Casey was going to kill whoever had jinxed the fireless shift, he decided at 6 in the morning as he rolled out of bed and struggled into a pair of his work pants. He was going to find him and hang him by his toes from the flag post. Apparently Severide felt the same way, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"Who did it?" Severide grumbled, as he too stumbled from his office, bleary eyes and wrestling with the fly and zipper of his own trousers.

"I don't know, but whoever it was, he's-"

"Dead," Severide agreed.

"Bet it was the damn candidate," Casey muttered as they jogged out to the trucks.

Severide grunted an agreement before they split away from each other, grabbing their gear and climbing into the cab of the trucks. It was only a few minutes later as the truck thundered down the streets of Chicago that Casey remembered the conversation between himself and Severide and realised how lighthearted it had been. He found himself torn between regret, at having let himself open himself up like that again to Severide and relief that he and Severide were finally back to acting somewhat normal. He shook the thoughts away and concentrated on the priority.

"Mills," he barked, gaining the young candidate's attention. "Pitcher's got a no-hitter going in the eighth inning. Do you go up to him and say, 'looks like you got a no-hitter going'?"

"No, but-," Mills tried.

"You don't do it at the damn firehouse either."

Casey caught Otis shaking his head solemnly at Mills, in the rear-view mirror and repressed the urge to remark on the time Otis managed to turn a no call shift into the ultimate trifecta with a pile-up car accident, a fire and a prison visit all in the space of about eight hours.

They pulled up at the scene to find two cars, one surrounded by debris and one upside down and balanced precariously on a cement guard rail. Jumping from the truck and deciding that the upside down SUV looked to be in no immediate danger, Casey sent the rest of the company to stabilise it while he approached the other car where a police officer was looking through the front window.

The policeman stepped back with a helpless gesture when he failed to get the door open. As so often happened in accidents, the doors of the car had jammed up upon impact making it practically impossible to open them without help of a halligan or the jaws. He crammed the metal inside the join and pried the door open, the police officer smart enough to jump in and help pull it further open. The driver of the car stumbled out and into Casey, who only needed a single whiff of his breath to know the driver was way over the limit.

"I'm ok. I'm alright," the guy assured Casey, exhaling another toxic, alcoholic breath.

Casey shook him off disgustedly and shoved him towards the officer. "Field test this idiot." Casey glanced inside the car and took note of the empty beer cans lying on the passenger. He pointed them out to the officer as he took the driver's shoulder and began leading him off, who nodded and assured Casey that he would take care of it.

That would have to do, Casey rationalised because even though he was hesitant to leave the officer to deal with both the driver and the evidence, the sudden yelling of his men pulled him away. He sprinted across the road and threw his entire weight into pulling the tipping car back into balance. Encouraged by the approaching wail of the Squad truck Casey held out for reinforcement. Within minutes, Severide and his squad appeared, bringing with them raw strength, stabilisers and cribbing.

"Give us ten more seconds," Severide promised, as he and his men got to work, lining up cribbing along the guardrail and setting the stabilisers into place.

"You got eight," Herrmann wheezed back.

The firefighter's shifted as one, trying to provide relief for their muscles which were burning with the exertion of keeping the car from tipping off the bridge and onto the road below. Casey clenched his eyes shut and tried not to give in to the screaming of his aching muscles, choosing instead to listen to Severide, who was talking the passengers calmly through the situation.

"Just sit tight there, all right? Don't try to unbuckle yourself."

The driver, who'd Casey thought was unconscious said, "My son? Is he alright? He's not saying anything."

The arrival of the ambulance was signalled by Dawson's sudden input. "Yeah, he's alive, sir."

"We're going to need a second ambo," Shay muttered into her radio.

"Two more," Casey corrected with a gasp. He indicated the driver of the other vehicle with a jerk of his head, his hands being otherwise occupied. Those who could spare it, followed his gesture to see the other driver upright and being questioned by police. Despite his apparent alertness it was policy that anyone involved in a call be checked out at a hospital.

"Where are those jaws," Severide demanded and Capp handed them over.

