"You okay, Lieutenant?"

Slowly, he lifted his eyes from the spot on the bar top that he had been staring at to the stack of glasses that lined the back counter. His beer was bordering on being room temperature, but he barely noticed. When he answered, his voice was weary, "I'm fine."

The bartender tilted her head slightly to one side, "You sure?"

No, he wasn't sure. He wasn't okay. He hadn't been okay in a long time, but he wasn't about to tell her that. ...She knew he wasn't okay. She'd always known. She'd been able to see right through him since the day Herrmann hired her for part time help shortly after Molly's had opened. "I'm sure."

It had been a slow night, and the crowd was beginning to thin early, so she didn't feel bad about lingering. She leaned against the old bar, "You don't look fine."

He sighed, returning his gaze to the bar top, "I'm really tired." That was the truth. Last shift had been rough, and he was just drained physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Then you need to go home." He looked exhausted. It had been a few months since the loss of his child, and she'd noticed a downhill turn in him since then. Add in the tremendous stress of his job, the harrowing incident with the shooters several weeks ago, the nasty world of politics that he had ventured into, and the recent uproar in his personal life, and it was a thousand wonders that the man hadn't gone stark raving mad.

Home was not the place he wanted to be right now. His roommate had "company" over, and she was...very animated, to say the least. He did not want to hear anything that they said or did during their "visit". As Casey raised his eyes to hers, he found nothing but genuine concern looking back at him. He appreciated it, but he could deal with his issues on his own. "I'm fine, Becca." He started to take a drink, but thought better of it when exactly how warm the bottle was finally registered.

"You keep sayin' that…and I have yet to believe it." Becca scratched at an imaginary spot on the bar top, debating on whether or not to continue. She'd always offered a listening ear, but he'd never opened up. He just seemed to be withdrawing more and more. Why couldn't anyone else see it? Oh, he acted like he was just fine, but she knew better; his eyes told her everything his mouth wouldn't. "You've dedicated your life to savin' people, Lieutenant." she began, "My question is..." - she looked up at him, frowning just a little - "Who's gonna save you?"

Good question. He didn't have an answer for that. "I'm fine. Really."

"You're a terrible liar, y'know that?" She reached beneath the bar and produced a cold beer, shaking her head when he started to reach for his wallet, "This one's on me."

"Thanks." He twisted the bottle cap off and took a long drink, praying that the alcohol would kick in soon and numb some of the ache that seemed to permanently permeate his soul. Time to change the subject. "Any word on when your house is closing?"

Citywide budget cuts were once again hitting the CFD hard. Several small houses were closing, and Becca's was next on the list. It sucked. She'd been there for five years now, and she loved her coworkers like family. She was one of the lucky ones, though – she was being reassigned instead of being laid off, put into relief rotation, or worse...simply let go. Working at another house just seemed wrong, though. She didn't want to work anywhere else, but she didn't exactly have much of a choice. The Powers That Be had spoken, and her house was finished. Period. The sadness was evident in her voice as she spoke, "Yeah. Tomorrow is our last shift."

"I'm sorry to hear that." How much longer was this going to continue? How many firefighters were going to be displaced or unemployed before the cuts stopped? How thin were the remaining houses going to be spread in an attempt to properly cover the city? And how long would it be until 51 came up on someone's list again? "Do you know where you're going?"

Becca nodded, putting on a brave face, "They're sendin' me to a good house. I just...won't be on a Truck."

She'd been a Truckie since he'd known her. She loved it, and she was good at it. The only other place that she could conceivably go would be to an ambulance, and he knew that she wouldn't like that. "What'll you be on?"

For a moment she hesitated, almost like she didn't want to say the words because that would make the change more real. At length, she wetted her lips and sighed, "I passed my Squad test."

Shocked, he gaped at her for a split second, "Becca, that's great!"

She shook her head, causing a section of her chestnut-colored hair to spill over her right shoulder, "No, it's not. I don't want to be on Squad. I'm a Truckie. Squad guys are jerks."

