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equallyshaw · 21 days ago

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even after everything | Jay Halstead fic x ex fiance.

warnings: voight being voight and stereotypes.

w.c: 6.8k summary: Years after walking away from the only boy she ever loved, Aria McDavid finds herself across the courtroom from him—this time, on opposite sides of a case that could shatter everything. As a defense team fights to prove the innocence of Carlos Lopez, a man caught in the crosshairs of a corrupt system, old wounds resurface. Jay Halstead, now a detective sworn to protect the truth, is forced to testify—uncovering not only the truth of the case, but the pieces of a love story left unfinished. With a family legacy built on control and silence, and a past full of regrets, Aria must choose between the comfort of loyalty or the danger of honesty. Set against the backdrop of courtroom tension and buried heartbreak, Even After Everything is a story of justice, betrayal, and the kind of love that never really lets go.

They always say if you love something or someone, you should set them free. It’ll come back to you in the end.

They say even in the darkest hours, light can, in fact, break through the tunnel— shining down on the land and its people.

You just have to give it time— for both.

When Aria McDavid got the phone call from her colleague—and longtime family friend, 'unce' —Ellis Matthews, she panicked.

“How the hell did my client get picked up for murder?” she snapped into the phone, already grabbing her coat.

There was no way in hell he did it. No way. Not after everything they’d fought for, not after what he’d already been through.

Her uncle’s voice was calm, but clipped. “Get down to the 21st. Now. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

Aria was already halfway out of her Loop office, the quiet hum of the firm where she worked alongside her father now a blur behind her. Her client, a soft-spoken mechanic who spent years navigating immigration courts, had just gotten his green card. They’d bled sweat and billable hours for it, scraped through bureaucratic nightmares most people couldn’t even imagine.

He wasn’t just a name on her caseload—he was a win that mattered.

And now he was a headline waiting to happen.

The sharp click of her heels echoed through the bullpen, slicing through the otherwise quiet hum of the Intelligence Unit’s office. Only three detectives sat scattered at their desks—and her breath hitched the moment her eyes landed on one of them.

Two looked up as she passed, curiosity flickering in their eyes. But hers were locked, unwavering, on him.

She would still recognize that hair, that posture, that build—anywhere. Unfortunately.

Without a word, she veered toward the breakroom and adjacent office space. Her briefcase dropped onto his desk with a sharp thud.

Jay looked up fast, startled, nearly flinching before his gaze locked on her—his ex-fiancée. His high school sweetheart.

His everything. Once.

He swallowed hard, throat working visibly. Her palms were planted firmly on the desk, eyes molten, nostrils flared; her body leaning forward just a bit.

“Where the hell is my client?” she rasped. The words were low, sharp, and lethal. Jay felt his blood go cold.

From across the bullpen, Hailey Upton stood slowly, exchanging a look with Adam Ruzek, who had already peeked around the edge of his screen.

“I can show you, Counsel,” Hailey offered gently, her tone careful, cautious—like stepping around a landmine.

But Aria didn’t even glance her way. “No. I’d like Sergeant Halstead to do the honors,” she said, voice honeyed with poisonous sweetness.

Jay exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening as he pushed his chair back and stood. He motioned toward the hallway, a silent offer to let her walk first.

“Walk your ass, Halstead,” she snapped, arms crossed, one brow arched high. Both of their minds flashed back to high school.

Jay glanced helplessly at Hailey, who tried very hard not to smile, before he turned and led Aria toward the holding cells.

Jay led the way, jaw set, tension rolling off him in waves. He could feel her behind him—sharp and furious, like a storm waiting to strike.

Her heels clicked with precision, every step calculated. Controlled. But he knew her too well. Knew the rage was there to cover the fear. Or guilt.

They turned a corner, and Jay swiped his badge at the secure door, pushing it open.

Blood still crusted around his mouth, one eye nearly swollen shut, bruising creeping down the side of his neck like a handprint. He sat slumped, broken—not just physically, but in spirit.

This wasn’t the man she’d known for nearly seven years.

Not the father of two who had once brought her fresh tamales from his wife’s recipe. Not the man who’d once cried in her office when they finally got his green card secured after three appeals.

This—this—was the shell of someone who had clearly been beaten and humiliated.

Aria’s eyes softened in a blink, the fire turning into something dangerously protective.

“Off,” she said sharply, eyes snapping to Jay.

He hesitated. “Aria—”

“I said off,” she repeated, nodding to the cuffs.

Jay opened the door slowly, glancing back at her once before stepping inside. He undid the cuffs with steady hands, then stepped back to give them space.

“Five minutes,” he said lowly, directing it at her. “Then we talk.”

“Out,” she snapped, not even looking at him.

Jay's jaw ticked, but he left without another word.

The door shut behind him with a click.

Aria took the seat across from her client, folding her hands tightly to hide the shaking.

“Tell me everything,” she whispered.

From outside the glass, Jay stood still, unmoving.

Hailey sidled up beside him, arms crossed. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed locked on Aria, his jaw tight.

“She’s always been terrifying when she’s pissed,” he said quietly. “But she’s never looked at me like that before.”

Hailey glanced at him sideways. “What’d you do?”

Jay let out a short breath—part scoff, part sigh. “I left. For Baghdad.”

He paused, staring down at the floor.

“I left a fiancée—two days after I proposed. Came back to a ring… and an empty house.”

Hailey blinked slowly, her expression softening just slightly. “Jay…”

Before she could finish, Adam walked up behind them, coffee in hand, clearly catching the tail end.

“Dude,” he muttered, grimacing. “That’s not just a screw-up. That’s a Shakespearean tragedy.”

Jay shot him a look. Hailey smacked Adam lightly in the stomach with the back of her hand.

“What?!” Adam threw up his free hand defensively. “I’m just saying—Macbeth had less drama!”

"Have you even read the play?" Hailey teased, and Adam scoffed, and the two began bickering with each other.

Jay didn’t say anything. He just turned back to the glass, eyes fixed on Aria, who hadn’t once looked up at him.

And that hurt more than any punch or bullet- he’d ever taken.

The second the interrogation room door clicked shut behind her, Aria sat down quickly.

Carlos Lopez looked up, and her breath caught.

Blood crusted his mouth. One eye nearly swollen shut. Bruising spread down his neck like a handprint. He looked shattered.

Not the man she’d known for seven years—the father who brought tamales, the client who cried when they won his green card. This was a shell.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, dropping to her knees. “Carlos… qué pasó?”

“They said I killed a cop,” he rasped. “One of them took me downstairs…”

“Did you ask for me?”

“Over and over.”

Her fury snapped to life. “No more talking. I’ve got you.”

As she stood, the door opened again—Ellis… and Voight.

She didn’t blink at her uncle. Her eyes locked on Voight like a blade.

“You put hands on my client?”

“He murdered one of my officers,” Voight growled. “I’m not coddling him.”

She stepped between them. “Touching a green card holder in custody? You want a hate crime enhancement? Keep talking.”

Voight’s smirk twitched. Ellis raised a hand.

“Don’t,” Aria warned. “You beat a man because you didn’t like what you heard. You want to explain that to ACLU, the Tribune, and my father?”

Ellis exhaled. “...I’ll call your dad.”

Behind the mirror, Jay winced. “Oh no. You don’t want that.”

Hailey’s head tilted. “Wait—her dad’s that McDavid?”

Jay nodded grimly. “And Voight just lit the fuse.”

In the room, Voight glared. “You think threats scare me?”

“They’re not threats,” Aria smiled coldly. “They’re legal guarantees.”

Then, gently, to Carlos: “We’re getting you out. I promise.”

And to Voight, over her shoulder: “And he’s going to answer for every bruise.”

Aria muttered under her breath in Spanish as she stepped out, Ellis, Carlos, and her dad leading the way. The tension between her father and Voight was thicker than the Chicago humidity—old enemies circling.

Her dad paused, turning to her with a serious look. In Spanish, low and sharp:“Voy a hablar con Voight. No te metas.” (“I’m going to talk to Voight. Stay out of it.”)

She nodded, but her eyes burned with defiance.

Her dad disappeared behind Voight’s closed office door. The heavy thud echoed like a warning.

Jay, leaning casually against a desk nearby, watched her, then smirked. “Well, looks like the family feud just went executive.”

Aria didn’t smile, but her eyes flicked to him with a teasing edge. “Don’t get comfortable. This isn’t a game you’re used to playing.”

Jay’s grin softened. “Maybe. But I know how to read between the lines.”

She folded her arms, voice low. “Sometimes what’s said isn’t the real story. And sometimes what’s not said? That’s where the bullets fly.”

Jay’s gaze dropped to her hands, clenched tight. “Sounds like you and your dad have a few skeletons in the closet.”

Aria’s laugh was bitter. “More like ghosts. And they don’t rest easy.”

Touche.

Jay’s voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of his loyalty. “I’m here to protect my own—that cop deserved that much. But no matter what happens in there, I’m not leaving. I’ll be in his corner, too.”

Aria’s lips twitched into a sly smile, sharp and knowing. “Well, congratulations, Seargant Halstead. That officially makes you an accomplice. But don’t forget—when push comes to shove, you’ll show your true colors. Blue and brass, right?”

Jay met her gaze, the challenge and unspoken history hanging between them like a thick fog.

__ The three lawyers were back three days later to speak with Voight and to get some more files for the case.

The tension in the bullpen was thick.

Jay looks up from his desk as Aria, Arthur, and Ellis walk back in. Tension walks in with them. Arthur eyes Jay with that you ruined my daughter’s life, and I haven’t forgotten it glare. To Ellis, in Spanish but loud enough:

Arthur- dryly, “¿Él otra vez? Pensé que habíamos fumigado.” Him again? I thought we fumigated.

Jay’s brow twitches. He gets it. Her Spanish lessons during high school still clung to him.

Aria, snapping under her breath: “Papá, basta ya.” Dad, stop already.

Arthrur with his back to her: “Deberías agradecerme por decir lo que él no se atreve a decir.” You should thank me for saying what he won’t dare say.

She mutters something that almost sounds like a threat, but she walks off with Ellis. Jay watches, jaw clenched.

They walked back out, thirty minutes later, with two threats from her father about some lawsuit and Tribune article, and one from Voight, about an old case.

