Lieutenant Matthew Casey walked into Firehouse 51 on the brisk, October morning with two Java Chip Frappuccinos in hand, as a result of a lost bet against his wife, Gabriela Dawson, and Sylvie Brett last night at Molly's. The Chicago Cubs had lost their first three games of the season, how was he supposed to know that they would finally get their heads out of their asses long enough to get a win? He was pretty sure Dawson didn't even like Frappuccinos, but she remembered all the times he made fun of the guys who "got suckered into buying 5-dollar coffee drinks that weren't so much coffee as they were sugar" for their girlfriends and knew this would be the one thing that got under his skin. And the look on his face as he walked into the firehouse told her that she was right.

"Finally, I'm about to fall asleep if I don't drink some caffeine soon," Brett exclaimed while taking one of the Frappuccinos out of Casey's hand and taking a sip. "I hope the barista didn't give you too much trouble when you inevitably had problems ordering." The smug look on Brett's face was evident and it was obvious that Casey did not appreciate it. Normally she didn't tease Casey this much, but Dawson was giving her an added bit of confidence today. That, and she was remembering how cocky Casey was last night about how the girls were each going to have to buy him a beer after their next shift. It was all good-natured fun, but Brett had a competitive streak that many of her coworkers didn't know about and she hated to lose. She felt it was only fair that she gave back to Casey all of the sass he gave her last night.

Dawson and Brett both started giggling as Casey defended himself, slightly raising his voice as he did so. "It's not my fault they don't understand English there. Why can't they just have smalls and larges like a normal coffee shop. No, it's venti this and trenti that. How can they expect anyone to order with gibberish like that?" The truth was, he wasn't really that flustered, but was playing it up for the added effect. He was hoping that Dawson would take some pity on him, and make the whole ordeal worth his time. And as always, Dawson wasn't one to disappoint.

"Well first of all its trenta," Dawson started, as Casey rolled his eyes. "And second of all…" she began as she leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, "thanks Matt". Casey enjoyed his few seconds of attention from his wife and was just about to respond, when Kelly Severide walked in to see what the commotion was.

"Do I get a kiss too?" Playfully asked Severide, with a smirk on his face. As much as he loved Casey and Dawson, making fun of their relationship was the best part of them being in a relationship. Well, their happiness was important too, but he figured that they had each other and should deal with his sense of humor.

"Only in your dreams," replied Dawson, as she left with Brett to go enjoy their frappuccinos. If she was being honest, she much preferred a regular coffee, but Casey's obvious annoyance with the drink was well worth it. Brett seemed to enjoy hers, and made note to thank Casey later and let him know that his suffering in purchasing the drink was well worth it in her eyes, completely oblivious to the fact that Casey was only playing at being dismayed.

With the girls off of the main floor, Severide playfully punched Casey in the arm. "You going soft on me? Buying Starbucks for the women of Chicago, forgetting about your friends. That, my friend, is why I am single. I'd rather be dead than buying some sugar-filled, poor excuse for a coffee drink." He began to lean sideways against the side of Truck 81, which unbeknownst to him signified to his coworkers that he was in a good mood today.

"Of course, Kelly, Starbucks is the reason why you are single," Casey teased. "Has nothing to do with the fact that you get bored quickly, think about work more often than is natural, and only want to"

"Okay, okay Matt I'm done," Severide chuckled. "If you leave my love life alone I'll consider not making fun of yours," he offered.

"Well how considerate. If only women could see this charitable side of yours. I'm sure they would just flock right to you," Casey joked as he left to go to the kitchen, leaving Severide on the main floor of the garage.

Severide chuckled under his breath and went to join his friends. He had a feeling that this was going to be a good shift.

888

Griff was going to be late to school again. Whatever, it's not like he cared anyways. He glanced at the clock and it was 7:45. If he hurried, he would be able to get into the school before the doors locked at 8 and wouldn't have to deal with the attendance secretary, who was overly interested in his life and used any excuse to try to talk to him. It wasn't his fault that he was always late, it just happened, and talking to that woman was punishment enough for the habitual tardiness. Griff was tall and skinny, with messy brown hair that glistened when the sun hit it. He had the same blue eyes as his father, and if he closed his eyes he could still hear his mom say how he would be "quite the ladies' man" one day. Griff wasn't so sure about that but he had more pressing matters than his classmates finding him attractive.

