REVELATION
A/N: To whoever is reading this: Hi! Thank you for stopping by and checking out my story. Sorry for the long-winded Author's Note, but I think it is best I explain some of the plot points for this particular story. If you have (or have not read) any of my previous stories, I usually follow the show's timeline and take a few creative liberties. In this story, I will be some-what following the Season 3 timeline in regards to Shay's death (I know—but my motto is change the things I cannot accept) and it being linked to arson, and other events that have already happened. It will not be following the timeline of the cross-over, and I will be taking A LOT of creative liberties with this story because I just can't deal with Chicago Fire's writers' decision to kill her off. So, just keep that in mind if you continue to read this story. Thank you, and as always, I hope I write something that is worth reading.
SUMMARY: When surprising information comes up regarding the building explosion that took Shay's life, House 51 is in for an adjustment. Meanwhile, tensions heat up between 51 and Austin, causing the Fire Commissioner to take drastic measures to resolve it.
CHAPTER 1
MILLS sat in the waiting room of Dr. Bachman's office. He was due back at the Firehouse by noon, and his scheduled appointment for 9:30am had already past—he looked down at his watch—an hour ago.
The Receptionist, a young 20-something year old, with black hair and pale green eyes, noticed Mill's fidgeting in his seat. With a sympathetic smile on her face she said, "I'm sorry. He'll be with you in a moment. He had a lot of patients this morning."
Mills turned to look at the Receptionist. He didn't want to come off as rude, but he had to return to work. If anything, he would reschedule his appointment so it landed on his next day off.
Just before Mills could speak, Dr. Bachman appeared in the waiting room, followed by the patient he had just seen. He noticed Mills looking directly at him. He pointed the folder he had in his hand at Mills and said, "Peter Mills, head to exam room 3. I'll be with you in a minute."
Mills gathered his belongings and made his way into exam room 3, and put his workbag on the empty chair before he sat down on the exam table. As Dr. Bachman promised, he had come into the room within a minute while reading Mills' medical chart.
"So, Peter, how have you been?" Dr. Bachman asked once he stopped reading the file. "How's your vertigo? Have you been doing the exercises I recommended for you?"
"I've been good, actually. I haven't had an episode in a long time. I am able to do the exercises without triggering an episode," Mills said.
"That's good," Dr. Bachman began to say. "Are you working now?"
Mills nodded his head. "I'm a paramedic at the same house."
Dr. Bachman looked at Mills skeptically. "I'm sensing a but..."
"Don't get me wrong, I like being a paramedic. I like my partner too, it's just"—
"You're a firefighter," Dr. Bachman interrupted.
Mills sighed heavily. "That's all I ever wanted to do."
"You know, Peter, the vertigo you have, there is no cure. Treatment can help ease the symptoms, and in worse case scenarios, surgery is the only option. In this case, as with all medical conditions, no two people are alike."
"I understand," Mills said, and the hint of disappointment was evident in his voice.
"Lie down for me," Dr. Bachman ordered and Mills complied. Dr. Bachman turned Mill's head slightly, performing the same epley maneuver he had done the first time Mill's came into his office, and smiled when he noticed Mills' eyes remained still and focused. He continued to test all head positions, occasionally asking Mills how he was feeling.
"I wouldn't be so down. In some cases, the vertigo resolves itself on its own," Dr. Bachman began to say as Mills sat himself up on the table. "There seems to be major improvement since the last visit. I'll report my findings to Chief Boden and go from there. In the meantime, just keep up with the exercises, and if you do experience another episode, contact me."
"Thanks," Mills said as he got up from the table. "I appreciate it."
SEVERIDE stood in front of Leslie Shay's memorial plaque. No matter how many times he had stopped to look at it in the months since she had died, it still seemed so surreal to him—like it was all just a terrible nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
He tried to remember what happened on that afternoon in May, but his memories were starting to contradict themselves. He could have sworn that Squatters caused the fire, but ever since opening that storage facility, and Dawson finding newspaper clippings of the fire that took Shay's life, made him re-think exactly what he had seen.
He had been able to bribe the Landlord of the building to allow him back in, and with Dawson beside him; they had indeed discovered that it was arson that started the fire, which meant that Shay was murdered. The two of them had immediately reported their findings to Captain Lynette Cunningham, who worked arson cases, and she assured them she would look into it and contact them as soon as she heard anything.
That had been two weeks ago and they hadn't heard anything from Captain Cunningham.
Until now.