Aria walked behind her father and uncle, texting away on her phone, to the client's wife - Martha, telling her that she was on her way to meet for coffee.

"Watch out, Counselor, we wouldn't want you to trip down the stairs in those heels," she heard to her left, as she paused at the top of the steps. Her head raised, then twisted towards the voice: Officer Ruzek.

She gave him a forced thankful smile, before stepping down the stairs, with years of practice- in heels and continuing to text away.

As she walked out of the bullpen, and out the gate, she heard steps behind her and a voice: We've got a lead.

She locked her phone, and as she was walking out, she heard behind her: "City's really scraping the bottom defending his kind, huh?"

She froze, blood already boiling - now molten, as she turned on her heel - her uncle and dad turning around quickly.

Ellis tenses. Arthur curses under his breath.

“You want to run that back with a badge number attached?”

She steps toward him like a storm breaking its tether. That fuego puro rises up hard.

Jay, just exiting from upstairs, sees it unfolding — rushes down the stairs just in time to catch her by the waist, her just a few feet from Officer Kessler.

Jay urgently spoke, “Aria—hey. No.”

Officer Kessler grinned, “You sure you want to grab her, Halstead These days, guys like us aren’t allowed to call it what it is. You cuff her, blink twice — we’ll get it handled.”

Jay’s blood ran cold. He’d heard locker-room filth before. But this? This was a code. A quiet way of saying: She’s ours to break. Just say the word.

And Jay Halstead didn’t break women. He protected them. Even from his own. Especially from his own.

Jay snaps. Wrong move, buddy. “What did you just say?”

Kevin ran down the steps, settling in between him and Kessler, “Jay, don’t—”

Jay didn't bluff, “No. Say it again. Say it in front of IA this time.”

Jay lunges — Kevin grabs him from behind.

Aria tries to twist free from Adam, who’s got a hold on her wrist now.

Even more cockier - Kessler spoke again, “Touchy. Must be something in the blood.”

Aria nearly bites her own tongue in half. Almost steps on Ruzek with her heel. Ellis steps between them, cool but seething.

“Officer, if you want to be anywhere near this case, I suggest you back off. Otherwise— The Tribune loves a good old-fashioned meltdown. I’ll make sure your name’s spelled right.”

Seargant platt appeared behind her perch - now, “Officer Kessler. My office. Now.”

Kessler tries to defend himself. Trudy cuts him off with a single stare.

“You just got real close to pissing off the wrong lawyers. And me. Move.”

Kessler storms off.

Aria exhales, tension still high.

Aria to no one in particular, under her breath, “A cop protecting me and my client? Who’d’ve thought.”

Jay leveled with her, “Not protecting. Just picking a side.”

Trudy over her shoulder, “Enjoy it while it lasts, Counselor. You’re still a thorn in my ass.”

Aria nodded.

They all walk out — leaving the station charged in their wake.

Her and her father had been arguing for over two hours now, elbows deep in charges, case files + personal history.

The glass walls do nothing to contain the storm inside. Aria stands stiff across from her father, arms folded, the city behind her flickering like a warning.

“You’re compromised,” Arthur says, quiet but firm.

“Excuse me?”

“I saw you. In the bullpen. The way you looked at him. Jay Halstead’s not just a name on a file. He never was.”

She exhales through her nose.

“And you think I can’t separate the two?”

“You didn’t. Not then. You ran—from him, from this city, from everything.”

“I ran because I had to.”

“Because he left. Two days after slipping a ring on your finger. Left you here with—”

He stops himself.

“Say it,” Aria snaps. “Say what you really want to say.”

Arthur’s voice lowers. “You were pregnant.”

Silence drops like a hammer.

“You gave up my first grandchild without a word.”

The silence lands like a gunshot.

Aria’s jaw tightens. Her arms fall to her sides.

“Don’t you dare put that on me,” she says. Her voice cracks. “I was 18. Freshly graduated. Alone. Engaged to a man in a war zone. I’d just buried my mother, and you were drowning in your own grief.”

A pause. Her voice drops.

“And yeah. I gave up my child. My choice. Because I couldn’t give them anything. Not stability. Not certainty. Not him.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“And what? You’d drag me into court? Called Jay back from the Middle East? He never even knew. Still doesn’t.”

Arthur stands, slow and deliberate. “He’s not worthy of knowing.”

Aria stares at him, breath stuck in her chest.

“I don’t get to hate him, Papa,” she says quietly. “Not for what I did. We were supposed to be married. Raise a child together. And I took that from him.”

Her throat tightens.

“If anyone gets to be angry — it’s not you. It’s not even me. It’s him.”

Arthur doesn’t speak.

“This case has dug up everything I buried under law books and trial prep,” she adds. “And no, I can’t- will not recuse myself. Because there’s a family depending on us.”

She swallows hard.

“If I feel anything when I see Jay, it’s not resentment. It’s regret. Guilt. It’s wondering what we could’ve been if life hadn’t ripped the floor out from under us.”

A long beat.

“I didn’t come back for him. But maybe… maybe I’m supposed to finish what we started.”

Arthur’s shoulders shift, tension giving just slightly.

“You always did love lost causes,” he mutters.

“They’re not lost,” she says, turning for the door. “Just the ones no one else bothers to fight for.”

She’s gone before he can argue.

15 days later.

Aria approached the witness stand slowly, heels echoing across the courtroom like clock hands ticking down. She stopped a few paces from Voight, then set both hands on the edge of the stand, posture firm but calm.

“This city—this department—has notoriously upheld racist techniques and behaviors,” she said. “Put in place to protect you. The white male saviors.”

Voight’s expression didn’t flicker. It never did.

She went on, pacing just slightly, letting her words hang. “Over the past decade, tactics have shifted. Strategies have changed. But not you. You’re what they call ‘old school,’ right?”

She turned to face him head-on.

“Wouldn’t you say that, Sergeant Voight? Years of misconduct allegations, use-of-force complaints, lawsuits—your file has its own cabinet at CPD, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t answer.

She leaned in just enough. “So what makes this case different? What makes it believable that you didn’t put your hands on my client, that you didn’t escalate because of the color of his skin? Because he wasn’t white-passing, wasn’t fluent, wasn’t ‘safe’?”

Her voice sharpened. “Because he was at the wrong place, wrong time—and you had no one else to blame?”

She gave the jury a moment to absorb that.

“I’ve known Carlos for eight years,” she said, turning slightly toward them. “He was my first client. I sat with him through interviews, paperwork, and the day he got his green card. I was there when his daughter was born. When he married his wife, Martha. He worked years to get here. What, in your expert opinion, Sergeant Voight, makes you think he’d throw all that away?”

Still, he said nothing.

She narrowed her eyes. “What training, what background, what education gives you the authority to determine that? What certifies you as an expert on immigration status, racial identity, or asylum culture?”

A small tick appeared in his jaw.

She tilted her head. “What exactly gives you the right?”

Voight finally snapped, “Are you trying to get me to say I’m a racist? Or a bigot?”

Silence dropped like a curtain.

Aria froze for half a second, then turned to face him fully, arms folding slowly across her chest.

“Well,” she asked coolly, “are you?”

A rustle swept the room.

Before he could reply, she stepped forward again.

“There was a complaint filed in 2001, wasn’t there?” she asked. “Just weeks after 9/11. A fellow officer of color reported you for using racial slurs, aggressive profiling tactics during a routine stop near Little Village. You remember that, don’t you?”

Voight opened his mouth, but the judge’s gavel slammed.

“Ms. McDavid,” the judge warned.

She held her hands up lightly, like surrender. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

Voight, ever defiant, called after her as she walked away. “You think you know me, Counsel. But I’ve been doing this job longer than you’ve been alive.”

She stopped.

“I’ve made mistakes,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Plenty. But I don’t make them based on skin color. That’s not who I am.”

She turned just slightly, saw something shift in his tone—not guilt, but conviction. And for the briefest second, it gave her pause.

The flicker passed.

Aria returned to the table, her silence as powerful as anything she’d said.

But Voight kept talking.

To the jury. To the judge. To himself.

Trying to explain who he was.

But Aria had already made them question it.

And that was the whole point.

The courtroom emptied on the judge’s call for recess, murmurs trailing Aria’s exit like smoke. She didn’t wait for Ellis. Didn’t wait for her father. Her heels echoed against marble as she pushed through the heavy doors and into the hallway.

The Intelligence Unit stood at the far end, arms crossed, expressions locked. She didn’t stop.

But Jay did.

“I’ll catch up,” he murmured, already moving.

She felt him before she heard him — his presence familiar, his steps intentional. His hand brushed her arm, gentle. She didn’t flinch.

He guided her behind a marble column, just out of view.

“That was a hell of a move,” he said quietly.

“It was overdue,” she replied, eyes fixed forward.

“You alright?”

“He tried to bait me.” A pause. “Almost worked.”

She finally looked at him. “But I’ve studied that man for years.”

Jay nodded. “You held your own.”

“I always do.”

Silence lingered. A shared breath.

“You know where I stand,” he said.

Her gaze softened. “I hope you remember that—when this is all said and done.”

A beat.

“Don’t fall in line with them, Jay,” she added. “Don’t mirror their beliefs just to survive.”

He didn’t respond. Just listened.

She looked down the corridor, then back at him.

“I’ll see you later,” she said.

And she was gone.

Jay stayed rooted, the words ringing in his chest.

He didn’t know if it was a promise or a warning.

But he prayed it was the first.

Aria tugged her coat tighter around her shoulders as she stepped into the hallway, purse slung over her arm and exhaustion clinging to her bones. The hum of the office had finally died down—most lights off, the cleaning staff starting their rounds.

Her father stood just outside his office, tie loosened, jaw tight.

“We’re putting Halstead on the stand,” he said flatly.

She froze mid-step. “¿Qué pasa?”

“We’re putting Jay up there to testify,” he repeated, voice like a stone dropped in still water. “And you’re going to question him.”

She blinked at him. “The hell I am.”

“You are,” he snapped, stepping toward her. “Because you’re the one who knows him. You’re the one who—”

“No.” Her voice cracked sharp. “The only reason you’re doing this, Papa, is because you can’t stand him. You can’t stand what he did.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Just admit it,” she pushed. “This isn’t strategy. This is a personal vendetta.”

He slammed his hand on the doorframe, voice rising. “Because he ruined your life!”