Casey couldn't know how many others noticed throughout the chaos, but being as finely tuned into Severide as a Lieutenant needed to be, it was impossible to miss the agonised groan that escaped his mouth as he hefted the jaws up to attack the car door. Casey let his eyes flicker across to the other side of the car, where Shay was supposed to be attending the unconscious teenager. Instead she was staring at her roommate, pure and palpable concern reflecting in her eyes. But then she blinked and the worry vanished, and she turned her attention back to her charge again. Following her lead and keeping his own questions to himself, Casey focussed his attention on the car as the last support was locked into place.

The jaws roared to life with a metallic whirr and Severide wrestled with the crumpled metal. After a few curse filled minutes, Severide finally lowered the jaws in defeat with another groan, thought this time Casey couldn't be sure if it was out of pain or frustration.

"We're going to have to go through the windshield," Severide decided. "And get me a pick head."

Now that the car wasn't going anywhere, the firefighters could finally back away from the bumper, allowing enough room for Severide and the other squad members to get in close enough to remove the shattered glass.

The teenaged boy fought his way back into consciousness with a strangled groan. "What happened?"

"You're going to be okay," Casey assured him, knowing that was what the kid really wanted to hear. He shuffled in closer to the window so he could distract him from the chaos occurring outside of the vehicle. "Hockey fan, huh?" he asked, spying the stick and gear in the back seat.

"We were headed to Evanston for his tournament," the father supplied. "Are you okay, Mikey?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Severide and Capp stepped in and began working at the windshield, Capp wielding a power saw while Severide tapped gently at the cracked glass. They worked their way around the perimeter of the sheet before carefully lowering it to the ground. Casey glanced around and caught sight of the police officer from before now sans driver.

"I'll be right back," he said absently, now that the vehicle was stabilised and they were working on retrieving the passengers.

"Where's the driver?"

The officer gaped at him for a few seconds. "Uh, some officers took him to the hospital."

Casey couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're kidding me."

The young policeman mumbled something nonsensical under his breath about the driver complaining of leg pain and how they looked swamped what with the tipping car.

"He should have been c-collard and transported properly." Like in an actual ambulance. With a proper police escort.

"My bad," the officer said helplessly.

Casey narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong. He ducked his head to check the passenger seat only to find it empty of the beer containers that were previously there. "Did you bag the beer cans?"

The way the officer shifted awkwardly and avoided the question told Casey all he needed to know. "Look," he said finally. "Detective Voight behind me? The guy in the jacket?"

Casey peered surreptitiously over the young beat cop's shoulder to see an older man in an expensive-looking leather jacket surrounded by uniformed officers.

"That was his son driving this car."

Between the officer's tone and Casey's own experience with police, it took him no more than a few seconds to grasp what he was saying. The officer shot him an apologetic look and wandered off, leaving Casey to turn around to watch as his men worked to disentangle the father and son from the wreck. He glanced back at Detective Voight, his blood boiling hot at the smug smile he was sporting. Detective Voight caught his gaze and held it unwaveringly and Casey knew his outrage was probably showing in a rare occurrence but he also wasn't stupid. He knew he was the only firefighter who had encountered the drunk driver and the only person on scene, other than the beat cop who had seen the beer containers and cops always looked after their own. If anyone was going to challenge this guy, it was going to be him. And him alone.

Fuck.

The sight of the teenager and his father being wheeled away with c-collars strapped firmly around their necks stuck with Casey for the rest of the shift and well into the rest of the day. He could usually compartmentalise better than that but there was something about the sight of the kid's bloody face as he struggled for each breath that he couldn't quite shake.

"Matt?" Hallie called for the third time, her boyfriend finally looking up from his hands.

"Yeah?"

"Ham or turkey?" she asked choosing to let the space out go. For the moment.

"Turkey, thanks," he said accepting the sandwich Hallie passed over. "Sorry if I'm out of it," he apologised as she joined him at the table. "Tough shift."

Hallie knew better than to ask if he wanted to talk about it.

Instead she asked about the firehouse. "How are things over at 51?"

Casey shrugged, too exhausted from the early call that morning to muster much energy. "Same as usual; Herrmann's back from his time off, the new candidate's going fine."

"And you and Severide," Hallie asked carefully.

Casey stilled in his seat and chewed slowly, thinking about the best way to answer. "Things are going ok between us. No more punch up's if that's what you're asking." The ghost of a smile flickered across Hallie's lips but she didn't comment. "We've just been staying out of each other's way mostly, talking only when we really need to, you know…"

Casey still hadn't told her about the minimal conversations that were becoming more of an everyday occurrence nor the drunken phone call he'd received a few weeks ago. Plus he didn't think his fiancee would appreciate his plan to investigate the pain that seemed to be plaguing his co worker.

