A/N: Yet another prompt turned one shot. This was borderline going into the collection but I ended up really loving the result and thought it deserved it's own listing. The prompt was: "You have to leave right now." with a special request of having it be "angsty but ultimately happy" and in a fire. I sort of met the "in a fire" requirement but I don't think I did as dramatically as the requestor really wanted. Hopefully they (and you all) still like it!
Happy Reading!
angellwings
Catch a Spark
By angellwings
"Nothing's gonna take my love away.
Keep it in your heart for a rainy day.
Close your eyes let it find its way to you,
And if the highway gets too dark,
Call my name let it catch a spark.
I'll be there for you,
Call me honey,
I'll come running."
-"Bluebird" by Little Big Town
There's an unconscious victim on the scene. The fire alarm was pulled but there's no sign of fire around the pull station. Truck, Squad and Engine are searching the building while Brett and Foster attend to the victim.
"I forgot the stair chair in all the rush," Foster says after they've secured the C-collar.
"Go, I've got this," Brett insists.
Casey walks through with a worried crease in between his brows. He looks like he's following the trail of something. Possibly the faint smell of smoke in the air that's grown more noticeable over time. Out if the corner of her eye she sees him remove one glove and place a hand over a closed metal breaker panel and then the wall it's built into.
His eyes flick between the wall and her.
She startles when he suddenly barks out an order.
"You have to leave right now."
His tone implies urgency but there are no flames licking at their heels and no clouds of smoke choking the air. Her victim isn't conscious to tell her what hurts so she's not leaving them to be dragged out by a firefighter. That's fine when the situation is dire but Foster should be back in two minutes tops. They can wait.
"As soon as Foster gets back with the chair."
"No, Brett. Now. We'll get her," he says motioning to her victim. "It's an electrical fire in the walls. You have to go."
"I will," she says before clarifying. "As soon as my partner gets back and we've secured my patient. 61 is just outside. She'll be back any second now."
"Sylvie," he replies, jaw ticking as his voice drops to a dangerously low tone. "That's not a suggestion. That's an order. Leave the victim and go. I don't have time to argue with you right now."
She's taken aback by the resentment in his stare and the bite in his words. She's hardly being unreasonable, but he's acting as though she's being blatantly insubordinate. It irritates her. She feels the flash of anger in her chest. Why is he being this way?
She grits her teeth as she replies. "All due respect, Captain, I'm not going anywhere. This is my job and I'm doing it."
His eyes narrow into a glare and he takes in a deep breath. She's preparing for a dress down when she catches his gaze again, this time she sees fear and panic. Two things she almost never associates with Matt Casey.
"Got the chair," Foster declares as she arrives back on the scene. She looks up at the two of them and stops. "Um, everything okay?"
"Fine. Just get your patient and go," Casey snaps.
Foster's eyes widen and she turns to Brett with an offended glance. "What crawled up his ass?"
"No idea," Sylvie replies with a sigh. "Come on, let's get her to Med."
Later, while Foster is backing the rig into 51, Brett spots Casey making a hasty retreat. She rolls her eyes and decides enough is enough. There's something she's missing here and she needs to find out what it is. She tracks him down in his quarters filling out the usual paperwork and knocks on the open doorway.
He heaves a weighted sigh and turns his chair to face her. "Hi," he greets curtly. "How'd it go?"
He looks at her like she's the last person he wants to be talking to right now and she hates it. They've never been on opposite sides of something like this before. She wants it over and done with so they can go back to being a part of the same team.
"Good, she was coming to as we left," Sylvie tells him quickly. "That's not why I'm here." She steps all the way inside, shuts the door behind her, and then points between them as she explains herself. "You and I need to talk about what happened earlier."
"You mean how I gave you an order and you ignored it?" He asks with a scoff. "Sure, let's talk about that."
Oh, please, that is not what this is about. She has no idea what's really bothering him but she knows it's not that.
Her voice and expression are flat when she speaks again. "How many times has Boden ordered you out and you've taken just one more minute to reach a victim?"
"This isn't about me, Brett."
"No, it's about both of us. You have a duty to protect the life in front of you, right?" She pauses and waits for him to offer confirmation. She huffs and carries on when he does nothing but stare at her with a stern face. "Well, so do I. I wasn't asking to stay and fight the fire with you. I needed one more minute for a patient who may have had serious unknown injuries so I could make sure we got them out without causing additional damage. That's my job. I'm not going to apologize for looking out for that woman's best interest."
"And what about your best interest?" He asks with a scowl. "The situation wasn't safe."
"Nothing we do is safe, Casey. If I only responded to the calls that were safe I'd be sitting around the Firehouse all day."
He groans as if he's in pain and squeezes the bridge of his nose with clear frustration. She has no idea where any of this is coming from but she really wishes he would just spit it out already.
As if a higher power heard her, suddenly he does. Loudly and desperately.
