Chapter 40

AN: This is the last chapter. I've made you guys wait long enough so I won't belabor the point. Thank you. All of you who read this and gave your earnest and enthusiastic feedback made me want to write more and more and here we are at the end of it. You might be upset with this. You might love it. That paralyzed me as much as the boxing itself. Knowing that some of you are going to hate it. But that isn't a reason to not give you guys an ending. So here goes nothing. I hope you are all safe and well as the world goes stark raving mad. xo lily

—

Whether you like it or not, summer is a brief season in Chicago. A mere 100 days at best, unlike the sprawling Indian summers of the eastern seaboard or deep south. Blame it on the lake effect, or the relative proximity to polar winds. And because of the slight chill in the air, Peter Mills was zipping a hoodie over his tee-shirt while a grumble caught in his throat. He was gearing up just in case. He'd packed tape and ice packs. A full on first aid kit was already sitting in his trunk if anybody needed serious medical care. Probie Peter Mills very much expected the day to get worse on this good and bright afternoon. Boxing matches never ended nice.

He needed a cup of coffee desperately. He had overslept and was going to be late picking up his mother if he didn't hurry. His mother, who had called last night and said she wanted to watch the boxing tryouts and would he mind taking her and keeping her company please?

Something was up. Peter might have been slow on the uptake about his parents' history with Chief Boden but he wasn't quite that blind. His mom didn't like that he was a firefighter but she definitely liked his decision to change firehouses even less. Sometimes his mother made no damn sense. It was a situation fraught with so many implications and how did she even know about the bouts? He definitely hadn't said anything. So it could only have been Chief Boden.

Peter's hands squeezed the steering wheel as he turned onto the road. He didn't want to be mad but some things were just beyond him. Like his mother suddenly being okay with his boss. Like Gabi colluding with said boss. He could have sworn Gabi and Matt were going to be a thing once he broke it off with her. Not that it mattered. (Except it kind of sort of did. Lieutenant Casey had run him ragged while they were dating for no damn reason.) Peter shook his head briskly. He was resolute in his decision. He was going to leave Firehouse 51. He had to do it. There had been pressure enough when he was standing in his father's shadow, but knowing he was, in some sick twisted way, Boden's redemption for sins committed against that same dead shadow. It was too much pressure.

Not that Peter articulated it this way. Not that he even could. He was still processing his feelings about the whole mess. He was angry and he was hurt and he felt lied to in a hundred small and inexplicable ways by Boden, his mom, and Gabi. That was the emotion churning through his gut as he hopped out of his car to knock on his mother's door. Hurt. It had been a year of far more firsts than he liked. Gut-wrenching humiliation mixed with heartsore ardor, on top of crippling anxiety about being a good firefighter. A year wondering if he was worthy to fill his father's shoes after Benny Severide blew the vaunted memory of his father wide open. Being the poster boy for Boden's goodness was too much, way too much. And Peter, poor probie, didn't have the words to say that without running away.

Something that was very apparent to Ingrid as she opened the front door to his stoic expression. Peter wasn't built for drama. He never had been. All of the lessons he had learned as a probationary firefighter had eroded the bedrock of his childhood. A childhood spent idolizing a man who was broken and flawed. Who was, simply put, human. She couldn't save him from these very adult realizations. That the idea of the firefighter brotherhood as sacrosanct was a myth. That petty rivalries could and would derail a whole company. She couldn't really blame him for his reaction. She was just so very worried.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked politely.

Ingrid withheld a sigh as she cupped Peter's face in her two hands. She pulled him down for a forehead kiss and held him there while he flinched, waiting. She wanted her sweet, guileless boy back. Her happy innocent child free from all knowledge of her indiscretions. Peter said nothing. Finally, with her hand grasping his forearm, they turned and walked to the car.

"Are you gonna be like this the entire day?"

"Mom…"

"Peter, I -"

He pulled away which was the first sign she had pushed him more than she should. He opened the front passenger door, guided her into the seat. Her son shut the door and Ingrid waited, tense with trepidation while he stormed around the front and started the car all in a strangled silence.

Peter was so much like her dead husband he didn't even have to try. And so, when the floodgates opened she was ready for the onslaught.

"You spent months. Months undermining my decision Ma!"

"I know."

"No, you don't know. You acted like I was stupid. Like I didn't know the risks. Like I hadn't lived the consequences!"

"Peter…"

"No. You don't get to do that."

Ingrid watched while her son reversed into the street, radiant in his anger.

"You don't get to say my name like that and play the Mom card when you lied for years. Forget judging me for becoming a firefighter. I found out about you and Boden from Gabi. And when I asked about it you lied. Again. And now I am driving you to a firefighter tourney like you haven't avoided anything to do with firefighters for twenty years. You really think I'm the problem here?"

Ingrid didn't have a response to that. The painful history of the life and death of Henry Mills was something she avoided as much as possible. So much so her baby boy had idolized what he knew of his father. What could she say in her defense? Precious little because she had indeed lied. She had ignored the sordid truth because of her own deep sense of shame. Ingrid was set apart even within the firefighter community and for fairly obvious reasons.

The Chicago Fire Department only began integrating in the late 1960s. Progress was slow and firefighters were still mostly Irish and working class who married Irish. Who married within their close knit communities. Ingrid was black and her husband white which was already enough of a problem with his family, never mind his coworkers. Never mind the wives who looked at her with veiled disgust, or worse, false sincerity. All the usual micro-aggressions, though they wouldn't have called it that back then. Henry Mills left his entire family behind because he loved Ingrid. She loved him even more for it. He was a man of courage and principle who never took the easy path. So for a time they existed in their own little love bubble, not needing anything or anyone else.

