Rise and Shine, Kid
Summary: It’s 7:30 AM on your day off. You’re cozy in bed. Then Herrmann shows up at your door, demanding you get your butts moving for a firehouse charity event. Spoiler: no one wants to set up tables this early—but coffee, breakfast sandwiches, and Adam's presence make it almost bearable. Almost.
Tags: Slow Burn, Fluff, Humor, Domestic Life, Charity Event, Established Relationship, Found Family, Light Angst
Page divider by steviebbboi
The knocking starts soft at first—a gentle tap that weaves itself into your dream about lying on a beach somewhere tropical, where the only thing you need to worry about is whether your drink needs more ice. Then it gets louder. More constant. The kind of knocking that says whoever's on the other side of that door isn't going away anytime soon.
You groan and bury your head deeper into your pillow, pulling the comforter up over your head like it's some kind of protective shield. Next to you, Adam shifts, his arm tightening around your waist in that possessive way he does even in sleep, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on tight enough.
"Go away," you mumble into the pillow, though you know damn well whoever's out there can't hear you.
The knocking continues. If anything, it gets louder.
"Babe," Adam's voice is rough with sleep, muffled against the back of your neck where his face is pressed. "Someone's at the door."
"I know someone's at the door," you mutter. "I'm ignoring them. You should too."
"What time is it?" He's starting to wake up now, and you can feel him reaching for his phone on the nightstand, his body stretching along the length of yours.
You crack one eye open just enough to see the early morning light filtering through the curtains. The kind of light that tells you it's way too early for any reasonable person to be awake on a Saturday morning. Especially a Saturday morning after the week you've had—three back-to-back cases, barely any sleep, and a mountain of paperwork that you'd finally finished at eleven o'clock last night.
"It's too early for this," you say, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.
Adam checks his phone and groans. "It's seven-thirty."
"Exactly. Too early. On a Saturday. Our day off."
The knocking comes again, and this time it's accompanied by a voice. A familiar voice that makes your stomach drop.
"Hey! I know you're in there! Come on, kid, we've got a schedule to keep!"
You freeze. Adam freezes. You both know that voice.
"Is that..." Adam starts.
"Herrmann," you finish, your voice flat with disbelief. "That's Herrmann at our door. At seven-thirty in the morning. On our day off."
"Why is Herrmann at our door?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, searching through the foggy recesses of your sleep-deprived brain for an answer. And then it hits you. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
"The charity thing," you whisper, horror dawning. "The firehouse charity event."
"The what?"
"The charity event at 51. The one Herrmann's been organizing for like three months. The one he wouldn't shut up about last time we all went to Molly's." You turn over to face Adam, and even in the dim light, you can see the matching expression of dread on his face. "I told him we'd help set up."
"You told him we'd help set up," Adam repeats slowly. "At what time?"
"Eight," you admit, wincing.
"Come on!" Herrmann's voice booms through the door again. "I've got Cindy making breakfast sandwiches, but they're gonna get cold if you don't get your butts in gear! We've got tables to set up, decorations to hang, and—"
Adam drops his head back onto the pillow with a groan that comes from somewhere deep in his soul. "I'm a cop. I chase bad guys. I do paperwork. I testify in court. I do not set up tables at seven-thirty in the morning on my day off."
"Tell that to Herrmann," you say, but you're already starting to push yourself up, because you know there's no getting out of this. When Christopher Herrmann sets his mind to something, especially something involving the firehouse, he's like a force of nature. Unstoppable. Relentless. And apparently, willing to show up at your apartment before the sun is fully up to make sure you follow through on your commitments.
"Can't we just pretend we're not home?" Adam tries.
"He knows we're home. Your Jeep is parked right out front."
"Maybe we left it there and went somewhere else."
"Adam."
"I'm just saying, it's a possibility."
The knocking comes again, and this time Herrmann's voice has taken on that particular tone he uses when he's dealing with one of his kids who's trying to get out of doing their chores. "I can hear you two talking in there! Don't make me use my key!"
You sit bolt upright.
"He doesn't have a key to our apartment," Adam says.
"Whoops?" you shyly reveal that you gave Herrmann a key to your apartment a while ago in case of an emergency.
"Alright, alright!" you call out, throwing the covers off and immediately regretting it as the cool air hits your skin. You're wearing one of Adam's old Academy t-shirts and a pair of shorts, and your hair is probably sticking up in seventeen different directions, but at this point, you don't care. "Give us five minutes!"
"Five minutes!" Herrmann calls back. "I'm timing you!"
You let out a long breath, running your hands through your hair. Next to you, Adam is still lying in bed, one arm thrown over his eyes like he's trying to block out reality.