"Yeah, well, last time you were directly involved in a fire scene, you ended up on a gurney! That's not happening again, Sylvie. I won't let it!"
His outburst seems to fill up the space between them — sending them into a full minute of stunned oppressive silence. Casey can't believe he said it, she can't believe she heard it, and neither of them knows where to go from here.
She takes a deep breath and tries to clear away the potential emotions clogging her throat. It doesn't work.
She approaches her follow up question as gently as possible. "So, this is about Arnow?"
The anger she was feeling from Casey earlier has completely vanished. He looks defeated — exhausted. She wonders how long he's kept this guilt and fear simmering under the surface.
He doesn't reply so she tries to prompt him again. In case he's somehow forgotten she's there and waiting for an answer. "Casey?"
"It was my call. I told Boden to send you and Foster in. No matter how he spins it," Casey confesses as he leans forward in his chair and places his head in his hands. "I'm the one that put you in danger."
She takes a seat across from him, on the end of his cot, and fights the urge to pull him into her arms. She's not sure if he'd want that kind of comfort from her, but there's nothing she wants more than to offer it.
Instead, she tries to reassure him. "It was a good call, Casey. That call saved lives. If Foster and I hadn't come in and helped those people and Boden hadn't help them get out, the death count would have been twice as high as it was. That decision saved lives."
He stays quiet with his eyes focused on the floor and it's too much for her. She can't hold herself back from touching him any longer. She reaches across the space between them and wraps her hands around his wrists to pull his hands away from his head. He lets her, but his eyes remain downcast.
"Casey." He doesn't move an inch so she bites her lip worriedly and tries again. This time, she uses his first name. "Matt, look at me."
That seems to break through because, finally, he looks up at her and meets her gaze with his watery one. She squeezes his wrist with her left hand and then slips her fingers through his.
"I'm fine, see?" She releases his hand to wave her formerly broken arm around. The gesture is silly and her accompanying smile is pleadingly playful. "I'm here and my arm is healed. It's good as new and just as gangly as it's always been."
His lips form half of a grin, as if he's trying his hardest to resist, and then his hand captures hers as it waves above them. He pulls it back down with a light squeeze.
"Gangly?" He asks as the grin spreads across the rest of his face.
He's still holding her hand which causes a preposterous amount of warmth to flood her veins. She feels like a schoolgirl with a crush every time she's around him for any significant amount of time. It's almost embarrassing.
She wants to keep things light between them as long as she can so she aims for self deprecating humor in response. "Have you seen my arms? They are ridiculously thin and long. I keep hoping I'll grow into them but I think that time has passed."
"This arm is not gangly," he replies with a muted chuckle while his eyes inspect the limb in question.
Oddly enough, she doesn't feel insecure under his scrutiny. She doesn't have time to puzzle that out right now, though. The solemnity of the discussion that led them here finds them again, as she knew it would. His blue eyes have shifted to a slate grey shade of blue, making them appear gloomy, like the sky on a rainy day.
"That collapse could have turned out very differently."
"But it didn't," she immediately counters. "You and I both know we can't dwell on what might have happened. You can do that with any given call and all it will do is drive you crazy. That factory fire was going to end badly no matter what anyone did. You made the absolute best call you could have made given the crappy hand you were dealt. So, I'll tell you the same thing I wrote to that stupid safety review board earlier this year. In my opinion, no one could have handled it better than you did. You are the best leader and firefighter any of us could ever ask you to be. End of story."
The blue in his eyes deepens from slate to cobalt and a genuine smile appears on his face. She feels like she may have successfully chased away his doubt. For the time being anyway.
"Thank you, Sylvie," he says, meeting her eyes with a heartfelt stare. "For the letter back then and for making me talk about it now."
"Anytime, Matt, really," she promises, returning his smile and heartfelt gaze. "You've been here for me so much lately with all of my birth mother drama that it feels nice to return the favor. If you ever need to talk — about anything — let me know. I'll make the time."
"What if I don't have anything in particular to talk about? Would you still make the time?" He asks as he idly runs his across the back of her hand (which reminds her they're still holding hands in the first place).
She bites back a giddy smile at the idea of just spending time with Matt for the sake of spending time with him. "I could probably pencil you in, yeah."
He nods slowly and reluctantly releases her hand. She immediately misses the way it fit against hers. She assumes their conversation is over and turns to leave, but he stands from his chair and calls her back.
When she faces him again he's smiling bashfully and scratching the back of his neck — looking much younger and lighter than he did just a few minutes ago.
He clears his throat before he speaks. "So, can you pencil me in for breakfast in the morning after shift?"
"I would lie and try to sound busy but, the truth is, there's nothing I'd rather do," she answers.
She's feeling like that giddy school girl once again but, in the face of his question, it's exciting and not embarrassing. Exciting because at some point during this conversation their friendship shifted. It shifted toward something she's been wanting but hasn't had the courage to pursue.
Maybe now is the moment that changes.