Eye of Sauron – A Chicago Fire fanfic
What if there had been a scuffle after Casey confronted the local drug lords? And what if Severide found Casey after it happened? And what if this was part of the outcome? A crazy (somewhat demented) idea that stemmed from a random picture I saw online… A rare form of Casey whump/Severide concern, and a fair warning to dentophobics.
I wrote this for my friend Shelly, whom I consider extremely brave for voluntarily walking into a dental establishment and asking for care, as she did the other day. This is mostly her story, only squished into the Casey/Severide universe. And I really *did* see this funny image on the web the other day, and totally worked it into the story. I myself am fairly dentophobic, and found myself feeling somewhere between "this is oddly therapeutic" and "I'm gonna barf" as I wrote this. But in the end it was fun, and although Severide's interaction is more one of angst, it was still fun to imagine them in this scenario. This is a one-shot, so please read and review!
Oh! And for what it's worth, I credit/blame Andorian Ice Princess for the Casey/Severide friendship angle. Girl, you GOTTA stop creating these addictions for me!
I own nothing. NBC and Dick Wolf get to play with all things Chicago Fire. Trust me… after this story, they might not LET me play with 'em anymore! Haha!
It was quiet, for the moment. I was trying to tune out the soft rock music being piped through the office's sound system… it only served to annoy me more. I probably would have avoided this altogether if Severide hadn't intercepted me on my way back to 51 yesterday. Damned punk-ass kids. It seemed ridiculous to just stand by and let them take over our neighborhood like they were in the process of doing. Kelly told me my Irish temper was gonna get me killed one of these days. Yeah, well, yesterday wasn't that day.
The soft clink of instruments on a metal tray somewhere off to my left reminded me of my less-than-desirable environment. Only moments before, a third hygienist had stopped by to visit me and flirtatiously comment on the "nice shiner" I was sporting. Apparently it really is true that, no matter where in the face you get hit, the blood pools in the eye socket. The asshole's right hook resulted in a black eye on the left side of my face, and a broken tooth on the upper right side of my mouth. Don't ask me how that happened… it just did.
And yes, I probably would have ignored it, for as long as humanly possible. But with Kelly Severide to the rescue, and me spitting a piece of molar out on the sidewalk where he met me, I was busted. I would normally feel bad for anyone who had to sit around in the waiting area of a place like this, but not today… not for Kelly. I know he was only looking out for my well-being, but… I hated the dentist. Especially when there was something really wrong. There was no way this day would go by without the involvement of needles and drills. I wanted to throw up just thinking about it.
What the hell was that dope pusher's problem anyway? I told him I wasn't there to report him, I was trying to help him out. Dude, your drugs are getting flushed every time we flush the hydrants. Get a clue. Just trying to help you out. And possibly negotiate fewer bullets flying through the windows of our apparatus floor. It pissed me off that they were trying to take over our neighborhood, but I knew better than to fight a turf war on my own. I just wanted to suggest a truce of sorts. I'll scratch your back, you don't kill me.
"How are you today, Matt?" the doctor asks, reclining the chair without waiting for a response.
"Great."
"Let's take a look here… Open, please…" And here we go…
No one even appreciated my sarcasm. If anyone actually came here for a 'procedure' and told you they were great – and meant it – you might want to call for a psych consult. I'm just sayin'. I quickly became a semi-inanimate mannequin to them, as Dr. Erickson and his assistant Emma talked about me without consulting… me. I was trying to ignore what was going on, but overheard snippits of words like "fractured", "nerve", "root", "intact", and "exposed".
Has anyone ever noticed that that stupid light they use is really quite blinding? And it wasn't like I had the ability to tell them it had its high-beams on in my eyes, what with their hands in my mouth and all… It reminded me of that freaky Eye of Sauron from the Lord of the Rings series. I never really did understand those movies, but Otis sure liked to geek out on them. That creepy eyeball-light-flame thing gave me nightmares. I was pretty sure this one would, too.
I closed my eyes for the first three syringes. They weren't that bad, I just didn't want to watch. Only one was really uncomfortable. I momentarily thought of childishly crying out, knowing Kelly would hear it out in the waiting area… make that bastard feel bad. The thought of it made me want to laugh, but it came out as more of a groan.
"Oh sorry, Matt, is the light in your eyes?" Why, how observant of you, Emma. Yes, it is. My groaning has nothing to do with the needle in my soft tissue at the moment. At least we solved one minor problem. Curse you, Eye of Sauron…
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Okay, so I know he's pissed at me. Hell, *I'm* pissed at me. Matt was being all heroic and crap yesterday, gets himself in trouble, and now here I am, sitting in the torture chamber. Okay, so it's not quite as torturous as where Matt is right now, but… I swear, just the sounds make me want to crawl out of my skin.
It had been a good half hour, and I had only managed to skim a page or two of Sports Illustrated. I just couldn't concentrate. And that's when the sound of the drill fired up. I instinctively felt my toes curl up in my shoes, imitating the clenching of my fingers. Ahh Matt… buddy. I really did feel bad for him. I was so pissed when I found out he went up against those thugs on his own yesterday… there was a part of me that thought, serves you right, you idiot. But now… I suddenly had the urge to go back and see how he was holding up. That is, if I wasn't such a pansy myself when it came to these kinds of things. I could barely tolerate the sound from where I sat… I couldn't imagine being right next to it.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ninety minutes later, I'm sitting up waiting for the dizziness to pass, since it was as if I'd been standing on my head for the last hour and a half. Emma hands me my walking papers, aftercare instructions included, and head to the front desk to check out. I make pleasantries with Rhonda, the receptionist at the window. It's not her fault I'm here… I can be nice. And since my shiny new porcelain crown was milled in-house and placed today, I don't have to come back for another appointment unless I have problems.
I didn't have to glance over my shoulder to know that Kelly was already hovering. I could smell the worry coming off him in waves. He either actually felt bad, or was actually worried I was pissed at him. No, I had reconciled that this was mostly of my own doing, and I probably wouldn't have lasted long trying to ignore it, as had been my original plan. It wasn't Kelly's fault. He was just looking out for me. Damned brotherly concern. Never know if I should thank him, or kick him.
But for the moment, I wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. I looked at him over my shoulder as Rhonda finished printing out my receipt, with a look that – hopefully – made him feel like a stalker. Of course, he didn't back down, he just stood there staring at me… so I started to chuckle under my breath and shake my head.
"Thanks, Rhonda. Kelly's gonna take me out to lunch now," I told her in farewell. Severide's eyebrows spring up toward his hairline, and I hear him mutter "I am?"
She smiled back. "Okay, you boys have fun now… stay out of trouble…"
I waved as we walked out the door.
"So… you okay?" Severide asked me nervously.
I look at him with a deadpan expression. "Do I look okay?"
"Well, kinda… but… I don't know… how did… everything… go?"
I stopped at the passenger side door of his car, and stared at him over the roof.
"Ming's on Fifty-Seventh. Fried rice sounds good…" I smirked.
He still looked concerned as we got in the car, but headed in the direction of the Chinese restaurant. I can feel him watching me. I don't exactly want to re-live the horrors of the last two hours, even though it wasn't really that bad. I was more exhausted from the emotional tension and anxiety. I was sure he was going to ask for details before the afternoon was out, so all I could do was do my best to side-track him.
"So Severide… do you ever watch those Lord of the Rings movies Otis is so into?"
FIN
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The Mad Hatteras