Mouch rubbed his forehead. What he'd wanted was some ice cream to end a long day. What he didn't want, was the responsibility of rounding up his Captain and Squad Lieutenants because they'd decided to show up some youngsters who attempted to test their reputation.

Cruz and Capp, the two who usually kept Severide rounded up when Casey let him off leash, had just left with Tony to find the polish hot dogs. They'd relinquished their Lieutenant to the care of Captain Casey who was doing a piss-poor job of reeling him, his temper and his attitude in.

Chief and Donna hadn't come, Kidd was out of town, Brett and Herrmann were off to the restrooms, Otis had gone MIA and though Ritter and Foster were over yonder at the picnic tables 51 had claimed as their own, they wouldn't be of any use, so it was up to him to 'round 'em up,' remove them from the rowdy conversation before the happy tone turned from one-upping each other, to angry offense and flying fists.

"I've got this." Trudy tossed her empty ice cream cup into a nearby trash can. "Been a long day, you ready to go?"

Oh, was he! "Now Trudy, they're not apt to listen to reason."

"Don't plan on trying." She handed Randy her purse and the car keys, kissed his cheek, tramped off. "HEY!" She was ready to go home and knew Randy wouldn't go as long as he was the only one watching over the two troublemakers of Station 51. "MOVE! MAKE WAY!"

She pushed and elbowed her way through the crowd….the much younger crowd…..wiggled her way into the circle of loud-mouths.

"Sorry boys, time for the terror twins to call it a night. Come here you little…. " Her arm darted out and she trapped the tender top of an ear of the nearest 'twin' between her finger and thumb. "HA! Got you!"

Severide yelped, his chin pulled to his shoulder by a vicious grip that cruelly twisted his easily detachable appendage. Men stepped aside and before Casey could react, she found his ear with her other hand.

"OW!"

"HEY!"

"LET GO!"

"THE HELL?"

Casey firmly in her left hand, Severide in her dominant right, she smiled an apology that resembled a snarl to the crowd and the immediate area opened up and allowed her a path to leave.

"MARCH!" She barked to the two in her grasp, who despite twisting and tugging, were unable to break her hold. "Stop your belly-aching." She dragged them over to Mouch, who smiled at them apologetically. "What do you want me to do with them?"

"Car's this way." Mouch said.

"Lead the way."

And that Fire House 51, is how you do it!

()()()()()

"Hey 51! Where's your stations resident asshole?"

"Yeah, where is Severide? He even here?"

"Hey, here now." Herrmann protested. "Severide's not an asshole!" He paused dramatically. "He's a dick."

"Right, Casey's the asshole." Otis agreed.

"Ain't that his bestest buddy?"

"Two peas in a pod."

"The twin egos!"

"They even here?"

"Nah, they're too good for us peons."

"Right? They don't mingle with the mere folk."

The men of Station 51 let the ribbing continue unchecked, ducked out of the hooting and hollering. They'd let it be known they'd always defend their own and decided it was time to depart the gathering, a fundraiser for a fellow firefighter from another house.

It was Herrmann – as usual – who broke. "They're not far."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah," Herrmann drawled. "I'm sure about that."

"They're here." Otis added. "Uh, somewhere."

"Hey, we're heading out." Casey literally appeared out of nowhere, rubbing his abused ear. He'd managed to convince Trudy to release him so he could go pack up and tell the others he was leaving by allowing her and Mouch to babysit Severide at the car.

"One down!"

"Awwww, hell," someone jawed. "You want Severide, just have Casey here call his name."

"Where is the cry baby? Didn't he get hurt or something? Ran crying to Med?"

"More like, ran crying to Halstead."

"Sev?" Clueless, Casey looked over his shoulder. "He's at…."

"Sssh….don't call him that."

"Knew a guy once, tried it…."

"He warned him though…."

"Picked his teeth up from the ground."

"Never mind Captain, they're being assholes." Herrman clapped Casey on the back. "Your ear get stung by a bee? All red there."

"Oh. No." Casey was tired, his head hurt from his tortured, twisted ear, and he was ready to obey Trudy's orders and leave. Bickering with assholes over whatever was up their ass, was not on his to-do list. He'd just been extracted – rather ruthlessly, mind you – from a good-ole friendly debate, he didn't want to enter an ugly one. "We're gonna head out."

"What? It's still early!"

"Not even dark yet."

"Trudy said we had to go home." Casey flashed a rueful smile. "She, uh, isn't in a mood to argue with."

"Trudy Platt? She have your balls now?"

"You pansy-ass elite…..welllll….helllloo there blonde sweetness….how you doin'?"

Brett, who had just approached, pulled up short, shot the inebriated loud-mouth a look of reproach.

"You don't talk to her like that." Herrmann pushed up from the picnic table.

The group of guys from a house in another district would probably drink and party until dawn with other houses. But they were right….tonight, Station 51 wouldn't mingle with peons and the mere folk until all hours of the night.

"Whoa, whoa. No need to get your panties in a twist. Just teasing."

Foster, who had been sitting with Herrmann, Ritter, and Otis, looked bewildered, wished she knew more about the members of her new house so she knew what she was defending them from. Since she didn't, she and Ritter quickly and efficiently packed up, cleared the tables.

"Who's we?"