"It's too early for this," he echoes your earlier sentiment.
"You already said that."
"It bears repeating."
You lean over and poke him in the ribs. "Come on, Adam. Up and at 'em. We made a commitment."
"You made a commitment," he corrects, but he's already swinging his legs out of bed, his bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. "I was just standing there, minding my own business, drinking my beer, when you volunteered us."
"You were standing right next to me, nodding along!"
"I was being supportive!"
"Well, now you get to be supportive while setting up tables."
He stands up, stretching, and you can't help but admire the view—even at seven-thirty in the morning, even when you're both exhausted and being dragged out of bed by an overly enthusiastic firefighter, Adam Ruzek is still unfairly attractive. His hair is sticking up in the back, and there are pillow creases on his face, and he's wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and you kind of want to pull him back into bed and forget all about charity events and responsibilities.
But then you remember Herrmann's voice, and the fact that he's probably standing right outside your door with a stopwatch, and you force yourself to move.
"Shower?" Adam asks hopefully, moving toward you with that look in his eyes that suggests he's thinking the same thing you were thinking a moment ago.
"No time," you say, dodging around him and heading for the dresser. "Herrmann said five minutes, and you know he meant it."
"A quick shower," Adam tries, following you. "A very quick shower. Together. Save water."
"Adam."
"I'm just saying, it's environmentally conscious."
You pull out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, turning to face him with your best stern expression—the one you use on suspects who are trying to sweet-talk their way out of an interrogation. "We have approximately three minutes left before Herrmann breaks down that door. Get dressed."
He sighs dramatically but heads for his own dresser, pulling out clothes with the kind of resigned efficiency of a man who knows when he's beaten. You both dress quickly, moving around each other in the practiced dance of two people who've been together long enough to know each other's routines. You pull your hair back into a ponytail, splash some water on your face, and brush your teeth in record time while Adam does the same.
"Coffee," Adam says as you're both pulling on shoes. "Please tell me there's going to be coffee."
"Herrmann mentioned breakfast sandwiches. There's probably coffee."
"There better be coffee. I'm not setting up tables without coffee. I have standards."
You grab your phone and keys, checking the time. Four and a half minutes. Not bad. Adam is right behind you as you head for the door, and when you pull it open, sure enough, Herrmann is standing there in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, looking like a disappointed father whose teenagers just missed curfew.
"Four minutes and forty-seven seconds," he announces, checking his watch. "Cutting it close, kid."
"Good morning to you, too, Herrmann," you say, stepping out into the hallway and locking the door behind you.
He's dressed in jeans and a CFD hoodie, and he's got that particular energy about him that suggests he's already been up for hours, probably had three cups of coffee, and has a detailed schedule planned out for the entire day. Next to you, Adam looks like he might fall asleep standing up.
"Morning," Herrmann says, his expression softening slightly. "Sorry to wake you so early, but we've got a lot to do before the event starts at noon. Figured we could use all the help we could get."
"It's fine," you lie, because what else are you going to say? You did volunteer, after all, even if you'd somehow managed to forget about it until Herrmann was literally knocking down your door.
"Is there coffee?" Adam asks, and it's possibly the most important question anyone has ever asked in the history of questions.
Herrmann grins. "Cindy made a whole pot. And breakfast sandwiches. Figured you two would need some fuel."
"Herrmann, you're a saint," Adam says with genuine feeling.
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, let's get moving."
The three of you head down the stairs and out into the early morning air. It's one of those perfect Chicago mornings in late spring—cool enough that you're glad you wore a sweatshirt, but with the promise of warmth later in the day. The sky is clear and blue, and there's hardly any traffic yet, and under different circumstances, you might actually appreciate being up this early.
You head for the cooler, which is blessedly labeled "COFFEE" in Cindy's neat handwriting, and you could honestly kiss the woman right now. You pop it open and find a large thermos, several cups, and a bag of what smell like freshly made breakfast sandwiches. Your stomach growls loudly enough that both Adam and Herrmann look over.
"Someone's hungry," Herrmann says with a knowing grin.
"Someone didn't eat dinner last night because someone was too busy finishing paperwork," you shoot back, pouring coffee into one of the cups and taking a long, grateful sip. It's perfect—hot and strong and exactly what you need to face the day ahead.
You pour a second cup and bring it over to Adam. He takes a sip, closes his eyes, and makes a sound that's borderline inappropriate for public consumption.
"Marry me," he says.
"We've been over this. You have to actually propose first."
"I'm working on it."
Herrmann snorts. "You two are ridiculous. Come on, drink your coffee and let's get loaded up. We're burning daylight."
