No, really . . . what have Grainger and Pelham been up to in Casey and Severide's absence? Well, inevitably, where 51 goes, an adventure is close behind. So, two lieutenants get sucked into a mystery, another lieutenant walks in due to circumstances, and in the end, all three lieutenants find themselves really wanting a pots and plants owner to get his just desserts. Sounds like Chicago Fire, doesn't it?

Enjoy "What Comes Next!"

***

"I can't believe the 126 still hasn't gotten their temporary assignments," Grainger huffed as he and Pelham made their way up the apron to the firehouse.

"And it's been, what, a week since the funeral for Captain Vega's husband?" Pelham frowned.

"Last I checked, yeah," Grainger nodded, looking at the date. "Yeah, that's right."

Pelham rolled his eyes. "You'd think with the good rep everyone at that firehouse has got, the brass would be wanting to assign them right away."

"Depends on how booked the other houses are, though," Grainger pointed out.

"Yeah," Pelham scratched the back of his head, watching Stella furrow her brow in concentration as she worked on inventory, AirPods in her ears. "Is she still listening to the audio recordings of all the books?"

"Yeah, she's been doing it ever since you and Boden rescued that one pair when the girl called the firehouse," Grainger nodded. "Hitting them hard, actually. Must have really kicked her into gear, studying for the lieutenant's exam."

Pelham frowned in confusion as they reached the bunkroom, putting their overnight bags away. "Wasn't that supposed to be this morning?"

"Sounds like the commissioner had the exam rescheduled," Grainger nodded. "Apparently entire firehouses are being picked for the event in Los Angeles this year, and considering some firefighters taking the exam might get their firehouse called . . . "

"Reschedule the exam so no one has an upper hand," Pelham nodded. "Makes sense."

"Yeah," Grainger nodded, then blinked. "What the hell is one of your guys wearing?"

Pelham poked his head out of his office, seeing Capp turn into the conference room. "A letterman jacket?" he guessed, following Grainger into the room.

Cruz was looking Capp up and down, amusement clear on his face. "What is that?" he asked.

"Me being generous," Capp answered. "It probably belongs in the Smithsonian, but I am a giving man, so I'm donating it to the garage sale."

Grainger turned to Pelham. "Did you know about a garage sale?" he asked quietly.

Pelham shook his head in response. "So your mom finally cleaned out your childhood closet, huh?" Cruz smirked.

Capp paused. "Maybe." Cruz grinned, clapping Capp on the shoulder as he moved farther into the room. Capp shrugged out of the jacket, handing it to Ritter and Gallo, who were organizing various items. "This is a big ticket item," he told them. "Do not lowball me."

"Uh . . . " Ritter looked helplessly at Pelham.

"I still haven't figured out how to rein them in yet," Pelham held up his hands defensively, making Grainger snicker. "Don't look at me."

"Ah, crud," Herrmann sighed, looking around at the items. "I thought that garage sale was next shift!"

"It is," Gallo nodded. "You were supposed to bring your items today so we have time to price them."

"Right," Herrmann frowned.

"It was all spelled out in the email," Ritter reminded him.

"There was an email?" Grainger frowned, browsing through the items on the table.

"Right," Gallo winced. "We . . . never got your emails. Sorry, Lieutenants."

"Hey, it's fine," Pelham waved the apology away. "I'm a spontaneous Goodwill donator, so I don't think I've got anything at mine that I could've brought."

"I can text Evan after shift, see if I can get anything in here last minute," Grainger added.

"Did you two volunteer to be in charge of this?" Pelham asked curiously.

Ritter sighed. "I'm starting to think getting selected for this wasn't so much an honor as a punishment."

Pelham raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Ah!" Boden looked at the tables full of items as he entered the conference room. "As everyone can see, the garage sale is next shift to benefit the Firefighters Auxiliary Fund. There will be sign-up sheets in the common room for one-hour shifts of manning the tables. I expect everyone to participate." Murmurs of confirmation replied, and Boden stopped in front of the table Mouch sat on. "I do not want a repeat of 2017," he warned.

Gallo and Ritter looked over, obviously startled, and Grainger bit his lip, trying not to grin. "What happened in 2017?" he asked.

"It is not my fault that I got to the Whirly-Pop Popcorn Maker – " Mouch began.

"And snatched it out of an old woman's hand!" Boden barked.

Pelham guffawed, then quickly coughed into his arm to muffle it. Mouch glowered as that sent Capp, Cruz, and Tony into laughter. "As I said in 2017, and later in Small Claims court, nobody – "

"Small Claims court?" Grainger repeated.

"Maybe my guys aren't the ones to worry about," Pelham quipped.

Grainger glowered at him, then looked up when the bells rang. "Engine 51. Truck 81. Squad 3. Ambulance 61. Structure fire."

Grainger high-tailed it out of the room and was the first on the apparatus floor, climbing into his turnout gear before hauling himself into the officer's seat. Stella jumped into the engineer's seat next to him, and as Gallo and Mouch joined them in the back, she flipped the sirens on and drove out of the bay, following behind Boden's buggy.

***

Pelham whistled lowly when he saw the orange flames climbing the building Tony drove up to, and he settled his helmet on his head. "Careful, boys," he warned. "This is a big one."

"Copy, Lieutenant," Capp nodded.

Boden narrowed his eyes as he scoped the fire, then clicked his radio on. "51, get a line in the front door. Protect that stairway."

"Copy that!" Herrmann nodded, rallying the engine firefighters to him.

"I want a primary search on all floors," Boden ordered. "Squad, take the first. Truck, up top. Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

"Let's get moving, 81!" Grainger called. "Mouch, get the aerial up. We'll hit the top floor. Gallo, Kidd, second level."

As their confirmations rang in, Pelham crouched on the ground, getting his mask ready. "Squad, stay low, keep an eye on that smoke," he told them. "Capp, Tony, you sweep left. Cruz, you're with me."

"Mask up!" Grainger ordered.

Pelham looked around as Stella and Gallo joined their group, and he nodded. "Let's go!" Ritter kicked the door in, and everyone swarmed to get inside. "Fire department!" Pelham shouted. "Call out!"

"Fire department, call out!" Stella called as she and Gallo headed for the stairwell.

Pelham straightened when he heard the faint sound of coughing, and he squinted through the flames, seeing a man collapsed on the far side. "Cruz!" he pointed. "Get him outside!"

"Copy that!" Cruz nodded, taking off through the fire.

Pelham carefully worked through the fire, his gaze sweeping back and forth before landing on a man lying on the ground, collapsed under a metal canister. "Fire department," he said, stooping down to lift the canister. "I got you."

"Help!" the man coughed, looking frantic. "My wife is upstairs! You have to get her!"

"We will!" Pelham promised, bending down to lift him.

"No!" the man shoved Pelham back with a surprising amount of strength, making him stumble back into the boxes behind him. "Go get her first! Jess!"

"Where is she?" Pelham asked, moving forward again.

"She's in the office on the third floor in that corner!" the man pointed with a glare. "Hurry up!"

Pelham nodded, clicking his radio on. "Grainger! There's a victim up top, bravo side, female!"