"Does it matter?" Otis folded the last chair, stacked it with the others. "Round up Severide," He nudged Casey as Cruz, Capp and Tony meandered up and didn't have their Lieutenant with them. "Who saw him last?"

"Aww…lookit that…..they say 51 always knows where to find each other and here, everyone is."

Herrmann rolled his eyes. Duh! These had been 51's tables all day.

"Whose skirt has he tossed up tonight?"

"Wait, he's been neutered, right?"

"Off. Thee. Market. Ladies."

"She woman enough to keep him?"

"Doubt it."

"Always thought the one who was, was the one he couldn't get."

"Wait, heard he did."

"Who we talking about?"

"Leslie Shay? Gay paramedic?"

"Right, right, the blonde."

"Nah, she just wanted what he, uh, could contribute."

"He off in the bushes with Kidd?"

"Oh, there's Ritter." Brett ignored the rude bunch. "Casey, where's Severide? We're all here, so we find him, we can leave." She looked around, blinked. "Anyone seen Mouch?"

"He and Trudy are at the cars." Casey told her. "Told them we'd pack up their things."

"Then we just need Severide." She poked Cruz in the chest with a finger. "He's not with you? You let him out of your sight? What's with you?"

"Trudy has him." Casey informed his crew. "Came to tell you, we're leaving."

"What, you fancy folks never heard of sending a text?"

"Now? It's still early."

"Still daylight."

"Thought you two, toured the town, partied until dawn?"

"And now, you're going home?"

"What, you two get old?"

"He imbibe too much?"

"Best not let him drive, don't wanna total another car."

"Okay….that's it." Herrmann stepped forward, was pushed back by Casey. "His car was stolen, he didn't total it. And another thing….."

In unison, Capp took one elbow, Cruz the other and together, they easily lifted Herrman and with his feet dangling, carried him away, and all the while, he still mouthed off to the raucous crowd they were leaving behind.

"So….there was a woman who didn't fall to the charms of Severide?" Foster, dragging a wheeled cooler and lugging a picnic basket, asked Brett who carried collapsible chairs as they followed Capp and Cruz to the cars. Otis, Ritter, Tony and Casey bringing up the rear, carrying everything else.

"Shay." Brett smiled. "I didn't know her, they lost her in an arson fire and I was the next medic here. They were roommates."

"What contribution did she want from him?"

"She was gay, wanted to have a baby, asked Severide to, uh, assist her."

"He agreed?"

"He did. She asked him to…..well, she offered to…..wish I could have seen his reaction when she offered to 'mount' him."

Foster pictured such a conversation in her mind, giggled. "How do you know all this? Did he tell you?"

"PFFTTT!" She laughed. "Oh no. Dawson."

Foster nodded, right. Brett's last partner. "So, I don't get your dependence on Dr. Halstead."

"It's simple." Otis said.

"He's Jay's brother." Cruz added.

"Jay?"

"Can you believe those morons?" Herrmann had been returned to the ground but was still airing his grievances. "Shudda let me tell them what I think. Of all the…." His ears latched onto the girl's conversation. "Hal-stead." He supplied as though speaking to a dense idiot. "Jay and Will Halstead? Brothers."

"Not all brothers have the same last name." Otis earned a look of gratitude from Foster. He smiled back.

"There are other doctors at Med." She told Herrmann, "I heard your life was saved by Dr. Rhodes."

"It was." Herrmann confirmed.

"Okay, yeah, see, that's why it doesn't make sense to me that you always want Dr. Halstead to see one of you." Foster persisted. "And what makes even less sense, is how Med caters to this house."

"But…..Dr. Halstead's brother Jay, works for Intelligence." Cruz was confused.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing." Capp said curtly. "It means nothing. Halstead wanted to black tag him, we ain't never going to forget that."

"Him?" Foster looked at Brett who mouthed 'Severide', then put a finger to her lips, shook her head.

"There's that." Herrmann allowed but wasn't in the mood to discuss it further. "But like it or not, we're attached to Intelligence because…history, remember?"

Dr. Will Halstead was their preferred doc because he often turned a blind eye and bent the rules to lend them his assistance. And yes, part of it was his rash decision to label Severide beyond help…Herrmann winced at the memory….bless Mills for his insistence. Another reason was that he was Jay's brother and there was an odd but close relationship between Station 51 and Intelligence.

"Along with that stunt he pulled when we were all in the waiting room and he'd sent Severide home." Tony added.

Right. That.

But the biggest reason was Trudy Platt had rained all hell down on the poor, hapless doc's head for upsetting her boyfriend and ruining date night.

"That did a number on Casey." Cruz said somberly. "Seeing all that….the blood, the way they rushed him through the ER, then told he was in surgery...not knowing why."

"And none of the blood was even his." Capp added. "Crazy time. We're at the hospital, trying to keep Mills calm, and Casey together and Dawson from freaking out and he's home taking a shower."

"Pick up the step you two." Otis encouraged.

"And Rice sent him home with Trudy." Tony said. "Kinda wrong, he didn't do anything to deserve that."

"He left through a back door." Otis reminded him.

"The nurse walked him out the front doors to a cab." Tony corrected him. "He called Dawson, it's on her too."

"How do you see that?" Otis asked.

"Drop it." Casey ordered. He led a life of danger and risk, but there were just some incidents that still curdled his stomach. And that was one of them. "It's done, Trudy boxed Halstead's ears, Severide was set straight and something like that will never happen again.