But the real world is still the real world. The pressure from his job, their eventual kids, her growing and persistent feeling of isolation, it all popped that love bubble. No one thing was to blame as they fought and screamed and said hurtful things. Henry Mills left because for a minute, he had wanted things to be easy. His job was hard enough. Living with his black wife and their two kids was suddenly too much. Tears blurred Ingrid's eyes as she stared out the car window. She could never quite forgive him for that; for abandoning her so completely in a world already hostile to her very existence.

Wallace Boden was the perfect antidote to Henry's desertion, temporary though it turned out to be.

"I'm sorry Peter" she finally said.

The grunt from her son demonstrated how much he thought of that comment. She felt him glance sideways at her before turning back to the road. She didn't want to admit it but she still felt incredibly fragile about what had happened. She'd never hated either man. Henry had shown her that she was beautiful and worthy not in spite of, but because of what the world said about her. How she'd always been polite and classy and taken the high road which is how she'd even met him in the first place.

Wallace though, Ingrid looked up to see Peter was parking next to a large lot, the once familiar mix of public servants around them, and one tall, dark and handsome off-duty battalion chief stalking to their vehicle. She closed her eyes. A part of her would never quite be ready for Boden had just about burned her alive once and she had honestly never recovered.

◆︎

Dawson's stomach was a riot of nerves as she made her way through the gymnasium that had been set up for the tourney. It was larger and louder than Boden's plan had ever been meant to be. The whole thing far more legitimate than she had ever wanted. A small part of her responded to the scene with eagerness. She loved to spar and so her eyes glanced from one corner of the room to another, searching out Shay, Severide or even her brother. Someone to latch onto because despite her best efforts, Dawson still wasn't 100 percent well. Like Severide, she was now prone to vicious headaches. She'd spent the whole first week at home, throwing up from dizziness with Severide alternately demanding she take the anti-convulsants and holding her so close, she could hear his racing heartbeat. The two injured fingers of her left hand ached. She'd removed the splints but the bones were still weak. Her ribs were going to be sore for forever. Or so it seemed. She had to admit that she wasn't well enough for the rigorous schedule as paramedic in charge but still…

"Gabi!"

Dawson turned and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Angie? What are you doing here?"

Dawson was incredulous as the painter bounded over. Angie grinned and her smile was so contagious, Dawson felt her lips lift in response. Here was a woman who had never judged or criticized her relationship. Instead Angie had given her a glimpse into what she and Severide looked like from the outside and Dawson was forever grateful for that simple sketch. She couldn't resist going in for a quick embrace, one Angie responded to with gentle enthusiasm, pushing riotous curls out of her face.

"Your man invited me of course. Said I should keep you company while he's knocking a boy off his high horse."

The snort Dawson let out was not the least bit elegant but that sounded so much like Kelly Severide, arrogance and all, she couldn't help herself. He'd left the apartment before she woke up. Just a scribbled note saying he'd meet her after the bout and not to worry. Foolish man. Love is worry. However, she was pleasantly surprised he had thought to invite Angie while he injured himself on behalf of Firehouse 51. For her really, since he didn't believe beating Casey senseless was a cure for what ailed them. Angie looped her arm through Dawson's with a look that did more to reassure the healing paramedic than she would likely ever confess.

"Hey, Kelly didn't say much. He told me you were antsy about rehabbing. I figured I'd take this as a chance to ask if we could meet up sometime."

"Of course we can!"

"Awesome"

Dawson responded without thinking. It didn't feel disloyal to Shay to accept Angie's gesture. Maybe it should have but she appreciated the cute brunette for being an unbiased advocate. For saying in not so many words that her relationship wasn't wrong. For being so willing to stand her ground on that, she and Shay had suffered a hopefully temporary split.

"Angie, whatever happened between you and Leslie doesn't matter to me. You're welcome to stop by my place or Molly's whenever you like."

Just then, Dawson saw Boden step out of a side room dressed casually, a pair of boxing gloves hanging off his shoulders like he was thinking to spar. A thought that should have alarmed her as she and Angie wove their way through people who were locating seats near the ring. Boden turned towards someone and then his arm wrapped around Ingrid Mills' waist which made Dawson do a double take. She immediately started scanning the room for Peter. That could not have gone over well with her ex-boyfriend. Mills was being a proper boy scout, setting up a makeshift triage area in the back, the scowl on his face so blatant she cringed. Shay was next to him adjusting all his work without asking and Dawson could see he was close to losing his temper. Dawson took a glimpse at Angie's face. Yeah, she wasn't ready to face Shay yet.

"How 'bout we sit here? Good views of the action huh?"

Angie's response was noncommittal but they sat down anyway. They were in the first row, near one of the corners, a little stool was already on the canvas with a towel and bottle of water. Dawson had no idea how Chief Boden and her brother had done it but everything was remarkably up to par. She was suitably impressed as she watched Boden prowl closer and closer to the ring. She had heard that he was a fantastic boxer when he was younger. That he'd KO'd someone in Chicago PD brass but he wouldn't say whom. Typical Boden. He wanted to leave the past alone. It only mattered what you did today and what you carried into tomorrow. However, he was looking pretty cozy with his past at the moment and not being terribly shy about it. They were fucking holding hands and Dawson's mind was blown. She couldn't imagine how Peter was feeling. Instead of risking another glance to the triage area, Dawson watched Angie pull a sketchbook from her bag and start doodling her surroundings. Dawson didn't have the patience to put paint on a blank wall so she was fascinated by the skill it took to use a pencil and create such vivid scenes on paper.

