This is the last chapter, guys! I can't believe I'm finished posting this. Warning, Ido torture Dawson a WHOLE lot this chapter. I mean, as if I haven't tortured her enough, am I right?
The firehouse was subdued.
Mouch sat stiffly on the couch, the TV down so low it could have been muted. Mills was flopped over a dining room chair. Severide sat inside too, for a change, staring at, but not reading, a newspaper. No one spoke.
Dawson sat off to the far side of the room, feet pulled up as she melted into an old recliner. Usually Cruz claimed this spot, but he gave it up for today.
Even Pouch was quiet. She knew something was wrong. But she didn't even whine, no, she just lay at Dawson's feet, her puppy eyes threatening to send Dawson off into another round of tears.
Brzzp! Baa! Bong! Ambulance 61, head trauma, 661 Maplewood Crescent.
The hair on Dawson's neck stood on end. Suddenly, if at all possible, the room was filled with even more tension. She stood up, and walked quickly to the ambulance. No sense being afraid, she scolded herself. Shay would be with her the whole time.
"Hey, you ready for this?" Shay asked as she buckled up her seatbelt. "I'm just saying, I could radio in we have a flat or-"
"I'm fine." Even to her own ears, Dawson's voice sounded flat. "We can't go shoving off a call just because it might remind me of Casey." Every call's gonna remind me of Casey. She quickly did up her own seatbelt. "What are you waiting for? Someone could die because we aren't going fast enough."
They rode in silence.
The building they pulled up to was old, and obviously well-worn down. Dawson sighed. She hated calls like this. The buildings were usually in a state of decay, and the people weren't always so welcoming to ambulance and police. That came with the neighbourhood.
"I bet someone fell down the stairs," Shay mused as her and Dawson hopped out the ambulance. "Or slipped in the bathtub. Bet you it was something stupid like that."
Dawson didn't say anything. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach rolled. She quickly grabbed the rolling stretcher out of the rig. "Let's go," she said, her voice almost machine-like. "Death waits for no one."
"Right." Shay sprinted to catch up with Dawson. "That was probably the most depressing thing I've ever heard you say." She paused. "Gabbie, it's been less than a week. You really didn't have to come back to work so soon, you know."
"Would everyone just stop saying that!" Dawson's voice rose to a dangerous level. "Look, I know I didn't need to come back. I thought I would be fine, okay? I honestly did. I thought it would be like when you nearly died, and I'd just work through it." The wind blew cold across Dawson's face. "But I wish I didn't come back."
It was silent as the girls approached the worn building. Shay lifted her hand and knocked quite loudly, not sure what to say to her grieving friend. "Chicago ambulance!" she called out, then turning to Dawson, said, "We could always still radio in a flat you know."
"Shay-"
"Afterwards, I meant," Shay quickly interjected. "Stop somewhere, take a break, maybe grab some fries or something." She shrugged. "You know, just take a moment."
Dawson paused, thinking. "You know, I don't usually like to admit that sometimes I am human, but sure. That sounds nice."
"'Sometimes human'?" Shay giggled. "Is anyone even coming?" She rapped on the door again, harder this time, if at all possible. "Hello? Anyone here?"
The door handle turned and the door creaked open slowly. Dawson and Shay both peered in towards the slowly revealed person. It was a boy, maybe 6 or 7 years old, fair blond hair. His eyes were full of tears, and his lower lip quivered.
"Hey there." Shay bent down to look the little boy in the eyes. "My name's Leslie, and this is my friend Gabbie. What's your name?"
"Matthew," the little one sniffled.
A pain like no other hit Dawson right in the heart. She nearly staggered backwards with the force of it. Matthew…of all the names, this kid had to be named Matthew. On a head trauma call. She swallowed back bile and tried to smile. "Did you call 911?" she asked, although she noticed her voice shook slightly.
"Uh-huh," he said. "Can you fix him?" His lower lip trembled even more as he clung to the door. "He's hurt."
"Who's hurt?" Shay tried to keep her voice straight yet gentle.
Matthew looked on at Shay with tear-filled eyes. "My daddy." He sniffled. "He fell down the ladder and his head is bleeding. Can you fix him?"
Shay stood up and extended her hand, taking Matthew's small hand in hers. "We'll fix him right up," she said. "Can you show us where he is?" As the little boy led the girls up a long flight of stairs, Shay glanced behind her to look at Dawson. She knew the name was really rather unfortunate.