"What? What?" Foster skipped to catch up to Capp and Tony. "Who's Rice? Trudy? Mouch's wife, that Trudy? What happened now?"

The group, carrying, toting or pulling coolers, blankets, chairs and baskets, whatnot, approached the parking lot, headed towards Trudy and Mouch, various vehicles.

"Hi Trudy! We brought….wait." Brett pulled up short when she saw Severide's Mustang and Casey walked around to the driver's door. "You're going to drive his car? You hate a clutch."

"Doesn't mean I can't drive one."

"Well yeah, but city driving…the red lights and stop signs?" She bent down to peer in the car window so she could get a better look at Kelly, slumped in the passenger seat, head against the partially open window. "Oh, you poor thing. Did you mix Jägermeister with mead beer again? Didn't you learn your lesson last time, when Capp had to carry you home?" She stood up a bit to glare at Casey over the roof of the car. "Why weren't you watching him?"

Trudy thanked the mingling crowd for bringing their belongings, closed the hatch. "Straight home Matt. I find out otherwise, more than your ear will hurt."

Case touched his ear. "Yes ma'am." He assured her, then scowled at Brett. "He only had beer." But it'd been a long day and they hadn't spent all of it together. He used the remote to pop the trunk. "And I didn't see him drink that much." He set the cooler in the trunk, added a couple chairs, a basket, blanket, closed it.

Brett giggled, she'd had several beers and a couple glasses of wine, a shot or two….okay, she was giddy…..good thing Otis was driving.

"Too much sun?" She was talking into the car again. "You really don't play well with others, do you? Did you get in a fight with someone?" She walked around the car, poked Casey. "Did you let him get in a fight?"

"He, uh, said he had a headache." Casey explained, gently moved her aside so he could open the door, get in. "Who's driving her home?" He didn't add he and Severide had been retrieved by Trudy and ordered to go home.

"Me." Otis said. "Cruz, Foster, Ritter load up. You too Brett."

"Shotgun!" Cruz called.

"Not a bad idea, take him home." Herrmann clapped Casey on the shoulder. "He's an absolute bear when he doesn't feel good."

Holding to Casey's arm, Brett informed everyone she was going home with him and Severide.

"Say what now?"

"Stella's out of town, you need someone to look after the two of you." She beamed up at him. "Me."

"Stella doesn't live with us." Casey argued. "We don't need looking after."

And she continued to beam at him, waited expectedly.

With a heaved sigh of being put-upon, he thumbed the button on the seat, pulled it forward so she could crawl into the backseat.

She nimbly hopped in, stuck her head forward, happily waved good-bye until Casey released the seat to return to its original position so he could get in, shut the door.

"Buckle up." She leaned between the front seats. "Severide, that means you." Balanced on her knees, she reached across him, snagged the seatbelt, pulled in over, snapped it into the seat buckle. "There you go. Snug as a bug in a rug. Need all the protection you can get, Matt driving." She plopped back in the seat. "It's rather tight back here. Not much room at all."

"Then walk." Severide muttered.

"What?" She waved out Severide's window.

The keys were in the ignition, and Casey turned the engine over, found first and pulled out.

"Bye!" She chirped, turned around and continued to wave out the back windshield.

Severide bit his lip, kept a groan to a mere grunt. "Stop...bucking...the car." He moaned thickly.

"Sorry, sorry...been awhile."

"Let it out slower." Brett piped up from the backseat. "Want me to drive?"

"NO!" Both men chorused.

Having become reacquainted with the clutch, Casey eased away from the final stop sign before the exit to the highway, proud he hadn't stalled once, even if had bucked several times. He hadn't forgotten how to drive a manual shift, was grateful he'd learned, but he didn't like it and hadn't driven one in a while.

By the time he hit cruising speed, Brett had fallen quiet, and Severide was swallowing compulsively, shifting uneasily in the seat.

"You okay?" Casey cast a glance sideways as Severide squirmed out of the seatbelt, then into the rearview mirror, convinced the click of the release would start Brett yakking again, but she didn't move.

"Mmm…."

"Need me to pull over?"

"Mmm…."

"Don't puke in the car." Casey warned. Vomit would easily wash off the leather seats, but the carpeted floor was another matter and he didn't relish smelling vomit all the way home.

"Crack your window, get some cross air." Brett piped up from the backseat. Casey cracked his window just enough, they all felt a blast of cool air, but not so much, the interior of the car was windy. "Here, sip some water."

"Thought you were asleep." He kept his eyes and his attention on the road, but his peripheral vision noticed Brett remove the cap from the bottle and hold it until Severide had control of it, then always a medic, she felt his wrist for a pulse.

Yeah, that pushed the limit Severide was willing to tolerate and the line crossed, he slapped her hand away with a scowl and reprimand. But Brett, well into her cups, slapped back.

"Oh, you hush." She was hovering between the seats, in his personal space. He felt her breath on his cheek and then, she was feeling his forehead.

"The fuck you doing?" He growled. "Back off!" His slap across the back of her hand was harder this time and she heeded the warning.

"He's a little clammy." She told Casey. "Might be too much sun, greasy food." She plopped back into the seat. "Take him home, put him to bed, see how he feels after he's had some sleep."

"Does she ever shut up?" Severide asked irritably. "I'm not three, I'm fine."