"Copy that!" Grainger answered. "Mouch, get that aerial to the level three, bravo side!"

"Copy!" Mouch responded.

Pelham crouched down, looking at the man. "My truck lieutenant is going to get her, but you gotta come with me," he said firmly.

He didn't give the man a chance to argue, and he hauled the man to his feet, guiding him to the exit.

***

Grainger watched firefighters exit the building, then looked over at the truck rig, where Mouch had just finished lowering the aerial. "That's everyone on two, Lieutenant!" Stella called, jogging past with a woman.

Gallo was behind her with a pair, and Grainger looked up in concern at the black smoke rolling into the sky. "Mouch?" he asked into his radio. "ETA!"

"Five minutes, Lieutenant!" Mouch answered.

Grainger winced, running through the mental timeline as he watched the smoke thicken as it poured out of the upper windows. Five minutes meant they would be doing a recovery, not a rescue. "Lieutenant?" Gallo joined him, and Grainger raised an eyebrow. "I can get to 'em . . . but you might not like how."

Grainger narrowed his eyes, looking between the smoke to Gallo. "Would Casey give you the go-ahead for this?" he asked.

"He's seen me do it before," Gallo nodded. "He would."

Grainger looked back at how slow the truck was moving, then he nodded. "Go ahead, Gallo."

Gallo grinned and ran for the engine, snatching a ladder before running to the building. "No, no, they're still not up there!" a panicked voice shouted, and Grainger turned to see Pelham manhandle someone over to Violet and Gianna.

"They're working on it," Pelham grunted, trying to keep him from running back inside. "Sir, they're working on it!"

"You gotta find my wife!" the man insisted. "Her name is Jess!"

"Sir, I need you to sit down," Gianna told him. "We need to look at that arm."

As the man worriedly looked at the building, Grainger turned back around to see Gallo leave his air bottle on the ground. He realized why when Gallo hopped onto the recycling bin, then moved the ladder up with him. He successfully hooked the ladder onto the second floor, and Grainger watched, impressed, as Gallo scaled the ladder to the floor.

The rumble of the rig made him turn, and he gestured to Stella, who carefully maneuvered into position. "That's good!" he called.

Stella nodded and parked, settling the supports. As Mouch got to work on the aerial, Grainger walked backwards towards the compartments, watching Gallo make the final climb. When the young firefighter disappeared through the third-floor window, he sighed in relief, turning around to search for any equipment needed. "I've located the victim!" Gallo came over the radio a few seconds later. "She's unconscious."

Grainger nodded, removing his air bottle and grabbing what he needed from the compartments. "I'll meet you at the window with the sked."

"Copy that, Lieutenant."

Grainger spared one look over his shoulder, at the man who had finally surrendered to Violet and Gianna's care, then he climbed onto the top of the rig. Mouch gave him a thumbs-up as the aerial settled, and Grainger made his way up the ladder, pushing the sked in front of him. Gallo appeared at the window when he made it to the top, and he reached out, grabbing the top of the sked. "I got it!"

"Thanks," Grainger nodded, watching Gallo pull the sked into the building, and he climbed through the window after him.

"Herrmann?" Boden came over the radio as Grainger looked at their victim, cringing when he saw the amount of burns covering her. "Report!"

"Getting hot in here, Chief!" Herrmann answered.

As Grainger secured Jess into the sked, Boden gave the order. "51, pull out!"

Grainger tested the straps, then clicked his radio. "Kidd, to the top of the ladder."

"On my way to you," Stella answered.

"Alright," Grainger looked at Gallo. "On three. One, two, three!"

The two firefighters lifted the sked and maneuvered it through the window. Grainger settled the sked along the ladder, then watched Stella appear in his line of sight. "I got her," she said, grabbing the end of the sked.

Grainger nodded, leaving Jess in Stella's capable hands, and he gestured with a wry smile to Gallo. "Hero of the day first."

Gallo grinned, climbing out of the window. "Thanks, Lieutenant!"

Grainger shook his head in fond exasperation, climbing out after him. "Casey has his hands full with you, doesn't he?"

"Oh, please," Gallo snickered. "I think Severide is more of a handful than me."

Grainger laughed. "I'm telling him you said that."

"I think he'd agree!"

***

"Capp, Tony, let's go!" Pelham clapped his hands, jogging as Stella and Mouch pulled the sked down from the ladder.

"Oh, no," the man he rescued groaned, jumping from the ambulance when he saw. "Jess!"

"Sir, please sit down," Violet grabbed his uninjured arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Mackey, get the stretcher." As Gianna ran to follow the order, Violet gently pushed the man to sit on the bumper. "Stay here," she ordered, then ran alongside the stretcher with Gianna.

Pelham took the end of the sked into his hands, and Tony and Capp took hold of the sides. As Violet and Gianna reached them, they maneuvered the sked onto the stretcher. Violet leaned over Jess, checking her pulse. "Pulse is weak," she reported. "Get an IV."

"On it," Gianna nodded, pulling out the necessary kit.

Violet watched Gianna unwind the line as she monitored Jess's heartbeat with her stethoscope. When Gianna had the line prepped, she found one of Jess's veins and carefully inserted the needle. With one last check of the woman, Violet nodded, determining it safe to move. "Let's go."

Grainger and Gallo helped push the stretcher towards Ambulance 61, and the man jumped to his feet, whimpering when he saw his wife. "Jess!" he cried. "Can you hear me? It's Pete, I'm right here!"

"Steady, Gallo," Grainger warned.

Gallo nodded, pulling the stretcher into the ambulance, and Violet turned to Pete. "You can come with us to Med," she told him.

Pete sighed in relief, climbing into the ambulance after Violet. Gianna and Gallo hopped out, and as Gianna ran to the driver's seat, Grainger swung the doors shut. Gallo thumped the doors twice, then the ambulance engine revved, and the ambulance barreled down the street. "Nice job, Gallo," Grainger told him.

Gallo smiled. "Thanks, Lieutenant."

"Alright, hose her down!" Boden ordered.

"Open it up, boys!" Herrmann hollered.

***

As the spray of hoses ended, Grainger walked over to where Pelham was supervising the clean-up of Squad. "Hey," he nodded. "Nice job getting everyone out."

"You and Gallo were the ones who got that woman down," Pelham grinned. "I swear, I thought her husband was gonna punch me if you failed."

"Seriously?" Grainger raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah," Pelham nodded, readjusting his turnout coat as he and Grainger walked back to the rigs. "He wanted me to leave him in the fire and get his wife instead."

"You're kidding," Grainger stared.

"I'm not," Pelham shook his head. "He practically kicked me away."

"Wow," Grainger whistled. "That's devotion." He paused when he saw Herrmann rolling up one of the hoses. "Need a hand?" he offered.

"Nah," Herrmann shook his head. "We'll meet you back at 51. I gotta swing by the house, pick up a box. Cindy's packing up for the garage sale."

"Copy that," Grainger nodded, clicking his radio. "81, load up!"

***

"Gallo scaled the wall himself, didn't he?"

