Fandom: Chicago fire

Chapter 1: Tears

P O V: Sylvie Brett

May 18th, 2018

A/N: As usual, I own nothing but the plot and any original characters. All glory goes to NBC, Dick Wolf, and his creative team. Thanks to all who reviewed, favored, or followed. Warnings mentions of Abortion, suicide. This is an alternative version to Silence Hurts, where Sylvie is saved from suicide. How would life be different? Shay is alive in this version she has two kids Matt is their fathervitro fertilization.

"Sylvie, Brett listen. I'm sorry I jumped you on that call." Spinning so I can face my partner Gabriela Dawson; I almost lose my balance from the brutal waves of dizziness. Each word she stuttered to me was making me angrier and angrier. My breaths come in short, painful gasps. I can feel my body coming down with something. My chest is super tight; a flushing fever is consuming my body; every syllable comes in raspy tight spaces.

"Gabby, I have never been spoken to so harshly like that in my life. Not on the sidewalk, at work, certainly by someone who's supposed to be my best friend, partner, that was in front of a victim."

"No..I Know..I just had"

"Gabby, I don't care what you had going on in your life. I have things going on too, I treat you with respect…

I can't get the rest of that sentence out because a coughing spasm takes over, becoming a tight wheeze. My fingers gripped the window frame to keep from falling, no matter how hard I tried to breathe evenly. My chest still tightens, causing me to cough, wheeze, gag. Nausea tore through my stomach, my head tightened, which only made things worse. Flinching as she reached out, I jumped back eyes blaring towards her.

"I treat you with respect every time those bells go off. If you c..a..n..'t...d..o...t..h...a...t don't ride with m..e..o...n..6...1."

Leaning against the wall, my shaking hands try to use my inhaler. The worry in Gabby's eyes is real, almost softening me till I remember how she had snapped at me just thirty minutes beforehand. "Sylvie, I'm sorry I fought with Matt, my mind is just all over the place. He can't understand how much I want a baby."

God, every breath hurts worse than the last. I can feel my lungs struggling to work who else can say they feel a body part they can't see? My throat is raw from coughing; sandpaper is softer than my esophagus right now. Placing my hand over my heart, I can barely feel it compared to the pregnant elephant that is always on my chest. "Sylvie, you need to calm down this stress isn't helping you."

"Gabby, I get it, I understand."

"Do you Sylvie? I mean, you don't want kids. So how could you understand how I am feeling? I would do anything for a baby; I'd even give my life up to bring life into this world."

"I know Gabby; I'm sorry you're hurting."

"Brett, your words are meaningless; your actions speak louder than words. You were given the gift of life by my brother; you threw it away. I would've done anything for that baby for a chance to be a mother."

"That doesn't give you the right to mistreat me Gabby; you swore you supported me, how dare you throw that time of my life in my face. Deciding to end my pregnancy was the hardest decision; I ever had to make! You know that you were there with me holding my hand. You said you loved me; you swore you'd keep your mouth shut from Antonio; you have no right, Gabby."

The angry words still ring inside my head hours later as the tears stream down my face, my hands brush over my flat toned stomach. Where there was once life fluttering inside of me now, there is a pit of nausea. I'm not sure how since I spent hours vomiting when I got home, yet I can feel the collision washing over my stomach. Almost as intense as the pounding of jackhammers drilling into my skull from all angles.

Nothing is helping now, not the steam of the scolding hot water streaming down my bare body as I stand in the shower at home. Closing my eyes to block out the brilliant rays of sunlight pouring through my window in the bathroom. Nothing stops the flow of tears which cascade down my face.

Thankfully, the music's turned way up, so my roommates Joe Cruz and Brian "Otis" Zvonecek can't hear me, or they would be in here demanding to know what was wrong even though the whole firehouse listened to the fight between Gabby and me only hours earlier.

Six and half years of friendship confiding in each other, sharing secrets, crushes, vacations, girls night's out. Working side by side, living together. In a flash, she had rejected me thrown it all away with a straightforward sentence. She knew it would destroy me. "You have no right to live Sylvie, not when you could so carelessly murder your own baby."

Those words the harshness in which they were thrown at me tear through my body, crushing my soul, Tears keep flowing as pain rips apart my stomach my knees buckle. I fall against the wall wailing worse than when I saw that innocent puppy get hit by my parent's car. My brother Juventino tried to drive it when he was ten trying to prove he was cool to his friends.

All morning all I've done is cry rivers of tears, there's been enough waterworks that if I had a boat, I could sail to heaven. I can't seem to keep my emotions in check; I hardly ever cry life had taught me to be tough to keep my emotions in check. These last few days though all I can do is cry endless streams of tears, all my scars have reopened, the damage of my youth, the untold stories which have brought me to my knees before now pour out. I've heard from many people not to take the words said in anger to heart.

I think differently if you say it you must have been thinking it way before the anger took over. If you think it, then some part of you has to be feeling it, so somewhere inside of her. Gabby had been thinking all along that I didn't deserve to live.

How long? It's a thought I wish I never had to have, yet it's there haunting me now screaming inside my head. "Murderer!"

I have no idea how long I lay crumbled onto the cold, wet shower floor, all I know is that when I finally find the strength to pick myself up, the water has become ice cold. My body is shivering tiny arm hairs stand at attention. My neck is twitching in pain, my legs shaking as I try to dry myself off. Giving up, I throw my clothes on wet. I can't yell for the guys. My chest is unable to contract to allow air inside. I need my chest physical therapy.

The lights are off when I go downstairs damn it's already darkening outside, how long was I on the floor? A glance outside the window tells me Cruz and Otis are gone. Once again, I am left alone they know I need my therapy without them. I have no one. Gabby is the only one who knows how to do it; Gabby's pissed at me so who do I have left? No one.