Hallie hummed an acknowledgement then blessedly changed the topic to some bland story of the going-on's of Lakeshore hospital, allowing Casey to half doze with his chin propped up in his hand while he listened.

By the time the next shift day rolled around, the pain in Severide's shoulder had finally dulled to a lazy roar, which, compared to sharp stabbing pains of before was much more comfortable. Shay, thankfully hadn't bugged him about it - even though he knew she knew it was acting up - and Severide was taking that as a minor miracle.

But expecting Shay to keep to her own business for any extended length of time, as Severide found out early that morning, was next to impossible. He rolled out of bed early, wanting to hit the gym early before he went on duty.

He wandered downstairs already dressed and ready to leave, greeted his roommate, declined her offer for coffee and grabbed a banana for the ride. But it wasn't so easy to escape Shay's interrogation.

"How's your arm?" she asked, her tone purposefully nonchalant.

He glanced down at the limb, flexed the muscles and nodded contently. "It's good," he told her. "It's really fine," he added when she didn't look convinced.

"Alright," she said. "But you should really get it look at, you know. It could act up at the wrong time."

Fighting the urge to curse and tell her to mind her own business, something that he didn't mean and knew he would regret instantly, Severide pursed his lips before nodding. "Absolutely. I'm planning on doing that," he said, although he had no such intention. "Alright, I'll see you later," he said, before she could start trapping him into something concrete.

"Bye."

Severide ignored the flatness of her tone and escaped the apartment, intent on getting to the gym so he could lose himself in the bliss of exercise.

Casey glanced as his watch for the millionth time that morning and glanced around at his company gathered around him.

"Has anyone seen Mills this morning?" he asked.

There was a collective murmur in the negative and a head shake around the circle. Casey fought the urge to swear and ducked his head to focus back in on the apparatus he was checking. Beside them Truck 51 roared out of the driveway to refill their tank.

"Oh! Good afternoon, candidate."

Everyone's heads shot up at Herrmann's unimpressed comment, Casey's included. Standing before them, panting and sweaty was Mills, obviously having run all the way here. Mills locked eyes with Casey and gasped out an apology.

"First he blows a no-hitter. Now he's coming in five minutes late. So much for employee of the week."

Casey ignored Otis' comments and regarded the candidate passively.

"It won't happen again. I promise."

The entire circle seemed to go quiet, as if waiting for their Lieutenant's input. Finally he nodded, jerked his head towards the locker room and told him to go get changed. He caught sight of the ambo girls making their way across the floor, got to his feet and headed after them, leaving his men to interrogate Otis about his behaviour towards Mills.

"Morning," he said to their backs, earning their attention from their own daily tasks.

Shay turned around with a small smile and raised eyebrows. "Uh-oh. We're either in trouble or he wants something," she said to Dawson.

He huffed half a laugh and turned to Dawson. "You got a sec?"

Shay laughed. "Feeling the love. No it's alright, I have so much to do elsewhere. Later." She took off towards the door, leaving Dawson and Casey to watch her go.

"What's up?"

"Is your brother still working in vice?" Casey asked. He decided last night to at least check in with someone who knew a bit more about Voight before he decided what exactly he was going to put in his report.

"Yeah," Dawson replied, confusion evident in her voice.

"Could you see if he can swing by here real quick?"

"Sure," Dawson said easily. "All your hookers get locked up last night?"

Casey grinned. "Yeah. My whole stable. Nah, I've just got a question for him."

Dawson nodded and promised to give him a call sometime over the day. He stepped away to get back to work, only to be stopped by Dawson's concerned voice.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," he assured her and hurried off before she could ask any more questions.

Inside the locker room, Severide was slowly getting changed out for the shift, trying to change his workout tank for a work t-shirt while keeping the jostling of his arm to a minimum, which turned out to be harder than he thought. He cupped a hand around the joint, thumb rubbing rhythmically over the spasming flesh. The weights he'd lifted at the gym had only aggravated the muscle further.

He was pulled from his reverie by the slam of a locker door in the next row and the sudden appearance of Vargas.

"Hey, Lieutenant."