Grainger sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Pelham laughed. "Is that his signature move or something?" the truck lieutenant asked.

"It's how we first met him, actually," Matt chuckled from over the phone. "He was a candidate at another house, and when it took too long to rescue a victim, he scaled the scaffolding like it was nothing. I knew then and there that he was the one I wanted for 81. Glad you got to see him in action."

"He's impressive," Grainger admitted. "Big bundle of energy, too. I don't know how you handle him."

"That's easy. I have practice with Squad 3."

"Hey!" Kelly protested as Grainger and Pelham laughed.

"Oh, can it, Sev. You know I'm right."

A sigh came from Kelly. "But everything's going alright at 51?"

"Everything's fine," Grainger nodded. "Though there's a garage sale happening next shift, and apparently something happened in 2017?"

"Mouch," Matt groaned. "Keep an eye on him that day, will you? I swear, that Whirly-Pop is gonna haunt him for every garage sale."

"Copy that," Grainger nodded, watching Engine 51 roll up the apron. "Keep us in the loop about the 126's placements, alright?"

"Copy," Kelly confirmed.

Grainger and Pelham stood from their lawn chairs as 51 parked, and Pelham did a double take as Herrmann hauled a large plastic container out of the back. "I guess your wife didn't mess around," he remarked.

"Nah, she didn't," Herrmann agreed, lugging the container around to Ritter and Gallo. "Here you go, boys!"

"What's this?" Gallo stared.

"Beats me," Herrmann shrugged, pulling off the lid. "Cindy threw it together."

Gallo groaned as Ritter nodded sympathetically, pulling off his turnout coat. "This is gonna take, like, an hour to price!"

Herrmann smirked. "Give me that," he beckoned for the clipboard. Gallo handed it over, and Herrmann scribbled on a piece of paper. "Let me teach you guys an old garage sale trick, my friends."

Curiosity piqued, Pelham peered over Gallo's shoulder as Herrmann returned the clipboard, and he laughed when he saw what Herrmann had put down: Mystery Box, $110. "Clever!"

"Thank you!" Herrmann grinned.

"Whoa!" Grainger exclaimed, and Pelham turned to see his friend staring at Ritter, who froze in the process of putting his turnout coat down. "What happened to your bunker gear?"

Ritter shook out his coat, and as Grainger helped flatten it out, Pelham balked when he saw the chars on the back. "Whoa," Ritter gulped.

"Is that a chemical burn?" Pelham demanded.

Herrmann whipped around, eyes wide. "Guys, everybody get out of your gear, now!" he ordered his team. "Let's hit the showers and scrub down!"

As Herrmann herded his crew towards the building, Grainger looked down at Ritter's charred coat. "We did hear the call correctly, right?" he asked. "Structure fire, no hazmat?"

"No hazmat," Pelham confirmed. "Not that we were told."

Grainger scowled. "Then what the hell was in that factory?"

***

As the firefighters' gear was laid out on the apron, Boden toed Ritter's coat, frowning. "So there were no other signs?" he asked. "No smells, no fire discoloration?"

"Not that I saw," Pelham shook his head.

"That's the only call we've been on today, and with Engine coming back with gear like this?" Grainger frowned. "We need to alert Hazmat. Something's not right at that pet food factory."

Violet, who emerged from the firehouse carrying a basket of supplies, halted in her tracks when she saw Ritter's coat. "Whoa," she did a double take. "That happened at the fire?"

"Apparently," Grainger nodded.

Violet hummed, crouching down. "There's not much that can melt vinyl," she mused. "Acetone, toluene . . . " She leaned down and sniffed the jacket, then nodded. "But my money's on sulfuric acid."

"Why do you say that?" Boden asked.

"There's no odor," Violet explained. "And sulfuric acid reacts exothermically with water."

Boden sighed. "I'll get Hazmat on the case," he decided. "Grainger, Pelham, see if you can scare up some replacement bunker gear for 51."

"Yes, sir," Grainger nodded.

***

Thankfully, no other major calls had come in during the shift, and the replacement bunker gear was not needed. Pelham was tugging on his jacket when his phone chimed on his desk, and he picked it up, opening the chat.

Evan: Anyone know someone willing to take in a potentially feral cat for a few days?

Evan: I'm asking for a friend

Pelham snorted, sending off a text.

Jason: Would that friend happen to be an ambulance commander?

Greg: Who signed a form without reading its entire contents?

Evan: Look, I am a cat person

Evan: I'm not a feral cat person

Evan: And my place is getting fumigated, which means I need a hotel room

Evan: I'm getting one, but the hotel doesn't allow cats

Evan: So

Evan: Any takers?

Pelham leaned in the doorway of his office, watching Grainger grimace at his phone. "Wanna bet the moment we ask around the house, everyone's gonna have an allergy?" he asked.

"I'd lose," Grainger rolled his eyes, swinging his bag over his head. "Besides, don't we have shift that day? A cat like that can't be cooped up for long."

Pelham nodded in agreement, then a polite cough behind them made them turn. A fair-skinned woman with her black hair cut to chin-length walked up to them, the bugles on her dress shirt identifying her as a lieutenant. "I'm looking for Lieutenants Grainger and Pelham?" she asked.

Pelham pointed at his best friend. "Greg Grainger."

"Jason Pelham," Grainger returned the point, then extended his hand. "And you?"

"Lieutenant Wendy Seager, Office of Fire Investigation," she answered, shaking his hand.

"OFI?" Grainger asked in surprise. "Did one of our fires end up being arson?"

"I thought we'd catch that," Pelham frowned.

"I was called to the remnants of a pet factory fire to check," Seager told them. "Hazmat said Firehouse 51 reported a potential situation, and we often get called to do an investigation, just in case."

"Yeah, that was our call," Grainger nodded, folding his arms. "Did Hazmat find anything?"

"I volunteered to deliver the verdict," Seager looked at the paperwork she held. "According to them, 'no hazardous materials appear to be in use on site.'" She looked up to see both men scowling. "I take it you don't agree?"

"Something melted those coats," Pelham grumbled.

Grainger checked his watch, then raised an eyebrow. "Wanna swing by before we meet Evan for lunch?"

Pelham nodded. "Sure."

"Mind if I join you?" Seager asked, and both lieutenants looked at her in surprise. "Sorry," she grinned, not sounding apologetic at all. "But 51 catches the most interesting cases, and if you're sure something's there . . . "

Pelham laughed. "You've run arson cases with Casey and Severide, haven't you?"

"Primarily Severide," Seager admitted. "I honestly expected their names to cross the report when I received it."

"They're on an out-of-state assignment right now," Grainger explained as they walked out of the bunkroom. "Austin 126. They asked us to fill in for them while they're out."

"Austin 126," Seager repeated thoughtfully. "Didn't Commissioner Grissom say that's where PIC Brett ended up?"

"Paramedic Captain now, actually," Grainger nodded. "Yeah, that's her house."

"Or it was," Pelham snorted. "Is it still her house if it's scorched to a crisp?"

Seager's eyes widened. "Scorched to a crisp?!"

