5:00 a.m.

"Are you eating dry toast?"

Becca grinned at Casey as he poured himself a cup of the coffee that she had just made. "Want some? I'll fix it for you."

He shook his head, making a disgusted face at her, "I'm good, thanks. You don't want any butter, or jelly, or…something?" She was wearing his jacket like she owned it. He'd checked on her last night and discovered her curled up in her bunk, wrapped tightly in his jacket, her face hidden beneath the navy blue fabric.

"Honey, I can toast an entire loaf of bread and hotbox it without so much as a scrape of butter."

"Gross." He took a slow drink, briefly closing his eyes and sighing contentedly as the perfectly-heated liquid warmed his body. Morning coffee was the nectar of the gods. "Did anyone tell you we're going out for breakfast after shift?"

She shook her head, lowering her half-eaten piece of toast onto her napkin. Not that a few pieces of toast would keep her from eating an actual breakfast, but it would've been nice if someone had said something to her before now.

"You should come."

She shrugged, "Okay." A team breakfast sounded fun. It would give her a chance to relax and get to know her new coworkers a little better.

Being as quiet as he could, he pulled the chair across from her back from the table and sat down, "Since when do you have glasses?"

Embarrassed, Becca tried to look thoughtful, praying he wouldn't notice that her right lens was considerably thicker than her left lens, "Since I was a freshman in high school." Suddenly feeling the need to elaborate, she explained, "I don't usually wear 'em while I'm on the clock, but my allergies were buggin' me, so I had to take my contacts out. Springtime pollen, y'know?"

Seeing her discomfort, Casey gave her a soft smile, "I like them."

"Really?" She was genuinely surprised. She hated being reliant on her glasses and contacts, but her insurance wouldn't pay for corrective surgery and she damn sure wasn't paying for it out of pocket, so she was stuck.

"Yeah. You should wear them more often."

She chuckled, "I'll think about it." That probably wasn't a bad idea. Her optometrist had chided her for wearing her contacts too much the last time she'd had a checkup. Which had been…when? Had she gotten her eyes checked since she'd moved up here? Crap. Probably not. Ugh – yet another thing to add to her endless To-Do List…

For a moment, he just looked at her, memorizing the shape of her face, the way her hair fell around her shoulders, the gentleness of her emerald green eyes… He'd realized yesterday just how much he really cared about her. It was crazy to think that a split second could've resulted in her not being here at all.

Suddenly shy, Becca looked down at her piece of toast. Why was he looking at her like that? It was like he was seeing her for the first time. Or the last.

"Yesterday was pretty crazy." he started carefully, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." she lied. She'd been awake most of the night, either staring into the darkness or hiding behind his jacket, contemplating her own mortality. Being firmly encased in his jacket had kept her from having a complete breakdown, but still… No fire, no natural disaster, no accident scene, no medical call had ever scared her like this. She'd fallen through floors, crawled through tornado-twisted debris looking for survivors, stumbled down smoke-choked hallways, helped deliver a baby that was coming way too early in the back of an ambulance that was flying down a gravel road, slogged through muck and mud to help rescue a horse that had gotten stuck after heavy rains, waded through flood-swollen creeks and streams to help stranded families to safety, wiggled herself into smashed vehicles to keep a patient still while her comrades cut the ruined metal away, and so much more, but none of it had rattled her quite like the feeling of having a gun barrel against her head.

"Look at me and say that."

When she lifted her eyes to his, she found herself struck once again by how handsome he was. "I'm fine." she insisted, trying to convince the both of them that it was true.

Casey held his pinkie finger out to her, "Promise?"

Becca couldn't help but smile as she locked her finger with his, "Promise."

"You're a terrible liar." He took a sip of his coffee and decided to change the subject, "So…what's your story? I know the Chicago Rebecca Miller. I want to know the Kentucky Rebecca Miller."

She chuckled, "Ain't much to tell." There really wasn't. She had – in her opinion – lived a relatively unremarkable life.

"I'll be the judge of that." he grinned.

Shooting him a smile that could only be described as flirty, she challenged, "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. I want to know the real Matt Casey."

He shrugged, "Deal."

Well, she hadn't exactly been expecting that. Casey was not one to delve into his past, especially with someone like her who was just a friend. Wow. Maybe she had made some progress with him. "Well, I hope you're not lookin' for a sob story, Lieutenant, cause I ain't got one. I grew up in on a farm in Pulaski County. My cousins and I used to go fishin' after school and splash around in the creek that ran between my uncle's property and my grandparents' farm."

Casey watched as a happy, faraway look slipped over Becca's face while she reminisced, her accent coming out in full flair. Smiling to himself, he settled back into his chair and let her words and memories wash over him.

"We'd jump frogs and look for water dogs and try to see how many minnas we could catch barehanded. When we got old enough, we'd go huntin' with my uncle and papaw. Mamaw wasn't too crazy 'bout us girls goin', but we didn't care and my aunt was all for it. We'd race our bikes up and down the road for hours on end." – she chuckled – "It's a thousand wonders we didn't get killed; my aunt dug no tellin' how much gravel outa our knees. I've still got scars. We rode in the bed of papaw's pickup all the way to Stanford and Somerset many a time. I used to go with papaw to the stockyards every chance I got whether we had a load of cattle or not.

"My grandparents promised me they'd buy me a truck if I graduated from high school with straight A's. I kept a four-point-oh all four years and graduated with honors. Been drivin' that truck out there ever since. Mamaw wanted me to be a school teacher and papaw wanted me to be a nurse like my aunt, but my uncle had been takin' me and my cousins with him every week to the firehouse down the road for as long as I could remember. We'd climb around on the trucks while the guys trained, and when we got old enough, we joined the Explorer program. Mamaw 'bout died when I told her I wanted to be a firefighter." She chuckled, "I had a great childhood."

