Yes, the last chapter was a shorty. Here's another to hold you over. Have a great week!
"I don't know how to get through to you, Mr. Severide," Dr. Stinson's normally stoic exterior had broken way to an agitation highlighted by the tapping of his pen on a clipboard. "You can't be feeling good, and I know you aren't as pain free as you're claiming." He exhaled deeply, pen stopping. "Kelly," he finally said.
Shit.
"You have to take it easy. I can tell you don't do anything easy, but you have to. If you have any hopes of making it back to that job of yours, you have to."
Kelly nodded his head yes, looking down, letting the words sink in. If? There wasn't any damn if, was there? A little boy he'd insisted could only stay one night had kept him preoccupied, far away from doubts of getting back to 51. The punching out of Mr. Frank had felt so good, so right, Kelly couldn't believe it had done anything to his back.
"You moved everything a bit, and at this point nothing needs to be moved at all," the doc had said, reproving look still plastered on his face. "I don't need to go back in. Yet. But you keep this up and I will and we won't be talking about you gettin' back to work, we'll be discussing if you'll be be able to walk again."
Stinson sent Kelly home with new prescriptions for pain, for swelling, and for sleep. He crumpled them in his hand, throwing them against the passenger side window. Shay was supposed to be playing driver, but he called her off saying Clarke was filling in. A lie. The fireman sat for a long while in the quiet of that old bucket of bolts, the reality of Stinson's words still resonating. The fiery pain starting in his neck and now shooting down his back speaking words of its own, saying that all his talk of coming back, making it back… that could also be a lie.
Erin finally got a break in the Traviani case, if you could even call it that. When they'd reported back to Voight that all signs pointed the boy committed suicide, he wasn't satisfied. He sent them away saying not to leave any stone unturned.
"We've looked under every goddamn stone," Halstead grumbled slamming his door.
"Searched for every needle in the haystack," Erin added, holding back a grin.
"Gone through the evidence with a fine-tooth comb," Jay smiled.
"Uh, searched … high heaven?"
"Weak, Lindsay, weak. No chance of me driving, is there?"
"Not a chance," Erin answered, revving the engine.
"So, who's this loser again?" asked Lindsay, mind not really on the case, a fireman's appointment darkening her thoughts.
"Don't really know, friend of a friend of dead kid," Halstead commented looking at his notes in his phone.
"Chase," corrected Erin.
They pulled in front of the little coffee shop, Jay snickering at the angsty looks of the barely 20-somethings coming and going from the hole in the wall. Erin shook her head in silent agreement wondering how a place could convey a "woe is me" feel just from the front facade. Lindsay stepped in the crowded shop, the strong smell of coffee emanating from within. She almost smiled, almost. Her eyes darted straight to a corner table where a familiar face waited. The place was packed, somehow she knew he was the one they were there to see.
Phil, the wannabe zen-like, small time drug dealer, was trying to keep his heavy lidded eyes open. Erin was bowled over with the sight of him. Dreadlocks a little longer and dirtier, face slightly fuller, but, yes, it was definitely Phil. Flashes of Dr. Moerchen flooded in, the sprint, the slide, that fall. Erin grabbed Jay's arm to steady herself.
"Hey, go wait outside. I got this," he said looking into her eyes, that military steel taking over.
"No, I'm fine." Erin marched toward Phil who was now up smiling, as if greeting a long lost friend.
"Long time no…"
"Cut the shit and sit down," barked Halstead, pointing at the seat the man had just risen from.
"How you are not locked away in some cage is a fact I'm lookin' to change. So spill it. Whatcha got on Chase Traviani?" Jay was on his A-game, one that Erin had forgotten he had.
By the time he was done with Phil, a story of prescription drugs, booze, and prostitutes emerged that would have Senator Traviani cursing the day she got Hank Voight involved in her son's death.
"Well, that was not what I was expectin'." Halstead shook his head wishing the team had left well enough alone.
"No, it seems Chase had some demons," Erin added, her mind swirling with the tale of male prostitutes and drugs … and one name popping up over and over, Dr. Moerchen.
"You okay?" asked Jay taking the keys out of Lindsay's hand.