He nodded his own hello and busied himself by digging through his bag, pretending to look for something.

"Wanted to let you know that I just completed the last of my tech course and I reached my squad certification."

"That's great," Severide said, waiting for Vargas to elaborate. "Good job."

"Yeah, three years busting my hump, but I got it done. So I'm putting in a transfer from truck and I wanted to get your blessing."

And there it was. Severide repressed a sigh. The transfer of men between companies wasn't exactly a common occurrence but it happened often enough that it caused an annoyance. Technically, Severide didn't have a say on who was in his squad, which he hated, but he could still express his views. But ultimately the decision came from higher up and could leave Severide with someone he didn't want. Because the decision to allow someone to transfer from truck to squad wasn't as black and white as the department wanted to think. Despite getting their certification, some firefighter's just weren't suited to squad work and it left the entire company vulnerable. So before he went handing out his blessing he needed to know a few things.

"Why do you want to come over to squad?"

"With where I want to end up, squad's the best place in terms of a stepping stone to getting promoted-"

"Let me stop you right there, Vargas," Severide said. "If that's your reason for coming over-"

"It ain't! That came out wrong. The promotion stuff, that's down the road."

"Way down the road."

"Absolutely," Vargas agreed.

"Alright." Severide nodded and turned back to his locker, silently dismissing the firefighter. Vargas must have picked up on it because he left without another word and Severide rolled his eyes at his locker. That was the sort of thing he was worried about. Firefighter's who saw joining squad as nothing more than a barrier to pass on their way to something better. In his opinion there was nothing better than rescue squad.

At lunch time, conversation turned inevitably to the broken television, sitting sadly in it's place, having died the shift before. Casey half listened to the complaining and half focussed on the paperwork he was trying to fill out instead of eating with the rest of the house.

"That ain't gonna cut it," Cruz said through a mouthful of salad, pointing his fork accusingly at the tv, mindless of the lettuce that fluttered from his utensil and stuck to the table.

"Sign out front," Mouch commented, referring to the hand-painted sign he'd installed on the front grass that morning. "Just a matter of time until a good samaritan steps up."

"We can do that?" Mills wanted to know.

"Oh yeah. It's frowned upon, but it's not illegal per standards and procedures."

Casey repressed a snort at hearing that. It was typical for Mouch to know every loophole known to man.

"Last year, we got the new, what was it?"

"Microwave," Herrmann put in.

Mouch nodded. "Right. We got the new microwave by doing this."

But apparently that plan wasn't good enough for Cruz, who exhaled irritably. "It took three months to get the new microwave. The Bears game is this Sunday."

"What have we got in the treasury box?" Casey wanted to know, wondering if maybe they had managed to save up enough to just buy it themselves.

"Dick," Herrmann replied. "We spent it all on the elliptical machine so Shay could keep her ass toned."

Shay scoffed and looked up from her book. "Oh Herrmann, please. Everyone benefits from me having a toned ass."

The table snickered at the comment, half of them nodding reluctant agreements.

"Mills, you're in charge of a fundraiser for a new tv," Casey decided, figuring it was the least the candidate could do, considering he the no-hitter he blew, his lateness and the fact that he was the candidate after all.

"Instead of cooking?"

"In conjunction with cooking," he corrected.

"I believe it's called multitasking," Otis piped up from halfway down the table. "And get some ideas together asap, would you?"

Casey tilted his head to regard the ex-candidate carefully, eyes narrowing. Otis had been the candidate for three years and Casey hadn't expected him to reap the benefits so quickly. Otis should understand better than anyone how it feels to be on the bottom rung of the House ladder. Before he could pull Otis up on his behaviour however, Dawson appeared in the doorway calling his name and indicating that he follow her with a jerk of her head.

Severide decided to skip lunch with the rest of the house in favour of making a dent in the absolute mountainous pile of paperwork waiting for him in his quarters. As much as he loved being Lieutenant, he did miss the paperless existence the rest of the house lived. It took him a while but he finally finished and he collected a bundle that was destined for Boden's office and made his way across the house.

"He in?" he asked Nicki as he approached her desk.

She looked up and sent him a dazzling smile, evidently unaffected by his rejection the night of the picnic. "On the phone. You can leave that with me, though," she said, gesturing to the reports in his hands.