He looked over at Luke, passed out drunk on the couch, as he grabbed his backpack and left the house, careful not to let the door slam. The house wasn't anything special. Located on the edge of the near west side neighborhood of Chicago, it wasn't the best neighborhood but it wasn't the worst either. There was a small wooden porch area leading up to the front door, a few of the boards were loose or rotted, but otherwise it was still relatively intact. Well, relative to this neighborhood anyways. Most of the house was painted a rich chestnut-brown color and had an off-white trim, allowing it to blend in well with the other houses. A small bay window in the kitchen allowed light to enter the house, but the view was nothing special as you could only see the street in front of you. However, the rest of the windows just stared at the neighbors' houses, located 10 feet away, so this view was one of the better ones in this part of town.

Griff had been living with Luke for almost a year now, the longest he had stayed in one place since his dad died a few years ago. Luke had the bedroom on the first floor, although why he needed such a big room when he ended up passing out on the couch nearly every night was beyond him. Griff got the attic bedroom, which he loved only because his windows allowed him roof access, where he frequently would lay and look up at the stars, imagining what his life could have been like. Luke didn't know he did this, of course, and would be livid if he ever found out. But Griff was safe, and had not been caught in the 10 months they had lived together.

Griff made good time on his walk to school; it only took him 10 minutes for the usual 15-minute walk. Granted that included jaywalking a lot more than usual and cutting through a couple of back allies, but he was just happy that Mrs. Snellnic, the attendance secretary, could pick on someone else this Monday morning. She was always asking too many questions about how living with Luke and his on again off again girlfriend was going, and he wished she would just realize that he didn't want to talk to her. Most people had backed off after he finished his first semester at the school last June, but she just couldn't take a hint. It didn't really help that his file was twice as big as everyone else's, but that's what happens when you transfer schools every couple of months.

It was only a month into his sophomore year of high school and already he wanted to be done with school. It's not like he was terrible at it or anything, quite the contrary. He could pull straight A's in most of his classes without trying, which was lucky for him because he didn't try. Always had been academically gifted, and he could be taking much harder classes, but because he moved around so much and didn't try, no teachers noticed how brilliant he actually was. Assuming that he did his homework at home, and not during the next class period when he was bored, and that he actually studied for tests, which was a complete lie, they treated him as they would any other slightly above average student who was pulling As and Bs with the occasional C. They never wondered why they never met his guardian, why he always kept to himself, or pulled back whenever an adult got too close. Griff never minded that no staff member gave him much attention, well besides Mrs. Snellnic of course. He preferred to remain as invisible as he could and didn't really care what happened during the school day, as long as nobody called him by his full first name. He really hated when people called him Griffin.

It wasn't that he didn't like the name, he just didn't want it ruined. He could take all the taunting and teasing about it being a magical creature and how he was too skinny to be compared to a magnificent beast like a griffin. That had been a problem since he was younger, so he learned how to deal with it a long time ago. He hadn't been called Griffin since his family separated, and liked to think of that time as a separate part of his life, when he was a different person. A lot had happened in the years since his dad died, and he liked to believe that Griffin was still out there, maybe in a different universe or something, still with his dad like nothing had ever happened. So, when he was called Griffin, it reminded him that his dad had died and nothing he could do would ever change that.

Realizing that he was slipping too far into his head, he quickly relieved himself of his schoolbag and grabbed the bare minimum required to get himself through the first two classes of the day. He remembered to grab his drawing notebook before slamming his locker, and he headed over to his English classroom on the second floor. As the hallways were crowded, he inevitably bumped shoulders with others, but unlike many of his classmates he never turned around to offer any apologies. Griff never saw a reason to apologize for the sake of apologizing, and so he kept moving without a second thought. He carefully ducked in doorways whenever he saw someone he rather would avoid, but still made it to his classroom with a minute to spare.

He sat in his seat in the back corner of the room, one he had chosen strictly because it was near the exit and as far away from people as he possibly could be, and brought out his notebook and a pencil so he could begin his daily drawing ritual. It was the only thing that allowed him to make it through the school day without getting lost in the wrong parts of his brain. He sketched the same things every day: remnants of memories before his dad died. His mom and dad at breakfast, his younger brother playing with his fire truck, work picnics, his parents' friends, and the fire station where his dad used to work. He let his mind drift away as he drew, his drawing the only thing he could take solace in.