The words echoed, louder than the walls could hold.

Aria stood still. Her eyes searched his face, but it was unreadable—just a father, caught between fury and heartbreak.

Then, softly, like a confession:

“No,” she whispered. “He never did.”

She stepped back, pain blooming in her chest like something sacred.

“I ruined his.”

And with that, she walked past him—head held high, but heart breaking all over again.

__ Flashback — Sunday family dinner: Freshman year of high school.

The McDavid family sat stiffly around the table. Arthur’s eyes burned into Jay. He couldn’t stand him—not because Jay wasn’t good enough, but because Jay was everything Arthur wanted for his daughter, just not yet.

Kind. Respectful. Sweet. Funny. Caring. From a good family, too.

Arthur’s eyes burned into Jay. “You know, high school girls ask for a lot of things they’ll regret later.”

Jay blinked. “That… might be the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Charlotte’s voice cracked as she slammed her hand on the table. “Arthur, be nice! Don’t talk to him like that.”

Aria shot a glance at her mom, surprised by the outburst.

Arthur ignored her and turned back to Jay. “A baseball jock? Passing grades? That’s not the future I planned for my daughter. She’s on the debate team, headed to New York for undergrad and then law school. That’s been decided since she was a baby.”

Charlotte reached across, squeezing Jay’s hand, her gaze never leaving her husband. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

The tension thickened, but Aria knew better than to step in. This wasn’t just about Jay. The fights had been going on for months—since Jay started coming around. But what she didn’t know was the real reason: her mom’s cancer had come back. They were fighting about that too—something Aria wasn’t ready to be privyed to.

After dinner, Aria pulled Jay outside, her voice soft. “That was the first time I really saw them fight in front of me… it started around the time you started coming around.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, smirking. “So you're saying I ruined your family? That’s… honestly, that's a first. Wanna say it again for the people in the back?"

Her lips twitched despite herself.

Her voice dropped. “But to hell with what they think. You know that.”

Jay nodded, his smile gentler now. “Yeah. I know.”

Aria stood in front of the brown apartment door, a white bag of tamales and rice in hand, debating whether to knock. Stir up a conflict of interest—or walk away. Pretend they never crossed paths again. She sighed—and knocked.

A minute passed. Then the door opened.

Jay stood there. He must be hallucinating. He swallowed hard, eyebrows knitting.

“May I come in?” she asked softly.

He stepped aside, pulling the door open wordlessly.

The Loop apartment looked exactly how she imagined it would. Modern. Sleek. A man cave through and through. It stung a little, how familiar it still felt. She set the bag down on a chair near the door, along with her winter coat.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. She turned to him, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Your face does that scrunch when you’re upset,” he added gently.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You still know me that well, huh?”

“Like a book, Ari,” he murmured. He stepped beside her. “Still remember my favorite?”

“Lucky guess?” she teased, pulling food from the bag.

She took her place on the brown leather couch, feet tucked beneath her. Jay sat across from her. They ate in silence. Tension, angst, grief, and anxiety clung to the room like thick fog.

She set down the container—two tamales gone, rice and beans half-finished—and took a long sip of the cold beer he’d placed beside her.

“So... why’d you come, Ari?” Jay finally asked, setting aside his own food.

She sighed, wiped her lips, and turned to face him. She couldn’t tell him the truth: that he might be on the stand tomorrow. That they were dragging him into something he didn’t deserve.

“I wanted to apologize,” she began. “For leaving. After you left for basic.”

His chest rose with a deep breath.

“I left because I was scared—of everything. The future. What could happen. My dad was grieving my mother, and I... I felt trapped. Without you, I didn’t have my anchor. My light at the end of the tunnel.”

She looked up at the ceiling, blinking away tears.

“And don’t think I was mad you left to serve. That’s not it.” Her voice broke. “It’s just... I was alone.”

She sniffled, fingers fidgeting in her lap.

“Two days after you left for basic... I found out I was pregnant.”

A tear slipped out.

Jay froze. His blood ran cold. His mind stopped. She was—pregnant?

She looked at him. He was unraveling in silence.

“I told my uncle. I couldn’t tell my dad, I was too scared. And when my uncle... said a few cruel things, I fled. I stuck to the plan—New York for undergrad, live with my aunt and uncle, go to law school, come back to Chicago...”

She wiped her cheeks.

“But there wasn’t a place in that plan for a baby. Not even for marriage. And we were just kids, Jay.”

He swallowed, his throat thick with emotion.

“Right before the end of my first year... I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.” Her voice cracked. She saw the way his eyes glossed over.

His beautiful blue eyes—full of pain.

“I met a couple through my uncle’s law firm. A well-off couple—both lawyers. She’s a federal judge now. They love my aunt and uncle, and I knew they’d love her. I gave her up for an open adoption. They gave me mercy. And our daughter... she knows about me. She’ll always know. At their discretion.”

Aria stood, pacing. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“What’s her name?” he asked, voice low—hope flickering through her like electricity.

She smiled gently, freezing in place. “Leona Simone,” she said. “It means Lioness.”

A softness crossed his features. “Do you have a picture?”

She nodded and pulled out her phone, swiping to her favorite album.

“She goes by Leo,” she whispered, chuckling under her breath. That sound alone made Jay’s chest ache.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes as she turned the phone toward him.

In the photo, Leona sat behind her mother’s judge seat in a courtroom—Second District Federal Circuit. Her adoptive father sat on one side, her adoptive mother on the other. Her smile was wide, radiant.

She looked like she belonged there. Even at ten.

Jay didn’t notice the detail right away.

The sticker covering the judge’s nameplate: Leona Halstead-McKnight.

His breath stilled. His eyes met Aria’s, then flicked back to the photo.

Shock. Disbelief. Heartbreak.

He wiped a tear and stared at their daughter.

“I know. It’s a lot,” Aria said gently, taking the phone back. "Even with the adoption, she knows her birth name. The full one, uses it as her middle name sometimes," she hummed. She searched again, swiping to one of her most treasured photos—the day Leona was born.

“She was pressed to my chest, just before I signed the papers.”

Jay took the phone, hesitant. The picture said it all—her smile wide, but full of pain. Her eyes glossy with tears.

She motioned for him to swipe.

The next image: Leo at four, beaming at Navy Pier in Aria’s arms.

Happy.

He could see her features—hers, and his. A perfect blend of two people, who once thought they had all the time in the world.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, voice trembling.

She shook her head. “No. They gave her what I couldn’t. What we couldn’t. If it had happened later... maybe. But back then? I wasn’t ready. You weren’t ready.”

She clasped her hands, grounding herself.

“I’m sorry if that’s not how you feel. I understand if you hate me. But I was eighteen, Jay. And so were you.”

He nodded slowly.

Then, he asked, “Did you ever stop loving me?”

Her phone screen went black. She didn’t need it anymore.

“No,” she said simply. “Never. I... always believed we’d cross paths again. That we weren’t finished.”

Jay stood as she slid the phone back into her pocket.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” she added, meaning every word. “For how this happened. I never envisioned us reconnecting this way.”

He knew she wasn’t trying to hurt him. She was following her principles. Protecting her client. Doing the right thing.

But still—

“Don’t go,” he whispered as she walked past. “Stay.”

She turned.

He cupped her face, just like he did the night he asked her to marry him.

“I let you leave once,” he murmured, eyes searching hers. “I’m never letting you leave again.”

And then he kissed her. Hot. Heavy. Desperate.

Clothes shed quickly—too quickly, maybe. But Aria didn’t care. One thing echoed in her mind.

She prayed the words he once said were still true:

That he’d love her, no matter what.

Especially, if her father threw him to the wolves; especially then.

The courtroom buzzed low with tension. Aria sat poised, every thread of her suit starched and perfect, but her insides churned. She’d spent the night tangled in memory and skin, in regret and old wounds. She hadn't told him. Not fully. Only a whispered, "I’m sorry, Jay. Whatever happens today... I’m sorry."

She thought maybe he knew. She hoped.

She wasn't expecting her uncle to get up and announce what he did, everything stilled.

"The defense of Carlos Lopez calls on Detective Jay Halstead to speak on behalf of Seargant Hank Voight."

She was throwing him to the wolves, pulling the rug out from underneath him for the second time: her leaving after he left, and now.

Jay’s head jerked slightly, like the air had been knocked from his lungs. He looked toward her, confusion bleeding into betrayal. Everyone in the courtroom followed his gaze—to Aria.

And they saw it.

The shared history.

The devastation.

He stood slowly. Walked past her like she didn’t exist. Like she was just another lawyer.

But she felt it. That cut.

The way he didn’t look back.

He took the stand, hand raised, voice flat as he swore in.

Aria now stared at Ellis, her jaw tight. Her mind flashed to all the years before this case—how her father hated Jay from the start. That boy who showed up uninvited, proposing without asking permission, forcing Aria to flee after her mother’s death, pregnant and alone.

She had trusted Ellis once. Now, she felt completely exposed.

She clenched her fists, the betrayal cutting deep. He said he wouldn’t question Jay. He promised.

Ellis’s gaze was hard as steel. He wasn’t just trying to break Jay as a witness—he was trying to get under the skin of the entire CPD unit, and under Aria.

Jay briefly looked over at Aria, a tight set to his mouth. He caught her eye from across the courtroom.

For a moment, the noise around them faded.

That look he gave her—the same one he’d given just before he proposed that spring break night years ago. Quiet, unwavering, full of promises.

"Forever.” it said.

__ Flashback: Spring break - Senior year.

Jay and Aria lay tangled in the quiet stillness of his childhood bedroom. The clock read 2 a.m., the faint sound of Jay’s brother snoring from the next room the only other noise.

Aria’s eyes searched his face, vulnerability bleeding through. “Promise me you’ll always love me,” she whispered, her voice barely steady. “No matter what happens when you leave for basic training.”

Jay’s hands found her face, his touch gentle, grounding. “I promise, Ari. Always.”

A heavy silence hung between them, thick with the weight of the unknown.

Then, slowly, Jay’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Will you marry me?”

Aria’s breath caught in her throat—hope and overwhelm crashing into one fragile moment.

They held each other tighter, a quiet vow forged in the shadow of uncertainty.

Jay took the stand, hand raised, voice steady as he was sworn in.