He muttered, "Thanks," handed it over and turned to go, empty stomach suddenly demanding food.

"Hey," she called. "Um, tomorrow night, I don't know if you have plans, but me and some girlfriends are going to see Kaskade at the Vic if you're interested in coming."

Severide blinked, nonplussed. "What's Kaskade?"

Nicki's smile dropped in wattage. "Oh. He's a dj."

So not his type of music at all.

"A famous one," she added when he didn't speak.

"Yeah, um," he glanced around surreptitiously and made sure that no one was around before leaning down closer to her. "Look, I'm not really known for my self-restraint." Understatement of the year. "So I'll need you to meet me halfway here and respect Boden and your dad's wishes."

Nicki's lips parted, as if she were planning to challenge his request or maybe to agree but either way no sound came out and after waiting a suitable amount of time, Severide nodded and headed off, still convinced that he was doing the right thing by not pulling the girl into the mess that was currently his life.

Out the front of the house, Dawson and Casey stood with her brother, Antonio who was a Detective with the Chicago PD, explaining the situation that Casey had found himself in. Antonio was only a few years older than Casey himself and looked remarkably like his sister.

"Who wants to be know as the rat fireman who took down a cop's kid?"

"What's the cop's name?"

'Detective Voight."

"Aye ya," Antonio sighed and Casey's heart sunk.

"That bad, huh?" he asked.

"What's the problem," Dawson wanted to know.

"Voight's been hip-deep in the gang unit for 15 years. He's been investigated for taking bribes and-" Antonio looked as though he could list Voight's past transgression all afternoon but forcibly restrained himself. "Look, he's a dirty cop. The kind of guy that gives the rest of us a bad name."

"Ok, well I saw what I saw. The question is did anyone else see it?"

Antonio seemed to pick up on what Casey was trying hard not to say; if he were to put his ass on the line would there be anyone to back him up because he promised to ask around the precinct. "Wait to hear from me," he stressed. "Because I'm tellin you as a friend of my sister's, you do not want to mess with this dude."

"Lieutenant Casey!" The sudden call of Nicki's voice had all three of them looking around. She was walking down the driveway toward them. "Chief wants to see you in his office."

Casey nodded a confirmation at her and she turned to go back inside while he offered a hand for Antonio to shake. "Whatever you can, I'd appreciate it."

He made his way inside out of the wind and didn't waste any time heading into the Chief's office. The chief started talking before Casey could even clear the doorway.

"Incident report from that t-bone last shift. I got Severide's. Where's yours?"

Casey hesitated and tried to stall. "Right, I've been buried in paperwork and I-"

Boden tapped his desk pointedly. "On my desk by the end of this shift." When Casey didn't answer or leave Boden glanced up at him and continued, "That going to be a problem?"

"Not at all," Casey said and left the office without another word. He hadn't been lying to his chief; he would get that report finished by the end of the shift. What the report was going to say was another matter entirely.

One one hand he could go down the honourable path and report what he had seen despite the hell it would bring down on his own ass. Or he could act out of self-preservation and save himself and probably his career.

To prolong the inevitable he changed course abruptly and headed for the kitchen to get a cup of coffee before getting to work on the report. He fixed the cup how he liked it - black with one sugar - before leaning back against the counter to listen to Mills who was standing by the busted television set presenting possible fundraising ideas.

"A neighbourhood hotdog eating contest?"

"Ah, too tacky," Mouch said, shooting it down.

Shay glanced up from her book. "And putting a sign out front begging for a tv is what?"

"Got a point," Otis conceded.

"Alright well how about a t-shirt booth in the driveway?" Mills suggested.

"We already sell t-shirts," Cruz protested.

While Mills went on, listing all the ways the current method of selling t-shirts didn't work and how they could improve it to raise money for the new television, Casey fished his buzzing phone out of his pocket. Waiting on the screen was a new text from Hallie:

You out on a call atm?

No, why? He typed back. Across the room the men were congratulating Mills on his plan while Shay threw in her own snappy comments. He waited a few minutes but there was no reply and he finally gave up on getting one when Crux called for his attention.

"Hey, what do you think, Casey, t-shirt stand?"

"Or should we have Mills here run a few laps around the block, think about some alternatives?" Otis was quick to put in.

