Gabby snatched the towel from her shoulder, threw it into the sink, slapped both palms on the stove and fumed. Herrman and Mouch wisely pretended to watch TV, Cruz and Otis pretended no such thing, turned around in their chairs to openly ogle Gabby Dawson's meltdown.

"Now Gabby," Sylvie began patiently. "You're a certified EMT, you know concussion protocol as well as I do."

"Shut up."

"And the medication they gave him….."

"Pain meds, he's been on them before."

"Obviously not this one." Sylvie said gently.

"Nothing this strong, though right?" Stella butted in. "Sorry, I don't know his history."

"He's been scared off pain meds thanks to Severide."

"That's right."

"Haven't we all?"

"Don't placate me." Gabby turned, smacked the sink. "Dammit!"

"Well, this time he's having a reaction." Sylvie continued in the same, soothing tone. "It's not unusual Gabby…"

"You don't give pain meds for a concussion." Gabby snapped waspishly.

"He wasn't prescribed pain medication for a possible concussion." Stella corrected. "But a fractured wrist and bruised bones."

"I know that!"

"Chief already stood him down." Mouch called. "Herrman here will act as Lieutenant, case we get a call, but it's been a quiet day."

"Say that again." Gabby huffed. "Might as well place the call yourself."

"He's off shift until his wrist is outta that cast."

"Yeah Dawson. He's on med leave. Be happy about that. You get to take him home and kanoodle and make him feel all better."

"When?" Gabby snorted. "He'll do desk duty."

"Nothing wrong with doing that. Can help Chief, monitor the tower room, all's good."

"He'll be home a good week or so, 'til the swelling goes down, pain lessens."

"And he comes off those pain meds."

"Oh, he won't be taking any more." Gabby retrieved the towel from the sink, needlessly wiped the counter. "These wear off, he can suck it up, take aspirin."

"Awwwww….this morning's call was nothing."

"He's good Dawson, don't worry about it."

"Nothing?" Gabby sputtered. "Tire iron to the head is nothing?"

"It was a collapsible lug-nut wrench, he had his helmet on and his hand took the worse of the blow when he threw his arm up to protect his head."

"Brett here took him to Med, got him checked out."

"Brett here was right to make him get checked out." Sylvie corrected. "Wrist fracture and prior skull injury, hence concussion protocol, but Gabby, sweetie, there is honestly nothing to worry about."

But Gabby hadn't wanted him to go in the ambulance to Med to get checked out.

She'd wanted to drive him home where she could check him out in privacy because she wanted him all to herself. He wasn't seriously hurt or sick often, but when he was, she was one she wanted him to want. She'd suggested it, but Brett, bless her heart, hadn't picked up on the signals Gabby had sent her.

She wasn't an idiot, nor was she stupid. She knew he had to go but she'd wanted to take him to the ER herself. That way, she'd have been the only one with him…..'cause now…

"He's got excellent medical care right here Gabby." Stella assured Gabby. "Brett, and you." She gave her a big smile. "Everyone here is trained in first-aid, if his eyes roll back in his head, we're on it. We've got this."

"You think now is a time to joke?"

"Yeah Dawson, Kidd here knows as much as you do," Capp cackled. "Maybe more."

"Shut up!"

"Gabby, hey, there are no signs of concussion and he is exhibiting no symptoms. Due to his history with his prior head injury, Dr. Halstead refused to allow him to leave the hospital until I promised we wouldn't leave him alone." Sylvie said seriously, smiled softly. "Otherwise, he would have been admitted."

"I get that. And I agree."

"There's no one at home, right? You and Severide are both here. Wait, does he still live with you?" Brett waved it off, didn't matter. "What about his sister?"

"Who? No!"

"The bigger concern is his reaction to the medication." Kidd threw her hands up, reared back when Gabby bared teeth, growled. "No, nonono….I mean, his vitals are good, no loss of appetite, it's not a life-threatening reaction….but Gabby, he…he….he's higher than a kite!" And she burst out laughing. "Come on! That's funny!"