"Were you serious about wanting to paint Kelly and me?" Dawson wondered out loud before she could help herself.

Angie peered up from her half-done sketch excitement bright in her curious gaze.

"100 percent yes"

Just then she felt someone drop down into the seat next to her and turned to see Shay forcing a smile as she did a tiny awkward wave. Dawson wasn't above meddling in her friend's affairs but she did not have the energy to play mediator for the issues at play. Especially since their prevailing issue was a lack of respect for her relationship with Severide.

"Hi guys! How you doing?"

Shay's voice was all feigned cheer and ease such that Dawson knew she was hardcore freaking out. It could have been funny. She and Severide used to love riling Shay up with their antics. Little things, like hiding her stethoscope or her yogurt so she would pull the firehouse apart looking for it. Just stupid friendly shit that would make the petite blonde spiral and then curse once she realized their mischief. Dawson would have liked that to be the case but it wasn't as she slid back in her seat and let the ex-lovers brazen out their discomfort.

"Everything is wonderful. What's up Leslie?"

Angie said this with her face downturned, focused on her sketchbook, her hand mechanically creating the strokes that looked like one of the ring's bright blue posts.

"Great. Just great. Didn't expect to see you here so-"

"Kelly invited me" Angie interrupted.

"Oh did he?" Shay glared at Dawson who glared right back because last she checked, Kelly was taking care of her not the other way around. She did not control the man. "That's nice. This should be fun!"

Except of course, this was not going to be a fun time for most of the people involved. Anger and awkwardness were the prevailing emotions swirling the room, if Peter's face was anything to go by. She hadn't seen Severide yet, nor Casey. Otis and Cruz were going to start the tryouts with a friendly spar. Neither of them expected to do well and Dawson had to remind herself that the Battle of the Badges story was a cover for why they were all really there. To stem the bleeding that had begun with Andy Darden's death and never really stopped. Boden looked remarkably relaxed for a man with not one but two firefighters threatening to quit. Connie had spilled the beans to Dawson about Peter's transfer application. What a mess.

It was through this strained conversation that Severide eventually entered the room with Antonio by his side. Her brother, in an act of generosity she would not forget, had offered to be in Severide's corner for the bout. A gesture that had her bawling at the kitchen table the night he'd suggested it. Post concussion syndrome was weird. It had taken a healthy glass of water and some chocolate to calm her down. Antonio trying to play like it was no big deal when it absolutely, definitely was. Severide thanking him with an arm around her shoulders to soothe her. Now, they seemed to be in serious discussion. It distracted Dawson from the playful spar Otis and Cruz were just getting started; the sight of her two favorite men working together, bonding, getting closer. It made her happy. Severide could have asked one of his Squad teammates to do it. Or, knowing Severide, he would have done it all on his own, like he'd done everything else. Random arson investigations, the Shay protective detail from Clarice, all of the times he got into trouble and just stood there and took the heat. Kelly Severide was used to being alone and it made Dawson so sad she wanted to cross the gymnasium and hug him. It also made her want to drive to Kenosha and scream her head off at Benjamin Severide but who was she kidding? The entire Dawson clan would pile on her if she so much as stepped behind the wheel of a car, never mind leave the city limits. She was officially back to baby girl status. Her mother was hovering. Her father was calling to check in. Antonio might as well have a key with how often he dropped by.

In all seriousness, she was grateful. Grateful to be alive. Grateful to her family for giving her the type of childhood that allowed her to be strong and willful. For her brother whose gestures she recognized from her own shadowboxing days. How patient and kind he had been to a little girl who demanded all of his time and attention. And Kelly Patrick Severide was actually fucking listening to Antonio. Which qualified as a miracle, she suspected. Not for the first time she wanted to know how the hell they could have gotten here. To two men who were the best of friends, deciding to punch each other to bloody pulp. Could she have done anything differently? Did she actually want to change anything?

Angie's gentle hand on her forearm brought her out of her thoughts; her sweetheart face a mask of concern as she called Dawson's name. Shit. Daydreaming again, the inability to focus was going to be a problem if she ever wanted to get back in an ambulance. She needed to pull herself together.

"I'm sorry. What did I miss?"

"Cruz accidentally knocked Otis to the floor. Shay went to evaluate him."

Dawson glanced up to see the ring being cleaned. Cruz was annoying Otis while Shay and Mills were, predictably, arguing over how to take care of their fellow firefighter. She blinked again and Boden was in front of her frowning.

"Should you be here, Dawson?"

"Could you keep me away Chief?"

"Hmm. You need more rest."

Chief Boden peered at her with something like relentless concern. His hands were on his hips and Ingrid Mills was not at his side, surprisingly enough. Dawson shrugged the shoulder that didn't hurt and smiled.

"You and Severide can argue about when I come back to work but there was no way I was missing this after everything we-"

Dawson cut herself off. Angie had no clue what she was talking about and no need to learn now.

"I'm being rude. Angie, have you met Chief Boden? Chief this is Angie, an amazing artist and painter."

She didn't know Angie's last name. Shay had never given it. Or maybe Angie didn't go by one. Still, Dawson felt stupid as she watched Angie lift her graphite smudged hand to shake Chief' Boden's with a smile.

"Angie Köhler sir, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've only heard good things."

"You came to the barbecue, didn't you?"

"Yes! Yes I did."