She had a point there. Members of the Rescue Squads had a tendency to be...cocky. And lots of them had tendencies to be jerks, too. But, not all of them were like that. "Our Squad guys aren't jerks." he argued, "You know that."

She shrugged, "Yeah. I like your Squad; they've always been nice to me. Kelly Severide needs to quit starin' at my ass, though. He ain't got a snowball's chance in hell with me and he knows it, too."

At this, Casey chuckled, lightening up for the first time that night, "Oh, come on; you mean to tell me that the invincible and devilishly handsome Kelly Severide doesn't even remotely stand a chance with you?" He'd been trying to hook the two of them up for months now, and Becca was having none of it. Severide needed a decent woman like her; she would straighten him out and give him some much-needed stability. Unfortunately, Severide's reputation had far preceded him on this one – she was not interested. Sev didn't seem too interested in her, either; his mind was on a single track right now, and he'd told Casey numerous times that Becca was "too straight-laced" for him.

Becca snorted, "Nope. He's cute, and he's nice, but he's been with every single woman in this town 'cept for me, Brett, Connie, Kidd, and - " she was saying the final name before she could stop herself - "Dawson." She'd been making an effort not to mention Dawson around Casey. They'd been broken up for almost two months now, and she knew it still hurt him. Since the breakup, he'd only come to Molly's on the nights that Dawson wasn't working. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that name."

He shrugged, sighing sadly, "It's fine." They'd had another spat over his campaign, only this one had gone from spat to full-blown argument in about thirty seconds. Dawson had thrown her hands up, said "I can't do this. I'm done.", and walked away. He'd let her go, deciding that both of them just needed to cool off. He'd expected her to come back around, but…she hadn't. A couple of days passed before he approached her, asking forgiveness for blowing up like he had. She'd just sighed, shook her head, and told him that she forgave him, but she had decided that they needed to just go their separate ways for good this time.

He'd had to fix four more holes in the walls of his apartment that day.

There was that flash of pain in his eyes that she hated, the brief flash that told her he was hurt milliseconds before he stuffed whatever was bothering him into a Deal-With-It-Later box in his head. Crap. Quickly, she changed the subject, "How's the campaign going?"

The look that he gave her told her that she'd picked yet another poor topic. A rare thread of sarcastic anger tinted his response, "It's going great. My mother's mug shot is on billboards all over the ward, the fact that I did construction work at a strip club is being used against me, the corporate sponsors are throwing their money in the opposite direction, I'm making deals with street gangs, photographers are showing up at every scene, my relationship ended because of it, and the house is beginning to be affected." He nodded sharply, huffing, "So, yeah, it's fantastic. A dream come true."

She watched him force the anger and frustration down as a long, exhausted, what-am-I-gonna-do sigh escaped him. "Honey…" she started gently.

Casey leaned forward and buried his face in his hands for a moment, wishing that he could just disappear for a while. "I'm sorry, Becca." he apologized, propping his left elbow onto the bar and leaning his forehead into his palm, "I shouldn't have taken that tone with you."

"It's okay; you're frustrated."

"That's not an excuse for being sharp with you." Frustrated was the understatement of the century. Frustrated didn't even begin to cover the wild mix of emotions that were bombarding him constantly. He was angry because of the mud-slinging that was quickly taking over the run for Alderman, he was frustrated because nothing was going right, he was uneasy about making deals with thugs, he was depressed beyond measure because he'd lost Dawson again, he was embarrassed at what was being spread about himself and his personal life all across the ward, he was worried about the damage that his campaign was doing to the house, he was stressed out about, well, everything… His voice wavered as he spoke softly, "I don't know what to do."

Oh, she hated seeing him like this. She missed hearing him laugh from across the room. She missed that knee-weakening smile of his. She missed the way his gorgeous blue eyes lit up when he was happy and having a good time. She hated this dark cloud that had overtaken her friend, and she'd give anything to make it go away. Carefully, Becca put a hand on his forearm, "What do you want to do?"