When Casey had started acting, uh weird, at the station, Brett had cornered him and he'd willingly sat still and let her take his vitals, but then he'd seen Severide and the 'fun' had begun.

If they hadn't known better, they would have thought him drunk.

A call to Dr. Halstead at Med had confirmed Brett's diagnosis of a reaction to the pain med – it wasn't uncommon – and there was nothing to worry about. They just needed to keep a close eye on him until the meds wore off, so Boden had agreed to keep Casey at the station through shift since there was no physical danger to the reaction to the medication….and because he was everywhere and into everything and the only person he'd listen to, was Severide.

"You won't find it so funny when Severide gets hurt and it's not you, he runs to." Gabby snapped at Stella.

"What? Girl, not me kissing his boo-boos these days."

"Oh, you kissed more than his boo-boos!"

"Come on Dawson! Where's your sense of humor?" Cruz hooted. "He be tripping!"

"Least he's happy tripping." Otis chortled.

"Happy? He can't keep his attention focused on anything longer than 10 seconds!" Gabby shouted. "We are on shift!, if we get called out…."

"Well….." Mouch hedged. "Maybe not anything….."

"….but maybe…..someone….?"

And the room erupted into laughter.

"Relax Dawson, there are 3 trucks, an ambo and a Battalion Chief here…it's doubtful all of us will have to go out at the same time, someone will be here."

"And if not," Herrman paused, "Aah, then Chief will let Capp take on Lieutenant duties and leave Severide here with him."

Startled, Gabby jerked. "What? No." She didn't know how to feel or why she felt the way she did…..she wasn't angry…she wasn't upset….she wasn't worried or scared…Matt was going to be okay, the possibility of a serious head injury had been medically ruled out so what….she gasped, oh no!...was she….?...she was! Good God, she was jealous!

Of Severide!

She loved the man dearly, but she was in love with Casey and it burned, burned a lot, burned a hole in her gut, that while he was hurt and drugged – it wasn't her he wanted – it was Severide.

And Severide, the sonofabitch, was all impatient and irritated….didn't want to be bothered, yet did nothing to push Casey towards her.

"Awww….you're jealous!"

"I am not!"

"Of Severide!"

"BahWahHah!"

"Hoothoothooot!"

"Like that time, after his head injury, he told Severide about his memory issues and not you."

"Someone needs to keep an eye on him."

"I can't leave shift."

"Can't send him home until you can go with him."

"We can take him back to Med."

"Maybe Chief can call for a relief replacement."

Gabby chewed her lip, wondering if that was a possibility. Doubtful. Casey was – would be – fine and there were plenty of people at the station who could keep an eye on him. Most likely, Chief would insist they return Casey to Med and admit him rather than send him home with her.

Stella decided it was time to move the discussion along. "He wanted to drive the truck."

"I let him sit in the driver's seat, he just sat there and played with the steering wheel."

"Honked the horn."

"Laughing in glee like he was 3!"

"God, keep the keys out of the ignition!"

"He's attracted to shiny things."

"Sharp objects."

"Heights."

"You know, everything dangerous."

"And he knows no fear."

"Best to leave him to Severide Dawson. He's strong enough to wrangle him off a ladder."

"Or stop him from going up it in the first place."

"True that."

"Stop," Gabby snapped. "This is hard enough without all these scenarios I didn't think of, entering my mind now." She rolled her eyes, "So, thanks, thanks guys. Thanks for that."

"You betcha."

"Anytime."

"Hey, it's what we're here for….doom and gloom!"

Kelly Severide entered the common room, knuckling his eyes. He yawned, opened the fridge, stared at the shelves, closed the door without removing anything.

"Severide?" Gabby was startled he'd entered alone. She bobbed and weaved, but no matter which way she ducked, all she saw was proof Severide had entered alone. "Where is he Kelly? Where's Matt? Did you lose him? Where did you leave him? You left him alone?"

"Any more questions?"

"Where is he?"

"Get off my back."

"Don't pull that attitude with me."

"I'm tired Dawson." He snagged an apple, took a bite. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to keep him safe! It's your job."

"Take over doing my job for me, anytime you want." He peeled a banana. "You probably think you can do it better than me anyway."