The conversation flowed easily from there. Simple comments about the weather shift: how autumn was definitely in the air, and Angie was going to exhibit at the Bucktown Arts Fest the following week. Dawson relaxed. She listened while Angie explained that she showcased some of her finished pieces on her Instagram account and Chief Boden politely smiled while the artist suggested a portrait of Firehouse 51. Her enthusiasm was genuine. Angie recommended auctioning it off for charity if that would make him feel more comfortable. It was more tasteful than a firefighter calendar surely. Dawson cheerfully watched Boden attempt to say no to Angie's big eyes and boundless energy. All the while thinking that Severide must have been in at least one calendar over the years. The man was too cocky not to share his beauty with the greater Seattle population.

"Dawson"

She blinked back into the conversation with a start. Chief Boden was frowning down at her.

"Casey and Severide are about to start. Do you need anything?"

"Nothing you can give me sir, but thank you."

Dawson leaned into Boden's hand where he touched her shoulder, gingerly. Like she was glass. She realized that it was going to the awhile before any of the men of 51 stopped coddling her and she was trying not to take it personally. They cared about her. She was a sister like they were all her adopted brothers.

"Alright then, I'll find you when it's all over."

Over. Dawson grimaced slightly. She worried it would never really be over. Casey and Severide had known each other longer than she'd been on the Chicago Fire Department payroll; longer than her longest relationship. A friendship destroyed by a relationship she had never planned for. Things don't always turn out as expected. Dawson knew this. Her job demonstrated just how unfair life really was every single day. Yet this fight made her so very anxious. She felt ill. Her heart was in her throat as she turned to watch Casey and Severide warm up in the ring. She loved them both. She did. But… her glance shifted to Severide.

He'd fallen from a window only six months ago. His shin still acted up at times. It was still so easy for her to read his moves. He was getting better; had taken to gentle grappling with her in bed, showing off MMA moves and hip checks that left her crying foul and screaming with ecstasy by turn. Nothing he could use in boxing. Still. He could be quick when he wasn't pretending to be nonchalant. Such a fucking Leo, her man. She hoped he would win. She didn't want Casey to be humiliated by any stretch of the imagination but this was Sev. The guy who left an active fire because she mattered more than his job. The guy who had posted up in her hospital room for days, mulish, outright defiant and so solicitous she could have yelled. Except he'd given her their look and clenched her hand to his heart like she already owned it. She did. She knew she did. He'd said he loved her and kept on saying it. Reminding her that she'd said it first but he'd say it every day and always to make up for all their lost time. Severide considered the years they'd known each other without being together lost time. It sounded stupid but she got it. She understood because he made her feel found. They woke up each morning in the middle of this thing that they'd never even chosen and Dawson was breathless with the miracle of it. All because of tequila and inadequacy: all Severide being generous on a winter night, soothing her fears with love right from the start. Her mind was still catching up to her body's insatiable hunger for this man, her bruiser.

So she was clutching her fingers together in a gesture like prayer, whispering nonsense fervently. She ignored Angie's concerned glances. Oh if only her abuelita could see her now! The fight shouldn't have mattered but it did. It really did. There was no getting through to Casey anymore. When House 51 learned that Sev was moving in with her, he was teased relentlessly. She'd watched the man she loved grin, joke back, sometimes shake his head in disbelief at his colleagues. Casey however, had stared her down in the middle of the break room, his face frozen like he was conscious of his audience. Like he knew he had to be on his guard and Dawson had stared right back until he'd left the room, her throat full of stones. She loved him too. However, it was finally in a way that didn't make her ache for more. She was finally okay. She was enough. Severide had taught her she was enough in and of herself. He wasn't a boy scout, not with his leather jacket and his motorcycle. She couldn't put him on a pedestal. And she'd finally begun to understand that love didn't look like that for her.

It wasn't moony-eyed reverence and years of longing for the perfect moment. It was definitely not a meet cute like all the romantic comedies she'd devoured or the telenovelas her mother watched religiously. If anyone asked how they'd met, she was hard pressed to remember the moment she met Kelly Patrick Severide. She can't actually remember noticing him on her first shift at Firehouse 51. Her eyes had been all for the truck lieutenant. Love at first sight. Severide had been engaged to Whaley and then he wasn't and she'd never really thought of him as a possibility because she was so enthralled by Casey.

Just then Casey was winding up, loosening his joints as Hermann coached him. Casey was stoic. Closed off. He nodded to Hermann but didn't say much, glaring across at Severide. Sev was stretching, bending side to side while Antonio made wild gestures with hands, checking the gloves and headgear constantly. Probably telling Severide to block for fuck's sake. Neither man wanted to hear her yell about inconsistent blocking. And she would, Dawson already knew she was going to leave the gymnasium with a sore throat for screaming.

She felt Shay sit down next to her but ignored her. Dawson heard Peter ask if she needed anything but she blocked him out too. Her men were about to fight. Boden was prowling the corners, determined to be impartial. Letting them have it. Mouch was playing reluctant referee today while Hermann bickered. Some smartass had cranked up the music and her head was already beginning to throb. A tension headache was already creeping in at the sides of her head but she stared. Intent on the ring as the chatter around her began to get louder and louder…

Casey glared. He couldn't help it. The deep pool of resentment he'd tried to quash threatened to overwhelm him. Hermann was jabbering away but he couldn't hear it. He was focused. He was treating this bout like any other. Like he was representing 51 in the Battle of the Badges next spring. Charity. This was all for charity after all. Mouch called them in to touch gloves. Said to keep it clean. Keep it professional. Casey gave Severide a glance with the tap of his gloves and stepped back. He watched his opponent smile like he had a secret. Mouch was announcing them to the room. AC/DC was blaring. Casey's concentration bore down to the center of the ring as he jumped up and down in the red corner.