Irritated by his behaviour and making the decision that had been forming in the back of his head for the last couple of shifts, Casey pushed away from the counter and instructed his company to follow him. "We're going to do a drill," he announced, forcing himself not to laugh at the smug smirk Otis was suddenly sporting.

He made a detour through the equipment room to grab the supplies they'd need before leading the men out onto the apparatus floor, gaining the attention of the other firefighters gathered outside, enjoying the unseasonably warm day.

"Mills, listen up. This is a downed firefighter assessment." He dropped the heavy bag with an audible thump. "Fellow firefighter's going to be on the floor, full gear with his PASS alarm going off. You crawl in from 10 feet away, deactivate his alarm, check for airflow, call in a mayday on your radio and drag the victim to the extraction point, which will be north gate," he concluded, pointing to said gate.

"Ok," Mills said, sounding far too confident in himself.

Casey leant down and pulled the requirement he hadn't mentioned yet from the depths of the bag. "All with a blacked-out face mask to simulate zero visibility," he said, slapping the mask into Mills' chest.

Otis laughed delightedly while Mills could only gape.

When the candidate could finally speak his, "Ok," was with far less conviction that the first.

"No showing up late to this one, candidate," Otis laughed.

Casey straightened from where he had been digging around in the bag again and tossed the second mask to the ex-candidate. "We got two masks."

The rest of the company laughed indulgently at Otis' stupefied expression and Casey allowed himself a grin. Across the circle of his company he caught sight of a familiar figure, approaching in doctor's scrubs and lunch in hand. His grin widened and he tossed the timer from his pocket to Vargas. "Time 'em. Slowest one has to mop the apparatus floor."

He left them to it, hearing Vargas call for them to gear up and get ready and crossed the last few steps to his fiancee, greeting her with a kiss to the cheek. "Hey, Hal. What're you doing here?"

"Lunch break," she said, holding up the paper bag in her hand as explanation. "You eaten yet?"

Casey confirmed that he hadn't and lead her into the house, bypassing Dawson as he did.

"Hey Gabriela," Hallie said.

"Hey, Hallie. Good seeing you."

"Yeah, you too."

Severide watched Casey stride off with his girlfriend - who he had heard was back to being his fiancee - and tried to convince himself that he didn't care in the slightest.

He was pulled from whatever he may or may not care about by the sudden appearance of Nicki over his shoulder, brandishing a large manila envelope.

"Here," she chirped, offering it to him. "This came in for you earlier."

Severide took it with a frown and a thanks, wondering quietly what would have come to the station for him instead of his apartment. He ignored the curious looks he was receiving from Hadley and Capp and opened it, growing even more confused when he realised the tab wasn't even stuck down, just folded over.

He glanced at the contents and almost choked on his own tongue; nestled in the bottom of the envelope was a pair of leopard print panties. He only needed one guess a to whom they belonged to and if he knew her like he thought he did, Severide was willing to bet they were the pair Nicki had put on that morning. Which meant, of course that she was running around the house naked under the dress. A thought that parts of his body liked way too much.

Casey and Hallie settled themselves in one of the meeting rooms to eat, allowing themselves a little more privacy that the communal rec room. They dug into the sandwiches Hallie had brought for them while she talked about her own shift and the weird calls she'd had to deal with throughout the day. Conversation eventually turned to Casey's last shift and the call that had left him out of sorts for the next few days. Hallie knew enough to wait until Casey could deal with it before asking if he wanted to talk it out. Feeling all too alone in the situation, Casey did just that, describing the crash and what he had seen and why he was hesitating on what to write in his report.

"What happened to the passengers in the other car?"

"I don't know," Casey confessed. It wasn't exactly procedure to check up on the victims in every call they made. Not only did it take too much time but it also was frowned upon by the department, thinking that it allowed firefighters to become too invested in the victims. "There were alert when we got 'em backboarded and into the ambo's but after that…" Casey shook his head. "It was a dad and his son."

Hallie stiffened imperceptibly and regarded her sandwich carefully. "What was the last name?"

Casey glanced over at the odd note in her voice. "Duffy."

"The son's 16? On his way to a hockey tournament?"

"Yeah. You heard something." It wasn't a question.

Hallie sighed. "Baby," she said apologetically, warning him that he wasn't going to like what she had to tell him. Casey tried not to wrinkle his nose at the endearment, unable to keep from thinking about what Severide had had to say on that subject in their late night conversation the other night.