Ohhhh, he was in a mood.

"Don't be a dick Kelly." She snapped back.

"Don't yell at me."

"That's not yelling. You want me to yell at you?" She blocked his way to the cupboard. "I can yell."

"I want you off my back." He finished the banana, tossed the peel.

"Why didn't you come get me?"

Severide, tired and dealing with a stress headache, didn't appreciate the tone or look of accusation he was receiving, and in his usual way, he lashed out.

"Didn't know I needed your permission to come to the kitchen, get something to eat, why don't you get out of my face."

"Why didn't you bring him with you?"

He stared at her. Everyone waited.

"Because Connie's new couch is yellow and he thinks it's a submarine, so he's pretending he's Grover, singing the fucking Beatles."

"Who's Grover?"

"The hell does that even mean?"

"Wait….you know Sesame Street?"

"That wasn't Grover." Herrman corrected them. "Raised five kids on that show."

Horrified, Gabby gasped. "And you just left him there? How could you?! The hell is the matter with you Kelly?" She bolted from the room, tearing down the hallway to the Chief's office.

"Really Severide, you just get tired of babysitting him, and dumped him?" Otis asked. He stood up to follow Dawson. "That's shitty, even for you."

Kelly glared, lip curling in disgust. "Yeah Otis, that's the kind of guy I am."

Gabby was back, not looking happy, but no longer looking terrified.

"Dawson?" Herrman questioned.

Gabby had torn down the hallway, convinced she'd find Casey sticking a knife into an electrical socket or pulling some other such dangerous stunt, only to burst into the bullpen to find Boden sitting on Connie's desk watching his truck lieutenant, who was slumped on the sofa, feet on the floor, right foot hovering in the air, 'drive' his yellow submarine as he mumbled a word or two of the song.

She'd been ignored by Matt and waved off by Boden.

"Chief has him." She announced, blinked at tears, had to wipe her eyes. Brett moved in to give her a hug. "He's not alone."

"Oh Gabby, he's going to be alright." The blonde assured her friend. "Just get through the next couple hours."

Gabby sniffed, nodded. Best to let everyone think she was upset over Matt's injury, and not the fact he was content with everyone but her.

"Imagine that." Severide said snidely, finished the apple, tossed the core, grabbed a bottle of water.

"Sorry," Otis hung his head. "Sorry Lieutenant."

"He's crashing." Gabby told them. "Nearly asleep."

"Good." Severide yawned. "He wore me out."

"Sorry he's been such an inconvenience." Gabby said waspishly, went ignored.

"Capp, need a favor."

())(())(()

Chief Wallace Boden sat on his assistant's desk – she was long gone home, her work day over, but somehow, she'd know what he did and he'd catch 'the look.' – watching Casey, his hair all mussed making him look younger that he was, fight sleep. At last, he'd tired himself out, given up 'steering the yellow submarine' and was comfortable on the couch, lulled into inaction by pain and exhaustion.

But his mouth had yet to fall inactive, because he was still 'living in a yellow submarine.'

Their day had started early with a call responding to an abandoned vehicle involved in an accident and all hell had broken lose before Squad had arrived. One thing had led to another and the next thing anyone knew, some crazy ass whacko had sprung up out of nowhere and attacked Matt Casey with a tire iron.

Otis and Mouch soon had the man wrestled to the ground and after an exam, Brett had deemed him safe from a head injury – bless that battered helmet – but due to his prior history of a skull fracture, had insisted he go to Med anyway.

With his wrist tender and giving him pain he couldn't hide, he'd agreed to go in the ambulance without much fuss.

That had been Boden's first clue Casey had suffered a serious injury.

Truck and Squad had returned to the station and when the ambo returned, they'd brought Casey with them sporting a short cast on his right wrist that immobilized his thumb. Brett had assured everyone he was fine and shared the concussion protocol, bruised bone in his arm and fractured wrist: Don't leave alone, clean break, no surgery to insert pins or screws or plates necessary.