Grainger snickered. "At this point, I don't think Severide finds the arsonists. I think the arsonists find him."

Seager sighed. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Pelham's laughter echoed up to the firehouse as they reached their vehicles. "We'll meet you there, Seager!"

***

"So, here's what I'm trying to figure out," Seager frowned as they approached the factory, flashlights in hand. "Why the hell is there sulfuric acid in a pet food factory?"

"No idea," Grainger shook his head, aiming his light inside. "Let's see if we can find that out."

They didn't make it far into the factory before they heard a clang echo from inside. The trio stopped in their tracks, then Pelham crept further in. He aimed his light at a figure trying to chip away at the char. "Pete?" he asked in surprise, and the factory owner looked up. "You shouldn't be in here. You're supposed to wait until fire investigators clear the scene."

"Oh," Pete blinked. "I thought they did that."

"No, it was Hazmat," Grainger shook his head. "Who was here looking for sulfuric acid."

Pete did a double take. "What would I be doing with that? I make pet food."

Grainger sighed, disappearing to look more around the building. Pelham cleared his throat, then gestured to Pete. "Seager, this is Pete, he was in the fire with his wife. Pete, this is Lieutenant Seager."

Seager nodded politely. "I'm sorry this happened to your factory."

"Thank you," Pete gave a strained smile.

"How's your wife?" Pelham asked.

Pete sighed, leaning on his shovel. "She's not good," he whispered.

Pelham patted his shoulder. "I've met the docs at Med. I'm sure they're doing everything they can."

Pete nodded, then Grainger reappeared, shaking his head. "I don't see any signs of acid damage in here."

"Then how the hell did Engine get into it?" Pelham scowled.

"I'm wondering how the hell it got on their backs," Grainger huffed.

Seager frowned, looking around. "Did they brush up against something?" she asked. "Or did they end up carrying something that might have come from somewhere with acid?"

Pelham snapped his fingers. "All they carried were their hoses."

"Which they dragged in from outside," Grainger nodded, heading back out the door. "Let's see . . . " He turned his flashlight off as he rotated on his heel. "Engine was over here," he gestured.

"There," Pelham pointed. "See the pavement?"

Seager nodded, crouching next to the white stains in the asphalt. "That's acid damage."

"And it keeps going," Pelham pointed.

Grainger followed the acid trail around the building to a circuit box, covered in black char. "Found how the fire started!"

"And the acid keeps going," Seager carefully followed the stain. "All the way to . . . "

She stopped next to a big barrel drum, which was leaking into the grass. She took a few steps back, and Pelham kicked the barrel, rolling it so they could see the label. "Sulfuric acid," he nodded, pointing to the label. "There we go."

Grainger frowned as he looked over the lot, at all the various forms of garbage that littered the area. "You know where this stuff came from?" he asked.

"These people," Pete seethed, his jaw clenched. "City won't clean this lot up, so folks start thinking it's OK to dump their trash here. It's been going on for months. We put up signs, we complained, we take down plate numbers, we report the dumpers . . . nobody cares." Grainger raised an eyebrow at the yellow sign boldly stating NO DUMPING ALLOWED as Pete slumped. "Now my wife is lying on an operating table, half her skin burnt away."

"Well," Pelham narrowed his eyes. "You met the right people who do care."

***

"I gave all the plate numbers to Captain Van Meter," Seager reported as she joined Grainger and Pelham at Molly's that night. "He's submitted them to CPD. As soon as he hears anything, he'll let me know."

"Good," Grainger sighed, taking a long drink of his beer. "I just feel awful that this happened."

"You'd think people would learn to read eventually," Pelham scoffed. "Did you see the sign?"

"I saw it," Seager nodded. "But some people, apparently, don't think signage applies to them."

"Bastards," Grainger grumbled.

"Amen," Pelham raised his bottle in agreement.

Seager nodded, then tilted her head when she saw someone approach. "Incoming."

Pelham twisted to look. "Hey, Evan," he waved.

"You look like hell," Grainger remarked.

"Thanks, Greg, that's exactly what I need to hear," Hawkins huffed, stopping at the table.

Grainger held up his hands placatingly. "Sorry, man."

"Evan, this is OFI Lieutenant Wendy Seager, she's helping us out with the pet factory fire," Pelham gestured to Seager. "Seager, this is Ambulance Commander Evan Hawkins. The three of us went through the academy together."

"Nice to meet you," Seager offered her hand.

"You, too," Hawkins nodded, shaking her hand.

Seager's eyebrows raised when she saw the bandages wrapped around his forearm. "Did that happen on the job?" she asked.

"No, it's my damn cat," Hawkins groused. "Any chance you have room to take in a cat while my place is getting fumigated?"

"No, sorry," Seager shook her head. "My building has a no-pet policy." Grainger snorted into his bottle, and Seager frowned at him. "What?"

"Sorry," Grainger coughed, covering his mouth. "It's just something Jason and I talked about earlier."

Hawkins dropped his head into his hand. "Then no one I know will take her in."

"Aren't there places you can pay?" Seager asked in confusion. "I know several good kennels in the city."

"Oh, there are," Hawkins nodded. "But they want her to come in for a personality test to see how well she gets along with other cats." Grainger openly laughed that time, and Hawkins scowled. "It's not funny, Greg!"

"I'm sorry," Grainger cackled as Pelham smothered a grin. "It's just . . . I see the problem."

Hawkins narrowed his eyes. "You're the worst, Greg."

"Yeah," the truck lieutenant grinned smugly. "I know."

Hawkins scowled. "At this point, I'd do anything just to get rid of her."

"Lieutenant Seager, right?"

Seager turned at the sound of her name. "That's me."

"Detective Upton," Grainger recognized.

"Lieutenant Grainger, right?" Hailey nodded with a wry grin. "This makes sense now."

"Let me guess," Pelham drawled. "Casey and Severide often make these kinds of request?"

"Got it in one," Hailey smirked. "When I saw the request to run plates to see if anything could have hauled a sulfuric acid barrel, I figured it was about that fire. So Kim and I ran them as fast as we could."

"And?" Pelham asked hopefully.

"Only one vehicle came back as big enough to transport a drum that size," Hailey answered, placing a piece of paper on the table.

Seager blinked when she saw the address. "I know that street," she pointed. "I pass it on my way to the office."

"Can you show us?" Grainger asked, quickly downing the rest of his drink.

"Yeah," Seager nodded, stepping away from the table.

"Thanks, Detective!" Pelham quickly added to Hailey as he hopped off his stool.

"And good luck with Veronicat, Evan!" Grainger added with a grin, jogging after Seager.

"Veronicat?" Hailey asked in confusion.

Hawkins sighed. "I don't suppose you can take in a cat for a few days?"

Hailey shook her head. "My girlfriend's daughter is allergic."

"Drat."

***

"Here," Seager pointed. "That's the address."

Grainger parked on the side of the street, and the three lieutenants climbed out of the car. "And that's the vehicle," Pelham nodded to a dark truck in the driveway.

