AN: Thanks to everyone who has read so far! As a reminder I have only seen Season 1 of Chicago Fire and so what I pull from the series will seem woefully out of date to most of you. Some canon storylines will appear in this story but out of order to accommodate its central premise. Others won't appear at all. Please let me know if anything is confusing. I should warn you that this chapter gives hints of the adult scenarios that I have already written for Chapter 3 and that this story will continue to be T or M, because of language or adult themes. I will use the rating where necessary and appropriate. Thanks again!

Severide woke up alone in sheets that smelled like lavender in a room that had begun to smell like bacon and curtains only half closed to the sunlight. He wasn't home and he didn't have a shift which was a relief because his head was throbbing and his tongue was dry. Severide saw a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand next to an alarm clock. 7:30am Jesus was she cruel or just insane? He grumbled as he threw his head under her pillows for a moment. He could hear the bacon cooking and a soft sort of humming that might be her voice and Severide wasn't alarmed.

He contemplated that for about thirty seconds before he sat up, grabbed the pills and drank all the water in three gulps. He squinted a little, still adjusting to the light and stretched out his arms. He'd never been in Dawson's home before really and her bedroom was so her, pre-med books on the floor by the nightstand, a bundle of laundry in one far corner. Clean or dirty was anyone's guess. It was the subtle feminine things that sung out to him. The black lace bra hanging over the same chair as her stethoscope. A random tube of lipstick on a desk it looked like she used more as storage than a place to study. He smiled. She was a little messy and haphazard and apparently cooking breakfast. He was willing to bet she didn't usually have time and started the search for his boxers, curious to see what her kitchen had to offer.

Turned out her kitchen offered him a perfect view of her long legs in a tee shirt and boyshorts, still oblivious to his presence. The hum he had heard was distinct now. Her voice muttering a Spanish song while she worked. There was coffee along with the bacon and apparently eggs. She didn't look flustered or like she was trying too hard. Her hair was curlier than he'd ever seen it and pulled into a high bun that bobbed when she moved. He didn't think she'd appreciate him calling her adorable but right then it fit and he couldn't stop the grin that split his face, ready to meet all of last night's consequences head-on.

"Thanks for the water and aspirin. How are you feeling?"

She turned with only a slight start, her song abruptly cut off. Her face looked remarkably neutral. He figured it'd be something like this. Dawson reined in and cautious after letting herself go.

"Morning. Had worse. Get yourself some coffee I'm almost done here." She gestured with her shoulder to a cupboard which he assumed held mugs. He took down two and poured before shuffling to her fridge to grab some milk. Without asking he made her coffee order perfectly, long hours in the firehouse had given him some insights into her preferences. He set it down next to her hand by the stove with a kiss to her temple before collapsing into a chair at her table. He waited for a reaction to his presumption that never came. She turned to him with a smile as she sipped.

"Thanks"

"No, thank you" he replied intently his hand gesturing to the stove and the coffee. He wondered for a minute if they would round robin their thank yous. Going back and forth and being so polite and detached until one or both of them cracked. He lost that thought to the clatter of plates and forks and Dawson collapsing next to him with a command to dig in, stalling all conversation for a long hungry moment. He murmured his approval and she ticked an eyebrow up in response.

"This is really good. Holy shit you can cook."

"I do my fair share at the firehouse idiot"

"Yeah but large batch cooking isn't the same come on now" He knew he was pouring on the charm but she let him. Chiding him without venom, her pleasure in his enjoyment obvious. The eggs were really that good. Not a scramble but a frittata she had said. She took her time and made something delicious and he didn't think she was trying to say anything to him with it but even if she was… he was not sure it worried him. Her smile was so damn near beatific it stunned him. All he'd ever seen of her was crisis mode at work, short blunt statements between hot tempered blowouts, her loyalty to Shay and her wicked humour. This, this self-conscious sweetness in domesticity was a tad out of their bailiwick but Dawson, smart as ever, brought them back to center.

"Just because you can't boil water to save your life…"

"We save lives every day leave me to my water"

Dawson snorted as she took another bite of her eggs. Severide cocked his head and just looked at her. It literally made no sense, him being there. By now he was usually gone with a shower and a smile in the same clothes as last night, one truly satisfied woman in his wake. Never mind Shay in all this. Maybe it was the armor thing she'd been babbling about the night before but she didn't seem stuck on him or mesmerized. She was eating her eggs and drinking her coffee and they weren't locked in an awkward standoff about what this was because she knew all about him. He should have been happy.

He took one last gulp of coffee and met her curious gaze with one of his own. No hesitation or false shyness from Dawson.

"What are you doing for the next three hours?" he asked. Watched Dawson put her fork down. Leaned back in her chair for distance, her eyes slightly confused by his question.

"Nothing. Wh-" Quick as her breath, Severide was on his knees between her thighs, his mouth pressing in as she gasped.