Boden had wanted to send Casey home, but Brett had shared she'd promised he wouldn't be left him alone for the next 6 hours while he was monitored for an unlikely concussion, and he understood how Dawson felt, since she couldn't go with him.

So, they had convinced Casey to lie down on the sofa in the common room – much to Mouch's chagrin – until he'd woken up giggling.

Yes, giggling.

Brett had been summoned and smiling, diagnosed him suffering a reaction to the prescribed pain meds which had been verbally supported by Dr. Halstead after a phone call. Nothing serious, it'd wear off, they just had to wait him out.

Since then, they'd trailed around after him as he got into or onto one thing after another. A whirlwind of activity, he'd finally attached to Severide, and here they were.

"Matt?"

"Me? Me Matt?" He nodded. "That's me."

"Whatcha doing?"

"Where's Kelly?"

"He went to get something to eat."

His eyes went wide, he shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Well, Severide was, but whatever. "Okay." He waited but Casey remained silent. "You don't have to eat. Sev…." He was cut off, Casey vigorously shaking his head in disapproval.

"Ssshhh! Don't call him that. You can't call him that." Casey put a finger to his lips, whispered. "He doesn't like it."

He hadn't called him that. He'd been saying Severide but had been interrupted. With a smile, Boden put a finger to his own lips, winked. "I won't." He promised, then added. "You call him Sev."

"I do." Casey admitted with the seriousness of a 3-year-old explaining why grass was green to his amused mother. "I can, you can't." Finger still against his lips, he raised his other hand to point, frowned as pain flared. "Ow."

"You hurt your hand, try not to move it." Boden explained. "Why's that Casey? Why can you call him Sev?"

"I'm Matt." He corrected. "Matt."

"Yes, right. Matt." Apparently, he wasn't recognizing his last name. "Why does Kelly let you call him Sev?"

"He doesn't do affection, you know?"

Well, that certainly was a change of subject. "No?"

"You never really see him offer his men a slap on the back or squeeze their shoulder." He frowned at his hand, shrugged. "He's the cool guy everyone wants to know. Good-looking, athletic, confident, cocky, attracts all the ladies…." He winced, wow, suddenly, he wasn't feeling so good. "But Renee did a number on him…not all her fault…I mean, you know him...but it, uh, happened and now….you can't get close to him."

Casey was quiet, cradled his casted wrist in his lap, close to his stomach. It hurt. Maybe. Hell, something did. He wasn't just…..quite sure what.

Boden waited, but the room was dim and though he couldn't see for sure, he assumed Casey had finally fallen asleep. He was in the process of standing up when his assumption was proven false.

"You offer, then you gotta leave him the hell alone. You gotta recognize when he's reaching out and then, do pretty much nothing." Casey yawned, squirmed with a small moan. "Ow."

"Such as?"

"Such…when he wouldn't live in the apartment he shared with Shay after….." He shrugged. "So he moved in with me….."

Boden noted the use of 'me' not 'us'.

"…..then Gabby….goes all female….but you don't smother him, just let him do him…" he paused. "but she didn't like the way I handled him…..what, I'm stupid?"

"He, uh, did run away and return with a….eh, wife."

"Pffftt." He blew raspberries. "It was the right….thing…and you know it…" He squinted at his cast. "He hurts, he runs….you catch him, he shuts down, he always does…..rinse and repeat."

"I do. You're right." He'd been helpless helping Severide grieve Shay. How'd he spent the weeks right after her death were unknown to him but he suspected at some time or another, Casey had gotten it out of him. What he did know was, when Casey had gone to retrieve him and returned him to the house, it hadn't been pretty. It'd even gotten to the point he'd told his squad lieutenant if he didn't get it together, he couldn't stay at 51.

"I…..hurt." Casey sounded perplexed. His hand was heavy, the weight on his wrist too much to move. "Ow."

He thought maybe it was his fingers, they ignored his command to rise up and obey.

He thought maybe he had lost his opposable thumb, it didn't seem to want to move.

He stared at his hand. Hell, maybe he'd lost all his fingers….he squinted….yup, that was it, 'cause that there was a stump, and…..it was…the hell?...blue?!