The bell rang once.

Casey stepped forward with a left jab.

Severide sidestepped. Classic bob and weave to a cross counter.

Block. Breathe. Left.

Casey couldn't hear a thing. Not the dull roar of cheers, not the squeak of canvas beneath his feet, not —

Fuck! He staggered.

Severide danced away.

Casey pressed in.

Jab. Cross. Jab. Cross.

He pounded Severide's chest. Hooked his arm around Severide's neck. Mouch pulled.—

"No holding!"

A grunt around the mouthguard: a nod. He understood. Mouch stepped back.

Blue eyes blinked on blue eyes.

Uppercut. Left. Feint.

He didn't see Severide. He saw a body. He saw a way to have control.

Dodge. Slip. One-two. One-

Casey fell backwards into the ropes. He heard Hermann scream Block!

Gloves in front of his face, he waited. All he needed was one good swing. Casey heard his own heart beating between his ears.

One-two. One-two.

The bell rang twice.

Severide pulled back and Casey tried not to sag against the ropes. He walked to his corner as Severide did the same. Casey grimaced. His ribs would hurt tomorrow. He let Hermann pull out the mouthguard and sit him on the stool. He felt the cool taste of water in his mouth and drank thirstily. He looked across at the other corner as Hermann buzzed around him.

Antonio and Gabi were arguing. Antonio was playing cutman, holding Severide's face while he checked the squad lieutenant's lip. Casey didn't remember seeing his glove connect or the lip split. There was blood: Severide spitting into a bucket .

"¡Idiota! Déjame ayudar. No lo entrenaste en absoluto."

"Gabi, siéntate. Él está bien."

She didn't look at him.

"¡Mira su cara! ¡Busca una conmoción cerebral! Oh, déjame hacerlo."

"Gabriella, ¡Basta!"

Casey couldn't hear Severide respond but he saw him turn his head towards Gabi. It didn't matter what he said to her; it had no effect at all. She was glaring. Gabi was swearing and glaring and leaning right into Severide's face. Inspecting his eyes for blown pupils. Being fierce even as she checked Severide over.

"Escúchame Antonio. ¡Si se lastima, te mataré!"

"Oye, esto es tu culpa, no la mía."

Casey saw the flinch when her fingers spasmed in pain. He watched Severide ignore Antonio, cradling Gabi's hand gently between his gloves. He watched him press bloody lips to those fingers.

She didn't look at him. Not once.

Fifteen seconds left in the break. Boden himself pulled Gabi from Severide's corner. She looked close to tears. She looked mutinous. Casey stood up, shaking his limbs out. Sweat was pouring into his eyes. One round down. Two to go. She was staring at Severide and he was staring right back. Casey glanced away when he saw the words her lips shaped.

"Lieutenant?"

"I'm fine Hermann. Guard."

Hermann shoved the mouthguard in and Casey relaxed into his stance. He was ready.

Did I ever say it?

Mouch stood in the centre of the ring, ready to call them in. Casey forgot about Gabi. Forgot about Severide. Forgot about anything that wasn't his breath and his body. His mind releasing the tension. He didn't think about his mom or the construction job he had to finish or 51. He didn't think at all.

Right glove in front of left.

One-two. One-two.

"Round two!"

The bell rang once.

Hiss. Punch. Casey bellowed as his head snapped back from a blow.

"Are we having fun?"

"Fuck. You. Kelly."

The taste of copper and a laugh he knew better than his own. He didn't want to hear it.

Severide grinned a mouth full of plastic. Stepped sideways.

Cross. Punch. Block.

Casey felt the tap of leather on his right side.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Severide was pulling his punches.

A half-step back, Casey twisted his torso away from the hit, right glove glancing off Severide's.

"The fuck you doing?!"

Severide trotted back and away.

"Come on Casey!"

He could do without the taunting.

One-two. One-two.

Hook. Lead right. Jab.

Trapped. Spittle on his face. Severide forced him into a clinch. His punches useless as one glove touched his jaw.

The bell rang twice.

Severide broke away.

"Jesus Lieu! Let me see your nose."

Casey lifted his head into Hermann's rough hands. He hissed a breath as the older man's fingers probed his skin.

"Okay, it ain't broken."

Mouthguard removed. Water pouring into his greedy mouth. He heaved a breath. The cool metal touch of the endswell moved over his skin. Casey closed his eyes and let Hermann work. He smelled petroleum jelly. He sighed as ice wrapped around his chest.

"He's throwing the fight."

"What? Nah."

"He's pulling punches. I barely felt those three hits to my ribs."

Silence greeted his remark. Hermann was busy dealing with the swelling. Casey was ignoring the other corner.

Did I ever say it?

"He loves her."

"What?" Casey jerked his head in Hermann's grip. His focus square on the smaller man efficiently cooling his face and offering him water.

"Shit. Shouldn't have said that. Lieutenant-"

"Spit it out Hermann."

"Hurting you hurts her."

Casey refused to look. Refused to believe any of it. Refused to think that Severide could be that generous, that kind of thoughtful. He glanced at one of the judges on the side taking notes.

"Who's winning?"

"I don't know. You both got some good licks in."

Casey didn't want to think anymore.

"Guard."

He rose to his aching feet, stretching sore muscles and feeling the shadow of fatigue take hold. He rolled his neck to ease the knots of tension in his tight shoulders.

"Round three!"

The bell rang once.

Severide seemed to dance. His footwork clean even two rounds in and tired.

He's been training.

Dodge. Left cross. Wait. Jab.

One-two.

One-two.