Grainger nodded, walking up to the man putting cardboard boxes in his truck. "Evening!" he called, flashing his badge. "I'm Lieutenant Grainger, this is Lieutenant Severide and Lieutenant Seager. We're firefighters for the CFD."

"Is this your truck?" Seager asked, gesturing to the truck.

The man scowled, hauling away a container. "You want something hauled, it has to wait till tomorrow."

"What if we want something dumped illegally?" Pelham countered. "Would that be something you could handle?"

Seager sighed. "Have you ever dumped anything in a vacant lot at 280 E Garfield?" she asked.

"Like, say . . . " Grainger gestured. "A 55-gallon drum?"

The man paused, looking between them skittishly. "Look, I'm just a guy trying to feed his family, OK?" he gulped. "And besides, that trash was already there. I just, you know – "

"Do you know what was in that barrel?" Grainger scowled.

The man shrugged. "Wastewater, they said."

"Who said?" Seager narrowed her eyes.

"I don't know," he shook his head. "Look, I just pick up these little jobs on that phone app, Truck Trade. People pay me to move stuff or haul it away. If they don't pay me enough to cover the landfill fees . . . "

He shrugged, and Seager folded her arms. "We need to know who gave you that barrel."

"I do a dozen jobs a day!" the man scoffed. "I don't remember every customer."

"You better remember this one," Pelham told him. "That barrel was filled with acid, and it started a fire that put a woman in the ICU."

The man paled rapidly. "No, wait – I checked that barrel out myself! It smelled fine!"

"Sulfuric acid is odorless," Grainger said icily.

The man sputtered. "Look, I didn't know that's what it was, I swear!"

"Well, someone slapped the label on it and told you to dump it," Seager narrowed her eyes. "So who is that someone?"

The man swallowed. "It's a gardening company," he answered. "All-Organic Pots and Plants."

Grainger smirked. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"All-Organic Pots and Plants," Seager hummed, typing into her phone.

The trio headed back to the car, and the man called after them. "That lady, she's gonna be all right? Am I in trouble?"

No one answered him as they got in the car, and Grainger drove them away.

***

Pelham recognized Seager's OFI vehicle when he parked at 51 the next day, and when he got out of his car, he found her waiting by the sidewalk, a frustrated look on his face. "Oh, that doesn't look good," he frowned.

"It's not," Seager shook her head. "I got a call from Detective Upton this morning. When I visited the district, she told me Detective Halstead and Officer Burgess went to pick up that truck driver, but he's in the wind."

"Oh, that's just great," Pelham rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as they walked to the firehouse. "I get that he was spooked, but without his statement . . . "

"PD can't get a warrant to search the pots and plants company," Seager nodded. "Nothing will happen to them at all."

Pelham absently tapped his legs against his thigh. "Well . . . I guess we could take a look at this place."

Seager smiled. "Van Meter's given me the go-ahead to keep looking into this, since we have determined it was sulfuric acid."

"Then I can check with Chief Boden, see if Greg and I can join you," Pelham nodded.

Seager nodded, then peered past Pelham. "Speaking of Grainger . . . "

Pelham turned to see his friend trudge up the apron, a disgruntled look on his face. It obviously had to do with the carrier he held, which made Pelham burst out laughing. "Oh, that's what you get when you give Evan hell!" he crowed.

"Shut up, Jason," Grainger snapped, glaring at the carrier when Veronicat meowed. "Evan's firehouse wouldn't allow him to bring the demon spawn in, and apparently you had already left your building when he came by."

"And thus you're the victim," Pelham snickered. "Oh, that's amazing."

"Just stick her in your office," Seager shrugged. "Then no one bothers her."

"She'll bother me," Grainger complained as he headed for the door.

"Not if Boden lets us look into that pots and plants place," Pelham pointed out.

Grainger paused. "This is why you're my best friend."

Pelham laughed, holding open the door. "I do my best."

***

Seager snorted loudly from where she sat on the arm of the couch, and Grainger looked up from where he sat next to her. "What?" he asked.

"Oh, you'll love this," Seager cleared her throat as she read from the brochure she held. "'Care for Mother Earth with our all-organic products.'"

Pelham's eyebrows raised from where he was investigating the plants. "It seriously says that?"

"Yeah," Seager flashed the pamphlet to him. "It's their headline, actually."

Grainger plucked it out of her hand and read for himself, narrowing his eyes. "Assholes," he muttered his opinion.

Seager tilted her head, nudging him as someone walked out from the glass doors to the back. "Don't say that to the guy's face."

"Noted," he sighed, getting to his feet.

"Lady, gentlemen," the man nodded. "Welcome to All-Organic Pots and Plants. I'm Joaquin, founder, owner. If you're here for an inspection, we had somebody come last month, but I understand how these things can get mixed up."

"No inspection," Grainger shook his head. "We just have a few questions about your fertilizer."

"Sure," Joaquin brightened. "Is CFD starting a community garden? We'd be happy to sponsor."

A quiet snicker came from Seager's right, and she jabbed her elbow into Pelham's side. The man winced, rubbing his ribs, and Seager gave a saccharine smile. "We just need to know what's in the fertilizer," she told Joaquin.

"All right," Joaquin nodded. "We use a totally all-organic blend of macronutrients, everything from fish proteins to mushroom spores."

"What about sulfuric acid?" Grainger asked.

"Absolutely not," Joaquin shook his head. "Everything we use is eco-friendly and – "

"All-organic," Pelham deadpanned.

Seager glared at him, and he gave her an innocent look in response. Grainger cleared his throat, drawing Joaquin's attention back to him. "Ever heard of an app called Truck Trade?" he asked.

Joaquin frowned and shook his head. "Sorry."

"Huh," Grainger folded his arms. "Because a fly dumper said you hired him through the app to get rid of a barrel of acid."

Joaquin shook his head again. "I'm not familiar with the app . . . and a gain, we don't use chemicals in our products." The trio of lieutenants exchanged dubious looks, then Joaquin pulled out his buzzing phone. "You know, my assistant is buzzing me in for a meeting. If you have any other questions, please don't hesitate to reach out. And if you do decide to establish that garden, we're happy to help."

The officers pasted smiles on their faces as the man left, then Pelham grumbled, "Not in a million years, buddy."

"I guess it was a good thing I didn't mention I have two black thumbs," Seager mused, looking back through her pamphlet.

Grainger laughed.

***

Gianna's brief nap before her shift at the garage sale was interrupted from a loud crash from the direction of the officer's quarters, and she shot upright in her bunk, eyes wide. "What the hell?" she scrambled out of her bunk.

"What is that?" Violet demanded, getting out of her own bunk.

Gallo froze as he entered the bunks, gulping when he saw the blinds come crashing down. "Uh-oh."

Violet narrowed her eyes at him. "What-oh?"

"Um," Gallo cleared his throat. "Well . . . apparently Commander Hawkins couldn't keep his cat for the day, and Lieutenant Grainger . . . well, I don't think he volunteered for it, but – " He winced when a yowl came from the office. "Lieutenant Grainger has Veronicat for shift, and he told me to put her in his office while he was out with Lieutenant Pelham." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Now I'm thinking he probably meant for me to keep her in the pet carrier."

