Fandom: Chicago Fire

Title: Praise You In A Storm

Chapter 1: Carnival Lights

Firehouse 51 1360 S. Blue Island Ave

Chicago, Illinois, April 11, 2020, Nine-Thirty AM

"So, Brett, have you heard from Scott lately?" The question comes from Captain Matt Casey of Truck 81, who is standing outside my ambulance doors. I'm not sure how long I've been sitting inside the back with this clipboard lost in a haze. Attempting to do inventory, which all seems so pointless right now. "I'm sorry, Captain, what was the question again?" I hate feeling so lost my whole life I've spent trying to prove I wasn't some dumb- blond. I've had to work harder to show I could do this job to get past the stereotypes that girls can't do the heavy lifting, fast thinking. We're not leadership material. We're not loyal. I've heard every stereotype ever in existence aimed my way the minute I announced I wanted to be a paramedic back in my hometown when I was a teenager.

Women are supposed to have clean jobs such as secretaries, teachers, and librarians. Why would I want to be a paramedic? Was I crazy? Trying to prove a point Women are not as strong as men, how was I supposed to do all that heavy lifting? Women aren't supposed to make as much money as men, so why bother working? Just stay home and take care of the kids, let the man do the work. Women don't need to go to college; why make my parents spend money on me when they have three boys to send to school? How are you going to be a paramedic Brett? Women are quieter than men and not meant to speak out. To be a paramedic, you have to be loud, in charge. Demanding and heard women are supposed to be submissive and do as they are told not to be the leader's women are never allowed to be in charge. Women should not have technical skills their not good at "hands-on" projects. I had it even worse because I was blond. Blonds are weak and overly sensitive; we're not good drivers. We're not compassionate because we're only concerned with how we look, so how was I suppose to do a dirty job as a paramedic?

Blonds are lost in space and can't focus on anything for more than five seconds unless it's the mirror in front of our faces. I've gone through hell to prove every one of these stupid stereotypes wrong, and today in less than two hours into my shift. I've spaced out three times, mixed up my medications almost killing a patient, thank God Shay another blond saved my ass. I nearly dropped a patient on the stretcher after tripping over a piece of broken pavement. I got lost on the way to Gaffney Chicago Medical Center. A place I've gone to a million times.

"It's okay Brett, I just asked if you had heard from Scott, isn't he suppose to pick up the baby today?"

"Oh, yeah, he is supposed to, no, I haven't heard from him, not since yesterday, he was driving back from looking at homes in Tennessee. Sorry, I promise I am not usually this spacey I don't know what's wrong with me."

Matt is suddenly beside me, his arm across my shoulders. "What's wrong with you, Sylvie, is that you just lost your mother three days ago." "You are taking care of a baby sister on your own with no prior experience in child care, a preemie baby for that matter all while still working a demanding job which keeps you on your feet for twenty-four hours in the middle of a pandemic."

"Yeah, I suppose I feel like I am living in a trance, I haven't slept in days, I don't even remember the last meal I ate."

"I know, Brett."

I stare at him, rubbing my eyes, "You know? I thought I was doing a decent job in covering it up till today." "You are Brett." "So, how do you know?" "Shay, of course." "Oh, right. My roommate and partner who's soon to be dead. So you two were talking about me behind my back? Oh, cool. Love that."

Matt's laughter rises from the depth of his stomach to echo off the walls my checks fill with color. His face breaks out in the famous Matt Casey smile as he rubs my shoulder, pulling me close. "Relax honey; it's not like that we weren't gossiping about you. We're both just worried, she's the mother of my children, she's your housemate, and partner so we're concerned."

Matt's smile lights up when he thinks about his kids be helped Shay have via in vitro.

"I get why she's concerned; she's my partner our lives depend on each other. She wants to make sure I am fit to work; what I don't get is why you care?"

His eyes stare into mine, reading mine like a map. He wants to ask for directions on how to proceed, but men are never good at asking for help part. "I care, Brett, a lot we've been friends for six and a half years. We work together; I believe me; we all do here at 51."

"I don't get why I am so upset, honestly, Matt, that's the part that troubles me the most. It's not like Julie raised me. She gave me up to wonderful people who loved me as if I was their biological daughter, growing up, I knew something was missing, yes, but it was never loved or attention."

"It's okay to be confused, Brett. Julie was your mother even if she didn't raise you; she carried you, did what she thought was best for you at sixteen years old. She wasn't able to raise you, but she took care of you by giving you to people who could. That's the purest love any parent can ever give to a child. When you reconnected, you discovered shared interests; she was able to give you a little piece of your childhood a past that you were missing. Maybe your relationship isn't the typical mother/ daughter."

"No, it wasn't, but we were building one, I'm not sure what it was yet."

"Maybe that's what hurts the most, Brett; it's the not knowing what it could have been."

Tears fill my eyes with his words; I think he hit the nail right on the top. What could Julie and I have become if we had been giving more time? Five more minutes to finish a conversation, she never finished telling me about my father. Now I will never know who he was? Was he her sweetheart from high school?

