Chapter Text
2017 - Present Day
“Next item on the agenda — personnel changes,” Wallace Boden addressed Firehouse 51 at morning briefing on for all intents and purposes, a normal Tuesday.
Second shift listened with varying degrees of interest — Gabby and Sylvie were physically present, while mentally in the coffee shop. Casey and Severide leant against the painted brick at the rear of the room, arms crossed and their undivided attention on their Chief, while the balance of staff were dotted across the desks.
“I am pleased to announce that after months of being a man short, Truck 81 will be back to capacity as of next shift,” Boden’s eyes scanned the room inconspicuously, lingering on Severide for a beat longer than everyone else.
“There’s a saying that one’s loss is another’s gain, and following the closure of Firehouse 27, which is a great loss to the city, we have been fortunate enough to gain one of their firefighters — Stella Kidd,” Boden gathered the papers in front of him, tidying them on the lectern in front of him.
Stella Kidd.
A name that Kelly Severide hadn’t heard in five years landed like a punch to the gut.
“Chief—” Kelly spoke, pushing away from the wall.
“— Stella will be starting with us next shift. She’s an experienced firefighter with years under her belt, so I expect you’ll all make her feel welcome at 51.”
Kelly’s pulse thrummed loudly in his ears. His eyes landed on the back of Gabby’s head, then Casey’s profile standing beside him. Both impassive — not a flicker of surprise on either of them.
They knew. They both knew, and neither of them said anything. No heads up, no professional courtesy, nothing.
“Chief,” Kelly protested louder, eyebrows raised with a look of incredulity written across his face.
Heads began turning in Kelly’s direction, their usual calm and collected Lieutenant making his presence known.
Boden pinned Kelly with a look, the rise and fall of his chest controlled as he worked to tamp his irritation. “Anyone whose name isn’t Severide, Casey, or Dawson, you’re dismissed.”
Chairs scraped against the linoleum floor and the majority of second shift filed out of the room. The second the glass door closed and the Venetian blinds shook from the impact, Kelly closed in on the trio, creating an oddly shaped circle.
“Why did nobody tell me she was coming here?” Kelly demanded, looking pointedly at Matt and Gabby.
“She’s not in your company, Severide,” Boden stated plainly, chin jutting out.
“So? Don’t you think I at least deserve to be told in advance?” Kelly flattened his hands atop the nearest desk.
“Despite what you may think, I don’t make decisions about personnel being reallocated from disbanded firehouses, that’s up to the brass,” Boden repeated, “So, I expect you to be professional about this, Lieutenant Severide.”
Kelly shook his head, incredulity written plainly across his face.
“Casey?” He probed, desperate for an explanation from someone, anyone.
Casey shrugged, crossing one ankle over the other as he readjusted his position against the wall. “She’s an exemplary firefighter,” he stated matter-of-factly, “We need good people on 81.”
“Am I the only person who has a memory that spans longer than a year?” Kelly’s voice shot up a few octaves, hands gripping the back of the chair, “How am I supposed to work with her?”
Gabby rolled her eyes, shaking her head.
“Don’t tell me you’re still friends with her,” Kelly challenged, angling his body to face Gabby.
“Fuck off, Kelly, you don’t know the half of it,” Gabby seethed, anger flashing in her eyes.
“Oh, and you do?” He tried, gesticulating wildly, while Boden and Casey’s eyes flicked between them.
2012
“You look beat,” Gabby noted, her eyes tracking Stella as she walked into the locker room, every step seeming like an effort.
“Grant was on a bender,” Stella mumbled, opening her locker, the rusty hinge screaming in protest under the movement, “Again,” she added quickly with a shake of her head.
Gabby blew out a breath, slamming her own locker shut.
“What the fuck is his problem?” She ranted, turning to face Stella, who flinched at the sudden noise.
“Does he not care that you’re trying to better yourself? Has he not heard of ‘a rising tide lifts all ships’?”
“I guess not,” Stella sighed, swapping her t-shirt for her Academy gear.
“What was he on anyway? Was it ‘let’s get stoned and write deep music night’?” Gabby asked, mocking Stella’s husband.
It was no secret that Gabby hated Grant, despite being a supportive friend — but being supportive of Stella and Grant’s marriage would make her a bad friend.
“Coke,” Stella answered simply, her expression grim.
Gabby winced, “You didn’t—?” She posited, leaving the question hanging in the air between them.
Stella’s history with drugs was no secret to Gabby, neither was her stint in rehab prior to joining the CFD, nor was Grant’s continued substance abuse. While Stella had stayed clean for years, neither of them were ignorant to the difficulties recovering partners of active users faced.
“God no,” Stella replied, shutting her own locker.
“Although, it probably would’ve been easier to get through today if I had,” she joked, smiling sardonically at Gabby.
“Stella!” Gabby protested, eyebrows shooting into her hairline at the suggestion.
“You asked,” Stella reminded her, shaking her head.
“Touché,” Gabby relented, the two women heading in the direction of the Academy’s multi-purpose room, where classes commenced every morning, Wednesdays and Fridays.
