Chicago Fire: Strike a Match

Light My Fire

Chapter 25: Light My Fire

It was at that moment Cailin realized Clarke was either still there or had come back. It was also the moment she realized she hadn't eaten and was more than a little tipsy. She felt her face grow warmer as Clarke made his way to the bar.

"What can I get for you, Clarke?" she asked, stiffly, wiping down the bar to avoid looking at him.
"I turn around for one second and you disappear on me to tend bar," he said, his tone light but concerned. She shrugged, "Otis looked swamped, figured I would lend a hand." She hoped she seemed nonchalant, but she was dying of curiosity; had he left with Jones or not?

"Yeah, but..." he trailed off, was she slurring her words?

"You seemed rather occupied," Cailin said, the whiskey making her bold, her insecurities making her jealous.

Yep, slight slur detected, though he wasn't sure anyone else would notice. "I'll take a pint," he said, finally; trying to figure out why she had disappeared behind the bar and why her eyes were glinting with anger.

She poured his favorite IPA, sliding it towards him, their fingers brushing, her loosened tongue asking, "where did you go with Jones?"

Ah, so that was it. "Jones made me walk her out like she couldn't hail a cab on her own, and then she tried to make me get in it with her," he replied, shaking his head. Cailin's reply was a hiccup. He couldn't hide his smile. "Callahan, are you drunk?"

"A little," she admitted, ducking her head before chugging a water, feeling stupid and guilty. "But you didn't get in?" she queried.

He wrinkled his brow at her question, "in the cab, with Jones, why would I do that?" Cailin didn't reply, going through the motions of closing up the bar. Clarke knew they needed to have another talk about their relationship, going slow or not. And given Jones' near assaulting him tonight, he knew he needed to, very clearly, inform the candidate that he wasn't interested. "Cally, stop, Otis can get that," he said, catching her wrist. "Let's get you home, it's late." He gripped tighter until she looked at him. "Please?" he breathed.

Cailin nodded, unable to deny him anything with him looking at her like that; ducking back under the bar towards him. She readily accepted Clarke's arm, regretting mixing her alcohol, waving goodbye to the few people still left. Clarke opened the car door for her and luckily they were at Gabby's in minutes. Cailin feeling every last drop of liquor coursing through her veins despite being a seasoned drinker from a family of drinkers. She practically vaulted out of the car as soon as it pulled up to the curb, unable to handle being confined.

Clarke tightened his jaw, though he still followed her. He knew any conversation wouldn't be productive given her current state of inebriation; but he refused to let her hide, not wanting to let things fester. "Let me know if you need me to hold your hair back, Cal," he said, following her inside.

She turned enough to glare at him, "I am fine, Clarke, I'm a pro." Though she did walk to the kitchen to guzzle more water. She caught sight of the clock on the stove and winced, "damn it's late, and I've got to go back at the precinct to finish up paperwork super early. That's going to suck," she admitted, feeling suddenly awkward as he hovered in the doorway. "Want anything? Keep in mind I've not really been around the past week or so," she added.

"I'm good," he said, studying her, wondering what she had mumbled back at the bar. "You do know I never would have gone with Jones," he said, stepping towards her.

"I guess I don't, because I thought you had," Cailin admitted.

"Cal," he sighed, tensing his jaw. "I'm not going to get into this right now. I'm picking up a couple of shifts over at 25, so I'll be on back-to-backs. But after that, let's grab some dinner and talk. Somewhere other than Molly's," he added pointedly.