"We have two lists," Otis explained. "One for firehouse essentials and the other for personal requests. That's usually paid on our end and they have to pay us back."
"Okay," I responded.
"Relax, they're always good for it." Otis handed me a cart. "Why don't you do the essentials, that way you can meal plan for the week."
"Okay." I took the cart and list and made my way through the aisles.
"You okay?" Otis asked.
"Yeah, why?"
"You've been off since your conversation with Severide. Is it because he called you Bennett?"
"No," I sighed. "He kinda chewed my ass for making an observation."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I guess he's planning—"
"Mouch's birthday party," Otis nodded.
"Yeah. I made an observation of what I thought he'd like and Severide got defensive."
"Ohh, okay."
"That's it? Okay?"
"Well, I mean, he shouldn't have chewed you out for making an observation. Severide can get a little defensive sometimes, especially when someone questions him and his judgment."
"Yeah, I kinda gathered that."
"You're coming, right?" I stopped the cart and grabbed ten boxes of pasta and tossed them into the cart.
"What?"
"The party. You're coming, right?"
"Oh...no."
"What? Why not? There's gonna be food, drinks, music, and it'll be a great chance to get to know your coworkers better."
"I'm not exactly a party person...or a get-to-know person."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Sorry, I just like my privacy."
"Oh...okay. Cool." I continued down the aisle and grabbed a large bag of flour and placed it into the cart as well as a large bag of white rice. "I'm just gonna...go take care of my list." Otis walked away and I entered the next aisle, grabbing ten cans of tuna.
"Oh, I know you ain't playing hooky already." I looked up and forced a smile as K'eon approached me. "Girl, you've been at work for an hour."
"I'm not playing hooky," I scoffed. "I'm grocery shopping."
"Yeah, I can see that. Well, they warned us that being a candidate wasn't easy."
"Yup." I continued down the aisle as K'eon followed along side me. "How's the house going?"
"Good," K'eon answered. "It'd be going better if it weren't for that damn dog though."
"What did Boromir do?"
"Every time I try to sweep, he's chasing the damn broom. I put a rug down, he attacks it. I start laundry, he barks at the washer for being too loud."
"He's a pup, what did you expect?"
"To live in a house with no dogs."
"Do you want me to get rid of him?"
"No," K'eon sighed. "It's just an adjustment period."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." I instantly smiled. "What?"
"You like him."
"No I don't."
"You do, you just won't admit it."
"I don't like the damn dog."
"Keep telling yourself that." K'eon reached into my cart and took a box of pasta from it before rushing to the front of my cart. "Very mature, K'eon."
"Me? Mature? Hardly. You however, are a natural dark skinned Betty Crocker, aren't you?" I swiped my hand at the box, but K'eon moved it out of my reach. "Oh Betty! Make me a casserole please?" I swiped my hand at the box again, but K'eon moved it away once more.
"What's going on here?" Otis asked as he walked up beside me.
"Nothing, Mr. Serious Man," K'eon chuckled. Otis rolled his eyes and yanked the box out of K'eon's hand and tossed it back into the cart. "Ooh, what are you, her boyfriend or something?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. And I don't like how you're treating my girlfriend." My face instantly went red.
"Oh, my God," K'eon guffawed. "Honey, you should see your face."
"Um, Brian," I cleared my throat. "This is K'eon McNeil, my best friend, ex-paramedic partner from Ladder 15–"
"And a flaming homosexual," K'eon informed. "Relax, Brian, I ain't after your boo, I'd be more interested in you." Brian's face turned even redder than mine which made K'eon laugh once more.
"K'eon has a knack for comedy," I informed. "However, it's also paired with the lack of ability to be serious."
"Guilty," K'eon put his hands up.
"He moved down here with me."
"Oh...sorry," Otis apologized.
"Well, I better leave you and your...boyfriend...to your grocery shopping." K'eon gave me a playful wink. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See ya." Otis and I watched as K'eon walked away and disappear into another aisle.
"I, uh," Otis cleared his throat. "I-I'm not—I'm not your—I was just—"
"I know," I shook my head with amusement. "Did you get your list finished?"
"What? Oh! Yeah, I just wrapped up. What about you?"
"Somewhat. I've got pasta, rice, flour, and tuna."
"Tuna?"
"What, no one like tuna?"
"We do, but fish and working in the extreme heat doesn't exactly mix."
"Right," I sighed.
"Sorry."
"I'm a firefighter now, I gotta cook like a damn firefighter," I mumbled to myself.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I reassured. "Just mentally reminding myself that I'm not working as a paramedic anymore."
"It's easier to cook for paramedics, isn't it?"
"You have no idea," I tittered.
"Would you like some meal prep help? I mean, I don't normally cook, but I kinda know what's safe and not safe."
"That would be great. I mean, just until I get a hang of it, right?"
"Of course. So, what did you have in mind?" Otis reached into the cart and removed the cans of tuna. "Minus this."