Blue wasn't good. Blue was bad.

Stricken, he raised wide eyes to his Chief, extended his blue, fingerless hand, mutely pointed at the cast with his other hand, was assured his hand did indeed contain four fingers and a thumb…he just couldn't see it because the room was dim.

"Okay," He mumbled, returned his hand to his lap, relaxed once more. "I have all my fingers?"

"You do."

"Any my thumb?"

"And your thumb."

"And they can breathe?"

Boden blinked. Say what? He couldn't think of a thing to say

"They're blue." Casey sing-songed. "See?"

"Oh. That. Right." Boden cleared his throat. If the addled lieutenant started singing Blue Christmas in his best Elvis Presley voice, he would have to return him to the competent care of Severide. "Yes, they can breathe."

"I have…." He began to count. "1, 2, 6, 8….who do I appreciate?" He giggled miserably, went quiet, then said somberly. "Kelly." He heaved a sigh. "My buddy-bud-bud Sev."

So, if he had all his fingers, and there wasn't a stump, then it must be his wrist or elbow or shoulder…..his entire right arm throbbed and ached and pulsated, so something was wrong somewhere. Maybe that was why his hand was blue.

"We all appreciate Severide."

"Ow." He bit his lip, blinked. "Ow."

"You're okay, you broke your wrist."

Well, hell.

"Bruised radius." He smiled at Casey's look of confusion. "Bone. You bruised your arm bone."

"Thought…" He concentrated, his brow furrowed. "Didn't….I…break it?"

"You broke your wrist, bruised your radius."

"Oh." He blinked at sudden tears. "Ow!" He'd never broken a bone before, did it always hurt this much? No wonder Severide popped pain-killers when his shoulder had given him fits. This fucking sucked. Was it tolerable? Well, he wasn't screaming. But was it bearable? No, not really. His stomach was in a knot, he felt sick, his head spun. When he tried to focus his eyes, he had four fingers, then eight. The longer he stared, the more fingers he grew.

Damn.

Casey abandoned his perusal of his fingers. His mind circled, spun and he laid his head back.

"It's a secret. Can't tell."

But oh, the lingering shadow of a memory wanted to be shared…..the accident at the training academy…..Casey hadn't been in true immediate danger, but had it been so bad to allow Severide to think he was? Could he have gotten himself out? He'd never know, because he hadn't tried. He'd seen an opportunity to get close to Severide…had taken it by calling his name for help…..then…..

At first Boden wondered what in the hell Casey was talking about, then remembered he'd asked him why Casey could call Kelly, Sev. Wondered if he pushed, if Casey would spill. Weighed whether or not the need to satisfy his curiosity was worth risking a good relationship. Most men would, as it was unlikely Casey would remember any of this.

"He's hard to know, you know?" Casey was talking to the ceiling. He might feel like he was floating, couldn't keep track of his fingers, didn't understand why he felt funny, but even so, he knew 'Sev' was a secret he'd take to his grave. "Keeps to himself, would do anything for you….but always by himself, know what I mean?"

"I do."

That was what made his friendship with Severide what it was. They would fight, argue, disagree, go days, weeks, months without speaking but there was a trust between them that could only be broken by Matt sharing the story of the nick-name Sev…..and that would never happen.

Severide had trusted him, and he would never betray him.

But….but….oh, a man simply couldn't handle Severide without having some emotional backup of his own.

"He never talks….you offer a shoulder, tell him you're there and he blows you off, walks away, then mentions going to a hockey game or driving 3 hours for a hamburger and that's when you know, he's reaching out."

'He's a good man." Boden tucked that bit of information away, wondered how Casey could be coherent one minute, lose track of his fingers the next.

"You know Benny….."

"I do."

"…..his mom…."

"Yes."

"He lost Darden, his fiancée, the….other?...yeah other Renee, um…Shay, Anna."

"He doesn't make it easy."

"I think….I don't have…I…no fingers."

"Blink." Chief instructed. "See them now?"

"No." But he didn't show signs of panic. "How…do I get them back?"

"Give it time, they'll grow back." Boden assured him patiently. "You just keep blinking."

