a/n: Thanks to the amazing LadyReisling, LurkingWhump, and TelekeneticHedgehog for the beta and CutiesOnTheHorizon for the amazing support of this little fic. It was written for the Tumblr Whump Community's Winter Whumperland fic exchange run by the beautiful BemusedlyBespectacled. A gift for my dear friend Alicia (WhumpMyWorld), who I often get in fic exchanges because our tastes are so similar. Love you, chica!
Let's See If We Can't Make You Scream
A Chicago Fire By Water4Willows
Gabby
Admit it, you've got this idea in your head of how you'll act in a crisis. I bet you're even pretty sure, when faced with the unthinkable, that you'll be able to don your cape and swoop in to save the day. Am I right? We all like to think we're heroes, and capable of extraordinary things. But the fact of the matter is, fear is an unpredictable bedfellow. It affects everyone differently, and not always in the way that you think.
Take me, for instance. I kind of have this 'shoot first , ask questions later' reputation around here. And when it comes to my friends, my family, my husband, there isn't much I wouldn't do for them. It's probably why I make such a good firefighter and now a paramedic. There's no burning building I won't run into, no situation I won't put myself in the middle of, to save the people I love. So when the detectives show up at my firehouse and tell me they found Matt's truck abandoned on the side of the road in a seedier part of town, with blood in the driver seat and the window smashed in, you'd think I would have formed a search party right there on the spot. Shamed the Chicago PD into putting every man they have on the case until Matt was found safe and sound, or something.
But it doesn't happen that way. Because as soon as I get the news, nothing seems to make sense anymore and I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself. I imagine that's because Matt has just been there for so long, I can't seem to comprehend the thought that maybe he's gone for good. And that thought freaks me out. And the freaking out fills me with fear. And the fear makes me stupid. Especially once the ransom call comes in.
Can we call it a ransom call? If the mouth breather on the other end of the line, cursing through a diatribe of all the ways my husband ruined his life and doesn't make any demands, just tells me Matt is going to pay for what he's done, can we call that a hostage situation?
PD has put Intelligence on my husband's case. No, scratch that. Antonio has put Intelligence on my husband's case. They're all gathered in the kitchen, a makeshift headquarters set up amid the pots and pans that haven't been used properly since Peter left. Why they chose the firehouse to set up shop is beyond me, but they're trying to help so I'm not about to complain.
"Are you sure you don't recognize the voice?" Antonio asks me for the hundredth time as he finishes playing the tape and lays the recorder on the table between us. I shake my head just as Christopher Hermon plops down a Styrofoam cup full of steaming hot coffee near my elbow. Thin tendrils of steam curl up from the light brown liquid. He's made it just the way I like and I inhale the heady aroma with the cup clutched in my trembling hands before we share a look over the brim. He winks at me before disappearing again. I realize suddenly that I don't want him to go and almost call out to him. Antonio is my brother and he loves me and he really is doing everything he can to help, despite being a bit of a dick at the moment, but he's in Cop Mode. And I don't need someone in Cop Mode right now. I need someone in husband mode. I need someone in "get Gabby through this' mode. Someone to hold my hand and rub my back, and tell me that everything is going to be okay, even if they don't believe it.
God, I miss Shay.
"What did you guys talk about this morning? Did he mention anything suspicious going on?" Antonio is leaning over the table and encroaching on my personal space. It's like we're down at the precinct and I have to glance around the room for a second to remind myself that I am, in fact, in the firehouse and not some interrogation room down at the precinct.
"For the thousandth time, Antonio," I say, letting my accent thicken so that I sound just like our mother when I say his name. "Besides driving separately this morning so he could run an errand, nothing was out of the ordinary. It was like every other morning we've had for the past year."
"And he didn't tell you where he was going."
I massage my temples and close my eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, Matt Casey and I do not tell each other everything." I have this sudden urge to hurl my fresh cup of coffee at the wall. Wouldn't help the situation, but it sure as hell would help with this building frustration.
Antonio thinks over the information for a moment. "Maybe if you listened to the call again?"