"He's cranky." Brett said, then hiccupped, giggled. "Is he always this cranky, he misses his nap?"

"Let me out, I'll walk." Severide groused, sipped more water.

"Buckle up." Brett countered.

"Give him a minute." Casey was in the right lane, ready to pull off if Severide required the services of the grass on the berm.

"Fine!" She huffed. "But it isn't safe."

Severide pressed his cheek against the cool glass, sought the refreshing breeze that swirled above his head. His stomach wanted to evict what he'd had to eat at the picnic, but no bile rose to his throat and he was able to breathe through it, so he buckled his seatbelt.

Casey picked up speed, but remained in the right lane. His pick-up truck didn't have the instant response to power the Mustang did, so he if had to brake suddenly and pull-over, he didn't want to have to do it from the left or center lanes in case he lost control and the back-end fishtailed, but they made it home without needing any emergency stops.

"Don't know how he affords this place." Curled up with a blanket on the sofa, Brett yawned, "On the water, and it's huge." She snuggled into the pillows. "He lived here alone, right?"

Annnnndd…..why had he brought her home with them?

()()()()()

Severide in bed, Sylvie tucked up the sofa, Matt locked up, took a shower, called it a night, even though it wasn't even 8 o'clock. He sat down in the armchair with the TV on for company, returned numerous texts, sent a couple of his own.

"He up again?" Brett yawned. She was sitting up on the sofa when Casey returned from Severide's room. "Or is it still?"

"Told him to take some Pepto." He sat down on the sofa next to her when she moved her feet to make room.

"He let you in?"

He raised an eyebrow in question. "Not like he can keep me out, I want in."

"No, I meant….there was a time….he wouldn't let you or anyone near him."

"What are you babbling about? You get this shit from Gabby?" He set his phone aside. "He doesn't run from me."

"No, I mean…when I came to 51, you all had just lost Shay. Kelly was grieving." Brett didn't notice she had used Severide's first name, but Casey did. "The man I first knew, is not the man he is. Does that make sense?"

"It does." Casey said after a lengthy silence. "He was reeling….he was cheated on, his wedding was called off, he lost Darden, suffered a possible career-ending injury, had surgery, Heather blamed him, Renee left, his sister was attacked, Renee returned pregnant, said it was his, it wasn't, Shay spiraled, then she died, he got married in Vegas, demoted…."

"Anna."

Casey nodded. "He was in a healthier place when she died."

"Sometimes, I don't think he likes me."

"If he didn't, you wouldn't think it, you'd know it."

"They were close….he and Shay? Gabby told me about it."

"Gabby talked too much."

"Long hours together, you know?"

"He…..he doesn't let many people close….lucky me, I guess." He grinned ruefully. "He left after we lost her, maybe I shudda left him be, but…..I missed him…wanted him back, guess I needed him." He was quiet, she gave him time. "I hadn't heard from him, but I always knew where he was….so," he shrugged, "….went and got him."

"When I arrived, he hadn't come back yet…and when he did return, I didn't get a warm welcome….there was talk, you know Otis….some of the guys didn't think he'd come back."

"He didn't want to."

"But he did." She pointed out.

Casey nodded, licked his lips. "It wasn't easy for him, but I wanted him here, me showing up at the cabin told him that."

"And he came." She patted his knee, gave it a squeeze. "You're a good friend. He isn't easy…..I mean, sometimes he hurts my feelings. And I hear the way he talks to people and if he talked to me like that, I'd cry. We aren't close, but I…..I guess…I call him friend? You think?"

"Sure."

She missed the fact he was blowing her off. "He…..you…..is he as good a friend to you, as you are to him?"

Casey grinned, chucked her under the chin. "Yes."

"You sure?" She questioned dubiously. "Doesn't seem it." She paused. "Gabby once said, you two are a package deal...can't have one in your life without the other."'

"He wanted to buy into a business to repair boats, didn't want to come back….too much here reminded him of her. He struggled, but he stayed…"

"For you?"

Casey nodded. "Then Chief told him there was no place for him at the house and he didn't even want to be there, and he spiraled….."

"Which led to Vegas, I was here for all that."

"He's always had my back. When we met, we butted heads but he was younger, not as guarded, hadn't yet learned how to mask his emotions, distant himself." He laid his head back, let his eyes close. "Some emotional wounds were still raw, but I was in the right place at the right time, caught him when he was vulnerable…..I was a hot-head, quick to throw a fist, anyone came at me and after one such….um, incident, he was there….asked no questions, just had my back."

"Gabby once said, he'd do anything for someone he calls friend, or someone he cares about."

"I never have to worry when he's on a call with me." Casey said seriously. "Chief stands him down, but if it's me…?"

And there it was...the conceit everyone said Casey had. She smiled, got up. "They'd have to hold him back, huh?"

"Where are you going?"

"To check on him."

"Whoa…don't do that."

"I won't both…..oh hey! Hi. You're up."

Carrying his boots, Severide padded barefoot out of his room, crossed the living space to the kitchen where he opened the fridge, guzzled some Pepto.

"Not feeling any better?"

"I'm good." He pulled a box of cheese crackers from a cupboard but just sat it aside. "She sober up?"

And that was ONE of the many issues Sylvie Brett had with Kelly Severide. She was right there, and instead of talking to her, he addressed Casey about her. She'd been with 51, with Severide in her life, for four years now, and it still drove her nuts.