The courtroom held its breath—until the CPD counsel rose abruptly, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Your Honor,” he began smoothly, “the prosecution was made aware, thanks to Detective Hailey Upton's diligence, of a prior engagement between Detective Halstead and Ms. McDavid.”

He paused, letting the weight of the revelation settle. “Given this, alongside the longstanding animosity between Sergeant Voight and Mr. McDavid, we must question the impartiality of this testimony. It appears this is less about justice and more about personal vendettas.”

Whispers filled the room.

Aria’s heart sank. This had been a trap laid weeks ago — Hailey had quietly passed the engagement details to the CPD counsel, who had patiently waited for this exact moment to blindside them both.

Jay’s eyes flicked to Aria’s, a flicker of frustration and hurt there. She clenched her fists, knowing this wasn’t just about the trial anymore — it was a twisted game to get under their skin.

The courtroom seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with expectation and old wounds barely covered. Jay Halstead sat rigid, his jaw tight, eyes flicking once toward Aria before fixing ahead. The weight between them was almost physical—years of memories tangled with pain, betrayal, and what-ifs, all swirling in that sterile space.

The CPD counsel rose smoothly, breaking the silence like a sharp knife.

“Detective Halstead, please describe your role in the investigation of Carlos Lopez.” His voice was polite but cold, carefully calibrated.

Jay cleared his throat. “I responded to the scene after reports of a shooting. I assisted with securing the area and gathering witness statements.”

Carlos Lopez—the bakery owner, with a family, facing the impossible charge of shooting a police officer—had been Aria’s first client, years ago, when she was still just finding her footing as a lawyer. She knew the truth: Carlos was innocent. The real threat was the tangled web of bias and power closing in.

The CPD counsel’s gaze hardened. “You’ve been known to clash with Sergeant Voight over his... unconventional methods. Would you say that’s accurate?”

Jay’s voice didn’t waver. “We don’t always see eye to eye. But I respect his commitment to the job.”

A flicker of something—regret, maybe—passed in his eyes as they met Aria’s for a fraction of a second before he looked away.

The counsel pressed harder. “And your prior engagement to Aria McDavid—does that complicate your judgment in this case?”

Jay’s hand clenched the edge of the witness stand. “My personal history has no bearing on my duties as a detective.”

There was a charged silence.

The counsel leaned in slightly. “The McDavid family has long held disdain for Sergeant Voight. Arthur McDavid’s influence is well known. Do you believe this case is being used as a personal vendetta?”

Jay’s voice dropped, heavy with contained frustration. “I’m not here to speculate on politics or family grudges.”

Across the courtroom, Aria’s heart hammered—memories of better days crashing into the cold reality. The way he’d looked at her once—full of quiet promises and unspoken dreams—felt like a ghost haunting this room. Now, they were forced into roles neither wanted, pretending the cracks didn’t show.

When it was her turn, Aria rose, every step deliberate. Her voice was calm but resolute.

“Detective Halstead, in your experience, do Sergeant Voight’s tactics sometimes cross ethical or legal boundaries?”

Jay’s eyes met hers, and for a moment the courtroom seemed to disappear. He hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Sometimes. His methods are aggressive—maybe too much. But he believes it’s necessary to keep people safe.”

She pressed on. “Have you witnessed him target individuals unfairly, based on their race or background?”

Jay swallowed. “There have been times... actions that made me uncomfortable, especially toward minority communities.”

Aria’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do you believe that bias has influenced the investigation into Carlos Lopez?”

He looked down briefly before meeting her eyes again. “There are factors that need deeper scrutiny. Bias can be hard to see, but it’s there.”

The words hung between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Aria closed her notebook. “No further questions.”

Behind her, Ellis’s voice was barely audible, a sharp warning: “You pivot this case right, or I’m pulling you. Your father will be sitting next to me.”

Her hands trembled just slightly, but she nodded. This was far from over.

The verdict came quietly but carried the weight of thunder.

“Not guilty.”

The words echoed through the courtroom, disbelief and relief mingling in the air. Carlos Lopez, the man Aria had fought for from the start, was free.

But freedom felt hollow.

The real killer—a disgruntled confidential informant from narcotics, the one whose bitterness festered into violence—had slipped through cracks in the system. The officers had known, yet the case had become a battleground far bigger than the truth.

Jay and Aria sat opposite each other, the buzz of the courtroom fading to a murmur. Their eyes met, and everything unsaid hung there: the sleepless nights, the whispered apologies, the fractures left raw by this trial.

They both knew this case had marked them—not just professionally but personally. It had torn open old wounds and exposed every fragile piece of what once was.

Still, stubborn as ever, their love lingered beneath the surface, unspoken but undeniable.

Jay’s voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke that evening, “We’re in deep, Aria.”

She met his gaze, her own voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope. “Maybe. But we’re not done. Not yet.”

In that soft exchange, amidst the chaos and the scars, one truth remained clear: no matter how far the world pushed them apart, they still fought to hold onto each other.

Because some bonds—broken, battered, and bruised—refuse to fade.

They say if you love something, you set it free. It’ll find its way back in the end.

Even in the darkest hours, light breaks through— shining down on the land, on its people.

You just have to give it time.

And so, the love that Aria set free all those years ago - did in fact, find its way back to her.

Strong - steady - unwavering.

Even through her darkest months, following the court case, navigating the ending of her professional relationship with her father & uncle - light broke through.

The light that was once in her life - Jay, came back with fierce and bright- lighting up her days, as they fell into step, side by side.

All they needed was time - and time, was finally on their side.

#jay halstead blurb #jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x oc #one chicago blurb #one Chicago #one chicago fic #chicago pd #chicago pd blurb #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd fic #hank voight #jesse lee soffer #hailey upton #adam ruzek #equallyshaw masterlist #⚘ anna writes

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equallyshaw · 27 days ago

Text

jay halstead masterlist. | main masterlist.

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gun to my head, heart in his hands. - fic.

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invisible string. - fic.

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even after everything - fic.

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+ more to come!

#jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead blurb #equallyshaw masterlist #⚘ anna writes #chicago pd #chicago pd fic #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd blurb #one chicago #one chicago fic #one chicago blurb

13 notes · View notes

equallyshaw · 27 days ago

Text

Gun to My Head, Heart in His Hands | Jay Halstead

warnings: kidnapping. w.c: 6.0K masterlist. |

8 days. Millie had been trapped here for eight days. No escape. No strength left to fight back. No proof anyone was coming.

She wasn’t a cop built for battle. Not muscle. Not a weapon. She was the “book”—the “shrink.” The one who barely scraped through the academy, who talked her way into Intelligence with words instead of bullets.

Why would they come looking for her?

Why would he?

Jay Halstead. The man who could read a room in seconds but never once looked at her long enough to see her. The man who got under her skin faster than trauma ever had. Who held her at arm’s length like she was a liability—only to pull her close, just to walk away again.

He hadn’t stood up for her. Not when it counted. Not when the team had laughed. Not when she needed him to speak, to see.

She’d swallowed the humiliation. Tasted metal when she bit her tongue. Pride bleeding out between her teeth.

I hope I die before I lose myself.

Because if she broke in here, no one would care enough to find the pieces.

She wasn’t the hero. Just a file clerk in a bulletproof vest. A body behind a desk.

No guts. No glory.

Some of us are the ones that should’ve gotten away.

And maybe she was one of them. Not the one who mattered. Not to him. Not to anyone.

—

Her head throbbed as she woke on a cold, concrete floor in some desolate warehouse on the far South Side—right at the edge of the city limits. Her mouth tasted like metal—her own blood—slowly clotting after his elbow had collided with her jaw. No break, thankfully. But a dull, persistent ache lingered.

Her eyes cracked open, adjusting to the dim surroundings and the absence of… well, anything.

As the conditions came into focus, her eyes widened. She looked down at her body, searching for trauma. Just dried blood on her shirt—presumably from her mouth. And then she remembered—the way her head had snapped back, then righted itself. Whiplash.

Millie shuddered as her hand drifted to her temple, brushing against more dried blood. Tears burned her eyes at the swelling beneath—a definite bruise.

She bit down. Hard. She knew better. Better than to cry. Better than to scream. Better than to beg.

They couldn’t know they’d gotten to her. They had to think she was broken. Maybe then… maybe then she could escape.

She coughed into her arm—force of habit—just before the screech of the metal door sliced through the silence.

He stepped in.

That face. It had haunted her nightmares for years. He grinned. A devil’s grin wrapped in sugar.

“Hi, Millie. Been a while, huh?” he said, settling into a wooden chair in the corner.

It took everything in her not to respond. Not to give him the satisfaction. But if she was honest—she’d wanted to kill him the second he stepped through that door.

The man who stole everything from her. Maybe now was her time. Maybe now she’d rise to the occasion—guts and glory.

He tsked. “Aw, sweetie, don’t remember me? You’re breaking my heart.” He placed a mocking hand over his chest.

She rolled her eyes.

He chuckled. “You pretending not to feel anything? That shrink-mind bullshit isn’t gonna work on me, baby.”

His voice dripped with venomous sweetness, and it turned her stomach.

“What would your father say, hmm? What would Marcus—”

“Don’t you dare bring him up,” she snapped. “Don’t you dare say his name, Martin.”

His grin didn’t falter. “Or what, baby? Hmm? What?”

She shook her head, lips curling into a snarl.

“You don’t get to say his name. Not after what you did. Not after you murdered your own partner. My father.”

Her voice shook. Wobbled. He just smiled.

“You knew it was me that night,” she whispered. “You knew he was taking me to that father-daughter dance. You knew exactly who I was—what I meant to him—and you still put a bullet in his head and made it look like suicide.”

He blinked once. Slow. Calculated. Smug silence filled the room.

“He trusted you,” she spat. “Like a damn brother. And you covered it up. You made him look unstable. Left him with the weight of your crimes—and a bullet in his brain.”

Martin leaned back, comfortable in his lie. “The department bought it. You know why? Because he was spiraling. I just gave them the ending they were already expecting.”

“You staged it,” she growled. “You made it real. And you kept going. Still on the force. Still undercover. Still playing the good guy—while you rot inside.”

He stood slowly, pacing. “Don’t pretend you’re clean in all this.”

His voice was sharp now.

“You were ready to burn the whole thing down just to prove a point.”

Silence. Then a sigh—low and bitter.