But I have listened to the call. I've listened to that damn thing so many times the words don't make sense anymore. He queues up the tape anyway and I glance out one of the big windows looking out on to the rest of the firehouse and spot Boden standing there in the 's talking adamantly with someone in uniform, but still locks eyes with me. His face is a mixed bag of the one hand there's pity there in his eyes, but something else, too. He's worried about me and wanting me to give him some indication that I'm ok. I want to give him what he's looking for, but I just can't do it. So I look away as the voice of my husband's kidnapper fills the conference room for what I'm sure will not be the last time.
"…you're never going to see him again. And he's going to suffer, Mrs. Casey, I promise you that. He's going to suffer like I suffered and not even your friends down in the ME's office are going to be able to identify the body."
"Anything?" Antonio asks hopefully.
I look up at my brother, the tears I've been trying to hold at bay ever since this nightmare began, threatening at the corners of my eyes. I've got nothing. The voice means nothing to me, nor does it spark any trace of recognition in my brain, which is infuriating because I'm usually very good with stuff like this.
"I don't know who that man is."
Antonio props his hip up on the table in front of me and looks me over with some unreadable expression on his face, like he doesn't quite know what to do with me at this point. I know I'm being entirely unhelpful, but the fact of the matter is, I don't know anything. I don't have that one smoking gun of a clue that's going to blow this case wide open and find Matt, and I know it. And actually, the realization of that fact is beginning to tear me apart from the inside.
We kind of just sit there in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say to the other, until someone opens the door to the conference room where my brother and I have sequestered ourselves.
"Antonio, you got a minute?" Adam Ruzak asks, popping his head in. I heard someone talking about how he came in off an undercover job so he could help with the search. He looks like he hasn't slept in about four days, but he's helping so that makes me his number one fan at the moment. If I knew him better, I might have actually even told him that.
"Is it something about Matt?" I ask, spirits lifting for the first time in hours. But Ruzak is shaking his head.
"I just gotta run something by Antonio."
"Will you be alright in here on your own for a minute?" I nod, not entirely sure it's the truth but not about to hold my brother back from his job for the sake of my impending mental breakdown. Antonio looks at me like he's seeing right through the ruse, but leaves a moment later on a nod.
I know I asked for this, but doesn't this go against what they teach in kidnapping 101? Never leave the emotional family member alone in a room with their horrible thoughts for company? I mean, shouldn't someone care enough to make sure that I'm never by myself through all this? I know I act like a hard ass, but I'm no ice queen. I need someone here in my court right now. Hell, I don't care if it's just someone sitting here with me. They don't even have to talk, just be here, otherwise I just might go get that cape out of my locker and try to swoop in and save the day.
"Or fuck it up, more like it," I snort, as I voice the thought out loud. Smiling and then fighting back tears yet again a second later.
But what could I possibly do? Matt is nowhere to be found. No one has any idea where he might be or where he was going this morning, and I've got some of the best people in the CPD looking for him. No, my best bet is to stay here and try and let my brother and Intelligence do their jobs.
Don't mind me. It's just that I'm not good at this, at being… ineffectual. In the quiet of the conference room, I let my head fall forward onto my arm and try to ignore the tickle of those frustrated tears as they finally let loose and track down my nose and splash against the linoleum tabletop. I find myself subconsciously trying to search out Matt's voice in the din outside the room. But it's not there, might never be there again, and that realization makes my shoulders shake harder as the emotions overwhelm me completely and I begin to sob.
Maybe it's a good thing that I'm alone, because I don't want anyone to see me like this. I clench my teeth, hope I don't make enough noise to draw attention to myself, because as much as I was bitching about being alone earlier, I'm thankful for it now. And yet, I'm not surprised, nor do I fight against it, when the door to the conference room opens with such force it rattles the windows a moment later and strong arms envelop me. I can tell they're not the arms I want, but they're arms that will do, at least for the time being.
Kelly Severide, smelling of wood fire and the inside of the squad, presses a kiss to the top of my head. "They're gonna find him. He's gonna be okay."
People have been telling me that an awful lot lately. I think it's because they don't know what to do, so they give me what they can: a little bit of hope. And in Kelly's case, I know things have been difficult between him and Matt these past few months. So I pick up what he puts down. Cling to it, really. So tightly that things begin to ache. Still, it's not enough.
"But what if they don't?" I wail into his shoulder where I've buried my face.
"They will," he vows, pulling me even closer. "They have to."