"He didn't have a fun childhood. Not like mine though, he had his mom mostly. Mine…ugh." He looked all around, rested his eyes on his cast. "His parents though….tears a kid up, knowing his dad….in his house….hearing that hate all the time. The names, the tones, the yelling, the insults."

"Taught him to remain at a distance." Boden agreed quietly.

"And oh, does he." Casey held his hand up. "Hey!" He crowed. "Two! Look! I got two! Woot!"

"The rest will come."

"No thumb though."

"Give it another minute." Boden paused. "I ever thank you, you telling me how to handle him?"

"You mean…..try."

"Sometimes, I feel like he doesn't like me, but we get along because he respects my rank." Boden paused. "Sometimes, I don't know what to say, then say the wrong thing and he shuts down."

"I hear ya." Casey said mournfully. "I do it too. Finally worked up the courage….I mean…Voight…." He was quiet. "….I…had to ask….but Voight, I hate that guy, but he….kept Sev outta jail long enough….nothing happened, ya know?"

Boden forgot to breathe. No, he didn't know. It had never crossed his mind when Severide had been detained by the police, that being kept out of county lock up had been due to Voight's team. He'd been transferred out of the precinct but released into the custody of Erin Linsey before he'd been booked and placed in a cell.

He swallowed hard…because...Oh. Fuck. Me…Kelly Severide sure was pretty to look at.

"He got sooooo mad at me." Casey's voice was small as he remembered the huge argument that had caused Severide to seriously hurt his feelings. "We had a huge fight….but he let me hug him to end it…so….." Had let him only after Casey had tackled him to the ground and they'd rolled around, scrabbling for dominance, but hey…..details.

Boden cleared his throat, pushed past it, but it would be a long overdue discussion at home with his wife where he could drown his guilt in her comfort. "He was close to Shay."

Casey went smug. "Yeah, but he never let her call him Sev." His smirk faded. "She understood though, never tried. She had spunk…..he called her Spunky….loved her spunk."

"You….closed that distance though?" Boden prodded. "Didn't you? Became good friends?"

"Wasn't easy. He can make you feel stooopid." He waved his broken hand. "Hurt your feelings, make you …..de-fence-ive….OW!" He held his hand still mid-air. "Took….a looooong time." His attention was caught by movement in the hallway. "He'll reach out when….Kelly!"

"He lucid?" Severide was back, chewing on a straw, taking the occasional sip of a custard milkshake from Dipsey's.

"No"

"Where'd you get that?" Casey asked petulantly. "I want one."

"Capp." Kelly entered the room, hiked the cardboard drink carrier he carried. "Right here. Strawberry?"

"No." he pouted. "Don't want pink."

"Orange sherbet?" Kelly grinned, set the carrier on the desk next to Boden. Casey perked up as Boden took the vanilla malt handed to him. "Thought so."

"Strawberry's his favorite." Boden commented, tapping a straw on the desk to shed it of the paper. "He loves strawberry ice cream."

"Not when he feels like shit." Kelly poked a straw through the plastic lid, moved to hand Casey the cup. "Pull your feet up….no, your feet….feet…FEET Casey!" He fought for patience. "THESE!" he lightly stepped on Casey's shoeless but socked toes. "Don't you dare kick me."

"Hey!" Casey frowned, pulled his feet back. "Ow!"

"Yes, those." Kelly swooped down, scooped up both feet in one palm and swung them up onto the sofa. Casey squirmed into the corner of the couch, reached for the cup, went ignored. "Pull your knees…no…that's your foot….these…." He smacked Casey smartly on the kneecaps. "For Pete's sake Casey, raise your damn knees….no, not….I give up….okay, that's it. Here, take it." He wasn't known for his vast amount of patience, and dealing with flying-high to mopey-dopey to pouty Matt Casey was certainly trying what little he had. "You kick me and your wrist won't be your only broken bone."

Casey wrinkled his nose, took the cup, but when he tried to hold it, his hand shook as though it were too heavy to hold.