“But that’s what they don’t get about you.”

He glanced at her.

“The others... they think you’re soft. Safe. Just some desk jockey who’s in over her head.” A pause. Longer this time. “They don’t see the fire in your blood. The fire behind your eyes.” He stepped closer, voice quieter.

“The same fire your father had. The kind that doesn’t die—it kills.”

He smirked. “I bet it’s the same fire Hank Voight has, hmm?”

She snarled.

“But they don’t know that. They don’t know how twisted you really are, do they, baby? Should we take a peek at your Med file?”

He reached into her bag, pulling out a stack of stolen case files.

“Oh yeah—these are golden. The entire Intelligence team, huh? Why, baby? Why do you have your own personal file cabinet on them… and yourself?”

He stepped closer, faces inches apart.

“Planning to play their game—or rewrite the rules?”

Then he pulled back, flipping open her file.

“Defiance. Fighting. Swearing. Threats. Dumpster fire...” he read. “And oh, yes—the gun incident.”

He paused. Looked at her.

“And my favorite one of all: your childhood cat.” He raised a brow. “You told me about her once. Third grade. White, with one black paw. You cried when she died. I remember.”

Shame. Guilt. Rage. It all flooded her at once. If he didn’t shut up, she was going to vomit.

“They don’t know, right? That your father covered for you?” He flipped another page.

“Family cat found dead in the backyard. Cause: blunt force trauma. Millie claimed the cat was ‘sick’ and ‘wouldn’t stop screaming.’ Said she ‘just wanted it to stop.’ Psych eval noted emotional detachment and a desire for control. When asked why she didn’t tell anyone, she said: ‘They wouldn’t have done anything.’ File sealed by Det. [REDACTED] following mother’s death.”

He shut the folder gently and laid it on the stack, smiling like the devil.

Tears burned behind her eyes.

He made it sound like a horror show. But he wasn’t there. He didn’t hear the screams every night—the animal, not her mother, though both haunted her room. The cat was dying. Millie had begged her father to take it to the vet, but they couldn’t afford another bill.

She didn’t know how to help. She was twelve. She panicked. And afterward, she never stopped feeling like a monster.

Her psych eval showed a paradox: a natural counselor who scored high on sensation-seeking and had a defiant streak that refused to back down, no matter the cost. She wasn’t reckless. But she wasn’t afraid of risk either.

"Your thinking doesn’t always align with what’s expected," the evaluator had said. "It’s not the norm—some might even say it’s dangerous. But there’s intent behind it. Compassion. A refusal to let others suffer when you believe there’s another way."

And Hank... he’d seen it early, hadn’t he? Back when she was just a kid, when he’d stop by for late dinners and midnight drinks, listening to the proud, worried stories her father told.

Tales of what she’d gotten into. The messes. The moments. The way she already saw the world bending at the seams—and tried to hold it together with both hands.

And now—he saw that spirit tenfold. Quieter. Sharper. Calculated. He saw it in the way her mind still worked like clockwork, always five steps ahead. Always watching. Always trying to save someone from the fire.

“You think no one noticed your late-night hangouts? What? He fucked you and ghosted you?”

“STOP!” she screamed, hands flying to her ears.

They hadn’t hooked up. They were just close friends. But she didn’t know why Jay had started pulling away. Their pizza nights. Their coffees. Their long walks after tense cases. All of it had slowed—then stopped.

The shoulder she used to lean on was gone.

Did he know?

Martin chuckled and walked toward the metal door.

“Think it over, baby. I’ll be back.”

The door clanged shut.

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Tears fell. Her body trembled.

Was she the reason Jay disappeared?

Or worse—was he next?

day two.

Gods, her body ached. It felt like death—fire in her veins, every limb breaking at the seams.

Martin had already been in that day. Said he had to go on patrol, promised he’d be back before midnight.

He always knew what buttons to press. How to twist grief into guilt, guilt into shame. That was Martin’s superpower: redefining reality until you questioned whether you were ever good in the first place.

That’s what her father had loved about him. When he still had a grip on reality. Before the cancer made him cruel. Before bitterness swallowed the man who used to braid her hair and make up songs to stop her tears.

She’d spent years in grief counseling after her mother died. Spent even longer learning to name her feelings instead of running from them. But trauma doesn’t evaporate. It lingers. Lurks. And in moments like this—abandoned, bloodied, betrayed—it surged as if it had never left.

And yet, she was still here. Tied up in metal chains. Cold concrete beneath her—hard, unforgiving.

Exactly what she was.

Martin had brought up Jay again. His file. The one she had been working on, for her own files. He mentioned what Jay clearly meant to her—the late-night hugs, the hand-holds outside their respective places when he’d been following her.

That didn’t surprise her. Of course, Martin had been planning something. He was always the planner. Her dad had always been the muscle.

Her mind drifted to the first time she saw Jay.

She’d just graduated from the academy a week prior—barely scraped by—and was partnered with Sean Roman at the Twenty-First Precinct.

Trudy had made some sarcastic comment that bit deeper than intended. Something about how fun it’d be to watch Millie on patrol for a day before she quit the force.

But Millie didn’t give her the satisfaction.

Sure, she was a bit reckless. She knew that.

She and Roman were called to a stakeout that spiraled into an ambush—guns drawn, nerves fried—when Hailey was pulled into a chokehold, a knife pressed to her throat.

God, Millie had been such a fool. Reckless. Dangerous. Timid. Naive. Dumb, they’d called her.

She lowered her gun to the floor. Stepped slowly past the officers pressed against hallway walls and doorframes, toward the man holding Hailey—who was panting in panic.

“Hey, man. I promise they won’t do anything,” she began, stepping between Jay and Hank, who stood at the front.

She raised her arms. “You don’t think I understand how you feel? You think you’re the only one backed into a corner, no way out, no one coming to help? Think again.”

The suspect’s eyes darted, pupils blown wide with desperation. His grip on the blade tightened.

Millie didn’t flinch.

“You don’t think I know what it’s like to lose a parent?” she continued, voice calm. “To lose someone you love? Especially at the hands of a cop?”

The room shifted. The unit exchanged glances. Rookie or not—what the hell was she saying?

But Hank… Hank knew. He knew who she was. And in that moment, he began to suspect what had happened.

“If you want to hurt someone to make them feel what you’re feeling—take me.” Her voice cracked, just barely. “I can handle it. I promise. You want someone who might actually feel it with you? You’re looking at her.”

Silence.

She took a step closer. “But ask yourself this: Do you want to die… or are you just tired of surviving?”

Her eyes locked with the assailant’s. They both started to cry.

He pulled Hailey to the ground gently, and Millie knelt beside them.

“Let us help you,” she said softly. “You don’t want to do this, Julio. I promise.”

“Give me the knife, Julio. I promise—you’ll get the help you need.”

Then, with a hint of sarcasm: “If you hurt me, I will be very hurt.”

She reached for the knife. Julio’s hands trembled as he passed it to her.

Julio gave it up.

Hailey sagged, backing away. Jay moved quickly to catch her. His eyes never left Millie. Antonio and Adam swept in, cuffing him and taking him out the back door.

Millie had been reckless. Yes. Dangerous. But she’d proven herself.

She wasn’t the muscle. She was the brains—with enough nerve to stare down a criminal without blinking.

She walked out beside Roman, who nudged her shoulder. “Not bad, Shrink,” he muttered.

Jay caught that. So did Kim.

Millie rolled her eyes. She hated that nickname. “Hm,” she grunted.

“Good job back there, officer—” Jay started, then paused when she smiled. “Evans. Officer Evans.”

She looked to Roman. “We call her Shrink because she’s a doctor of psychology,” he teased.

A doctor.

She grimaced, sighing. “Have a good day, officers,” she said, eyes flicking between Jay and Kim, then lingering on Jay.

And then she turned, walking back to the patrol car. Jay watched as she seemed to shrink into herself—Roman’s words gnawing at her.

Curiosity gnawed at him, too.

Until the day she joined Intelligence as their book and brains. That was the day Hank Voight finally recognized her—not as the new asset, but as the daughter of an old friend.

She was no longer the child he once knew. She no longer went by Murphy.

She went by Evans now.

A shield. A separation. A choice born from survival.

Martin had been at psychological warfare for six hours now — beating her, kicking her ribs, yanking the chains on her wrists until they were bloody and raw.

But the worst damage wasn't physical.

He poisoned her mind.

Told her her father never loved her. That she was a problem — too much. Whispered what the Intelligence Unit really thought of her, what they were doing right now — drinking at Molly’s without a care in the world. Twisted Jay’s silence into betrayal.

And then he rewrote the night her father died.

Swore it wasn’t suicide. Swore Hank killed him.

And the worst part?

She believed him.

Millie was rotting from the inside out. Five days of fighting — every manipulation, every trick — and now?

She was too weak. Too dehydrated. Too starved. And her mind? Clawing at the edge, desperate for one truth to hold onto.

“What is it? Can’t handle the truth? Maybee you were boring? Predictable? Calculated? Unlovable?”

He laughed.

And maybe... Maybe she was.

She sagged in the chair, pain radiating through every inch of her. The chains clinked as her arms dangled, metal embedded into her skin like a second skeleton.

Then one last blow. He struck the back of her head.

Everything went black.

A fucking game. All of it. Twisted. Rehearsed.

Millie’s body shut down. Her subconscious retreated into the only safe space left: Memory.

A Month Earlier.

Jay had been over at her place in the Loop. They’d ordered two pizzas — her deep dish, his tavern-style — and were sharing red wine.

They hadn’t spent time together in weeks.

Jay had been quiet. Off. Not the steady Jay she knew.

Even at work, he'd been distant. Dodging calls. Leaving her out of conversations. Not obvious — just enough to make her question everything.

Now they were on her couch, laughing over Adam and Kevin’s antics. They’d just closed a fifteen-year-old kidnapping case. The motive?

Revenge.

Millie’s smile faded. The case felt too familiar. Like her childhood. Like her father’s death.

Jay noticed and tapped her knee.

“You okay?”

She nodded faintly.

“Yeah… just a long week.”

She set her plate down.

“Thanks for staying this week. The case... it brought everything back. I felt fifteen again. The night my dad died.”

Jay blinked. She’d never told him this.

“You don’t think it was suicide?”

She shook her head.

“No. I was upstairs. Just a few rooms away. And something’s never added up.”