One-

He hissed on the out breath. Pivoted on his left foot. Casey pulled his right arm back for a sucker punch. His entire upper chest open.

He felt the hit. But not like he should have. Severide thumped him good but he still had his breath. He was still on his feet. Off-center with his center of gravity torqued, that punch should have sent him sailing. Should have had him gasping for air. Casey rocked back on his heels as Severide centered a blow over his liver.

Blue eyes blinked on blue. Severide winked.

Fuck. This.

Casey dropped his forearm against Severide's punch and pushed forward with a yell.

Block. Dodge. Get inside his guard.

One-two.

He was no longer fighting for 51.

One-two.

He was no longer there in the ring with a man who might have been his brother.

One-two.

One-two.

One-two.

One-two.

"KELLY!"

She cut through the haze. A punch grazed his jaw as Casey lifted his head to look. Reflex. She screamed and he paused. The second punch struck his sternum like a drum. Casey choked and gasped for breath.

"Happy now?" Severide asked around his mouthguard.

It wasn't clear if he was talking to Gabi or Casey as he shook his arm out.

No. Casey felt his face heat as he gulped one shaky breath then another. Mouch was in front of him, checking he was okay to continue with an 8 count. Severide's chest was bright red with fresh bruises. His own jaw was throbbing in pain. He gazed at Severide as he firmed up his stance, making himself as small a target as possible. Standing with his left foot forward, knees relaxed. Mouch retreated.

"Fucking fight me asshole!"

Severide said nothing.

Casey leaned in.

Left cross. Feint. Right—

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Sonofabitch. He was on the canvas. Casey grabbed for the ropes. His eyesight was blurry, from sweat or strike, he wasn't sure as he attempted to wave Mouch off. Everything. Hurt. He knelt up with a gasp, his arm over the top rope. Casey wasn't listening to anyone as he got to his feet. He just needed to beat the count. Severide stood quiet in the neutral corner as Mouch crowded Casey into the other. Mouch was holding his head tight, the bruise along his jaw flaring with the pressure.

"Follow my finger…good. Ready?"

One nod. He punched his gloves together. Cracked his neck. Watched Severide walk carefully to the centre, tapping at the air with unsteady swings. He was tired.

One-two.

Feint. Left. Left. Left.

Severide blocked his last strike before crowding him.

Came in close.

Then dropped his guard completely.

Casey heard Gabi's indignant shriek. He lifted his gloves.

One-two.

The bell rang twice.

He tasted blood. He heard the thud of his heart in that one-two rhythm between his ears. He could smell the funk of his own sweat. Feel the grit of dust on his skin where he kissed the canvas. He didn't need to hear the results. He knew. He stared out at the crowd of fellow firefighters without really seeing them. Hermann was saying something…

"Casey? Casey I gotta go. Cindy needs me."

Casey nodded, his gaze sharpening as he watched his corner man go rushing for the exit all anxiety and adrenaline. He blinked quickly while the aftermath began. While the towel Hermann put on his stool, fell to the floor in slow motion. While second watch gathered close to witness what must surely be the end of a months long argument. Cruz had an arm slung over Otis's shoulder: a shiner bright round one brown eye. Capp was standing between two rows of chairs with the rest of the rescue squad, his arms crossed, a frown on his broad face. Peter stood with him. Casey did a double take when he realized that Boden's secretary, Connie was taking pictures with her phone. It was, quite suddenly, impossibly loud and Casey felt his breath hitch.

They were all waiting for a decision when he knew the result. What it had to be. Mouch held his left wrist below the glove. Mouch yelled right into his ear:

"And the winner with 28 points is… Kelly Severide!"

There was a cheer that echoed in the room. There was a glance to the side as Mouch lifted Severide's gloved hand into the air and a shocking lack of humour from the squad lieutenant. He expected a good gloat. There was nothing else to do but tap gloves. A gesture he turned to perform automatically. He was surprised when Severide pulled him into an embrace. Casey froze with his arms in the air.

"You done?"

What could he say? The man had humiliated him in round three but he could have done it in one. He'd let Casey wail on him to prove something. He didn't have the energy to think about what. It was enough that he knew why and for whom. Casey rested one glove then another, on Severide's back.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm done Kelly."

"Good. First round at Molly's is on you"

Casey winced when Severide thumped his back but the other man was already pulling away.

"Kelly Patrick Severide!"

Mouch helped Casey strip off the gloves, a sympathetic look in his eyes. Mouch knew more than anyone else, what had happened in the ring and he wasn't a man to keep his mouth shut about other people's business. A sigh fell from his lips. Casey looked down as he began to unwrap the tape, listening to her even as he walked away. As a probie he didn't recognize from Firehouse 29, climbed into the ring to clean it. To disperse all the people who no longer had any reason to be there.

"What? I won!"

"¿Te veo estúpida? You fucking dropped your gloves like a child. What did I say?"

"Babe…"

Casey didn't wait around to see if she would check on him. He knew she would. Later. At the bar, when Severide was safely bandaged and iced. In spite of herself, and all he had put her through, Gabi would probably always check in.

It was enough. It had to be. Casey gave Chief Boden a faint smile as he pulled off his headgear.

"Get that nose checked before next shift, Lieutenant."

"Not tonight, Chief?"

"Tonight, after all the bouts are done we are going to Molly. That's an order."

Chief said it with a smile but Casey knew he had to show up all the same as Mrs. Mills walked over. She touched a hand to Boden's forearm and an embarrassed grin lit the battalion chief's face as he turned to wrap his hand over it. Casey was sure his face was telegraphing disbelief but he couldn't help it. What the hell else had he missed in the last six months?