Hissing came from the office, and Ritter swallowed. "I think she's testing the room for weakness."

Boden walked in behind them, and he frowned at the duo of firefighters. "Aren't you two supposed to be out on the garage sale floor?"

Gallo sputtered. "Well, we just – "

Another crash came from the office, and Gianna flinched, watching the desk lamp slide off and fall to the ground. Boden scowled, then pointed at the office. "What the hell is that?" he asked.

"Apparently, it's called Veronicat," Violet answered.

"What's it doing in my firehouse?" Boden narrowed his eyes.

Gianna looked at her boyfriend, and Gallo winced. The bells went off, and all four paused in anticipation. "Ambo 61. Person in distress. 736 West Hubbard."

"Gotta go!" Gianna ran past Boden.

Violet was on her heels, and Boden turned to Gallo and Ritter. "You two, corral the animal," he ordered. "And keep it outside. Now."

Gallo looked resignedly at the office, then sighed and picked up a blanket. "Come on."

"Yeah," Ritter nodded, gingerly following Gallo towards the office.

***

Pete barely reacted to the three officers that joined him outside of Jess's room, the woman hooked up to numerous machines. "I sit there, holding her hand," he sniffed. "Hoping that she'll wake up, you know? But . . . "

His voice wavered, and he looked down, biting his lip. "Hey," Pelham squeezed his shoulder supportively. "Hang in there, Pete."

Pete nodded shakily. "We wanted to drop by and give you and update on what we've been working on," Seager told him softly.

"You find the scum that dumped that barrel?" Pete asked hopefully.

"Actually, yeah," Pelham nodded. "We did."

Pete blinked, as if he hadn't been expecting to hear a confirmation. "Seriously?"

"It was thanks to you providing the plate numbers," Grainger nodded. "One of them was a truck that dumped the barrel. Guy says he works for this company, All-Organic Pots and Plants. The theory we've got right now is that the person running this company is using sulfuric acid to make his fertilizer, then paying guys on the cheap to get rid of the waste so he can avoid hefty disposal fees."

"The technical term for it is called 'fly dumping,'" Seager explained.

"You got 'em?" Pete grinned. "That . . .that's great!" He saw their solemn faces and paused. "Isn't it? I mean . . . they're bringing charges, right?"

"That's the plan," Pelham sighed. "But the driver disappeared."

"But you got the plant guy, right?" Pete insisted.

"CPD can't get a warrant to go after the plant guy without a statement from the driver," Seager shook her head.

"And even then, the best-case scenario is that he'll probably get off with a fine," Grainger added. "It was the driver who dumped the barrel, not the company owner."

Pete swallowed hard, turning back to look at Jess. "Excuse me," he whispered, sliding open the glass door and walking to sit with his wife.

"You know, I've done several cases with Severide before," Seager whispered, making Grainger and Pelham look at her. "But I've never felt a drive to catch a son of a bitch like I do right now."

"Then let's get back to 51," Grainger nodded. "We're not the only ones who want to see this finished."

***

"Look, I know we can't pin the fire on this pots and plants bastard," Grainger said as he paced Boden's office with Boden, Pelham, and Herrmann watching. "I just wish we could make sure he gets the maximum penalty for any hazardous waste regulation he's ever violated."

"And that's a hell of a penalty," Seager nodded, looking through her files.

"But you've ID'd the driver," Boden listed. "You've turned the information over to the police. Doesn't it seem like we're out of moves?"

"We can still do something," Pelham insisted. "We just need to find one barrel of acid on this guy's property, and then we match it to the one from the dump site. That's the connection."

"But the only problem is we already told him we aren't interested in an inspection," Seager sighed. "And we've already approached him head-on. That won't work again."

"Yeah, he knows we're on to him," Grainger sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "Especially since your vehicle proclaiming you're the Office of Fire Investigation was sitting right outside his building."

Herrmann hummed thoughtfully. "He doesn't know all of us," he pointed out.

The four remaining heads swiveled to him, and Boden steepled his fingers. "OK," he narrowed his eyes. "What's your plan?"

Herrmann twisted to look at the other lieutenants. "This truck app thing . . . anybody can use it?"

Pelham shrugged. "I think so. That's the impression I got from the guy who dumped the acid."

Herrmann nodded. "Anyone got a pick-up?"

Seager grinned. "I know someone who does."

***

"Thank you, Detective," Seager nodded. "We'll meet you there." She hung up her phone and followed Grainger and Pelham towards the doors of 51. "Alright, Detective Halstead agreed to loan us his truck for this . . . though he made it pretty clear that if we catch the pots and plants prick red-handed, we're to call him, Upton, or Burgess to the scene."

"Good," Pelham grinned as he opened the door.

" . . . were a force!" Ritter was saying as they walked out onto the apron.

"I was, wasn't I?" Mouch beamed.

"Except for when you sold Veronicat," Gallo pointed out.

Grainger halted in his tracks. "What?" he asked in shock, and three guilty firefighters spun to look at him. "Did you just say – ?"

"You managed to sell Veronicat?" Pelham stared in disbelief.

Gallo gulped. "Uh . . . Lieutenant, Boden told us to corral her – "

"There was this woman, she was very hard to understand," Mouch stammered.

Grainger held up his hand, cutting them off. "You sold Veronicat," he repeated.

Ritter wilted. "Well . . . we think we know where the lady lives. We were gonna go over there and – "

He was cut off by Pelham dissolving into laughter, the man pointing at the stupefied look on Grainger's face. "Oh, dude!" he crowed. "You are really wishing you thought of that earlier, aren't you?"

"I don't know why I didn't sooner," Grainger admitted, rubbing his forehead as Seager grinned. "Honestly, guys, you did us a favor. Evan's been looking for a way to get rid of that demon for a long time."

Pelham was wheezing by that point. "Oh . . . oh, man. Dude, your face!"

"Shut up, Jason!" Grainger spat, glaring at him.

"So . . . we're not in trouble?" Mouch asked warily.

"Honestly?" Grainger grinned. "What was your goal for the sale?"

"Uh, $5,000," Ritter answered. "We're $200 short, though."

Grainger laughed. "Evan will probably pay you that amount for getting rid of that cat. Think that'll work?"

"Uh," Gallo started to grin. "That'd . . . honestly be pretty amazing."

"Well, hey!" Grainger smirked. "Problem solved!"

"And to think, he was complaining no one wanted to take her in," Pelham chuckled, holding his side. "Oh . . . that's funny."

"Pardon me?"

The six looked up as a man in a suit approached, looking between them all. "Sorry, sir," Mouch told him. "Garage sale's over."

"I just need to give you this," the man held out a sealed envelope.

"No refunds, no returns," Mouch pointed. "Right there on the sign."

"You are Randall McHolland?" the man asked pointedly.

Mouch paused. "Yes, I am."

The man extended the envelope to him. "You're gonna wanna read this."

Mouch blinked, and as the man walked away, the firefighter opened the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. A stunned look crossed his face, and Grainger stepped forward in concern. "Is everything OK, Mouch?" he asked.