"Well, with the pasta, I was going to make a tuna casserole, but seeing that I'm not doing that, I'm thinking maybe chicken riggies?"
"What's that?"
"A popular chicken and rigatoni pasta dish from New York."
"Sounds good. Is it spicy?"
"It's customizable," I reassured.
"Good. What else?"
"With the rice, maybe beef tips served on a bed of rice?"
"It's pretty filling, plus protein, so I say it's a good idea. Now, you know that this week you only gotta prepare four lunches and four dinners, right?"
"Chief Boden explained I work twenty four hour shifts, one on and one off," I nodded.
"Okay, so that's two dinners down. What next?" I thought back to my mom's favorite dishes and smiled as my memories brought me back to my dinner table growing up. The sound of us talking and laughing, the smell of the food on the table, the feeling over overwhelming love that I couldn't get enough of. "Zahra?"
"Sorry, I was...reminiscing."
"About food?"
"Something like that." I cleared my throat. "Anyways, dinner. Uh...how about a pot roast and taco bar?"
"Sure, as long as you don't mind doing all the dishes."
"I like doing dishes."
"...Really?"
"It's therapeutic. It's the one time I get to be a perfectionist."
"Okay. So...that's dinner, what about lunch?"
"Easy. Burgers, sliders, chili, and pizza. Also with complementary sides of either chips or vegetables."
"Vegetables?"
"I don't see why eating fast has to mean eating unhealthy all the time."
"Okay, let's get this finished up and head back."
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
"Where have you been?" Casey snapped as Otis and I entered the building.
"Shopping," I explained, motioning to the many grocery bags hanging on my arms.
"Did you clear that with me? Let me know you were leaving?"
"I-I didn't know—"
"I am your lieutenant, anything you do or want to do has to go through me, do you understand?"
"Y-Yes, Lieutenant."
"Casey, man, it was my fault—" Otis began.
"Otis, leave me to deal with my candidate, okay?"
"Casey—"
"Now, Otis!" The building fell silent. Otis looked at me with sympathy, but finally walked away. "While you were away, I looked everywhere for you. It wasn't until Severide and Mouch told me that I found out that you had left the firehouse without informing me first. As a candidate, you have to make sure everything you do is approved by me. You need to go home, you come to me. You need to go shopping, you come to me. You need to sneeze, you better have my permission for a bless you. Got it?"
"Yes, Lieutenant," I gently nodded.
"Put everything away and meet me out in the garage."
"Yes, Lieutenant." Casey stormed off down the hall leaving me to sit and stew over what had just happened. He was mad at me for following instructions? Chief Boden told Otis and me to go, he knew this. Why was he so mad?
"Would you like help?" I looked off to the side as Mills stared at me with uncertainty.
"No thanks," I declined and carried the bags over to the kitchen and sat them on the counter next to the pile Otis had left.
"I don't mind—"
"It's a candidate's job, Mills," I snapped. I didn't mean to snap, but with everything that had just happened on top of how Severide treated me before I left, I was at my wit's end.
"Okay...if you need anything, I'll be in the garage." I quickly went through the bags of groceries and put away the cold things first, making sure everything went where night watch food belonged so the morning people wouldn't pillage our stuff. Once the cold stuff was put away, I put away the dry stock and rushed out into the garage where Lieutenant Casey was eating impatiently for me.
"That took longer than expected," Casey noted.
"Sorry, Lieutenant—" I began.
"Let's just hope you put out fires faster than you put away groceries." Casey walked over to the Squad table, grabbed a box, and tossed it onto the floor at my feet. "You are one of the smallest people to ever get a job here as a firefighter, so your things had to be special ordered. You need to try it on and make sure everything fits."
"Yes, Lieutenant." Carefully, I opened the box and pulled out my bunker gear. First, I put on my pants, then my boots and then my coat, good, and gloves. At the bottom of the box sat a brand new helmet. There was no number on it, only the black and white words FIREFIGHTER, and CHICAGO. In between the two, where my numbers would go, was a red square with the words CANDIDATE in the middle.
"Is there a problem with your helmet?" Casey asked.
"No, Lieutenant," I answered and put my helmet on.
"Does it fit?"
"Yes, Lieutenant," I nodded.
"As you may have noticed, your coat and helmet just says candidate in them. You will not see your firehouse number on them because, like the title of firefighter, it has to be earned. You prove your worth here and you'll get your number at the end of your candidacy." Casey motioned for me to follow him over to a closed door. "When you're not on shift, you will store your gear in here. We keep it organized, so keep it in alphabetical order."
"Yes, Lieutenant," I gently nodded. Casey led me back over to the firetrucks.
"When you're on shift, you're gear must be ready to jump into at any given moment. This is the only excuse as to why your bunker gear should be on the floor. Your coat, however, will be stored over on the hooks." Casey pointed to a wall of hooks, each one holding another member's coat, one hook being empty for my own. "Any questions?"
"Which one is squad?" I asked as I motioned to the trucks.