Seething, she informed him, "I was tipsy, not drunk."

"And she's here, why?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay." She stretched. "How are you feeling?"

"Make her go away."

"You have a history of dehydrating and…."

"Says who?"

Suddenly, she frowned. "Why are you dressed? You shouldn't be dressed." She turned to Casey. "Casey, he's dressed." She turned back to Severide. "Did you shower? Your hair's wet. He has a bathroom in his bedroom?"

"Two bed, two bath." Casey smiled to hide his own frown. Why was Severide dressed? "And you don't live here." Where the hell was he going, 9 o'clock at night?

"Who designed this place? It's like one big room with boxes for bedrooms."

"Don't like it, leave." Severide said. He snagged a bottle of water from the fridge, opened the cupboard in search of aspirin. "Why are you even here?"

"What are you looking for? Stop that. You need to go to bed. Matt! Stop him."

"She makes my head spin." Severide told Casey. "Yak, yak, yak." He popped 3 aspirin in his mouth, swallowed them with a swig of water. "Does she ever stop talking?"

"Stop him from doing what?" Casey asked. "He's not doing anything."

Brett shook her head. "He has shoes! Make him go back to bed."

And Severide stared. Blinked. Stared. And stared some more.

"Make him?"

"He's exhausted! You're exhausted. You're pale and clammy. Do you still have a headache? Any stomach pain? Cramps? Is your mouth dry? When did you last…..?"

"Whoa, hey…enough!"

"Vomit." She gave him a look. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"What? No."

"Kelly," Casey warned.

"Not her business Casey."

"Then eat a cracker." Casey challenged.

Severide didn't want to do it, but his hand had a mind of its own, pressed his palm against his stomach. He blanched.

"What I thought."

"Tell you what, you don't have a fever, you can go do whatever it is, you want to do." Brett bargained. "You do, you stay home in bed."

Ha! He wasn't running a fever, so he was going to get his way. He wasn't warm at all, in fact, he was chilled and even with a long-sleeved thermal, he had goosebumps.

He sat down, crossed an ankle over his knee to work a sock on his foot.

Casey returned from the bathroom, waving a digital thermometer. Brett swiped it from his hand, haha'd Severide, and holding it aloft, waited.

"You can open your mouth or you can bend over." She said sweetly. "Your choice."

Severide scowled, considered her threat. A quick glance at Casey left him undecided whether or not the captain would assist her…if he did, then Severide was too shaky to fight him off. He obediently opened his mouth, rolled his eyes, waited maybe 5 seconds, raised a hand to remove it, had it slapped down.

"You can wait 30 seconds." Brett informed him. "And you aren't going anywhere."

He ignored her. "It's a 3 second thermom…." he muttered around it. "…eter…"

"Do you have Gatorade?" She asked Casey. "He'll need something with electrolytes to rehydrate."

"Water's good." Severide muttered and Brett took the thermometer. "Now move."

"101." She announced triumphantly. "HA! Back to bed buddy."

She couldn't make him do anything, but Casey could. Truth be told, and he wouldn't tell it, he really wasn't feeling all that good. He wavered, some deep, buried attitude wanted to flip her off, storm out the front door just to prove he had no intention of listening to her, but….yeah, he didn't think he'd make it, he tried.

"It's after nine," Casey said quietly. "Where you going?"

"Gris called, wants help with a case at OFI…."

"Now? No." Brett sputtered. "Not now! You tell him no. He ever hear of morning?"

"You don't say no to Gris…." Severide began, wiped sweat from his face on his sleeve. God, he felt fucked.

"You gonna wait 'til you double over, hit the floor, before you admit you're sick?" Casey asked. "I'll take her home in the morning, go get some sleep."

"I don't….." That was Casey's way of telling him, if he stayed home, so would Casey, that he'd be there, should he be needed. "I'm….."

"Anything important at OFI?" Casey asked. "That can't wait?" Severide shrugged. "I'll call him."

Severide hesitated, but he really did feel awful. The reason he was going to meet Grissom was because once Gris knew he was sick, he'd insist on taking him home to his wife who Severide had known since he'd been a kid. He didn't want to be alone and Mrs. Grissom knew him well enough to know when to leave him alone, yet be there, he needed anything. But Casey would be home...His stomach made the decision for him, he dropped his boot, bolted for his room.

"You handled that well." Brett told Casey who merely shrugged.

He hadn't handled anything. Severide had made the decision on his own to go to bed….what was up with that?

"It's food poisoning."

()()()()()()

Kelly Severide remembered getting out of the passenger side of his car, remembered wondering, if he were the passenger, who was driving? He remembered Matt Casey telling him to go inside, get changed, go to bed, he'd unload the car. He remembered a perky blonde chattering non-stop and making his head hurt.

He remembered Grissom calling, getting a shower and getting dressed to go meet him at the OFI offices despite the late hour…..what he didn't remember was why he was in a sweaty puddle on his bathroom floor.

He didn't know what time it was, how much had passed or why he was where he was but he knew he was miserable. He'd spent more time in the bathroom….either on the toilet or with his head in it….then he had in his bed.

He'd never in his life, felt so horrible. Not from a hangover, not walking pneumonia, not donating bone marrow, not jumping off a five-story building into an unforgiving river, not a chimney falling on him, not jumping out a second story window and landing unconscious on the hard ground.