"Uh . . . " Mouch swallowed, looking up. "You boys remember the party supply fire?"

Pelham grinned. "I sure do," he nodded. "That was when I was covering for Casey the first time. You carried a girl out of that store just seconds before that place erupted in a massive fireball."

"I, uh . . . " Mouch took a deep breath. "Well . . . they're giving me the Firefighter's Award of Valor for it."

"What?" Seager's eyes lit up.

"Mouch, that's incredible!" Ritter grinned, bounding forward and engulfing Mouch in a hug.

"Man, congrats!" Gallo whooped, joining the hug.

"Congratulations, Mouch," Pelham clapped him on the shoulder. "That was an awesome save. You deserve it."

"Nicely done," Grainger smiled.

"Thanks," Mouch grinned. "Now, come on! We have a sale to pack up!"

"We would help if we could," Grainger gestured between himself, Seager, and Pelham. "We actually have something we need to do."

***

"By the way," Seager spoke up from the back seat of Pelham's car. "When I was at the district this morning, I heard the desk sergeant refer to the Intelligence Unit as 'the police liaisons to the CFD?' What's up with that?"

Grainger smirked, watching from the passenger's seat as Herrmann rolled up in Jay's truck. "Casey, Severide, and Brett."

"Yeah," Seager sighed, leaning her chin on the back of Pelham's seat, craning her neck to look. "That explains it."

As a worker came out of the back of the company, Herrmann dropped down from the driver's seat of the truck. "Hey there!" he called. "I'm supposed to haul away a barrel?"

The worker stopped and blinked. "A barrel?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Herrmann nodded, waving his phone. "Somebody ordered a pickup, you know, through this Truck Trade app."

"Alright," the worker nodded. "Give me a minute."

He walked away and back into the building, and Herrmann glanced over at the car. "Well, the worker took that idea in stride," Pelham murmured.

The door opened again, and Grainger smirked. "And here comes the fish to bite."

Joaquin walked out of the building and towards Herrmann, a frown on his face. "I think there's been a mistake," he said. "No one here put in a pickup request."

"Oh, well," Herrmann shrugged. "Look, I just go where the app tells me, so . . . "

"Can I see the order?" Joaquin asked.

Herrmann blinked. "What?"

"The email confirmation," Joaquin pointed to his phone. "Show it to me."

"There's an email confirmation?" Seager hissed.

"Guess we should've checked how the app worked before we did this," Pelham winced.

"No kidding," Grainger sighed.

"Right, um . . . " Herrmann looked down at his phone, then shook his head. "Ah, it just logged me out." He looked up at Joaquin. "Alright, it just said that I was supposed to come here for a pickup. Now if you're telling me that it was a mistake – "

"He's not gonna fall for this," Pelham shook his head.

"But this may be our only shot at catching him with anything," Seager argued.

A squeal of tires made them turn, and Herrmann quickly side-stepped the vehicle that pulled up to the curb. "What the hell?" Grainger frowned.

Pete slammed the driver's door shut, glaring angrily at Joaquin. "You the owner?" he demanded.

"Yes," Joaquin frowned.

"Oh, no," Seager balked.

"Not good!" Pelham hurriedly unlocked the doors.

"You the guy that runs this place?" Pete asked.

"Yeah," Joaquin nodded. "Can I help you, sir?"

Pete drew back his arm and delivered a sharp right-hook, making Joaquin stumble back and fall to the ground. "Hey, hey, hey!" Herrmann scrambled to pull Pete away as the trio of lieutenants ran across the street towards them. "Take it easy, man! Hey!"

Pelham joined Herrmann in pulling back Pete as Grainger and Seager ran for Joaquin, hauling him to his feet. "Hey, this is not the way, Pete!" Pelham warned.

"What the hell is this?" Joaquin sputtered through a mouthful of blood, Grainger giving him a quick look-over.

"It's payback, you son of a bitch!" Pete roared, lunging forward.

He was stopped by the combined force of Herrmann and Pelham. "Hey!" Pelham stepped in his line of sight, pointing at him. "Stay back, you hear me?"

Grainger kept his hand firmly on Joaquin's chest, stopping the plant owner from moving forward, too. "Don't you dare," he warned.

"Last chance, Joaquin," Seager stepped forward, narrowing her eyes. "Tell us where the barrels are."

"What barrels?" Joaquin scowled.

"Oh, you know exactly what barrels we're talking about!" Seager snapped. "Or do you have the memory of a damn goldfish?"

Grainger looked at the storage area next to the building, where another pair of workers were in the entryway, watching every move. "Jason," he nodded.

Pelham nodded in agreement, joining Grainger in walking to the stairs. "Where are the barrels?" the squad lieutenant asked.

"Don't talk to them!" Joaquin ordered.

"Who said we were interested in talking?" Grainger raised an eyebrow. "Just a point in the right direction will do nicely."

Neither worker answered, but as Pelham ascended the stairs, they parted for him to enter the storage area. "Get the hell out of there!" Joaquin shouted, darting after them with Seager on his heels. Grainger and Pelham ignored him, looking around the storage area. "This is private property! You have no right! Leave now, or I'm calling the police!"

Pelham narrowed his eyes, then retrieved a chisel from a pile of tools on the ground. He carried it to a locked part of the storage area, and with a few sharp hits, the lock came undone. It clattered uselessly to the ground, and he and Grainger each grasped a handle, opening the doors.

Seager's eyes widened when she took in the barrels of sulfuric acid on the other side of the doors, no fewer than six in number. Grainger scoffed, shaking his head. "All-organic, my ass," he said derisively.

Seager's hand shook as she pulled out her phone and dialed. "This is Lieutenant Wendy Seager, Office of Fire Investigation," she said. "I need a Plan One Hazmat response at 1570 Cortez Street."

Pelham casually tossed the chisel to the side, and he folded his arms, staring down Joaquin. "This is now an emergency response site overseen by the CFD," he told him.

"Feel free to call the police now," Grainger added. "It'll save us the trouble."

"No need for that," Seager smirked. "Next call is right to Detective Halstead."

"Well, look at that," Grainger grinned snidely. "Checkmate."

***

Pete was all smiles when the trio of lieutenants congregated at Med. "She came out of her coma a little bit ago," he explained happily. "Just sleeping now."

Seager sighed in relief. "That's great news," Pelham smiled.

"Thank you for pulling me off that guy," Pete added. "I'm not sure how far I would've taken it. Sorry to get involved."

"Oh, no apology necessary," Grainger shook his head, smirking. "After our conversation with the guy . . . that was very satisfying to watch."

Seager giggled in agreement, making Pete grin. "Well . . . I thought I was gonna lose my best friend."

Seager looked past him into the room, where Jess's eyes were now open. "You've got a keeper there," she nodded.

Pete looked back to see his wife looking at him, and he smiled brightly. "Thank you again," he told the lieutenants before going back into the room.

Seager smiled fondly. "I'm never gonna get tired of these happy endings," she remarked.

"I'm glad there was a happy ending," Grainger admitted.

