Mills looks really uncomfortable. He's been hovering around the apparatus bay, heading towards Leslie and then backing off, pretending to be busy with something whenever she's looked his way. It's been quite amusing, pretending not to notice. But every girl has her limits, and curiosity is getting the better of her.
"Hey, Dawson, mind disappearing for a minute or two," Leslie whispers.
"Why?" Dawson whispers back.
Leslie leans in close. "Because I want to play with Peter Mills," she says, dropping her voice even lower.
Dawson smiles, a broad grin that lights up her face. She might deny it, but she has a wicked streak just as wide as Leslie's. "Okay, but only if I get to listen in," she bargains.
Leslie tilts her head towards the ambulance. "Just leave the door slightly ajar."
She waits until Dawson's inside, then goes around to the side of the ambulance and beckons Mills over, debating her options. She could start out friendly, ask about his EMT certification, see if he wants to do some practice sessions. Or she could talk about the weather — that would probably leave him in a suitable state of confusion. Or—
She can go straight to the point. "Spit it out," she says.
"Um," he says. He looks like a deer in the headlights.
"Okay, the thing is, Peter Mills, you've been circling me for hours, and I've been pretending not to notice, but obviously, I have noticed. So I'm guessing that you want to ask me something, but aren't sure how to start. So let's try some ideas on for size, and you can say yes or no. Does that work for you?"
"I, it's not that—" he tries, then gives up. "Yes," he says meekly.
"Good. First, are you concerned that you have a venereal disease, and want me to check out your penis?" she suggests, her face perfectly straight. "Because, you should know, that is not a service that I offer."
There's a muffled snort from inside the ambulance. Leslie coughs to cover it up.
"No!" Mills says, his voice a register higher than usual. He swallows, and manages to get his voice back to normal. "I don't— and I wouldn't. I—" He stops, clearly having figured out that he isn't going to complete a full sentence any time soon.
"Are you trying to ask me out again, because I thought we went over that?"
"No." He looks desperate to be anywhere but here.
"So, what is it?" Leslie stands and waits, hands on her hips. She might as well give him reason to think she's a curmudgeon.
He can't quite look her in the eye. "Elise asked me to say this."
"Unless you're going to write a note, you're going to have to tell me what she asked you to say," Leslie points out. She has a good idea where this is going now, though, and she's going to kill Severide. This is exactly why she doesn't like being his wingman. Well, that and fancing the same girls he's after.
Mills takes a deep breath. "Elise wanted me to tell you that she's, um, not gay. Just in case. You might have thought. Or, something."
"I see." Leslie nods. "Well, Peter Mills, you've discharged your brotherly duty eloquently. Thank you."
"Okay." He looks like he's waiting to be excused. Leslie looks at him. "I'll just go then," he says.
"Good idea. And remember, if you're ever worried about that other little problem I mentioned" — Leslie drops her eyes quickly down to his groin and back up again, an unsubtle hint in case he's forgotten — "Severide's the man to go to. He has plenty of experience in the matter," she adds, because why kill Severide when there's fun to be had?