He listened, silent.

“He was undercover. He told Hank and Al — if something happened, it wouldn’t be an accident. Martin, his partner, said grief drove him to do it. Said I was too much. A problem child.”

She laughed bitterly.

“I wasn’t. My dad loved me. But they closed the case. No one believed him. They thought Hank was covering his ass.”

Jay’s chest tightened.

He remembered her outside interrogation the other day — broken, shaken. He’d pulled her in, wordless, held her as she sobbed.

She remembered too — and regretted it.

“You must think I’m weak,” she said, grabbing her wine and standing.

Jay caught her wrist.

Their eyes met.

“Never,” he said. Steady. Certain.

She gave him a faint smile, then walked into the kitchen.

Jay stayed seated. That’s when he saw it — the edge of a manila folder in her tote.

He hesitated, then reached for it.

Marcus Murphy. Her father.

Inside: the case file. Her notes. Theories. Questions. Accusations. Voight. Al. Martin. All annotated.

At the bottom: a photo. Millie at fifteen. Fierce eyes. Forced smile.

Present Day.

Jay bolted upright.

“Voight! We need to check Millie’s. There’s a file. Evidence. I saw it.”

Her apartment.

The living room was a crime board. A detective’s mind mapped out in red string and Post-Its.

Photos. Notes. Maps. Profiles.

Martin — DANGER.

A “Suspects” section: only one name in red.

HANK VOIGHT —What they all said.

Jay’s breath caught.

On the mantle: the folder. Waiting.

Pinned above it:

He has me. Jay — You saw it. You read between the lines. You saw the fear in my eyes. You know why I left the room. Why I left it here. I left a trail because you always saw me clearly. Don’t look for him. But take him down when he shows. — Millie

It wasn’t just a trail. It was a lifeline.

__ day eight.

3:43 PM. Millie called.

Jay tore off his headset. “Trace it. South Side. Industrial block. Near the old slaughterhouse.”

Voight didn’t move. His eyes were locked on the ringing line.

“Line two,” the desk sergeant said. “They say they're Millie.”

Voight grabbed it. “Voight.”

Static. Then her voice, broken:

“Hank?” “Please—don’t come after me. Don’t come after him.”

“Millie? Are you hurt?”

��Chained to a wall. Listening to him whisper how horrible you are as a human being.”

“We’re coming.”

“No. That’s what he wants. I have to be the shield, Hank. To protect you.”

A beat.

“No,” she whispered. “I protected the only one who still gave a damn about him.”

Jay froze. “Her dad…”

Voight already knew.

“Martin murdered him. I was fifteen. Getting ready for a stupid father-daughter dance.”

“He was building a case on you,” she added. “Thought you were dirty.”

“I know.”

“What?”

“I was cleared. Martin wasn’t. I always knew. Your father he-he warned me. Told Al and me about it while undercover.”

“He’s going to kill me, Hank. And I didn’t stop it in time. Didn't stall him long enough.”

“You left a trail. We found it.”

Millie’s voice trembled, almost breaking: “I prayed you’d see me... even if I wasn’t the same — if I changed my name, disappeared... that you wouldn’t forget.”

Jay’s eyes locked on hers, steady and sure. “Never, Millie. I could never forget you.”

A tremble.

“Please don’t let him hurt you. You’re all that's left of him.”

The only one who can keep his memory alive & bring down Martin.

“Millie—”

But the line exploded with noise — footsteps, metal scraping.

“Oh God—he’s coming— I have to go—”

“Millie—!”

A scream. Then silence.

She was out cold.

Martin dragged her limp body across the floor, unhooking her wrists, pulling her into the next room — the one with a ditch filled with glass shards and jagged, rusted blades.

Her unconscious mind spiraled. Memory on loop.

Jay.

She had already fallen for him. In their silences. In the way he made her feel seen — her instincts, her fire, even her doubts.

He told her she kept the team sane. Said they wouldn’t have solved half their cases without her.

But one memory haunted her most.

That day in the joint Narcotics-Intelligence briefing.

Narcotics had sneered at her, mocked her, spit the old nickname like poison: the shrink. They whispered that her father — once the proud head of Narcotics — would be ashamed of her if he were still alive. Barely scraping through the academy. Laughable.

What gutted her wasn’t their cruelty. It was the silence of her own unit.

Not one of them stood up for her.

They let it happen. Watched her burn under the weight of their jeers. Intelligence offered no defense — just tight smiles, awkward chuckles, complicit nods. Even Jay had laughed once, when a nickname landed sharper than intended, as she stumbled through her case briefing, swallowing tears and fury and pride.

She left that meeting ready to walk away. From the badge. From all of it.

Because how could she trust a team to protect her out there, when they wouldn’t even defend her in the room?

Especially Jay.

It tainted her view of him — maybe even cracked the pedestal she’d put him on.

What she didn’t know was this:

Two days later, Voight walked into Narcotics unannounced. No warnings. No pleasantries. He tore them to shreds — every last one. Made it clear Millie was more than capable, more than enough. That she had earned her place, and anyone who said otherwise would answer to him.

Hank had seen her. All of her. Flaws, fears, fire.

And when the time came, he believed — no, knew — she’d rise.

She awoke in the other room, panic instantly rising as her eyes landed on the gun beside her, knives scattered nearby, and a ditch filled with glass shards and jagged, rusted blades.

Her mind raced to the team—knowing they wouldn’t find her in time. Knowing Martin would win, once again.

She thought of the last time she saw them, the last time she heard their voices.

day zero.

Jay had FaceTimed her at Molly’s, Jay had FaceTimed her at her townhouse, urging her to get out for the night. He said she needed a break — She’d said no—buried in timelines and piecing together her dad’s murder.

She had finally cracked the case. Every bit of it.

But Jay’s face had brightened when she picked up. The way his eyes twinkled when she spoke. The way he and the team all said they wanted her there.

Then Jay softened his voice. “We can stop at that French café that just opened down the street... they’re open 24 hours... get crepes on the way home.”

He grinned, teasing, knowing she’d cave at the mention of crepes. She rolled her eyes but glanced down at the manila folder at her feet, and Jay caught her pause.

“Fine. One drink. Then crepes, Halstead,” she giggled.

He saluted playfully. “Scout’s honor, Dr. Evans.”

She smiled. “See you in like an hour—gonna grab the L.”

Jay nodded. “Be safe.”

“Always. Scout’s honor,” she hummed, then hung up—letting the call linger a moment longer, memorizing the curves and nooks of his face. His godforsaken face.

And she thought of her adoration for him, despite the sting of that narcotics meeting—how her heart fluttered at the thought of never seeing him again. Never being near him again. Never finishing that damn kiss he shied away from—the night they had pizza and left the manila folder out for him.

Her gut screamed that something was coming.

She’d made her bed with instinct and knowing.

And Martin was going to force her to lie in it.

She set the case file down on the fireplace and sighed.

Grabbing her black tote, stuffed with photocopies of intelligence files, herself, and related documents, she left the originals safely inside her townhouse.

Then she stepped outside. The gate clicked shut behind her.

And just like that—she vanished.

Millie had barely been conscious for five minutes when his gun pressed to her temple, his arm hooked around her throat—her airway slowly collapsing.

She waited. Pins and needles. For the team to burst in, guns drawn, yelling. A chaotic rescue.

But they weren’t coming.

So she calmed herself. Slipped into the rhythm of years of trauma and shadow work. The practices. The breathing. The stillness.

She pictured the lakefront. Sunrise. Coffee in hand. Chicago humming awake. Her city.

Her breathing steadied. Her mind slowed. Peace—before death.

Maleficent "Millie" Evans stood in the middle of a grimy, dim warehouse, a beam of sunlight slicing through a cracked window and catching on her trembling hands. The metal of the gun at her temple stayed cold. Steady. But it wasn’t the steel that hurt—it was the silence. The silence from the people she called family.

The precinct. Radios humming. Boots on linoleum. The places she never truly belonged. The conversations that died when she entered. The dismissive laughter.

“Soft. The book. The brain.”

At her last narcotics briefing, a few officers had laughed. “Smart enough to stay off the line. Not a real cop.” Even some in Intelligence had smirked.

Jay, too. He never meant it cruelly, she told herself. His teasing about her living far from the team. His jokes about coffee over camaraderie. But maybe—maybe he believed it, too.

She swallowed hard. Bitter tears burning.

They’re not coming.

They don’t love me like I love them.

“You see that?” the kidnapper hissed. “They think you’re nothing. Replaceable. Weak. Nimble. The soft one. The book. That’s what they all called you, right?”

Her breath caught. Her fists clenched until her nails dug into her palms.

I’m useless. I’m not enough. I’m not like them.

She remembered the nights she stayed late. The victims she held until dawn. The files she read until her eyes burned. The training. The effort. The trying.

Still... just a footnote.

Then—movement. A shadow in the corner of her eye.

Hank. Jay.

Voight, jaw like stone. Jay, eyes locked on hers.

A flicker. A flame.

She wouldn’t break.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” she cried to the team, voice tight but sharp.

The negotiator. Always the calm. The steady. Like it was instinct.

The kidnapper’s whisper cut deep, loud enough for them all to hear:

“You’re a fucking coward. Just like your father. You meant nothing. You are nothing. You’ll never be anything.”

She flinched. Grimaced. But no tears.

Just memories. Nightmares. Of laughter behind backs. Of men who questioned her presence.

The book. The one who slipped through.

She no longer looked like the woman Jay had started to love. The one he was going to tell—over crepes, that night.

The night that never came.

Everyone thought she was broken.

The psychologist, shattered.

Let them.

She’d play the part. An actress. The best damn performance of her life. Because she knew: Martin would shrink. Sag. Slip. He always did, when he thought he’d won.

She had rehearsed the line for months:

“I can’t... I can’t keep doing this,” she sobbed, voice cracking with exhaustion. “He’s right. I’m not strong. I’m not like you. I’m not a cop. I just—” her voice hitched, a tear sliding down her cheek, “I just wanted to help people. Understand them. That’s all I ever fucking wanted.”

The gun dug deeper. Her skin clammy. Her breath calm. Her eyes locked forward.

On them.

Shouting echoed.

“Let her go!” “Drop it now!” “Do it and we’ll all walk away!”

And then—

Jay.