With a sigh, he plucked his wet t-shirt away from a sweat-slick belly, hitched a shoulder to wipe his face, frowned.

He usually slept in tank-tops, not t-shirts. He was surprised he even had any...oh, wait….Casey lived with him now. He didn't remember putting it on but most likely Casey had brought it to him and he followed Captain Casey blindly. Still, he didn't remember Casey bringing it or telling him to put it on.

Hell, there was a lot he didn't remember...such as why he was sprawled on his bathroom floor, wearing boxer briefs and a t-shirt that wasn't his….and all he could think about was; fuck, when was the last time he mopped the floor?

His stomach rumbled, he didn't move, afraid if he did, it would finally succeed in escaping captivity and make a run for it and if it did, he was too tired and weak to chase it. He was quite sure, that for some reason or another, he needed it, so maybe Casey would retrieve it for him… surely he'd take chase after his best friend's fleeing stomach, right?

He shifted his weight, eased off his left hip onto his ass, one arm holding tight against his belly. If laying on the floor appeased it, he'd stay right where he was.
Thankfully, it decided to be content and though his gut hurt, it settled and he didn't have to move. Eh, he had to clean the floor anyway, what was a bit of vomit and spit with all the other dirt?

He wanted a towel, his shirt was too wet to wipe the sweat off his face, but it was way over there and just pulling his knees towards his chest set his stomach to squawking, so he abandoned the want.

His mouth was dry, some water would be nice but he would have to sit up, then stand up to fill the cup on the sink with water and that just was not going to happen, so he was denied another want.

He thought about returning to bed, he was sure he'd been in it at some point in time in the recent past, but the tiled floor was cool and the toilet, which he had just pulled his head out of, was conveniently close. Besides, his legs were rubber and even if his stomach allowed it, he'd have to crawl back to bed and it'd just be his luck, Casey would choose that time to waltz in and catch him and wouldn't that just be a pickle!

"Hey," the door eased open and a tousled head popped around it. "Still in here?"

Aannndddd right on cue! There he was!

He groaned, swallowed, didn't move. "Death...shouldn't feel...this awful."

"Pretty sure you're still breathing." Casey ventured in. He hadn't been sure of his reception so had kept the door between them. "The hell did you eat?"

"Hot dog?" He shuddered at the mere mention of food. "Yeah, grilled hot dog."

"Stomach settle?" This was the first time in hours Severide was coherent, so Casey trod carefully. "You got this sick on a hot dog?"

"Tossed up either my spleen or liver….." He hitched a shoulder to wipe his face, Casey tossed him a towel and he buried his face in it. "Spleen most likely…..need a liver to live."

"You had to have eaten something more than a hotdog."

He wiped his arms off. "Purple…food…truck." He shuddered. "..had...chicken salad." And he was never going to eat it again.

"Need a hand off the floor?"

"Nah, gonna stay here."

"Yeah, see," Casey hesitated. "You can't."

Severide scowled. It was his fucking apartment. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. "Uh….yeah….I can."

"You want Brett in here?"

Severide frowned, tried to think, but struggle as he did, he couldn't bring to mind any man he knew by the name of Brett – neither first nor last name.

"Who?"

"You don't get up, go back to bed, she's gonna be in here." It was all he could do, to keep her out. She was determined to see for herself how Severide was faring.

Severide wiped his face for a third time, toweled his hair, fought the urge to curl up on the floor.

"She?" He swallowed, wondered if he asked for something to drink, if Casey would make a big deal out of it. "Who…..?" His brow furrowed, he bit his lip…..oh, the blonde.

"Not gonna taste too good." Casey handed him a plastic cup Severide hadn't seen him holding, he took it with a shaky hand, plastic? What, they were afraid he'd drop it, make another mess for someone to clean up? "Drink it all."

Either the liquid in the cup was cloudy or his vision was – Alka-Seltzer maybe? No, it wasn't fizzing, but it was from Casey, so he came up on an elbow, did as he was told, drank it.

"Jesus!" He grimaced, flapped his tongue. "The hell?" He spit and coughed, made a face but finished it. Hell, he was willing to try anything to ease the cramping in his stomach and its desire to evict anything he'd ever eaten – ever.

"Baking soda and water." Maybe a bit too much baking soda, based on the face Severide was still making. "Supposed to help.

"So's Ginger-ale."

Surprised, Casey asked, "Do you want some?" Severide was not a pop drinker.

"I dunno." He thought he'd heard somewhere ginger was good for an upset stomach. Hell, if he could remember his name, he'd probably be able to recall if he'd even been given it as a kid and whether or not it'd helped. "Has to taste better than this anyway."

"Come on, get up, go back to bed, see if you can get some sleep." Casey held his hand out. "You okay for a bit with Brett, I go out to the store?" He didn't like the heavy sheen of sweat all over Severide, had to admit perhaps, maybe, Brett was right…..it was food poisoning.

"Don't need a sitter." He let Casey do most of the lifting, hauling him to his feet. "I'm good." He pulled the soiled t-shirt over his head with one hand, tossed it into the tub, used the towel to dry his chest and neck.

"You need to drink….."

"And I'll puke it back up."

"You'll dehydrate, end up in the hospital."