Stella and Gabby had met three years prior at their paramedic training. Paired in a group assignment, the two became fast friends. While Stella pursued the dual firefighter-paramedic qualification, Gabby honed her skills in paramedicine, opting to specialize.
What started as a joke in a wine bar over a cheese platter and a few glasses of Sauvignon blanc, quickly came to fruition in the form of professional development. They’d enrolled in the academy’s tactical rescue course, giving Stella an extra notch as a firefighter, while equipping Gabby to provide care in more complex situations.
The students lined up in neat rows as they waited for the instructor to appear for their first class of the day. It was a small class of only twenty when they hit 100% attendance.
Stella and Gabby huddled together towards the back on the right wing side. It came as no surprise that their class was comprised predominantly of men, so they stuck together.
The familiar clang of metal on metal rang out, sound bouncing off the surfaces in the expansive room, as the door opened, then swung shut moments later.
An unfamiliar face took confident strides across the polished floor. He was tall — probably 6 foot, dark hair, sharp features, tanned skin consistent with someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors. Despite the chilly morning, Stella knew there was hard muscle hidden beneath his CFD-issued uniform.
“I hope this is a replacement for Callahan,” Stella whispered to Gabby subtly.
“Good morning,” the handsome stranger addressed the room, “I see a few familiar faces looking back at me,” he noted, eyes sweeping the room, taking stock of his students’ faces.
His eyes landed on Stella’s, and she was quietly taken aback by the intense shade of blue of his irises. Stella tilted her chin defiantly, and a smirk played at the corners of their new instructor’s mouth, before his gaze broke away and continued business as usual.
“For those of you I haven’t met, my name is Lieutenant Severide, and I will be your instructor for the remainder of this training course,” He addressed the room, “Captain Callahan has unfortunately broken his leg, and is out of action in all practical classes for the remainder of the semester.”
Gabby chuckled, confirmation that some wishes do come true.
Lieutenant Severide ran through roll call, marking each name off as their attendance was cited.
“Stella Kidd?” Severide called, eyes fixed on the list of names in front of him.
“Present, sir,” Stella answered confidently, and those ocean eyes were back on her, lingering for just a beat.
With all students present and accounted for, Severide tucked the roll into his folder, trading it for another piece of paper.
“Callahan’s notes detail that you’ve completed equipment theory, knots, anchor points, and the theoretical components of rappelling,” his eyes swept the room once again, this time bypassing Stella entirely, “So, today is about the fun stuff — simulated rappelling in a controlled environment.”
“Split into two groups — anyone on the left of the centre line is group A — you’ll rappel down first, then those on the right are group B, you’re on anchor.”
The class climbed endless flights of stairs until they reached the very top platform. Gabby and Stella were part of the group rappelling down first, and so they slipped into harnesses, tightening the straps around their hips and thighs, before clipping onto the line with the anchor partner.
Lieutenant Severide made the rounds, checking equipment, before strapping himself in, attaching to the line, and beginning his descent as a demonstration. He made the exercise look completely effortless, measured movements carrying him down the wall with ease, like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Realistically, he probably had. But there was something about his calm demeanor and competence that Stella couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Who is he?” Stella murmured to Gabby, all eyes on Severide as reached the bottom, boots landing on the crash mat.
“He’s a Squad Lieutenant and allegedly, the CFD’s most prolific playboy,” Gabby replied, taking in her friend’s contemplative gaze that was firmly fixed on the man now meters away on the ground.
Stella made a noise of acknowledgement, filing the information away for later.
“Alright, Delaney, let’s go!” Stella enthused to her rappelling partner, who did not return her excitement.
Each of group A had staggered their descent, with Severide keeping a watchful eye on each of his students.
Stella loved the practical exercise, satisfied by finally being able to apply the weeks of theory she’d learned under Captain Callahan’s tutelage, and no doubt one day she’d have the opportunity to deploy her skills in reality.
She took steady steps down the wall, the tension in the line supporting her as she progressed steadily down the wall.
A mere meter and a half from the crash mat, Stella’s right foot faltered and she teetered off balance.
Warm hands on Stella’s back steadied her, narrowly avoiding slamming into the wall.
“Points of contact,” a voice the perfect blend of gravel and syrup spoke low in her ear, “Keep your feet flat at all times. Otherwise, good work, Kidd.”
Severide.
The realisation had Stella’s heart skipping a beat. His hand remained on her back until she touched down, both feet planted firmly on the ground. With an approving nod Severide was gone, onto the next student to descend.
Gabby materialised moments later, her feet thudding onto the mat as she pushed off the wall.
“How are the guys doing this without being in agony?” Gabby posited, unclipping the harness from her thighs.
Her question shook Stella from her reverie.
“I don’t have the extra junk in my pants that they do, and I can already feel the bruises forming on my legs,” Gabby remarked, rubbing her thighs through the thin material of her academy pants.
“Turnout gear will give an extra layer of cushioning,” Stella replied, looking over at Severide once more, who was engrossed in a conversation with one of her peers.
But little did Gabby know, Stella already had her own bruises — and they weren’t caused by the rappelling exercise.