“Don’t do anything. Don’t—”

His voice cracked. It cut through her like lightning.

Her body screamed. Wrists bloodied. Knees aching. Eight days. Eight days gone.

And she had believed it.

That they weren’t coming.

That she didn’t matter.

Now?

She stood before them. Half-dead. Bloodied. A noose around her neck.

“If you wanna shoot someone,” she rasped, “shoot me.”

Silence.

She took a raw breath.

“Shoot me. Don’t let him win.”

Her voice cracked. But her eyes scanned them all.

Kevin, furrowed. Kim, trembling. Hailey, pacing.

Voight.

Then—Jay.

She always looked at him the longest.

“Shoot me. Let me die first.”

And then, the kidnapper sneered again.

“You hear that? Nothing. You’re nothing. The soft one. The book. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

She shook her head. Silent tears now.

“Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot—don’t shoot…”

Jay moved.

Voight stopped him with a single arm.

But Millie kept going. Trembling. Collapsing inward.

Then—she felt it.

The shift.

His grip slackened.

Not fear.

Arrogance.

He thinks I’m broken.

Good.

She sagged. Shifted.

He moved to follow.

She struck.

Elbow to gut. Heel to shin. Twist. Downward weight. Wrist locked.

Just like week two in the academy.

The gun fell into her hands.

The team rushed.

Jay sprinted.

Kevin tackled the suspect. Over. Fast.

Jay didn’t stop.

He ripped the gun from her hands. Pulled her in.

“Hey—hey, I got you—�� his voice, a whisper.

She collapsed into him. Sobbing. Shaking.

He held her tight. One arm around her waist. One hand behind her head.

“I got you,” he whispered. “You’re okay. I got you.”

Her fingers curled in his vest like she’d drown without it.

Behind them, chaos. Orders. Cuffs. Rage.

But all she heard was Jay.

“You’re not replaceable.”

She lifted her head. Eyes swollen.

He looked at her like she was everything.

“You hear me?” he said. “You’re not the book. You’re the whole fucking library.”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

For the first time in eight days—

She believed him.

It had been three weeks since her rescue. Twenty-one long days.

She’d spent the first three—seventy-two hours—in a voluntary psychiatric hold. The moment she arrived at the hospital, Dr. Charles Daniels was waiting. They greeted each other like old friends—two professionals who’d been through this before.

She didn’t see Jay during those days. He waited anxiously, counting every hour, every minute, until she was cleared.

And when she was—good luck to anyone who tried to pull her away from him.

They were making up for lost time in every sense. But more than that, he was there to hold her when she cried. To catch her when she slipped back into that dark room in her mind.

Above all, he was there to keep her safe.

He didn’t trust the loop. Didn’t trust the townhouse she rented. Didn’t trust the thought of her being alone.

So without questions or hesitation, he took her home—to his home.

He took time off work just to be with her. To help her breathe, readjust, remember who she was beyond the trauma. To remind her she wasn’t alone.

A week into staying with him, she cracked.

She told him everything—her childhood, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The parts she’d hidden even from herself.

She told him about the offer from Quantico. The Behavioral Analysis Unit—BAU.

He asked if she was seriously considering it.

She told him the truth: she was.

She knew she was meant for more than Intelligence. More than the CPD. Not out of arrogance, but quiet confidence.

And he believed her.

He was proud. Happy for her.

Because if anyone was meant for more—it was her.

It had been four nights now.

Four nights waking tangled in his sheets, his breath warm against the back of her neck, her hand curled instinctively against his chest—like it belonged there. Like she belonged there.

She didn’t fight it anymore.

Neither did he.

They hadn’t said the words aloud, but they didn’t need to. It was in the way his fingers always found hers during movies, how he’d brush her hair behind her ear mid-sentence, how he made sure her favorite coffee was stocked before she even asked.

She’d let herself fall—and this time, she wasn’t catching herself. She didn’t need to. He was there.

This morning was quiet. Soft. The gray light of pre-dawn filtered through the curtains in his bedroom, casting faint lines over the blanket pulled halfway off their tangled bodies.

Millie blinked slowly, adjusting to the stillness. Jay was still asleep, his arm slung lazily around her waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that lulled her even now. She nestled closer for a moment, absorbing the warmth, the safety.

Then—her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She stilled, blinking again. It was early. Too early for anything casual. Carefully, she twisted from Jay’s hold, trying not to wake him as she leaned over and grabbed it.

Unknown number.

But the area code—it was familiar.

She swiped to answer and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Dr. Evans. It’s Agent Hotchner, from the Bureau,” he said, voice steady but gentle.

Her eyes widened.

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” she replied, shifting upright in bed. “How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to check in—see how you’re doing and whether you’ve come to a decision yet. We heard about what happened, and I want you to know, first and foremost, your well-being matters most.”

Her breath caught for a moment. “I’m doing much better now, thank you. I appreciate you reaching out.” She paused, then added, “And about your offer… I’ve thought about it. Right now, there are things I need to take care of here in Chicago. So, for today at least, I’ll have to decline the position in Quantico.”

There was a quiet beat before he responded. “Not a problem at all, Dr. Evans. We’ll keep a desk warm for you in the meantime. And if you’re interested, I know the Chicago office would be lucky to have you.”

A small, genuine smile curled her lips. “I’d love nothing more than that, Agent Hotchner.”

“Excellent. I’ll forward the papers your way. See you soon, Dr. Evans.”

The line clicked off.

Beside her, Jay stirred, his arm still draped over her waist. As he shifted, the brush of his fingers against her skin raised goosebumps.

“Who was that?” he asked, voice rough with sleep as he rubbed his eyes.

“Oh, just an agent from the Bureau,” she said casually, but he gave her a look—half grin, half knowing smirk.

“They offered you a job in Quantico, didn’t they?” he said, sitting up slightly.

She sighed and set her phone on the bedside table. “Yeah. I turned it down. Told them I had unfinished business here. Though... they offered me a spot in the Chicago office.”

Jay’s grin widened. That spark in his eyes lit her stomach on fire.

“The Bureau?” he said, sliding closer. “I always knew you were destined for bigger things, Missy.”

Then he kissed her. One of those deep, molten, heart-shaking kisses that made her toes curl and her insides melt.

When she pulled away just a few inches, she whispered, “Really?” Her voice soft, a flicker of doubt hidden in her words.

He chuckled, eyes lifting like he was thanking the universe. “Oh, most definitely. Clocked it the first day we worked together on the Lion’s case.”

She laughed, the memory flickering across her face.

“But you’re staying here… because of us. Because of me,” he said quietly, reading between every word she hadn’t said.

She arched an eyebrow. “Hmm. Seems my little psychology lessons have finally paid off. Reading between the lies now, are we?”

“Very much,” he murmured, pulling her close again as the white comforter fell over both of them.

Giggles slipped from her lips.

eeeeek -- hope u enjoyed! please like, reblog & comment - id love to hear feedback🫶🏻

#jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead #jay Halstead fic #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead blurb #jesse lee soffer #hank voight #chicago pd #chicago pd fic #chicago pd blurb #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd fanfiction #one chicago #one chicago fic #one chicago blurb #one chicago imagine #equallyshaw masterlist #⚘ anna writes

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equallyshaw · 29 days ago

Text

invisible string. | jay halsted x marine + detective.

word count: 12k warnings: ptsd, trauma, some making out + decade long pining. lol

this story takes over a course of about 10 years, snippets from each meeting. enjoy!

also, im in my pd era rn lol | masterlist.

Years after war shaped them and the city nearly broke them, Pearl Delmar and Jay Halstead remain tethered by something unseen — a thread of gold neither time nor distance could sever. Once partners in Chicago’s Intelligence Unit, their connection ran deeper than badge numbers or battlefield scars. But Pearl left — without a word, without a goodbye — returning ther home of San Diego. . All she left behind was a letter…Over a decade passes, their lives unfolding apart yet circling the same ache. When fate threads them together once more, they’re forced to face what was left unsaid. Love, pain, regret — and the gold tags they now wear for each other, proof of the invisible string that never truly snapped.

Some people call it fate. Others call it timing.

Whatever it was, it had pulled Jay Halstead and Pearl Delmar together like a tether. A near-invisible thread — stretched across time zones, sleepless nights, and unspoken scars. They met not in peace, but in aftermath. Not in calm, but in chaos. Him — the Army sniper turned detective. Her — the Marine turned K-9 handler turned detective with a temper like fire and eyes that never stayed still for long.

They were mismatched. Water and oil. Sand and stone. And yet… they fit.

She made coffee too strong. He left his boots in her hallway. They never talked about what it was — this thing between them — because they didn’t have to. It lived in the space between their shoulders on stakeouts, in the way they moved in sync on raids, in the quiet comfort of her leaning on him when sleep wouldn't come.

They stitched each other back together. One scar, one laugh, one storm at a time.

There were moments that felt like forever. Like maybe this was it. That they'd finally outrun the war inside them.

But not all threads hold forever.

She left. No goodbye. No warning. Just vanished into the sun-scorched sand of the Middle East — again.

Only a single letter for him, left in her wake.

Pearl had seen hell— Hell on Earth, overseas. Her worst deployment yet, and when she finally got a chance to leave, she took it.

This round left more than scars. It left a wound she'd carry for the rest of her life.

She was always running from it, and somehow, it always caught up.

She landed in Chicago—Midway Airport—at 6 a.m. A cold, steel sky greeted her, but it was home.

Her brother, Elliot, and his wife, Jana, stood waiting with flowers and a sign that read: Welcome home.

Pearl’s combat uniform stood out like a sore thumb among the tank tops and flip-flops that dotted the terminal.

Jana beamed, pulling Pearl into a crushing hug, the kind only sisters could give. “You’re really here,” she whispered, kissing Pearl on the temple before stepping aside for Elliot.

He grinned, eyes crinkling, and lifted her clean off the ground in a bear hug. “You’re not carrying that,” he said as he took her bag despite her protests.

Together, they walked to the car.

“We’re celebrating your birthday today!” Jana announced cheerfully.

Pearl sighed. “My birthday was three weeks ago.”

“Big age. Thirty-six,” Elliot muttered, nudging her with a smile.

Jana opened the passenger door with a smirk. “Don’t care. No protests.”

As Elliot pulled onto the expressway, he handed her a sealed envelope.

