Chapter Text
Chapter Ten
"Sorry," Beth said, blocking the door to Casey's room with her tiny frame. "No visitors at the moment. The doc is with him. He had a rough night."
Gabby digs her nails into her palms. "Rough how? He's my husband, I want to see him!" She feels like shoving the petite nurse out of the way, going Gabby Dawson on the problem, but something tells her that it isn't a good idea. The blonde woman has her arms folded and a don't mess with me look on her face.
"Two minutes?" Severide asks. He's exhausted, a bad shift just behind him, and worry about his friend isn't helping his temper. "Please? We're family."
The door slides open before Beth can say anything. Dr. Clarke steps out, face set in a worried frown. He mummers a few orders to Beth, and she slips into the room.
"What's going on?" Gabby asks. "Is it an infection?"
Severide squeezes her shoulder in mute support. He's not thrilled by the look on the doctor's face, but he trusts the man, and he's willing to wait, willing to listen to the experts because that’s what they’re there for.
"Yes, and no," Dr. Clarke meets her eyes. "He's showing signs that his body is rejecting the hardware we put in his pelvis. He might need another surgery, but for now we're treating it with drugs. I'm worried he hasn't recovered enough yet for another surgery." He pauses and rubs his hand through his hair. "He's in a lot of pain. The on call anesthesiologist is on her way down to assess him for a spinal block."
"Please, Jeff," Gabby says. "Can I see him?" Worry has wrapped its cold fingers around her heart and she feels like she can't get a clean breath. She sniffs, and it sounds like a sob but she doesn't realise she's crying until Severide swipes the tears off her cheeks and pulls her into a hug. "He doesn't deserve this," she gets out between sobs "I'm so scared. I don't want to lose him."
"Hey," Severide says, one hand rubbing circles in her back. "He's tough and he's stubborn. He'll come through this," he adds, eyes meeting Clarke's, daring him to disagree.
The doctor blinks and tips his head in acknowledgement. "Two minutes," Dr. Clarke says. "No more. He's quite heavily sedated, so don't be alarmed if he's not up to conversation."
He leads them into the room. Beth is hanging a new bag of fluid, and she finishes it quickly, stepping away from the bed.
Casey is propped up, pillows supporting his hip, his arm, keeping him on his side. He's deathly pale, face drenched in sweat despite the fan blowing on his bed. He's back on oxygen, a mask covering his mouth and nose. The fingers of his good hand play over the sheet, a repetitive motion like he wants to move but lacks the strength. His eyes are bloodshot, the shadows under them matching the bruises. He looks weary, worn down and it sends a pang of something like grief right through her.
"Matt, honey?" Gabby says and steps towards the bed, taking his good hand. "Hey babe."
His eyes slowly track to her face and the ghost of a smile graces his lips. "Hey," he says, voice so hoarse she had to lean forward to hear it. "It hurts, Gabby. I just want it to stop," he finishes and she sobs again because she's never heard him sound like that, never heard him sound broken before. He lifts his good hand to her cheek, wiping the tears away. "Sorry," he says, and fresh tears spill down her cheeks.
She cups his cheek, swiping away the tears there. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she says.
"Made you cry," Casey grates out. "Gabby, I'm so tired, I'm sorry."
"You have to keep fighting, you hear me?" She says, stroking his cheek, the stubble there rasping under her fingers. "Everyone at 51 is pulling for you, look." She turns, meeting Severide's eyes and seeing the same tears there.
"Hey Matt," Severide says, holding up the stuffed dog in his hand. He has to clear his throat twice before the words sound remotely normal. "The house sent this. Figured you could use the company."
It's a dalmatian, dressed in a tiny turnout coat and helmet. Casey blinks, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the sight. "Cute," he says, and Severide puts it on the locker next to the bed, patting Casey's shoulder gently.
"Glad you think so, bud." Casey feels desperately frail under his hand, the bones in his shoulder horribly prominent. He rubs circles with his fingers, wishing he could give the man some of his strength.
Casey is blinking heavily, the drugs hitting him hard. It’s a good thing, giving him some relief, but it’s hard to watch and Severide has to fight the urge to look away.
"Sleep, Matt. We'll be here when you wake up."
He mumbles something Severide doesn't catch and goes limp under his hand, body giving in to the sedation again.
The door opens again, admitting a tall, dark haired Doctor. "Are you Matt's family?" She asks. They both nod. "I'm Dr. Emory, the duty anesthesiologist. My team is working closely with his other docs to facilitate his recovery and keep him comfortable. Did Dr Clarke explain why I'm here?"
"You want to put a spinal block in to stop the pain from his pelvis," Gabby says. "Can you do it here? How long will it take?"
"An epidural, yes." She meets Severide's eyes. "There are risks. It involves placing a catheter in his spine so we can keep giving him drugs. It might drop his blood pressure. It might affect his breathing, in which case he might end up back on the vent." She gives them a tight smile and picks up Casey’s chart, flicking through it. The smile fades into a worried frown.
It sends a stab of ice through Gabby and her hand tightens around Matt’s.
"He can't stay like this. I can't stand it and neither can he," Gabby says. "Where do I sign?"