"For the love of….keep your knees together, balance the cup….no, not your cast, that's your hand….here…" He tried to show Casey how to balance the milkshake on his knees, but Casey rested it on his belt, beamed up at Severide. "Fine, leave it there, just don't…..no!" He slapped Casey's hand down. "Sit. Still."

Casey's bottom lip quivered, his chin wobbled.

"What the….what are you doing? Are you pouting? Why are you pouting?" Severed threw his hands up, looked at his boss. "He's pouting."

And his boss calmly replied. "He's loopy."

"You yelled at me." And he continued to sulk. "Not droopy..poopy..loopy."

"He's not going to be able to reach it to drink." Boden pointed out, shoulders shaking from barely contained mirth.

"Not my problem." Kelly spun around, picked up his own milkshake he'd set down at some point, flopped down on the sofa on the opposite end from Casey.

"He's coming down." Boden advised. "You're worn out and when you're tired, you get cranky. Wanna take him home?"

"Do that, might lose my scalp." He hooked the table strewn with magazines with his toes on one foot, dragged it closer, stretched his legs to rest on his heel, crossed his ankles. "The hell they give him?" He laid his head back, laid an arm over his eyes. "Christ." He took the straw between his teeth, enjoyed his shake.

"Does it matter?"

He popped the straw out of his mouth, lifted his arm off his eyes, just enough, he could give his Chief a bleary stare. "Uh yeah," He drawled. "Don't wanna go through this again."

Boden nodded, true, true. Very true. He made a mental note to contact Med. Severide was right, the hospital needed to add to Casey's medical file that whatever pain med they'd given him, should not be given again. "Dawson's nose a bit out of joint, eh?"

"Guess, yeah."

"You eat anything more than fruit?" Boden got the expected shrug-off. Oh, he knew his lieutenants well. "You need to eat more than a banana."

"Had an apple too."

"Still fruit."

The Styrofoam cup balanced on his crotch, Casey opened his mouth and waited, as if he expected the straw to magically rise up and reach his lips so he could take a drink.

It didn't, so baffled, he sat and stared….and then it did.

"Don't lean….no…Casey, pick it up….the cup….the cup….Good Christ." Kelly huffed. "Don't you dare spill it." He warned. "Damn thing cost eight bucks."
He leaned to his right, snagged up the cup, handed it to Casey who automatically reached for it with his right hand. "Your left hand…use your left hand….your other left…" Casey mumbled something Boden couldn't hear but Severide understood. "…..because that one is broken…use the other…..what now?" Severide paused, listened, "you have two, that's why."

Boden clamped his lips around the straw to keep from smirking.

"…..you have 10 fingers, Matt…"

Boden's eyes widened. Matt? My, my.

Casey mumbled something else, and Severide huffed, "….because I can count….."

He still couldn't hear what Casey was saying, but he must have circled back to his missing fingers. Just a bit ago, you could distract him by showing him something shiny, and now? Now, he was a one-track mind….you just couldn't deter him off his allegedly missing fingers.

"Okay, ok, fine. I'll give you mine. Will that make you happy?" Severide smacked Casey's good hand. "There now you have 10, go ahead, count them."

Awestruck, Casey asked, "On one hand?"

Watching Severide deal with Casey was quite amusing. Usually, it was the other way around. Severide was often the first on scene, the first in, the last to leave….got a bruise or scrape or burn from pulling some stupid stunt, let one of the medics tend him and but it was Casey who made sure he was okay.

"Take the cup." Severide uttered around a clenched jaw. "I'm not telling you again."

Casey took it, then moaned. "My arm hurts." He sniffled. "Whoa!" Severide reached out, grabbed an ankle and with a good yank, pulled Casey off his ass until he was nestled into the depths of the cushions, more laying down then sitting up. "Wheeee!"

Boden tossed Severide the back support cushion from Connie's chair that he slapped in Casey's lap and, guiding by a hold on his elbow, convinced the loopy lieutenant to lay his casted arm on it.

"It'll feel better soon, keep it elevated." Whether that was true or not, Kelly neither knew nor cared. It was just something to say. He sat up so he sat on his own side of the sofa, rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead. Damn. He shudda gotten some aspiring when he'd gone to the kitchen.

