A/N: Here's the next chapter! Once again, thank you to everybody who has reviewed/followed/favorited!

Disclaimer: I own notta

One week later:

Matt's POV:

I let go of a deep breath as I swing my legs over the bed, stopping before I stand up completely to look out the window. For a second, everything seemed normal as I observed the scene. Drivers expressed road rage like they did every other day, people walked down the street, stores were busy with customers, and an ambulance sped down the road. All of this was usual in Chicago. If I was somebody who had no idea went down this past week, I would guess that nothing ever happened to begin with.

But of course, so much happened. Two nights ago the city went on crazy lockdown mode while every police officer in the area hunted for the guys responsible for the bombing. They found the guys (I've been told Voight played a big role in that), but not before another bomb went off two days before that. Fortunately, that time around, the bombers were in a rush and didn't time the explosive correctly, so nobody was hurt. (They set it for 12am instead of 12pm). The only damage done that time was a blown up, usually busy, supermarket. For once, the city got lucky. We got a break.

Mostly everybody from the Intelligence Unit got released from the hospital. The only one still here was Antonio, whose surgery went well and his other injuries treated. He has a temporary bandage over his eye, his voice is a bit hoarse, and he'll have to take eye drops for awhile, but he'll be okay. Gabby told me he's being released in a couple of days.

All of the guys visited me at some point. Herrmann tried to crack a few jokes to lighten the mood, and as much I wanted to laugh, I couldn't even force a chuckle. Severide thought I was still angry at him, and even though I wasn't and I tried telling him so, he still seemed distant and chose his words carefully. Shay was quiet, and spent most of her time in the room with Gabby or Kelly. If she did speak, she reminded me I could get through this. Otis and Cruz seemed worried, more worried than I would have expected. Clarke never broke his tough exterior, I never expected him to, so whenever he visited he just told me I'd get through it, just like last time. Mouch and Mills did something I never would have guessed they would do. They cried. Not full on, ugly sobbing, but they teared up. They came in separately, but both of them were scared about me, about the situation, about everything. I did my best to comfort them, but I also could find no light in the situation.

Then there was Gabby, who acted like Gabby, all the time. She was worried, it was obvious, and as much as I appreciated her concern, I was also concerned about her as well. She can complain about me saying "I'm fine" all the time, but she does the exact same thing. And I know she's not. She found out that because of her Brachial Plexus injury, she can barely move any of the fingers in her left hand. Her elbow and shoulder are fine, a bit sore, but fine otherwise.

She spent most of the time in my room, asking me if I needed anything, if I had pain, or what I was thinking. Sometimes as an answer, I would raise my voice. I wouldn't mean to, it would just come out. Sometimes she would give me one of her looks. That icy, angry look, which I preferred instead of her teary eyed gaze.

Technically, she starts PT in a week, but she's already been trying to flex and unflex her hand. I've helped her as much as I could, but once she would start getting frustrated with herself, I would stop. I didn't want her driving herself crazy over this, especially since the doctor didn't want her trying it out quite yet because she still wasn't cleared completely from the surgery itself.

At night, she would have to leave the room and go back to hers to sleep, where she told me she ices or heats her neck.

A few times each day she would leave the room. She would go visit Antonio, to see how he and his family were holding up. While she was gone, Kelly or one of the other guys would keep me company. Usually it was Kelly, but Boden was also a recurrent visitor.

Suddenly, a hand lands softly on my shoulder, and I can't help but flinch greatly at the contact. "Whoa Casey, you alright?," somebody asks, and I turn to see Clarke standing there. His lips were slightly parted open in concern, his eyes trying to study mine.

"Yeah, I'm good," I tell him, nodding as I glance away for a second before turning back to him. "What's up, Clarke?"

His expression reluctantly relaxes again, and he picks his hand up from my shoulder. "Mind if I sit down?" He finally asks.

I don't know what to say at first. Clarke and I aren't that close, we've only had a few conversations together despite him being around the firehouse for half a year already. And many of those months I spent thinking he was the snitch, which turned out to be very wrong, and it's something I wish I could take back.

"Yeah," I tell him, nodding finally. "Sit down." I move over a few inches on the bed so he could comfortably fit, and when he does sit down, he takes a deep breath.

"How are ya feeling, Casey?" He wonders, turning his head to look at me. I shrug and purse my lips, looking out the window again.

I don't even know how I'm feeling. Some days, I can't get the images of the bombing out of my head, and other days, I'm alright, considering. But each day I get the images, they keep getting more vivid...more real.

All week, I've been telling people I'm fine. I tell them I have headaches, which is normal after what I've been through, and they seem to settle on that. I've told them I'm tired, and they seem to settle on that, too. Maybe Clarke would settle on an "I'm fine" as well.

"I'm good as gold," I tell him, but my voice isn't as bright as I had planned it in my head. My comment almost seemed sarcastic, and that must be what Clarke took it as. Sarcasm. Great.

I then notice him turn to look out the window with me. "Yeah, you're right, stupid question," he murmurs, nodding.

I don't care enough to correct my "sarcasm", since he wouldn't believe me anyway. Clarke isn't stupid and I'm not always the smartest.

We sit in silence for awhile, looking out the window, at a scene I've grown to almost memorize by now. Clarke grows more relaxed and rests his elbows on his knees, breaking the silence. "So you're getting outta this place today?"

"Yeah," I nod, smiling a bit. "Gabby is too."