"Just tell me."

"It's a complete L2 fracture. He's paralysed, waist down."

The air left Casey in one big rush as he slumped back into the chair, face upturned as he tried to control his emotions. It had been one thing when all the crash had ruined was the family car and the kid's chance at the hockey tournament with a healthy dose of fear thrown in instead of his entire future. Now all Casey could see was that fresh face of the kid as he was wheeled away, knowing that he would never walk again, that the hockey stick and skates would never be used again, that his entire future would be impacted by some idiot who thought he could do whatever he wanted because his dad was a cop. Hallie's hand found his wrist and gripped it comfortingly, but he barely felt it. He exhaled slowly on a muttered curse, fingers of his free hand coming up to rub at his tired eyes.

He barely got a chance to absorb the news before Mouch was bursting into the room excitedly. "We just go a tv donated. Flat screen, still in the box. Cop over at the 35th precinct donated it."

The blood in Casey's body went cold as he watched Mouch leave uncomprehendingly.

"Matt," Hallie said carefully, having caught the odd look on his face. "Don't do anything stupid."

Casey nodded absently and stood, pulling away from her touch and promised, distantly, that he would be right back before following Mouch out to the apparatus floor. He emerged out into the late afternoon sun to find the four companies assembled and all exclaiming over the television two cops were retrieving from the boot of their car.

"Who's it from?" Casey demanded, uncaring of his harsh tone.

"Detective Voight. He saw your sign."

Casey seethed with anger. If Voight thought and it was obviously that he had, that Casey's silence could be bought with a new television, he was sorely mistaken.

"Is that a 40-inch?" One of the men called.

"A 43, actually," the cop answered smugly, to which the house responded with whoops and cheers.

Casey shook his head and sighed out of anticipation of the house's reaction. "Take it back."

The cop, misunderstanding him was quick reassure them. "No, no, no. Don't worry. Voight went through all the channels. Donated it to the city, but specified it come here. So the bureau bitches aren't going to freak out."

Curling his lip at the crude language, Casey pointed his finger at the car purposefully. "Send it back," he said.

The smiles on the cop's face faded and they glanced at each other confusedly. "Sure. You got it," one said finally and they turned without another word to deposit it back into their car.

Casey ignored the disappointed looks to see that Hallie had followed him out and that Boden was standing there looking at him expectantly.

"Is this something that you need to bring me in on?"

Casey sighed. He hadn't wanted to bring Boden in on this but it was clear now that he needed to. "Yeah," he said and followed Boden into the house, saying goodbye to Hallie as he went, who needed to get back to the hospital.

Severide watched them go from across the floor, tapping his knuckles on the truck he was leaning against as he thought. He'd been planning on confronting Nicki about the contents of the envelope and judging by the coy smile she sent his way and the way she slipped inconspicuously into the equipment room, she was counting on that to. But from what had just gone down it was clear that something was up with Casey and a happy house was more important than getting off with the hot secretary. Nicki would just have to wait.

So he followed Casey and Boden into the chief's office, neither challenging his presence there. From there, with little prompting from the chief, Casey described what happened the night of the t-bone and afterwards, the drunk driver he'd encountered, the beer cans he'd seen, the heads-up he received from the beat cop on scene and then his conversation with Antonio earlier. Finally he explained his surety that the television from Voight had been an effort to buy his silence on the matter.

"So as far as we know," Boden said. "You're the only one willing to say that the kid was drunk?"

"Yeah. Antonio's looking around but he didn't sound all that sure."

"Alright. I'll buy you all the time you need with your report, but eventually Casey…" Boden spread his hands helplessly.

"Yeah, I know. I'll have to make a decision."

"Wait to talk to Antonio again before you go submitting any reports," Boden advised.

Casey nodded an agreement and together he and Severide left the office, knowing there was nothing else to talk about until Antonio came back.

Severide whistled lowly as they headed back to their quarters. "Quite the situation you've found yourself in."

Casey grunted noncommittally in return.

"A drunk cop kid."

Getting that Severide was trying to say something, Casey stopped abruptly and turned to him. "Just spit it out Severide."

"I'm just saying, remember the last time we went after a dirty cop?"

Of course, Casey remembered. It was part of the reason he was hesitant to go after Voight so quickly this time.