"He was willing to die in a fire for her," Seager watched Pete take Jess's hands. "I'm not sure how many people can say that about the person who loves them."

The memory of two ash-covered officers handling a blonde-haired paramedic between them like she was fragile glass flashed in Grainger's head, and he swallowed hard. "I can think of someone."

***

"I can't believe you were right," Seager giggled that night as she watched Hawkins hand over a check to a stunned-looking Ritter. "He actually did it."

"I told you, he's been looking for a way to get rid of Veronicat," Grainger smirked. "I just don't think he expected her to sell for thirty bucks."

"Now we just have to hope that woman doesn't come back and complain about the cat being the devil incarnate," Pelham pointed out.

Seager snickered. "I doubt it, if she willingly bought the cat."

"That's true."

A sharp whistle echoed in Molly's, and the trio turned. "Can I have everyone's attention, please?" Boden asked, standing in the center of the bar with Hank Voight and Sharon Goodwin. "As I'm sure everyone is aware, Los Angeles will once again be the host city for first responders across the country."

"This time, it won't be just for firefighters," Hank continued; Grainger saw Jay, Hailey, and Kim straighten from where they were sitting with Will, Natalie, and Connor. "Police officers, medical professionals, district attorneys . . . all are being selected to attend."

"And Chicago has been blessed to have some of the best," Goodwin nodded. "Chicago Med has been chosen to send doctors, and in the coming days, I will be picking those who will represent the Emergency Department."

"Deputy Superintendent Miller has also chosen the Intelligence Unit to be among those representing the Chicago Police Department," Hank smirked, and Grainger heard Adam whoop from where he was with Kevin.

"Which, of course, leaves the CFD," Boden looked around, seeing many of his firefighters fidget in anticipation. "This time, it won't just be Squad 3 and Ambulance 61 riding out of the firehouse. Commissioner Grissom has enlisted the entirety of the house to attend."

"Hell, yes!" Gallo cheered, high-fiving a grinning Ritter.

"And considering the conference will take place while Captain Strand is still on medical leave," Boden turned to the lieutenants' table, "that means Lieutenant Grainger and Lieutenant Pelham will be coming with us."

"Well, no need to twist our arms, Chief," Grainger grinned, raising his bottle.

"To Chicago's finest!" Goodwin raised her glass of wine.

"Hear, hear!" Connor was the first to mirror her.

The bar was full of mirth as those in attendance celebrated, and Seager sighed happily. "Oh, this is a much better vibe than I've usually gotten at Molly's."

"Really?" Pelham asked curiously. "I've always had the feeling Molly's is the place to be."

"Oh, it absolutely is," Seager assured him. "I just have usually gotten . . . frosty service."

Grainger looked dubiously at the bar. "I never got that impression from Herrmann."

Seager gave him a look that said he was being dumb. "I never said it was from Herrmann."

That only left one person at the bar, and Pelham did a double take. "Kidd?" he asked. "Really?"

"Then again, every time I've been here in the past, I've either been working with Severide or trying to hit on him," Seager shrugged, taking a drink of her beer. "That was likely the problem."

Grainger frowned uneasily, looking over to where Stella was serving April Sexton and Maggie Lockwood, the three women deep in conversation. "Severide used to date her, right?"

"They were on and off," Seager nodded. "She was the one who called it off . . . some time before Brett originally left Chicago, I think. They were never together in the time I've known Severide." She rolled her eyes. "Never stopped her from trying to get his attention like a spoiled brat, though."

Grainger raised an eyebrow. "Harsh description."

"Accurate, though," Seager scoffed. "You know, I was the officer who supported her to get Girls on Fire off the ground."

"That's an awesome program," Pelham smiled.

"It is," Seager nodded. "And Stella was vicious when she attempted to get it started. If there's one thing I know about Stella Kidd, it's when she wants something, she doesn't take no for an answer. She'll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets what she wants." She paused. "Though it would be really interesting to see her go against Casey for Severide." She grinned. "I would pay to see that." She set her empty bottle back on the table, looking between them. "Another round? On me?"

Grainger and Pelham gave each other knowing looks. "Go for it," Grainger finally nodded.

Seager grinned and headed back to the bar, and the two lieutenants leaned in. "I thought you said Kidd wasn't an option?" Pelham hissed.

"I thought she wasn't!" Grainger defended himself. "Her lieutenant's exam is coming up, and something like this would ruin her career!"

"You heard Seager, though," Pelham argued. "Someone who would do anything to get what they want? Kidd's gone to great lengths to make sure Severide was the one giving her Squad instructions for the exam. What would she do to ensure she had a chance with him?"

Grainger swallowed back nausea. This was the woman who drove Truck 81, was his de facto 2IC as long as he was riding the rig. "I don't want to think about her forcing Brett out of Chicago," he admitted. "I mean, we don't even know the exact reasons Brett left!"

"Well, if Kidd wants Severide, there's two people she would have to go through to have him," Pelham pointed out. "One of them already has Severide . . . and the other one disappeared from the city without a trace. It's a little damning, Greg."

Grainger closed his eyes. "I know," he whispered and nodded. "Damn it, I know."

"Know what?" Seager asked as she returned, full bottles in her hands.

Grainger sighed heavily. "Just something to talk to Casey and Severide about the next time we see them."

Pelham nodded in agreement, resolving to hold Grainger to that. "Thanks, Seager," he added, taking his bottle.

She huffed. "We just spent the last couple days tracking down barrels of sulfuric acid," she told them. "My first name is fine, if you'd like."

That brought a much-needed smile to Grainger's face. "Likewise, Wendy."

"And if you ever need help tracking down sulfuric acid again, you know where to come," Pelham grinned.

Seager laughed. "I will definitely do that . . . Jason."

Pelham mock saluted with his beer bottle. "That's my name!"

"To happy endings," Grainger decided, holding up his bottle. "And to new friends."

"I will drink to that," Seager smiled, clinking her bottle against theirs.

"To happy endings and new friends," Pelham agreed, tipping back his head and drinking.

Seager mirrored him, but Grainger hesitated, looking at Stella out of the corner of his eye. She had continued down the bar, all smiles as she greeted police officers and firefighters and doctors. On the outside, there was no sign of the viciousness Seager had just described.

As he finally drank, he wondered if it really was possible that Stella was completely different on the inside.

***

I wasn't sure if I'd hit 10K with this chapter or not, especially not in one day . . . I underestimated my desire to get to "Dust to Dust," apparently, and my excitement to write this new trio!

Unpopular opinion: I like Wendy Seager. I don't like her as a potential roadblock for Stellaride, but I love her as a lieutenant and a fire investigator. Her and Kelly's investigations in Chicago Fire have been some of my favorite episodes in the series. When I knew Grainger and Pelham would be covering this episode, I thought perhaps OFI would be involved since sulfuric acid was a potential cause . . . and thus, Seager might make an appearance. I loved writing these three working together, so expect to see more of them in the future.

Now, there's only one more episode before we're back in Los Angeles . . . that means it's time to wrap Season 2 of 9-1-1: Lone Star! "Dust to Dust" is coming soon!

graphic by marvelity