"What brought you to Chicago?" he asked.

"Money." she answered simply, "Retirement. I plan on workin' up here and savin' everything I can so that I can retire comfortably and move back home. My uncle's been keepin' up the farm since my grandparents passed away; I plan on buyin' out his half when I'm able. Right now, I'm helpin' with the expenses of keepin' it up, but one day I'd like to have the whole thing."

"What about your parents?"

There it was – the question that she always dreaded. Should she skirt around it like she always did, or should she be honest with her friend? She didn't like talking about her parents; it was quite humiliating. She'd never told anyone at her old house about her parents and had made quite an effort to keep that particular bit of information to herself. But, Casey was different. If everything that she'd heard about his past was true, then he of all people would understand how hard it was to talk about certain things.

He could tell that he'd hit a nerve, "You don't have to answer that."

She sighed, "No, I do. Nobody in Chicago knows about my parents, so if you'd keep this between us, I'd appreciate it." When he nodded, she continued, "My mom signed me over to my grandparents on the day I was born, told 'em she didn't want me. …She didn't even bother to name me. My grandparents named me after their mothers. That's why my middle name's Irene… I've seen her maybe three times in my whole life. Last I heard, she was in jail on drug charges. That was right before I moved up here, though…. As for my dad, well…" She fidgeted a little, uncomfortable but determined to get this out, "Your guess is as good as mine. I don't know his name, what he looks like, where he lives, whether or not I have siblings, nothin'. My mom didn't list him on my birth certificate. …I'm not really sure if she knows who he is."

Well, that wasn't the answer that he'd been expecting. He'd been expecting something like death or divorce, not "my mom didn't want me and I don't know who my dad is." He could tell by the hint of pain on her face that it had been very difficult for her to reveal that part of her past. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that."

Becca shrugged, "It's okay. You're my friend; I trust you with it."

"Must've been hard to deal with."

"In a way, it was." she admitted, "I still get mad over it sometimes. But, when I think about what could've happened to me, and when I think about all the people who tried really hard to give me a good life…it's hard to be angry or sad about it. My aunt and uncle included me in just about everything they did, and my grandparents absolutely busted it in order to provide me with the best life possible. I had a phenomenal childhood, I never wanted for nothin', I now have my own place and I pay my own bills, my truck's well past paid for, I'm workin' my dream job with people I love like family, and…" – she grinned at him – "I'm enjoyin' a peaceful mornin' with a real good friend. I can't be upset over anything; I'm blessed beyond measure."

Casey smiled, "That's a really good way to think about it."

"Life's too short to be anything other than happy." She picked up her piece of toast, preparing to take a bite, "Your turn."

…

"Damnit." Casey groaned, letting his forehead drop to his steering wheel as he pulled his key from his truck's ignition. His battery was as dead as a doornail. He'd meant to get a new one before this last shift, but he'd forgotten. Seveide had given him a jump yesterday morning, and he'd meant to grab a battery during shift, but…he'd forgotten again. This morning, he'd lingered for a moment and talked with Chief Boden while everyone else had headed to their respective vehicles and gone to the diner for the breakfast meet-up, leaving Casey and his dead battery behind. He was not going back inside to ask for help – first watch would never let him live it down. Christie was at work today, too. Great. Just great. So…here he was…stuck.

A horn honked beside him, startling him enough to make him jump. A big, black, square-bodied, late-nineties Silverado had pulled up beside him and turned its emergency flashers on. The darkly-tinted passenger side window lowered slowly, revealing a very concerned looking Rebecca Miller. Unable to roll his window down, Casey heaved a sigh and got out of his truck.

"You okay?" Becca asked, leaning toward him as he leaned against her door.

"Yeah." Crap, this was embarrassing. Defeated, he flipped one hand toward his truck, "My battery's shot. I meant to get one yesterday, and I just…forgot."

Giving him a sympathetic smile, she grabbed her overnight bag and tossed it into the back seat, "Hop in. We'll go eat breakfast, then I'll take you to Auto Zone."

Casey shook his head, "Becca, I can't ask you to do that."

She motioned for him to get in, "You ain't askin' – I'm offerin'. C'mon."

He hesitated for a moment before giving in, "Let me lock up."

Becca waited patiently as he locked his drivers side door. She knew how badly men hated to ask for help, especially when it came to vehicles, so it was a good thing that she'd taken a couple of extra minutes to oil her squeaky locker door this morning.

"That's two I owe you." Casey sighed as he climbed into her truck for the second time this week.

She chuckled, turning her flashers off and heading toward the diner that the crews had agreed to meet at, "Friends don't keep score, Lieutenant."

…

Author's Note: So, I realize that I may need to translate Becca from time to time since I know that most of you are neither Southern nor Kentuckians. I'm writing in my "native language", if you will, when Becca speaks. "Minnas" are minnows – small fish that are commonly used as fishing bait. "Water dogs" are a type of salamander commonly found around creeks and streams. Please don't hesitate to ask if I need to elaborate on something for you. I have to translate myself for my husband from time to time, and we grew up in neighboring counties. Busy season is upon us at work, so expect delays here and there. (Did busy season ever stop?) I will most likely be grumpy from getting up at 3 a.m. for days on end, sore from literally running in circles between my three machines, and far beyond exhausted. Be prepared. On the plus side, my paychecks are gonna be sweet. Chapter four is in the works. Let the flames begin!