"You don't deserve to live," my feet spin who said that? No one is there, just the open window. I didn't know the voice either. It sounds young. "I don't have a name." Am I going crazy? There is the voice again. "You named me no one," salty hot flames of water sting my eyes. Coldness descends on my body. "I never got the chance to live; if I did, you would've been given the name mommy."

It can't be no; this isn't the reality I am just tired, sick. Close your eyes. Sylvie relax, breathe slow one two three. Lay down on the couch. I keep telling myself over and over, but nothing stops the tears or the dizziness they seem to go hand in hand. My own hands have lost control running over my stomach, which flutters but not with life.

"I wanted to be known mommy; I wanted you to see me for who I am, who could I have been, would I be a boy like daddy? Or a girl like you? Would I laugh loudly or giggle? Would I be a baller or a ballerina?"

"Stop." I whisper my chest hissing in pain, "You named me inconvenient. Why mommy" "I didn't force you to spread your legs; you made the choice mommy, so why did I have to pay the price?"

Shooting up gasping, I almost pass out from dizziness, losing my balance; I fall off the couch vomiting with such force, blood comes out. "I could have had a song mommy, so many mommies would have wanted me, you had choices mommy, why chose to end my life? I could have had my own melody, I could be dancing to my own beat, now I am silenced. Silence hurts mommy."

Regret pours from my eyelids; I can taste the sourness. It scorches my lips as it drips down. Burning worse than the acid churning from my stomach. I didn't feel like I had a choice back in January I can barely afford my daily treatments, rent, my health is on the rocks. Cystic Fibrosis has taken its toll on my body, my mind. Carrying to full term could do more damage than I wanted to risk, not to mention any child I have could be born with this horrible disease at the least they would be a carrier.

Antonio had broken up with me the same day I found out I was pregnant, making it clear he wanted to date other ladies and not be tied down. He has two grown kids, why would he want to start over again? Gabby swore, she supported me. Liar, she just said what she thought I wanted to hear. I stumble to the bathroom my legs shaking in pain.

Griping the sink as I wash my mouth out I am completely wiped I can't even make it to the bed my legs give up as I land at my desk. Remembering that night when our baby was conceived, we hadn't been together in months, one encounter one conversation, "How have you been Tonio?" "Missing you, Sylvie, you look amazing." one kiss became us stumbling to his car, my back slamming against the backseat.

Kisses becoming feverish, clothes coming off. "I don't have protection." "I don't care; I want you, I need you." "Are you sure?" "If you are." I can still feel him inside of me. His scent lingers on in his old PD shirt I am wearing. He'd hate me now if he knew. "Babies are miracles from God, no matter how hard I may have struggled, I would never wish away my kids, they are my world." His voice echo's inside my brain, which is spinning. It wasn't his body, though; it's mine. Don't I deserve to be happy healthy? Didn't anybody give a damn about me? Understand what living with CF is like for me on a daily?

CF feels like a Drum-line progression; when they're playing, the sound vibrates and hits every corner of the drum and extends out to the ears. When I hit my chest like a drum, I can hear the sounds of mucus being loosened up.

I can feel CF. I know it's in there, in my chest. It changes like the seasons. On the days that symptoms are less, I take the freedom and embrace it. I love these days. It's days like those that make me feel like I can be ordinary layout in the sun, dive into the water and not worry about choking.

There are other days, similar to a cold winter day, where CF has frozen my lungs inside me I can't just Let it Go as Elsa sings. CF feels like that fat bitch who needs to sing before the show ends.

It feels like a secret beach given to only those who suffer you can't find the damn mainland because the directions haven't been programmed into the damn GPS.

"You brought this on yourself." I don't spin this time. I already know who is talking. It's my conscious this bitch won't let me forget. "I'm sorry," I whisper to the heavens, but does it matter now? Now that its over, I just want to hold my baby. I'd give up all the world to see that little piece of heaven looking back at me. I've gotta live with the choices I made; I can't live with myself today. Is it my guilt, or is it Gabby causing these tears of regret? For twenty minutes, I gag, cough, vomit, burying my head between my hands as sweat drips down my face, chest.

Washing my mouth out. I try to sip some water, but not even the coldness of the water can't wash the shame away. I need a distraction youtube videos, music, Facebook, anything. I know I won't be able to sleep despite the fact I am so bone-tired I can barely keep my eyes open.

The instant I log into Facebook, I regret it. I am slammed with messages, all leading me to one status.

Gabby Dawson

May 18th, 2018 4:30 pm Chicago, Illinois, O'Hare International Airport

"This shit has been clogging up the pipes to my heart for too long. Tired of being the bitch who gives, gives, and never receives. I'm done, I've been dangling for far too long. They say if you see someone hurting, don't look away. I expected my family, friends to see my pain. I guess I am just not important enough for anyone. Thank you to MattCasey and SylvieBrett for showing me just how little my feelings, dreams matter. If I can't have my dreams, then there's no point in sticking around. I'm off to Puerto Rico might as well go somewhere I am wanted. I'll take my tears, broken dreams, and build a new life somewhere where I can be myself without judgment. It's been real, but you won't hear from me again."

Days like today make me feel like I bought the losing lotto ticket. I can't stop coughing or vomiting. I need my CPT the boys know it, they swore to be there for me when we moved in, the last six years Gabby has done my sessions four times a day, Nine positions over thirty minutes. So who can I call? No one. Briefly, my mind drifts to Matt he could learn how to do them, but he's probably already drunk, if I'm taking Gabby's leaving badly, her husband must feel devastated. I think about calling him; Matt's an excellent listener. My fingers hover over his name. In a moment of desperation, tears falling, I press call. Praying, he answers. It rings, rings. Till I get his voice mail. I leave a quick message but hang up my chest feeling tighter now than ever.