"Stop listening to Brett." On wobbly legs, he pushed past Casey, staggered into his bedroom, crawled one knee at a time into the middle of the bed, curled up on his side. "Fuck me."

"Want a shirt?"

"Wanna pass out…." He buried his head under his pillow, dimly aware the sheets were dry and cool. The ceiling fan promptly rose goosebumps on his hot skin and he began to shiver.

"There's a trashcan right next to the bed, don't get up if all you gotta do is puke." Casey tossed a light fleece over him, left a long-sleeved Henley on the bed, went to find his sneakers. He was wearing sweatpants, decided they were good enough to run to the grocery store.

"Last loads in the dryer." Brett came out of the laundry room folding a blanket. She set it on the counter. "Going somewhere?"

"Get some Ginger-ale." He pulled on a jacket, reached for his keys. "You hear a thud, check on him, otherwise, leave him alone."

"I can go….."

"I'll be 10 minutes." Not knowing the area, his luck, she'd turn down the wrong street, find herself in the wrong part of town.

"It's likely food poisoning."

"Yeah, you said that."

"Does he still have a headache? He's probably dehydrated."

"I dunno Brett." He put his wallet in his jacket pocket. "Why do you think I'm going out to get him some pop?"

"Grab some animal crackers, plain. No icing, no cinnamon, they come in a clear barrel or a bag with…"

"They're bland as shit."

"That's the point." She shook her head. Men! "Plain graham crackers. Chocolate pudding. Jello. Sugar-free. What's with that face? Going to be a couple days before he'll keep solid food down." She snapped her fingers. "Some of the frozen ice pushups. They melt easily, and he'll need…now what? Do you need money?" She blinked. She was alone. "Matt?"

He fled before she could write him a list.

Brett wandered around the apartment, tidied up, but try as she might, she could not resist the pull that tugged her straight over to Severide's bedroom door. She didn't knock, just stood and listened, if she heard a groan, a thud, she was going in.

Casey had been in and out of the bedroom all night. They'd hear Severide get up and when too much time had passed and he hadn't returned to bed, Casey went to check on him.

She'd been told to remain on the sofa.

The hell was up with that? She was a certified paramedic, an EMT. She was PIC on her shift. There was nothing she hadn't seen or dealt with and she was exiled to the sofa? PFFTT!

But she wasn't on duty, Severide wasn't her patient, this wasn't her home and Casey was in charge, so since all was quiet, she resumed her spot on the sofa and waited for Casey's return.

She didn't wait long, he was back within 15 minutes. She followed him to the kitchen, helped him unpack the bag, curious to see if he'd paid her any mind.

He had. He'd even found the animal cracker brand she'd suggested. She hid a smile as she put the 24-count package of Fla-Vor-Ice in the freezer.

"If it's severe, he could end up in the hospital." She warned.

"You and your medic ways." Casey put the 6-pack of bottled Ginger-ale in the fridge. "He'll be fine."

"Not just my medic ways." She corrected. "Generations of people everywhere have handed down home remedies from Grama. Centuries Casey, and they didn't have today's advances in medicines. Mankind survived, you know?"

"Okay! Alright! Fine! He has a headache. He has a fever. He's dehydrated. He has food poisoning. You happy? What do you want me to do?"

And she smiled happily. "Let me check on him."

"You didn't while I was out?"

Her smiled faded. "You told me not to."

He was surprised she'd listened but was pleased she had, so he nodded. "Fine, take a look, then go to bed. Might as well take my room, I'll take the couch."

"I'm not kicking you out….."

"One of us should get some sleep. Unless he settles down, I'll be up most of the night," he told her. "And it's closer…should he, uh, fall or something."

"Alright." She thought she was more capable, better qualified, to take care of Severide, but whatever. "Make sure he continues to drink. Even if he throws up or…"

"Good night Brett."

"It's important he rehydrates…."

"Brett? Good night."

"Good night.

But neither one got much sleep.

"Hey," Brett entered Severide's room with clean sheets, set the thermometer on the dresser. "He feeling any better?"

"I dunno." He balled the blanket, tugged the top sheet free of the mattress. "Guy's miserable."

"Has he vomited blood? Lost consciousness? Shown any signs of confusion?"

"Not that I know of."

"Is he keeping liquids down?"

"Not really."

She frowned. What the hell did that mean? "Has his fever gone up? His headache ease?"

"Still has a headache, haven't taken his temperature."

"If he's not keeping liquids down by noon, we're taking him in." She told him shaking out the fresh bottom sheet. Casey stood opposite her and together they made the bed.

"If you think he needs to go, I'll take him in." He agreed. "Just….let me handle him, okay? Can you do that?"

"Of course…..hey there." She greeted when Severide came out of the bathroom eating a purple frozen ice. "How you feeling?"

He was wearing pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt because Casey had badgered him into a shower and set out clean clothes while he was in it.

"Fucked."

"Oh…I wish you weren't eating that." She smiled, picked up the thermometer. "Will you let me take your temperature?" Food poisoning was a vicious circle and having watched Severide struggle with it, she was certain she never wanted to experience it herself.

"Why?"

"You still sweat a lot." Casey pointed out. He smacked Severide on the back who, unsteady on his feet, stumbled forward, went down on the mattress on his hip. Squeezing up another chunk of ice, Severide gave a weak thumbs up, hitched a knee, squirmed into the middle of the bed, went flat on his back, pulled his knees up.