"You remember Mrs. Mills, Lieutenant Casey?"

"Yes, nice to see you again ma'am. How is the diner doing?"

He heard her reply but he wasn't listening. Casey went through the motions, tired and bewildered. He thought he knew everything that happened at 51. Like when Hermann was trying to sell Engine on his latest scheme. Or when Truck pranked Squad and started all out war. He recognized in that moment, how much his dispute with Severide had altered his worldview. He knew nothing about Boden's life at the moment. Had no idea how he'd arrived at this moment of happiness as he laughed with Mills' mother. And Mills, he was supposed to be training the probie. When had he last checked in with the newbie firefighter? What didn't he know?

Casey stumbled away. He needed a shower. He wanted space. Everything he knew about himself was tangling with the revelation that he had been a piss-poor mentor and even worse compatriot to a man he respected deeply. Boden called him back but he couldn't face him. Unbidden, a slew of memories large and small fluttered at the back of his brain pulsing with anguish and joy and Andy. The first line of duty death he'd suffered in years. His first subordinate and all he wanted to be was far away.

◆︎

Shay could have done without the blood and fractures. She could have done without the entire afternoon as she watched Otis prod the swelling around his eye for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. They were propped up at one of Molly's tables. He was worried about his vision. About being able to work his shift in two days. And like a child he couldn't help touching the bruise over and overt. Men. She made a sympathetic noise but Shay was more preoccupied with her ex. Angie wasn't being rude, far from it. She was standing at the bar, shelling peanuts with her long fingers, laughing in-between bites as Hermann regaled her with a story. It was probably about Cindy. He'd fled the ring so fast everyone assumed something was wrong. Just Braxton Hicks, just terrifying when his mother in law called in a screaming panic even though Cindy said she was just fine. Fine was not fine when your pregnant spouse uttered it. Four kids had taught him that. He'd settled everyone down and opened up the bar as usual. And as usual it was filled with firefighters, most crowing about the bouts and their bad showings. Who was advancing to the next round of tryouts. Speculation was rife about what CPD was doing to shore up their stable of boxers.

None of that mattered to Shay. She looked calm but she was aware of how badly she'd fucked up everything. Her repressed attraction to Dawson had disastrous consequences in her relationships. All of them. Severide didn't trust her. Dawson didn't confide in her anymore and her gorgeous artist girlfriend had left her because she felt like her choices and opinions weren't validated. Like she didn't matter, when she did. Shay's acute need for control and relentless drive to wrangle her closest friends into neat and tidy roles that didn't cause any drama had exposed her own vulnerability in a way she didn't like. She was alone. Why did Angie have to agree with her about Kelly and Gabi? Why was she so insistent on this point? It wasn't like they agreed about everything else. What made her opinions and decisions about her friends more important than Angie's?

Her gaze tracked over everyone in the bar in an attempt to be casual. Boden was talking to Peter who was looking at his mother like she was downright insane. Mrs. Mills was trailing her eyes over Battalion Chief Boden like he was a damn snack. Shay turned her head away. There was not enough alcohol to contemplate that deeply. Cruz was flirting with Otis's cousin. Badly it looked like and she had to laugh. Mouch was propped up next to him, nursing a beer and watching the disaster with delight. Capp and the rest of the Squad crew were posted up in the back, near Severide's favorite seat. The squad lieutenant was holding a cold beer bottle to his split lip, trying not to laugh while Capp made jokes. And Dawson was right next to him. She still wasn't cleared to lift a finger and no one would let her try. She was tracing her hands over the ice packs strapped to Severide's ribs "as a precaution" like a mother hen. While Shay watched, Severide gripped Dawson's jaw and kissed her softly. No words. Just eyes and lips and Dawson relaxing. They smiled and leaned into each other. They did not give one single fuck who saw or mocked. They were happy. They didn't even look up when a shout announced Casey had arrived with two pizza boxes in his hands and Antonio's hand braced on his shoulder.

"Otis I'm grabbing another drink. You need anything?"

She didn't wait for a response. And some jackass decided to play "The Boxer" over the speakers and she felt herself swaying to the beat and murmuring Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie, to herself as she approached the bar. Sliding up next to Angie with her soap and graphite scent. Shay wasn't afraid to admit she missed it. Behind her, Casey and Antonio were putting the pizzas on one of the high tables and some of the crew were clamoring for napkins and plates.

"Hey Hermann? Tequila and a vodka for Otis, thanks."

Shay didn't edge away and neither did Angie, flicking a glance before popping a peanut into her mouth. She didn't want to be alone but that wasn't a good enough reason to be in a relationship.

"Can we be friends?"

"I'm sorry what?"

Angie turned on her stool, the look on her face incredulous and slightly angry. Shay felt her cheeks flush.

"That night we met. I was in a bad place and I don't think I ever really got out. I put a lot of shit on you really fast. You didn't deserve that, any of it."

"So you want a do-over?!"

"No! Ugh. This is coming out wrong. Look. I miss you. I do. But relationships are pressure and I don't want that for you. For either of us! I know I was controlling bitch. And that's not cool but I'm trying so…So maybe if you don't completely hate me—"

"Tequila and a vodka!" Hermann cheerfully interrupted. Shay glared at him. He was being a meddling menace but she accepted the drinks with thanks. Shay gave Angie a tight smile and spun to leave.

"Hey."

Shay bobbled her head in shock.

"I've got an exhibit booth next week. Maybe you can come by."

"Bucktown?"

"Yeah, arts fest."

"Oh ok! Yeah!"