The weight of her hand was comforting, honestly, and it made him feel a little better. "I want to do what's right." he answered honestly, "I want to help people."

She loved that about him. He was by far one of the most selfless people she'd ever met, and she had a great deal of respect for him because of that. However, he usually ended up putting himself in a spot in order to help someone else or to do what he thought was right. "I know that, sweetheart, but sometimes you have to do what's best for you. Sometimes you have to put yourself first. You can't help other people if you've pushed yourself to the limit." She gave him a little squeeze, "And I think you're at your limit."

"Maybe." He slipped back into his well-practiced air of calm as he slowly pulled away from her, "I should probably head out." He really didn't want to go home, but it was getting late, and he was getting a little too talkative. Becca's concern was appreciated, but she had enough going on in her life and didn't need his issues.

"It's rainin'." Thunder rumbled outside, almost like it had been waiting for her cue. "Did you drive?"

He slid off of his barstool and zipped his coat, "No. I can catch a cab."

Quickly, she glanced at the clock, "Well, if you can wait for ten minutes, my shift 'll be up. I'll take you home."

…

Raindrops splattered against the windshield, lingering for just a brief second before being swiped away by the windshield wipers. The sound of the rain coupled with the warmth that filled the cab of Becca's truck and the steady rumble of the engine pushed Casey closer and closer to the edge of sleep. She was talking about the new bourbon that Herrmann was wanting to try, voicing her displeasure at having been completely overlooked for an opinion. She was a Kentuckian, born and raised – she knew bourbon! She was delving into the intricacies of how bourbon got its flavoring, and about how things like Kentucky's crazy weather and limestone-rich water helped to make the best bourbon, and she loved Herrmann dearly, but how dare he pick a bourbon that wasn't from her home state… He was honestly trying really hard to pay attention, but sleep was beginning to win him over. …He loved the way she talked, loved the way she dropped the 'g' at the end of certain words, loved the little country twang that threaded through her sentences like a stream through a forest. Her very distinct voice was like a cool breeze on a hot day to him; relaxing, revitalizing, and much welcomed. It didn't matter how crappy his day had been, he immediately felt better when he heard his friend's voice. He'd always felt that way, even when he…wasn't single…

He didn't dare tell her that, though. There were a lot of things that he didn't dare tell her; things that no one else knew, things that hurt, things that scared him, things that he hoped for and dreamed about, things that would lay his carefully guarded heart out in the open…so many things that he wanted to tell her but didn't have the courage to say…

She was slowing to a stop outside of his apartment building before he realized it. Groggily, Casey stretched as he reached for the buckle of his seatbelt, "Thanks for the ride."

"You're welcome. Good night, Lieutenant."

She was back to calling him that again. She'd never called him by his first name, and had only used things like "honey" and "sweetheart" when he was really down and she was trying to make him feel better. Part of him wished that one day she would just drop it and call him Matt. "G'night." He opened his door and started to get out, but paused, "You never told me what house you were being sent to."

Becca smiled, "Promise not to tell?"

He frowned. What difference did it make if he told anyone or not? Who was he gonna tell, anyway – Severide? "I promise."

She partially closed her right hand and held her pinkie finger out to him, "Pinkie promise?"

Since when did guys pinkie promise? Since when did anyone over the age of eight pinkie promise? He was honestly curious about her relocation, though. Giving in, he shot her a wink, and locked his pinkie finger with hers, "Promise. Now, what house are you going to?"

Her smile brightened, "Yours."

…

Author's Note: Thanks to Lauren C. Powell, Pallada, CrAzyDuKeDoGgIrL2009, Ruthybaby, and Taffyrose for the follows/favorites from last time. I feel like Matt hasn't been getting a lot of *ahem* attention lately, so I decided to fix that. Becca and the plot belong to me. Expect stuff to heat up pretty quickly. There's a rating for a reason. Still stuck on the other fics, so any suggestions are welcomed. Let me know what you think.