"Truck 81 is Squad. You can't see it from this angle, but if you're standing a bit further back, the word SQUAD is labeled right below the one hundred foot ladder. Engine 51 is for non-squad firefighters. It does not have a ladder like 81 does, which is why 81 is important to have here. In Chicago, we see many fires in apartment buildings and high rises, 81 allows us to get to those fires. We also use it for rescuing people from high places and have even used it to rescue people from holes."
"And...what's with the goat?" I motioned to the goat emblem on the side of the truck.
"It's a tribute to the last chief here."
"Oh...okay," I smiled. Casey walked over to the table and picked up a stopwatch.
"Get your things in their places. Once done, you're going to be timed to see how fast you can get geared up. You will need to have your pants, boots, hood, gloves, coat, and helmet on in a minute or less."
"Yes, Lieutenant." I rushed over to the wall hooks, placed my gloves and hood in my coat pocket, and removed my coat, hanging it on the first hook next to Boden's coat. I rushed back over to the firetrucks and found an empty spot on the floor near truck 51 and undressed, leaving my boots and pants in a large, but organized pile with my helmet sitting neatly on top.
"Good. Now, go inside."
"But how will I—"
"You'll know." I gently nodded and walked back into the building. Joe and Otis were at the kitchen table looking at their phones. Herrmann and Mouch were sitting on the couch watching TV, an empty seat between them. I wasn't exactly sure what to do with the unknown time I had before Casey drilled me.
"Hey, New York," Mouch smiled. "Come sit with us."
"Us?" Herrmann asked.
"Yes, us. Scooch over." Herrmann rolled his eyes and scooted over a little more. I hesitated, but finally took my seat between the two. "Tough day?"
"Nothing I can't handle," I reassured.
"Sorry for getting you in trouble, but when my lieutenant asks, I answer."
"It's okay. I didn't realize I was doing anything wrong. It was my own mistake."
"Ugh," Herrmann groaned and stood up. "I can't listen to this shit."
"What?" Mouch asked.
"That," Herrmann motioned to me. "That self-deprecating, whiney crap."
"I'm not self-deprecating," I argued. "And I'm not whining."
"Oh, so you're just trying to kiss ass then?"
"Excuse me?"
"Herrmann—" Mouch warned.
"Listen, kid, there is a fine line between doing what's expected of you and kissing ass. Wanna know the difference? No one likes a kiss ass."
"What's your problem with me?" I snapped and rose to my feet. "I've been here a couple of hours and you're acting as if I'm after your damn job."
"I don't have any problem."
"Maybe we should just take a step back and cool it," Mouch intervened as he stood up and tried to defuse the situation.
"CANDIDATE!" Casey called out.
"Better run kid, your lieutenant is calling," Herrmann smirked. I rolled my eyes and rushed out to the garage. Casey stood off to the side, a stopwatch in hand as he looked up at me. Everyone was staring, Casey, Mills, Squad, even Dawson and Shay were watching from their ambulance. I ran over to the hook and slipped my coat on. Once my coat was secured, I rushed over to my clothing pile and tried to climb into my boots and pants, but as I pulled my pants up, I lost my balance and tripped, slamming my face directly into engine 51's passenger door.
The entire garage erupted with laughter. I tried my best to ignore them and finished dressing myself. I reached into my coat pocket and slipped my hood and gloves on and finally out my helmet on, cuing Casey to stop the clock.
"One minute and ten seconds," Casey informed. "Though, I think you would've done better if you didn't trip."
"Sorry, Lieutenant," I lowered my head. I flinched at the sudden hand on my shoulder. I looked up at Casey and, to my surprise, he was smiling.
"You alright?" I gently nodded. "You did good. A firefighter needs to be able to ignore the distractions around them in order to get the job done. Learn from your mistakes and do better next time."
"Yes, Lieutenant." A loud beep filled the building.
"3436 N Osceola Ave. Fire alarm. Engine 51. Engine 81. 3436 North Osceola Avenue." Dispatch announced over the intercom. The garage suddenly filled with people as they ran around to gear up. I watched in amazement as everyone got ready. One day I won't make an ass of myself and I'll be able to do it as quickly as they are.
"Zahra," Casey called out. "Get in the truck." I quickly got in line behind Mills and climbed into the truck, taking my seat beside Mills.
"That's my spot," Herrmann hissed. I rolled my eyes and took a seat across from Mills.
"That's my spot," Mouch politely informed. I let out a sigh and scooted over once more. Otis climbed into the truck and gave me a faint smile.
"Your spot too?" I asked.
"Yes," Herrmann answered.
"No," Otis reassured and took his seat beside me and shut the door behind him.
"Don't do that, Otis."
"Do what?"
"Give her your seat. First it's your seat in the truck then your seat at the table; soon enough, she's gonna be walking all over you."
"Herrmann, if you have a fucking problem with me, just say it," I hissed.
"I don't got a problem, kid."
"Everything good back there?" Casey asked.
"Sure thing, Casey," Herman answered as he stared me down. I rolled my eyes and averted my eyes to the floor in silence.