"That's good, man, glad to hear it," he says sincerely, glancing at me before back at the window. There's another period of silence, where I notice him fidget and plan out what he's going to say. I then turn towards him, waiting for him to spit it out.

"Just say it, Clarke," I urge him tiredly, sighing.

"Casey...," he starts, rubbing his jeans with his hands. "I know what you're going through. I've seen stuff no man should see. I've been through hell and back but sometimes not all men make it back with me. Actually, I barely made it back this last time around." He takes a deep breath, glancing at me before continuing. "A had a couple of buddies over there who-"

"Where are you going with this, Clarke?" I sigh, turning back away from him and suddenly having a great amount of impatience. I was getting sick of the "emotionally damaged" crap, I've been on the job long enough to know the signs. I'm not broken, I don't need help, I'm perfectly fine for a man who just had another traumatic brain injury.

"I'm just saying that if you need somebody to talk to, somebody who understands, I'm here, alright?" His voice is soft, sincere, and very un-Clarke of him. It almost made me forget who I was talking to.

"Thanks Clarke, but I'm fine," I tell him, sounding convinced enough to make myself content. "Really, I am."

I look at him again to find him studying me, and then finally nodding and putting his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright," he says, sighing a little. "You just got a couple of people worried about ya, about what's going on inside that very damaged head of yours."

I smirk at his comment, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. "Thanks for your concern," I tell him. "But I'm good."

He nods, offering me a small smile before standing up and patting my shoulder. His action causes me to jump on instinct, just as bad as the first time he did it. I look up at him to find his eyebrows creased and his eyes studying me intently once again.

"Sure you're okay, Casey?," he asks, his gaze unmoving.

"I'm fine, Clarke," I say, rising my voice to make him believe me. "You just startled me."

"I've done that a million times in the firehouse, and you've never jumped like that," he argues gently, finally lifting his hand from my shoulder.

I shake my head and look away from him, my eyes finding the window again. "I'm telling you, I'm fine." My words come out in a somewhat harsh tone, but it finally made him back off.

"Alright, yeah," he says after a short pause, obviously unconvinced, but it was enough to stop him asking me about it. "I'll see ya soon, Casey, feel better." He slaps my shoulder one more time, making me flinch yet again, but hoping he didn't see it.

Kelly's POV:

I walk back into the waiting room and hang up my phone somewhat miserably, shoving it back into my pocket with enough harshness to make Shay and Boden raise their eyebrows at me while sitting in their seats.

"Care to explain, Kelly?" Shay asks, sitting up in her chair.

I think about not telling her, since I know she might make a big deal out of it and because Boden is in the room, but I tell her anyway, just because she may have some good advice to follow her smart ass remarks.

"Erin is already going back to work," I confess, releasing a big breath. I lean my shoulder against the wall and shake my head, looking over at Shay to watch her reaction.

"And?" She asks, her eyes squinting at me with confusion.

"Shay!" I exclaim incredulously. "She is still recovering from her concussion, bruised back, broken elbow, and everything else she suffered from that damn explosion!"

She raises her arms in defense, leaning back in her chair again. "Alright, alright. I'm sure it's only desk work, right?"

"Yeah but-"

"But nothing, Kelly," she says, her voice stern in that Shay-like way. "You went back to work with practically a broken neck, and that wasn't even desk work. Lindsay is a tough chick, she can handle herself."

I sigh deeply and shake my head, deciding to give the topic a rest for now when I see Clarke walk back in. His news is more important than discussing my relationship problems in front of Boden.

"So?" Chief asks, standing up in curiosity with Shay following suit.

Clarke shrugs, placing his hands in his jacket pocket. "He's jumpy," he begins, sighing. "And a little impatient." The three of us shift uncomfortably, which doesn't go unnoticed by Clarke. "But there's no reason why that stuff can't be from his head injury. It probably is, in fact. Just let him heal, alright? And we will go from there."

I feel my body tense up at his news, watching him walk away before turning back to Boden and Shay.

"Now what?" I ask. "Are we just going to let Matt go home when we don't even know if he's okay to leave this place?" My voice is bold, wanting to get my point across. "I think it's too soon. I think he should be in the hospital awhile longer."

"Kelly," Shay says quietly, soothingly. "I know you're looking out for Matt, but do you really think he'll open up any easier in this place?" Her hand moves to rest on my arm in a comforting way.

I sign again, knowing she was right, but I look at Boden for some help. Any help at all.

"She's right, Kelly," he says after a couple of seconds with that brave, husky voice that could be damn intimidating at times. "Let's just get him and Gabby home, then we will go from there."

I reluctantly nod, even though I still didn't completely agree. "I'm going to go help Gabs finish packing, I'll meet you guys here with Matt?" Shay wonders, and Boden nods before she walks away.

"I've got a bad feelin' about this, Chief."

A/N: Here's a quick update because you all deserve it for leaving me such fantastic reviews. I know it's short, but it's also packed with quite a bit of information. Next chapter will also be a time skip.

On another note, to make this story as realistic as possible, I've been reading up on PTSD and stories of people who've had it. I've done some research on it before, but not this much in depth.

Let me just say that people really underestimate what PTSD can do to you. It can literally make you crazy, it can stop you from doing simple activities like driving or cooking, and every time somebody closes their eyes, they relive their nightmare. Some people live with it their whole lives. I'm going to do my absolute best to give you guys one hell of a realistic story about PTSD, and I hope you enjoy the ride, just do me a favor and keep victims of PTSD in the back of your mind.

Thank you!