"He likes those, huh?" She pulled the sheet over his legs. "Good thing we're here. No one should have to go through this on their own."

"He'd be fine." Casey assured her. "He's gotten through many a hangover all by himself."

"Not the same." She frowned. "You're right, he's sweating a lot." She went into the bathroom, wet a washcloth, returned to pat down Severide's face but he growled at her, pulled his head away. "Oh, stop that."

Casey waited but Severide was still being uncharacteristically….uh, docile…..allowing Casey and now Brett near him. He'd tolerated Casey bullying him - then helping him - into a shower, accepted the numerous offerings of water, Gatorade, Ginger-ale, allowed Casey to help him up.

The flavor-ice finished, Severide let Casey take the empty package, eased onto his side, started to drift off into a fitful doze.

"Can you open your mouth for me? Just part your teeth….just a bit…."

Although Severide had just allowed her close, already half asleep, he wasn't willing to accept anything from her now….blearily stared at her with watery eyes with no signs of recognition.

She growled in frustration, held the thermometer out to Casey. "Take his temperature."

"Let him sleep."

"Take. It."

Severide stirred when Casey thumbed his jaw, accepted the thermometer poked at his lips, took it between his teeth.

"Sure, sure." Brett threw her hands up. "Anything for you!"

Severide was shivering, so Casey got a clean blanket off the dresser shook it out, let Brett help him spread it out over the bed.

"Sweating like crazy, and shivering." Casey handed her the thermometer.

"99.9." She announced. "It's down. Likely the aspirin you gave him for his headache."

It was now past dawn and with Severide asleep, Casey was ready to get some as well. "Gonna let him sleep. Go to bed."

She wasn't ready to go home and was glad he didn't suggest it. "You sure?" She felt bad, what little sleep she'd gotten – and it was more than he had – had been in his bed since he'd taken the couch. "If he's asleep, take your bed, I'll take the couch…."

"Wanna see how long he's going to stay asleep."

She nodded. "Okay, mind if I shower first? I'm sticky."

"Sure," He agreed. "Stella has some clothes here, I'll get you something."

"Thanks, appreciate it."

()()()()()

Severide woke slowly, tested the agreeability of his stomach by pulling one leg towards his chest. When it didn't protest with the promise to rebel, either one way or the other, he rolled onto his back, stretched out.

His mouth was dry, his lips cracked, and he was thirsty….so thirsty he was going to get up and go find something cold to drink.

Using only his feet, he kicked free of the sheet and blanket, slowly sat up. Though his stomach muscles were sore, the stabbing cramps in his gut had eased, but were still noticeable. He wasn't dizzy either and sweat didn't make his neck or the back of his knees slick.

The past hours were hazy and he didn't remember much…..and what flashes of memory wanted to return, he ruthlessly denied and hastily buried deep...or tried to.

Being fucking miserable was not an excuse to…uh, let Casey…..um take care of him. With a groan, he pressed his palms over his eyes, in a lame attempt to keep the images out of his mind…didn't work...they were continuous and on reloop: being helped off the floor, being walked back to bed, his face wiped, his hair toweled, helped out of and into numerous shirts, being fed colored chunks of ice, his head held, a cup against his mouth, complaining his head hurt, being told it was because he needed to drink more, a straw nudging his lips, being coaxed to swallow, given a blanket when he shook with chills, a cool cloth on his forehead when he was too hot…Awww…Man! FUCK!

The curtains were drawn but he could tell it was daylight by the light seeping in around the window sills. The question was, had one night passed? Or two?

He slid to the edge of the bed, swung his legs off the mattress. When his feet were firmly on the floor, he pushed up. His ankles supported his weight but his knees wobbled a bit, making his gait unsteady. He felt a little light-headed, but not dizzy, so made his way to his bedroom door.

He vaguely recalled some blonde hovering over Casey's shoulder a time or two, decided he was dressed decently enough to wander around his own apartment, headed out to the kitchen in search of something to drink. He had to stop a time or two, brace his weight against the wall, but he made it to the kitchen without hitting the floor...Jesus Christ! He'd never felt so weak in his life!

He rested against the counter; jello and pudding cups, animal and graham crackers. He wasn't ready to attempt to eat yet, but it was nice that someone had thought to provide food his stomach would likely accept over the next day or so when he did get hungry.

He opened the fridge, was startled by a snort. Grabbing a bottle of Ginger-ale, he backed out of the fridge, let the door close.

He thought he was alone, it was so quiet and day had come, so he figured Casey had gone to a construction job somewhere, but no, he was sprawled on his belly on the sofa.

"How you feeling?" Casey asked sleepily.

"Gonna live."

"Never doubted it."

"You can go to bed."

"Brett's still here." He yawned. "Besides, can't hear you from there."

Severide flushed with fuzzy feelings of aawww….

"You hit the floor, crack you head open, I wanna beat her to you. She's bossy."

And fuck you too, Matt Casey.

"You're not going anywhere." Casey turned into the pillow. "Gris understands, will swing by later, see how you're feeling."

"Okay." He hadn't planned on it and Grissom would swing by to check up on him, make sure he'd indeed been sick. He opened the freezer, took a blue freezer pop.

"You stay up much longer, she'll be out here."

He fled back to his room, firmly shut the door.