"It's barely eight in the morning," Adam points out. "There's plenty of daylight left."
"Not with everything we have to do, there isn't."
"Alright," Herrmann says, surveying the loaded trucks with satisfaction. "Stella said she'd come by to help with decorations."
"You okay?" Adam asks, reaching over to squeeze your hand.
"It's too early for this," you say again, but you're smiling now. "But yeah, I'm okay."
"You know Herrmann means well. He's just..."
"Enthusiastic?"
"I was going to say 'intense,' but sure, let's go with enthusiastic."
"Thanks for not making me do this alone," you say quietly.
"Are you kidding? And miss the chance to watch Herrmann boss everyone around for the next four hours? Wouldn't miss it for the world."
There are already several people milling around outside—you recognize Mouch and Cruz, and Stella is talking to someone you don't know, probably another firefighter from a different shift.
"Alright, people! Let's get this show on the road!" Herrmann shouts.
What follows is organized chaos. Herrmann has a plan—of course he has a plan, probably color-coded and laminated—and he directs everyone with the precision of a conductor leading an orchestra. Tables get unfolded and arranged in neat rows in the parking lot. Chairs get set up. Decorations start going up—banners and balloons and streamers in red and white and blue.
You end up on decoration duty with Stella, who greets you with a warm hug and a knowing look.
"Let me guess," she says. "Herrmann showed up at your door this morning?"
"Seven-thirty," you confirm. "On the dot."
She laughs. "He did the same thing to me and Kelly last week when we were setting up for the fundraiser at Molly's. The man doesn't understand the concept of sleeping in."
"I don't think he sleeps at all. I think he just runs on pure determination and coffee."
"And love for this firehouse," Stella adds, and there's genuine affection in her voice. "He drives us all crazy, but we love him for it."
You help her string up lights along the perimeter of the setup area, and as you work, more people start arriving. Severide shows up with Casey, both of them looking far more awake than you feel. Sylvie arrives with a carload of supplies from the hospital—apparently they're doing free blood pressure checks and basic health screenings as part of the event. Herrmann's wife Cindy shows up with their kids and even more food.
By ten o'clock, the parking lot has been transformed. The tables are covered with red and white checkered tablecloths. A grill is being set up for burgers and hot dogs, and a separate table for baked goods is already groaning under the weight of donated pies, cookies, and cakes.
You step back to admire the work, and Adam comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.
"Not bad for a morning's work," he says.
"Not bad at all."
"Think Herrmann will let us sneak out early?"
You laugh. "Not a chance. We're here until the bitter end."
"That's what I was afraid of."
Herrmann appears at your side, looking flushed and happy and more energized than anyone has a right to be. "Looking good, looking good! Kid, I need you to help Cindy with the bake sale table. Adam, you're on grill duty with Cruz. We've got about an hour before people start showing up, so let's make sure everything is perfect."
"On it," you say, because what else are you going to say?
As Herrmann hurries off to micromanage some other aspect of the setup, Adam presses a kiss to your temple. "It's too early for this," he whispers, echoing your words from this morning.
"It's actually almost ten-thirty now," you point out.
"Still too early."
But he's smiling as he says it, and so are you, and as you head off to help Cindy organize baked goods while Adam goes to figure out the grill situation, you realize that maybe—just maybe—this isn't so bad after all.
Sure, you got dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour. Sure, you've spent the last three hours doing manual labor on what was supposed to be your day off.
But you're surrounded by good people doing good work for a good cause. The sun is shining, the coffee was excellent, and Adam is here with you, making stupid jokes and stealing kisses.
By noon, the parking lot is packed with people from the neighborhood. Kids are running around with their faces painted like tigers and butterflies. Adults are lined up at the grill, where Adam and Cruz are flipping burgers with the kind of competitiveness.
You're manning the bake sale table with Cindy, and you've discovered that you're actually pretty good at sales when properly motivated. You've already sold three entire pies and countless cookies.
"You're a natural," Cindy says, counting the cash box with satisfaction. "We should recruit you for every fundraiser."
"Please don't give Herrmann any ideas," you say, but you're smiling.
Adam catches your eye from across the parking lot and grins, giving you a little wave with the spatula he's holding. You wave back, and your heart does that fluttery thing again.
"You two are cute," Cindy observes. "Herrmann says Adam's one of the good ones."
"He is," you agree. "Even if he complains about getting up early."
"Herrmann complains about getting up early too," Cindy confides. "He just doesn't let anyone else hear it."
You laugh at that, and as you turn back to help a customer who wants to buy a dozen cookies, you catch Herrmann watching you from across the parking lot. He gives you a thumbs up and a grin, and you return both.
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