Dawson made her way toward Severide, stopping once she was beside him. She too looked at the plaque in silence.
"I assume you got the message," Severide said after a moment, still not taking his eyes off of Shay's picture.
"'I regret to inform you, but the arson investigation for Leslie Shay will not be pursued at this time. I am sorry. Yours very truly, Captain Lynette Cunningham.'" Dawson said robotically, quoting some of the e-mail she had received. She left out the part where they were warned, with consequences, to not look into it further.
Dawson turned toward Severide. "What kind of bullshit is that? I say we go back to the building with Cunningham and show her. There's gotta be something we can do."
Severide turned toward Dawson, looking as though he was carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders that needed to be lifted. "Before I say anything, I need you to know that I don't like any of this. After I got the e-mail, I contacted my Dad, to see if he has any connections that still work arson."
"And?" Dawson asked eagerly.
"And he told me to stop. If the Captain of arson investigation couldn't get anything out of what we presented, it wasn't worth it"—he noticed Dawson roll her eyes –"at this time."
"So that's it? We let an arsonist roam free so he can hurt and kill others?"
"Like I said, I hate this as much as you do. The only thing we can do is remain vigilant. We make sure we are certain how the fire started and report everything that seems suspicious. We have to catch this guy in the act."
Dawson turned back to Shay's plaque, as Severide continued to talk, "Otherwise we will never get justice for Shay."
After a moment of silence, Dawson asked, "So that's it? We sit back and do nothing?"
"For now, we put out fires. We save lives. We make sure this guy, whoever he is, knows he can't get away with what he is doing. And once we catch the son of a bitch responsible, I will make him personally wish that he never started a fire in his life."
WORD about the arson investigation quickly made its way around the House. Most of the members expressed the same resentful feelings as Dawson and Severide: that it wasn't right, and that the system was broken and failed Shay.
When Mills made his way into the kitchen of 51, coming back from his doctor's appointment, he could feel something was off. Everyone had looked like they had been punched in the gut.
"Did I miss something while I was gone?" He asked everyone in the room as Brett approached him.
"Severide and Dawson received word from Captain Cunningham about Shay's arson investigation," Brett answered. "They aren't pursuing it at this time."
"Are you serious?" Mills asked in disbelief.
"As a heart attack," Herrmann answered from the table he was sitting at. "Case isn't closed, but it's not exactly open either."
"How are Severide and Dawson taking this?" Mills asked.
"As good as can be expected," Casey answered. "They aren't happy about it, and they can't look into it further. Right now, it's just a waiting game."
"The worst waiting game ever," Otis added while shaking his head in disapproval.
"How'd your doctor appointment go, Mills?" Mouch asked from his usual spot on the couch. He had to change the topic because it was depressing him too much.
"It was a doctor's appointment. Nothing that interesting to report." Mills said.
The alarm suddenly rang throughout the house. "Truck 81, Squad 3, Ambulance 61. House Fire. West 14th street and Throop."
CHIEF Boden sat in his office with the door closed, staring aimlessly at the computer screen. The sun had gone down hours ago, and the night shift had already taken over and was responding to a call. Everyone else had gone to Molly's for an after shift drink.
Boden wanted nothing more than to go home and be with his wife, Donna, and son, Terrence. As he looked at the framed picture of the three of them, that was beside the computer monitor, he was reminded how lucky he was to have them in his life.
Boden put the thought of them aside and reached for the enveloped letter that was addressed to him by Dr. Bachman. He was aware Mills had gone to see the doctor, and knew Dr. Bachman's report would decide if Mills was able to return to Squad on modified duties, or not.
He opened the letter and began to skim through it quickly. There were medical terms Boden had no idea what they meant, but he understood the gist of the letter.
A soft knock on the door drew Boden's attention away from the letter and to Connie, who was standing outside. He motioned for her to come in.
"You're still here?" Boden commented, and Connie gave him a small smile. Boden had to admit that Connie was one of the hardest working Administrative Assistants he had the pleasure of working with.
"I'm just about headed out," Connie answered, but there was something about her facial expression that alerted Boden that there might be something more going on than her usual 'have a goodnight, do you need anything before I leave' spiel.
"Is everything all right?" Boden asked.
Connie hesitated. "There is someone here that wants to speak with you," She finally said. "They say it's important."
Boden's right eyebrow arched out of curiosity. He wasn't expecting any visitors today, let alone at night. "Who is it?"
Connie went quiet again, but only for a moment. "A U.S. Marshal."