Ten more years to watch my little sister grow up to get to know my biological grandparents, a chance for her to meet her grandchildren that one day I will have, maybe having her give me away at my wedding or an opportunity for her to meet the people who raised me.

"Five more minutes, Matt, even just five more minutes, I would kill for it, even if it was just for her to pick a name for my sister. How wrong is it that she never even got to name her daughter, hold her? Was God trying to be cruel, Matt? He gave her two daughters, but she never got to see either grow up."

"No, Brett, I don't think he was trying to be cruel. I think he has a reason for everything. Every Season, every choice has a purpose under his heavens. It's not our right to know his wisdom; we are just here to trust him. To believe he is just and fair."

"What if I am having trouble believing?"

"That's natural, Brett. He's pushing your buttons testing you. That's when you need your faith the most. I can't even imagine what you are going through. I am so sorry. I am here for you, though, Brett, try to close your eyes and imagine your mom's in a better place. She's with Jesus; I bet you she's watching us now, rooting for us to get together."

"What?" I laugh, leaning my head on his shoulder he sides eyes me "Oh, she didn't tell you?"

"No, what?" "Julie wanted us together she thought you were lying when you said we were just friends, she approached me last week, told me to get my hands off my balls and ask you out already. She thought we were too cute and too perfect not to be together."

"Oh, my God, Matt, I am so sorry!" His causal shrug only makes it so much worse; he's my boss, my best friend's ex-husband, there are codes rules about even looking at your best friend's anything. How could she? Why is he so silent?

"I'm not Brett, because truthfully I have liked you more deeply than friendship for a while now. I've been debating how to handle this. Gabby was my wife, your best friend, your partner for five years. There's loyalty there for both of us. The truth is though, Brett I like you I think you are gorgeous, sweet, funny, I love how religious you are, even now when you are questioning there's a sense of peace in your voice when talking about God, I love how feisty and loyal you are. You are smart and dedicated to your job, to the people of Chicago. I would like to get to know you better. Would you consider going with me this Friday to the Carnival?"

My throat suddenly feels parched, my lips dry; they have lost its ability to respond. My heart is racing; I'm slightly dizzy. My mind is crying out, yes! Yes, a thousand times always, yes! My heart is beating so hard I feel a sense of darkness settling over it. My conscience is maybe reminding me of Gabby. I want so bad to speak those words that my mind is screaming at me to speak. So why can't I simply say them?" His hand rests on my left facial check his eyes staring into mine. God, he is adorable, his eyes shine like two harbor lights leading a lost ship to shore. Am I that lost ship? Maybe I'm that lost sheep wandering around a baron land, is God's plan for Matt to be my Shepherd here on earth?

"It's okay, Sylvie; I shouldn't have asked with all you have going on. Maybe some other time when you are less distracted. It was stupid of me to put this on you right now; you need a friend, not some jackass trying to get into your pants."

Wait, he likes me that much? "No, Matt." he smiles at me, getting up wait where is he going? "Wait, Matt, I mean no, it's not too soon, Yes I would love to go with you." I race after him jumping out of the Ambo, grabbing his arm, so he is facing me. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me to him.

"Your serious Brett?"

"Yes, I am, I would love to go with you." His smile is endearing as he dips me lower spinning me both of us laughing as his lips suddenly find themselves at home against mine. My hands push back until his back is against the wall, his hands roaming all over my back, my jacket discarded in a heap to be picked up later. We mold together, fitted as one with unexpected but pleasurable perfection. I guess size doesn't matter; I never thought I could fall this hard, or feel this high directly from a kiss. I've kissed men before; I have never been this sexually aroused or this fill-filled romantically. Exploring Matt's tasteful lips, which are not too rough, yet not too wet so they would be confused for a woman's. The strength of his arms wrapped around my body, catching my weight as my knees give out. Inhaling sweat and leather and Construction scents. His scents. Matt Casey's scents. I feel like the girl at the end scene of a movie kissing the teenage boy of her dreams under the glow of crescent moonlight, under the Ferris wheel—their shapes neon speckles of Carnival lights set ablaze by cupid's carefully constructed hands. I want to feel this way forever; this is how it should always feel.

Why can't God always be this good? Why must there be evil in this world? Pain and sadness? Why can't there only be love and Joy? I can barely stand when I come down from this kiss; our eyes connected. Hands entwined into each other's breaths, hinged at how amazing a simple kiss can make two souls feel.

"Help! Help me!" the sounds break our focus a teenage boy comes racing inside the firehouse doors, blood is trailing from behind him. He's been shot shaking my head I kick into action, I can't even form a coherent thought. I just go on autopilot yelling for Leslie Shay, my partner. "Help me. Please, they're coming! Close the doors!"

"Who's coming? What happened? Who shot you?" Matt's question is lost in a sudden haze of gunfire; my last image is of three teenagers holding G48' Glocks as I throw myself over the teenager. Screams fill the air as I hear Shay yelling for the doors to be closed, feet pound the apparatus floor. My name is shouted as someone is pulling my body across the floor; my vision is dancing in a haze of neon beautiful Carnival Lights.