Chicago Fire

Kaitlyn walked down the street trying to keep her balance and her hands on the thermal totes she carried. She hit an ice patch and shifted forward, but somehow managed to recover. "Dammit," she swore, stopping to redistribute the totes, and shifting them to opposite hands. How much farther was the firehouse anyway? With the blackout, she was having trouble finding the familiar landmarks that she had passed every day on her way home from work.

"Why of all of the cities in this beautiful country, did I choose to move to Chicago?" she grumbled. While she was grumbling, she realized it wasn't the city itself that she was frustrated with, but the cold, the blackout, and her cozy condo without heat. When some firefighter from firehouse 51 had invited her to come stay there so she would be warm, she tossed the contents of her freezer and fridge into bags and started out. She figured that everyone there would probably be hungry.

She looked up and realized she had found the firehouse. She followed behind a couple of families with small children.

"Hey, you made it," the one who had been at her door said as she walked inside.

"Thanks for inviting me," she said. "Is there someplace to check in?"

He reached for her thermal bags. "I'll find you a place as soon as we get this in the kitchen. By the way, my name is Pete."

"Kaitlyn," she said as she followed along behind him.

"Kaitlyn," he repeated. "It suits you, but you're more of a Katie."

She groaned. At twenty eight, she felt Katie was too little girlish for her, and she had opted to use her given name.

"Hey, Mills, what's in the bags?"

"Dunno," he said. "Ask Katie." He motioned to her with a move of his head.

"So, Katie, what's in the bags?"

Kaitlyn bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. These guys were just like her uncles and big brothers. They always seemed to be hungry. "It's Kaitlyn," she corrected. "And I just emptied out my freezer and fridge. I thought everyone would be hungry, and I didn't want it to go to waste when the power comes back on."

Mills set the bags on the kitchen counter and started to unpack. "Oh, my God," he exclaimed as he set the food on the counter. "Ribs. Roasts. Chuck. Sirloins. Ribeyes. Katie, you must have half a cow here."

"Not quite. Maybe about an eighth. "

Hermann made his way up to the counter, and eyed the expensive meat cuts. "Your old man's a butcher, huh?"

"Um. No, actually he isn't."

"So he knows a guy who knows a guy, who-"

"- Hey, Hermann, do us all a favor and shut up. This lady was nice enough to bring us food. Don't give her the third degree about where it came from."

"Screw you, Clark," Hermann retorted.

The man named Clark approached her and held out his hand. "Hi. Jeff Clark."

Kaitlyn looked him over from head to toe, and her breath caught. He was tall, fit, and handsome. His haircut screamed military. She wondered which branch he had served. She extended her hand. "Kaitlyn Donovan," she said. "And thank you for your service."

Clark looked at her and wondered how she knew he had served. "Thank you, Ma'am."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clark."

"You too, Ms. Donovan."

She looked at Mills, still eyeing up the meat. "I guess I should help him."

Clark turned his gaze to Mills. "He's probably trying to figure out what he's going to make with it all. He was our cook till he made Squad. Now we have to draw straws."

"Would he mind if I helped? I love to cook. I just don't get much time to do it these days."

He turned his attention back to Pete. "Hey, Mills, Katie wants to know if she can help you cook."

She groaned. "Kaitlyn!"

"Katie suits you," he said, still waiting for Mills' reply.

"Face it, Kid. In this house, you're going to be Katie no matter what you do or say," Hermann piped in. "So get used to it."