"Ice…would make….it…. feel better." He told Severide slyly.

"Drink your milkshake."

Casey tried raising the cup with his left hand, missed guiding the straw to his mouth, gawped liked a fish…thought he had it between his teeth, pursed his lips and sucked air.

"Yeah, I'm gonna get sleep." Kelly sighed. He leaned so far right, he was on his elbow, sinking as the cushion slowly gave way. He transferred his milkshake into his hand supporting his weight on the couch cushion, reached across his chest and used two fingers to tip Casey's cup up until the straw hit his mouth. "I ain't holding it for you."

Once Casey had control of the cup, Severide pushed up from the sofa in one fluid move, wandered out of the room, returned with an ice bag filled with ice from the freezer.

Working as they did, it wasn't unusual for someone to seek ice, so ice bags were kept in a kitchen drawer and bags of ice in the freezer. A bag of frozen veggies worked in a pinch, but in the opinion of firefighters, thawed too quickly.

"Lookit that." Boden crowed. "You got him down and quiet."

"Won't last." Kelly laid a towel over Casey's cast before applying the ice.

It didn't.

They were soon bombarded with questions.

"Why's it orange?"
"This isn't pink."
"This strawberry is orange."
"Do we all live in a yellow Submarine?"
"Why are submarines yellow?"
"Want a ride?"
"Can I drive?"
"Is this Connie's pillow? She'll be mad. Ssssh…don't tell her."
"What's this?"
"Can I have some ice?"
"My hand hurts."
"I don't have any fingers."
"I have eight fingers."
"Hey thumbs are….nopasite…opposite…prosable….nopaposable…"
"This is good."
"Why's it not pink?"
"You got one too?"
"I wanna go home."
"They let me drive the truck."
"Think my submarine….sank."
"Can I lie down?"
"Why's it so dark?"
"It's quiet."
"I don't feel so good."
"Sev, can you take me home?"

And then….he started to sing.

"…..country roads….take me home….to the place I beeeeelooooong…western union….mississippi mamaamaa…..take me hoooooome."

"Casey? Case…Matt….MATT!" Severide yelled.

"Yo!?"

"Go to sleep."

Boden shook his head, sat and finished his milkshake. The difference the way the two friends handled each other…no one would believe it.

Casey was all patience and understanding, let sarcasm and snark slide off his back.

Severide was all impatience and indifference, acted like it was a great load on him to take care of anyone, acted all put out, yet there was Casey, all tucked up on the sofa, comfy with ice and orange sherbet.

It was apparent Casey was content to stay on the sofa and go to sleep as long as Severide slept on the other end.

Boden got off the desk, paused at the door to his office to look over, then passed through. He entered his sleeping quarters, retrieved the folded blanket on his bed, walked back to the bullpen shaking it out.

Both Lieutenants were sleeping when he returned, though Severide stirred to make sure it wasn't Casey who was moving about. He took the milkshakes from limp hands, whipped the blanket airborne, let it flutter down gently over the two, then carried the cups to the common room, put them in the fridge.

"Anyone drinks them, will have a fat lip."

"Chief, how is he?" Gabby asked.

"Finally fell asleep." He held a hand up to forestall Gabby's response. "Severide is with him. When he wakes up, the meds will have worn off, long as Brett says so, you can take him home."

"He asked for ice?"

"He did, not unusual."

"Did Severide wrap the icebag in a towel? Lay anything between it and the cast? I should go check."

"Don't wake him up."

"Right, no. I won't." She started out of the room, stopped when Boden called her name.

"Dawson?"

"Yes sir?"

"Severide's in a mood, try not to get under his skin any more than you usually do."

Gabby wanted to argue but felt if she did, Chief would set her to some chore and refuse to allow her to go see Casey, so she nodded, quietly left the room.

"Carry on," Boden told the rest of the house and headed to his office to place a call to Dr. Halstead.

Then he was going to drink some hot, black coffee and pretend it was laced heavily with some hazelnut rum and call his wife.

He didn't think he could wait until shift was over to hear her voice.