"Ash?"
"Oh, dude, that's lame," Shay said. Cruz, Mouch, and Dawson gave it a thumbs-down.
Casey ripped it in half. "Next one," he said, "Lucifer?"
There was a chorus of laughter from around the room.
"What'd ya want to bet that one's Severide?" Cruz asked.
Severide's hand went up, confirming the speculation, and Mouch and Shay followed, along with Cruz.
"Okay, so that's…four for Lucifer," Casey counted. "Blaze?"
"Guys, seriously, tell me we can be more creative," Shay said.
"What?" Boden asked from the back of the room. "We're a firehouse, aren't we?"
"It's cliché, Boss."
"So, Blaze?" Casey prodded, to get the process moving along. Mills shrugged and raised his hand, as did Boden.
After they sifted through a few more fire-related names—Inferno, Cinder, Smokey, Sparky, Ember—which were ceremoniously shot down or voted out, Casey came across a new one.
"Sour Puss."
"Herrmann," Otis groaned. He stuffed his face in his arm, stretched across the tabletop.
"Come on, it's the truth," Herrmann said.
Five hands went up in favor.
"Last one." Casey hoped they wouldn't have to resort to calling their new cat Sour Puss. "…Moustache Pete?"
"Aww, Otis, really?" Dawson asked, though she was giggling.
"I thought this was supposed to be anonymous," Mouch argued.
"Yeah, we gave that up awhile ago," Shay said.
"All in favor?" Otis encouraged, hand up in the air, waving.
Everyone shared a few glances, at each other, at the cat, at the floor. With a bow of his head, Herrmann was the first to concede. Casey, surprisingly, offered his vote next—Moustache Pete, in his mind, seemed a hell of a lot better than Sour Puss. Mills, Shay, Severide, and Cruz slowly raised their hands. Dawson rolled her eyes and agreed to it.
"Looks like we have a winner," Casey said.
"Success!" Otis bolted from his chair and threw his arms up. "Moustache Pete lives!"
A/N: This is probably going to be a three-shot. Let me know what you think!