Shay was completely stunned when Angie ducked her head, hiding a small smile. She must have looked like an idiot, holding two shot glasses and staring. But she just couldn't help it. She was standing in the middle of a crowded bar, her face on fire, hoping. She was struck dumb by the thought of it. That people actually got second chances. That maybe she just had. She was totally freaking out about squandering it.

But Otis yelled for his vodka and Capp was half-choking on his pizza and Peter was holed up in a corner with his sister very definitely spazzing out as Boden and their mother danced to a beat no one else was hearing. Shay gulped her shot in one go; the urge to giggle bubbling up from nowhere as she passed Otis his vodka to nurse. There was so much going on and her head spun with the fun of it. There would always be something.

"What you laughing about Shay?"

The blonde paramedic blinked up into her best friend's eyes as he lay his arm around her shoulders, leaning in. He was slathered in ointment and the beginning shapes of bruises. He was giving her his mischievous expression. The one that started trouble. The one she loved because it gave her all the best stories. Why did she ever think she could stop him? There would always be something and she would always be there. He was family. Deeper than blood. More persistent than any man had a right to be. She grabbed his hand on her shoulder.

"Nothing. Just watching."

He squeezed her hand and stood close for a minute. Severide was quiet as Casey talked to Dawson, handing her a slice of pizza. She leaned in to examine his nose instead of taking it and the truck lieutenant winced. Antonio was conspiring with Boden at a table, their faces the picture of evil as they watched Peter. Shay spied on Severide from the corner of her eye as he chuckled, shaking his head at the two unlikely friends.

"Are you gonna leave?"

"No, I think i'm gonna stay. Good things are worth fighting for."

Shay grinned widely.

"'Bout time you figured that out."

"Yeah yeah yeah. We okay?"

"Asshole."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Shay curled into Severide's chest gingerly. Aware that he was injured, she didn't want to hurt him more. Not when she'd spent months hurting him so thoughtlessly. She sighed when his other arm settled at her waist. She'd missed his hugs. Missed the way he'd tuck his chin over her head and let her be small, delicate, wholly without pretense for just a few minutes.

"About the apartment…" he started to say.

"I'll figure it out. Move your shit already."

She felt his laugh before she heard it, echoing in his bruised barrel chest. The big bright thump of it, alive and close. Not half the world away in Spain or across town in some other firehouse's bunk. Shay couldn't help it. She hugged him tight.

◆︎

Severide woke up in sheets that smelled like lavender and sex with sunlight just sneaking in at the window. Bri was sprawled across his chest, her hair a sweat mussed tangle. They'd only been dozing for an hour or so. He let the fingers of his left hand trace her spine, the dimples above her ass. He let himself enjoy the moment. This was a good one. He needed to remember there were good ones. He saw so many bad. Bri snuggled closer. Still asleep. He'd exhausted her. A smirk snuck across his face at the memories of just how he'd exhausted her. Last night, stumbling in from Molly's she had tried to put him off because of his ribs and he'd thrown her line right back at her.

Are you saying you can't be gentle? Really?

And he'd made torturously slow love to every part of her body. Until she begged. Until she was shaking and crying and clenching her thighs around his head so hard he saw stars. And then, even then, he only gave an inch when she wanted the whole mile as punishment. Softly. Sweetly. Until she'd said Cariño and he submitted. Laying on his back while she took care of him instead. Learning the map of his pain and wrecking him anyway. Loving him.

He was so stupid in love with Bri. He'd almost thrown the fight. She said she wanted him to win but it was Casey for crying out loud and even when he was surrounded by fellow firefighters, even when his reputation was on the line. She mattered more. One fight was not worth losing her. But she'd fretted and screamed and yelled bloody murder when he tried it. He knew he was due one very long lecture from both Antonio and Bri on the subject. He'd thought letting Casey win would make things better. Would get them back to normal.

But when had he ever done normal? Done sane? His livelihood was a living gamble every single shift. He rode motorcycles for the thrill of it. He rock climbed and zip lined and once took a flying leap off a short cliff just to feel something bright and terrifying and real. And when he collapsed into the surface of Lake Superior he wanted to get deeper. He wanted to swim down, so far down, he'd never make it up for air. That's what loving Bri felt like. Never coming up for air and not even wanting to. Slowly, so slowly his bruised muscles spasmed, Severide pulled out from under Bri's head. She mumbled a protest but fell into his pillow blithely. He tucked the sheets around her body and kissed her cheek. He knelt at the side of the bed and pulled the ring from the small black box he'd hidden beneath his stack of FIGHT! magazines. He looked up. Bri's arm was outstretched, her hand seeking him in the empty sheets. Severide leaned over to kiss her mouth. Carefully, he slipped the gem-encrusted band onto her finger. He kissed her palm and each finger pad in turn before tucking her hair behind her ear. He smiled. He was ready for any and every argument she could throw at him.

Severide walked down the hallway to the kitchen, stifling a groan. The bruises would heal, the lip would scab over. He had never intended to be here. Yet here he was standing in Bri's kitchen, their kitchen, starting the coffee, fixing breakfast. Taking painkillers without issue. They say the path to hell is paved with good intentions. He never had any of those. If hell is fire he figured he'd already lived and outlived it a hundred times too many for intentions to mean a damn thing. Severide sat down at the dining table with his coffee, a bowl of cereal and one brownie ice cream sundae. Two spoons. He would have had flowers but where could he hide them? He didn't have any secrets from her but this one. He didn't have anything to offer her but himself. He sipped his coffee slowly, savoring the silence.

"SEV!"

He knelt down on the floor where they began.

The end.

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