"And that was with half the house ready to come forward with evidence. Without any back up on this one? I just don't know if you should be going after this one." Severide wasn't proud to be saying it, but if it were him putting his career on the line, he'd want to be damn sure he knew what he was doing.

The churning feelings of hesitation and confusion burst inside Casey and he whirled on Severide, taking out the stress of the last few days on him.

"So, what are you saying? I should forget about the kid who's lying in that hospital bed and will probably never walk again?"

"That's not what I-"

"Why do you even care, anyway? Last time I checked Severide, we were barely speaking, not getting all worried about what the other was doing."

Severide clenched his jaw. "Fine," he spat back. "You want to work this out on your own? Have it your way." He spun away and stalked off, slowing only when he heard the blare of the alarm and the dispassionate voice of the dispatch officer.

"Jumper, squad 3, truck 81, ambulance 61."

He sighed and turned back the way he came, catching only the briefest glimpse of Casey's back before the other Lieutenant turned the corner.

The jumper call featured a poor bastard who had tried jumping from the fourth floor of his apartment building only to impale himself on the tall black fence bordering the property, the arrow-like tips spearing into his skin.

Deciding that the victim was too unstable to risk pulling him off the fence, the Chief directed them to cut him down using the K-12 to cut through the steel bars. Cutting through the two bottom sections with the heavy equipment didn't impact his shoulder much but as soon as he had to lift it to the top, Severide could feel the muscles in his shoulder strain and protest the movement. He tried not to let it show on his face as he moved quickly and efficiently without rushing.

"Talk to the saw, not me," he snapped, when Dawson complained about the steel overheating. Still he moved back and allowed some water to be pumped onto the bar, ignoring the twinging in his neck. Finally he finished the cutting, breathing an audible sigh of relief when the others stepped in to carry him over to the stretcher.

He was recovering by the truck when Casey called for him. He didn't pause to ask why they decided to pull the fence and instead moved quickly to bring a smaller saw around to take the tips of the fence. Despite it's smaller size there was still some weight behind the equipment and his fatigued right side protested loudly when he lifted it up. Despite trying his best to keep his pain-filled noises to himself but he knew some slipped through, alerting those nearest to him of his discomfort. For the rest of the time he worked, he could feel Shay's intense gaze alternate from drilling into the side of his head and checking on her patient. He had no doubt that when they got back to the station he would be getting an earful from her.

Finally he got all the tips off and stepped back so they could yank the fence out and shock his heart back into rhythm. As soon as the man's heart was beating regularly again on the monitor the girls clambered into the ambulance and took off without a backwards glance, leaving the rest of them to pack and head back. Packing up proved difficult with his muscles trembling with exertion as they were but Severide hid it as best he could, choosing to lea instead against his truck while he delegated tasks to his men.

Once they were back at the station, he headed straight to the locker room hoping to find some sort of painkiller in his locker. He dug through all the shelves but found nothing, not even aspirin. His heart jumped for a second when his fingers closed around a familiar vial that Shay had given him a week earlier, but one shake proved it to be drained empty and crushed his hope. He tossed it back in irritably and stood from the bench, resigning himself to asking Otis, who he could hear banging around in the next row.

"You got any ibuprofen?"

Otis glanced up and reached for a bottle on the shelf. "Yes, indeedy. How many you want?"

"Five," Severide said without hesitation. He cursed inwardly as soon as he spoke; he sounded as crazy as he thought he would. But he had learnt the hard way when he had first injured himself that a regular dose of over-the-counter pain meds wouldn't come close to covering the pain in his neck.

Obviously thinking he was joking Otis just laughed. "Here's two." When Severide didn't move or drop his hand and instead looked at him pointedly Otis sighed. "Seriously," he said tipping a third one onto Severide's palm. "Too many can do serious damage to your kidneys." Again Severide didn't move just side and looked to his fellow firefighter imploringly. "Don't come running to me when you're on dialysis in five years, ok?" He shook the final two pills out and capped the bottle quickly, as though if he didn't Severide would start asking for more.

"Thanks," Severide said and walked off, not bothering to stay and listen to the rest of Otis' lecture on ibuprofen and kidneys. If he was lucky he would be able to avoid the rest of the world and lie down for a few hours and try to forget about the absolute screaming pain in his arm.