The pallor of Dawson's face could only be described as whiter than a Canadian in winter. Her hands shook, and she cursed them, wishing for all the world that she could just pretend this was a normal call. But it wasn't.
"He's in here." Matthew clung to Shay's hand now, afraid to let go. "Can you fix him?"
"Of course." Shay bent down to Matthew's level. "Can you stay here while we help your dad?" When he nodded, she continued. "Good boy. We'll be right back, okay?" With that, Shay hurried into the room, Dawson hot on her tail.
But then Dawson stopped.
His eyes.
Vivid green and cold, staring at Dawson with the judgment of a lifeless man.
She turned and ran.
"Hey! Dawson!"
But she kept running. Running past the other Matthew outside the door and down the stairs into the musty hallway before tearing open the front door. She fell to her knees, mind reeling and stomach summersaulting.
His eyes. How cold they were, how…green they seemed to stare back at her. She could tell just by looking at him that he was dead. The pool of blood that had surrounded his head, the eyes…those green eyes.
Dawson let herself fall backwards into the snow. He was dead. The man inside was dead. Matthew didn't have a father. She didn't have her Matthew. Was this ever going to get easier?
How long she lay there, she didn't know. Long enough for the snow to soak all the way through her uniform, right to her skin, until she was shivering madly. But still, she didn't get up. It wasn't until she could hear the distant wail of sirens and Shay came out did she move.
"Hey." Shay sat down on the path beside her. "Matthew's pretty shaken up. I told him to sit on the stairs. I didn't tell him about his dad, though. Couldn't bear to break it to him myself." She paused. "You must be wet by now."
"Hm," Dawson grunted. Then, pulling herself up into a semi-sitting position she turned to Shay. "You know, on occasion, I should listen to your advice. Radioing in a flat probably would have actually been a good thing. You know, minus the lying and such." She fell back down. "Did I screw up in my past life so much?"
The sirens got louder. "Maybe this is the universe's way of telling you to go on a long vacation. You know. To Cuba or somewhere warm and tropical."
Dawson smiled a bit. It was a small smile, but an expression of some sort of happiness nonetheless. "We should go to Cuba together," she said, once again sitting up. She gave Shay a little shove. "Recuperate. Do whatever people do when their boyfriend's go and die on them."
"I bet Boden would still give us time off," Shay said. "If not, you could cry in his office, and I could be all comforting. That would probably work on him."
Dawson snorted. "The old guilt trick? You really think he's gonna fall for that?"
"You never know. He's actually a softie at heart."
On cue, another ambulance and two police cars pulled up outside of the house. Shay pointed them inside, and waved off the hovering paramedics. Once everything had cleared, she spoke again. "I was really worried about you in there."
It was a moment before Dawson answered. "I just don't know how I'm supposed to get through this, Shay. Everything reminds me of him. Everything. And I don't know how to make it stop." And suddenly, Dawson realised she was crying. "I just don't know how to do it."
"You do it one step at a time. It's cliché, I know, but that's how you do it. One step, one breath." She paused, the cold wind blowing her hair across her face. "And you hold tight to your memories of Casey, but you hold tighter to those around you."
Dawson nodded, swallowing thickly as she tried to ebb the flow of tears. Finally though, with one final sniff, she stood up. "Let's go," she said. "We can fill out the paperwork back at the house."
They walked back to their rig slowly, not wanting to move to quickly for fear of shattering the fragile situation. Shay climbed in the driver's seat, but Dawson stalled for a moment, her eyes catching the glint of something off the ground. She bent down.
It was a penny; it was old and scratched, but Dawson picked it up, warmth spreading in her chest. He'd always loved pennies. It was that silly rhyme, but she'd loved it.
See a penny, pick it up, and all day long you'll have good luck.
Maybe she could make it. One step at a time, one breath at a time. And as long as she could hold Casey dear to her heart. She might be okay.
She might be okay.
Tada! All done! I really hope you guys enjoyed reading this! Maybe someday soon I'll write something else. Maybe when they get around to readdressing Casey's skull fracture, since I'm not impressed with the fact they never mentioned that again, either. They better do something about it in the new season. Well, actually, if they kick him off the team I'll cry. He's really the only reason I watch it.
Thanks for reading!