"I don't know," she answered honestly.
Aunt Shay stepped in and up again, entertaining her favorite little man. She let herself into the apartment, eyes scanning for a sign of how it had gone. Prescriptions on the counter and her friend sitting on the couch wearing a grumpy look and a large neck brace.
"J, go to your room for a minute," she said quietly, pushing him down the hall.
He did a U-turn and rushed over to Kelly. "What did your doc say, Mr. Kelly? You good to go like you said?" Javi was on the couch perched right up on his hero.
"Yeah, kid, I'm good to go. Doc gave me the okay to take you to baseball. We're gonna get that room 'o yours in shape too, paint it, get new furniture," Kelly was smiling now, waving his arm so Shay'd come sit on his other side.
"I like the color my room is now," Javi said, eyes not leaving the brace. "Why're you wearing that thing? You said it didn't do a damn thing."
"Hey, language. And it makes Erin happy when I wear it, so I'm gonna give it a try."
"It looks good," Javi agreed, nodding at Shay.
"Yep," Leslie said. "Hey, J, will you go check out your room, make sure you wanna keep it the same color. I was thinkin' a dark blue might be nice."
He didn't want to leave Kelly's side, but the fireman gave him one of those serious face looks that told him to scat. He scurried down the hall stopping shy of his new room, putting his face against the wall as if it gave him the ability to hear better.
"So what did Dr. Stinson say, for real, Kel?" Shay whispered, hand already clasped in Severide's.
"Said I need to take it easy, didn't do any real damage punching that asshole. That's about it."
"Then why do you have that look on your face?" Shay asked. "Like you're not married to the second best looking girl in the world? Like you don't have the chance to be a dad to the best seven-year-old in the world? Like you don't have the most caring, gorgeous, considerate, and funny best friend in the universe?" Leslie poked Kelly in the ribs, laughing.
Severide chuckled but didn't answer, that fact not lost on the blonde one.
"Mr. Kelly," Javi said from around the corner. "I'm a little hungry," he added turtling his head out from the hallway.
"Let's get you something to eat then, kid, C'mon," Kelly said getting up. "You have to feed him, Shay. He's like a fish. Give him food," he teased.
"Miss Shay fed me," Javi said. "We had cookies and ice cream, we were getting to the healthy stuff later, but then we got shakes on the way here."
"You have got to be shitti…" Leslie mumbled, shooting a look at the formerly sweet kid now running her over with a bus.
"Language," Kelly laughed. "So how come you're still hungry? Sounds like you ate enough junk for three people."
Javi just lifted his shoulders. Truth be told he was stuffed, but he wanted to hear what was going on. He hadn't known the fireman very long, but he could tell something was up. He'd been an observer for most of his seven years, seeing too much for his little boy eyes, knowing things he had no business knowing.
Shay thought about stopping Kelly from making whatever he was attempting in the kitchen, but she stopped herself. She had the feeling he needed to do it, to make this kid dinner.
"Sorry, Miss Shay," Javi said as they sit at the dining room table. Those big brown eyes staring into her big blue ones.
She shook her head, clearing her throat. "It is bro code, J. You do NOT give up your bud. You are my bud, right?"
He shook his head yes. "I felt like we were keepin' something from Mr. Kelly."
"Kid," called the fireman. "It's time to stop callin' me mister. Just Kelly or Severide… or whatever, but no damn mister. Okay?"
Javi shook his head again. "You should call me J.P., Mr. Kel, I mean Kelly."
"Wait, what?" Severide asked, putting down a spoon, walking over to the table.
Javi felt like he'd done something wrong, not sure what to say. "B-but you can call me Javi or Javier if you want. I, uh, like it…" his small, soft voice trailed off. It was that waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"This whole time your name's J.P. and you - you…" Kelly's bewildered expression filled the room, followed with Shay's laughter.
Javi, or J.P., joined in with Kelly just holding up his hands, that same confused look muddled with a small grin now.
"Kayla said I was a J.P. from the second she saw me," the little boy added, feeling the gazes on him turn more puzzled.
"Who's Kayla?" Shay asked between laughs.
"She's my sister," J.P. answered, met with a sudden silence.