“CPD left this at the door for you.”

Pearl’s brows furrowed as she opened it. She skimmed the letter: The department was offering her the option to return. Discretionary. No pressure.

She folded the letter, pressed it flat on the dash, and looked out the window.

“Can we stop at the precinct?” she asked softly.

Elliot nodded.

“You talk to anyone since you left?” Jana asked from the back seat.

Pearl sighed. “Kept in touch with one of them. Letters, mostly. Then… they stopped.”

The last letter still lived inside her leather-bound journal. No hint it’d be the final one.

And then, Geneva. A few nights on furlough, spent with her former K-9 unit commander. Old fire rekindled. Quiet. Complicated. And, as always, when they returned to base— Nothing changed.

The precinct hadn’t changed either. Brick walls still held the weight of Prohibition. Same creaky steps. Same ghosts.

“I can drop you off another day, P,” Elliot offered.

She shook her head. “Only way I’ll adjust is by getting back into it. I need normal again.”

“Ten minutes,” she said, stepping out.

Her Apple Watch vibrated. Heart rate: Elevated.

She clutched her green cap, her boots tapping softly across the pavement.

Officers nodded at her as she passed, respectful and curious.

Up the steps—precise, practiced. Marine-like.

As she entered, her eyes landed on Trudy Platt behind the desk. Trudy froze mid-conversation and scoffed.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look what the wind blew in.”

Pearl smirked. “Five Hail Marys for that language, Sergeant Platt.”

The patrolmen stepped aside to let her through.

“Furlough?”

She shook her head. “No. I took a leave of absence for a while.”

Trudy noticed everything—the dark circles, the twitch in her hand, the constant fidgeting. She could see it. Pearl didn’t know how to be a civilian.

Her body knew war. Now, this—this was the new battlefield.

Trudy remembered Pearl’s first day's like it was yesterday. The outburst on the floor. Screaming at her partner. The move upstairs to Intelligence.

Voight loved her fire. Her switch—off until danger was near.

Jay had been frozen. Lindsay had grinned, smacked his arm, and said, "Take notes, Halstead."

Pearl was a handler in every sense—read behavior like a book, thanks to years of training with military psychologists. A tracker. A tactician. Tactical Queen, Lindsay once called her. It stuck.

Pearl had become the unit’s unofficial mom. Always keeping everyone alive. Barely.

Now, she stood here—a shell of that woman. But Trudy knew, deep down, that Pearl belonged back on the force.

“Hank’s upstairs,” Trudy said gently. “I’ll buzz you in.”

She paused. “Still like glazed?”

Pearl nodded.

Trudy winked. “Got a box in the back.”

Pearl climbed the stairs. The soft buzz of the door felt like a defibrillator to her soul.

She paused at the landing—just out of sight.

Cracked her knuckles. Straightened up. Marine mode: activated.

Below, the unit worked like any other day. Paperwork. Phones. No one expected her.

Antonio Dawson looked up first. He saw the boots.

“Sweet Jesus,” he muttered, standing slowly.

Ruzek noticed next. His grin split wide. “The queen has returned!” he shouted.

Heads turned. Hailey squealed. Kim shrieked. Kevin laughed.

Jay Halstead didn’t move. He just stared.

Antonio pulled her into a hug. She hesitated, then melted into it.

Hailey hugged her hard, shaking her like a snow globe.

Ruzek kissed her cheek like always. Kim followed with a quick embrace.

Then:

“Delmar,” came the gravelly voice from the office. Hank Voight.

She met his gaze, eyes wide, unsure.

“Alright, alright, let her breathe,” he said. “Come here.”

As she walked toward him, she passed Jay. Their eyes met—soft and stunned.

In Voight’s office, she jumped slightly as the door clicked shut.

He noticed. Of course, he did.

“You want your old job back?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

She sighed. “It’s like last time. I need something—anything—to help me adjust.”

“To find normal,” he finished.

“Exactly. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t ready, sir.”

He studied her, then stood and extended a hand.

“Alright. See you tomorrow. Eight a.m.”

7 am, Jay thought. Just like before.

She’d been back six months. Six months of readjusting—months that felt like hell on earth. She believed death would be more welcoming, easier, less painful.

Her PTSD was constant, creeping in at the worst moments. There were times she thought she wouldn’t become conscious again—cognizant enough to know right from wrong, left from right.

No one understood. No one truly understood the turmoil, the feeling of being trapped inside your own mind with no escape.

Except Jay.

She and Jay had bonded over PTSD, war stories, and basic training tales when she first arrived on the steps of Chicago.

She’d call late at night, and he’d come running. He’d stop her after work, as they were leaving, asking if she wanted to grab dinner—she’d always say yes. For four years, they became partners in the most platonic way possible.

Sure, at work they were partners, but outside the precinct, within each other's apartment walls—they were comrades, veterans together, the best of kin. They understood each other on a level no one else in the force could. Both knew what it was like to have their minds replay the worst moments of their lives—retraumatizing themselves with death, pain, and anger.

Death of their platoons. Pain of their wounds, both mental and physical. Anger at the war, the daily struggles, and the guilt of not saving their brothers and sisters.

They had met by destiny, by chance.

There was a bond—a love no one could touch. Silent, yet deafeningly loud.

But despite the good, it became poisoned.

Pearl left mid-episode, playing the part of cognizant Pearl, to say goodbye to Hank.

She’d left Jay’s apartment that morning after his nightmare kept him up most of the night. Somehow, she was sucked into her own walking nightmare the minute he finished explaining. She’d left Jay that day softly snoozing, in a rare state of tranquility.

And yet, waking up to an empty bed, cold and folded over—would be forever etched on his mind.

Pearl didn’t show up to work that day—the 24-degree mid-January morning.

She’d been back six months now, trying her goddamn hardest to readjust. But this time, it was different.

She found out why Jay had stopped writing her—he’d found someone.

Natalia. A Chicago-born gal who worked at Chicago Med.

The unit had been at Molly’s when she met Natalia for the first time, and Pearl had to bite back her usual snarky, radioactive remarks—more out of respect for Jay than anything else. Stella pulled her into the firehouse group that night, distracting her from the detective.

Pearl no longer called Jay, suffering in silence, trapped in her own mind. Most nights, she just lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

Then, when the alarm rang, she’d put on the perfect smile and head out for the day.

Despite running on no sleep for at least 48 hours. Running on caffeine and prayers.

But she didn’t show up this morning. The unit was worried. No calls, no texts, no emails—nothing.

Kim mentioned something about her brother and sister-in-law, and people assumed emergency—they’d just found out she was pregnant.

No one knew the purgatory playing out inside Pearl’s Lincoln Park condo.

Glass shattered on the floor. Her mind was hazy. She couldn’t think straight or see clearly.

Her episodes had gotten worse recently—she’d lose her sight for minutes at a time. Thankfully, never on shift. She couldn’t afford to.

She sat against the wall, back to the hallway. The empty red wine bottle lay on the floor beside her. Her hands were cut and dried with blood from the shattered glass. She stared up at the ceiling, silently sobbing, asking why the universe had to bestow such anguish—a badge of dishonor, a mark that would stain her forever.

Pearl opened the Uber app on her phone, needing more drinks. Anything to knock her out for the night. To end this torment.

She stood up, dazed and swaying. Ignoring the dried blood on her feet, she slipped on her Doc Martens over faded blue jeans and threw on an oversized winter coat.

The Uber driver didn’t ask questions, dropping her off at Molly’s.

She stumbled stepping out of the mid-size SUV, slamming the door shut. Her body winced at the sound.

Carefully, she walked inside the bar, making sure she didn’t fall over her own feet.

She didn’t recognize the familiar faces. Didn’t look around. Made a beeline to the bar.

“Hey Delmar, want the usual?” Hermann asked, placing a soft hand on her shoulder as a greeting.

She pulled away, nearly falling off the stool.

“You okay?” Hermann’s voice softened, concern thick in his gaze.

“I just don’t know you—that’s all. But can I get a whiskey? Neat. Double,” she said, tapping her hands on the wooden bar with a slight demanding edge.

Hermann’s eyes flickered to the intelligence unit watching her from behind, concern mirrored there.

Stella noticed too, making her way over.

“Hey Pearl, how are you?! We’ve missed you around here,” Stella said, flashing her famous warm, inviting smile as she sat beside her.

Pearl’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?” she stuttered.

“Are you feeling okay, P?” Stella asked softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Pearl screamed, pushing away and nearly slipping off the stool—if Stella hadn’t caught her.

Jay knew what this was.

He bolted without a word, grabbing her gently within a few steps.

“Hey—hey—hey, P,” he said softly, turning her toward him so their eyes met.

Pearl’s eyebrows creased in confusion.

“It’s me. It’s me, Jay,” he said softly—and that’s when the dam broke.

Her mouth opened slightly before a trembling hand covered it, anxiety and embarrassment flooding her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered like a mantra, a prayer.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Let’s go.” He slipped an arm around her and led her out the front door.

Jay took her back to his apartment, not trusting that she was of sound mind to go home.

There, he noticed the dried blood on her hands. He grabbed his first aid kit quickly, sitting her down at the kitchen counter.

“First aid Jay—my heart—how could I ever repay you?” she teased weakly.

He chuckled softly.

If she was the mother of the group, he was always first aid Jay—coming in as backup once she confirmed everyone was alive.

They didn’t talk much. She kept apologizing, but he wouldn’t hear it.

He was just grateful she was alive and sitting in front of him.

Then came the sobs, as she came down from her warped sense of reality.

Jay wrapped his arms around her as if no time had passed, just like before.

They fell asleep on his couch, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Yet, when the sun broke through the windows, she was gone.

Only the ghost of her perfume and the faint scent of alcohol wipes were left in her wake.

Six months later.

She’d been with the unit a year now- and a year out of the Marines. For now, at least.

She and Jay passed each other like ghosts of who they used to be. Who they were together. Who they were apart.

Pearl was still falling apart, it seemed. The descent felt endless. And she was terrified that it would be endless.

The unit did their best to comfort her, to offer company, keep her focused and sharp. Some days, that was harder than others.

Today, Pearl sat at her desk, one leg tapping rhythmically beneath her. A grounding trick. Her eyes scanned the file—front and back, twice—when Adam’s voice rang out:

“Oh my god, a puppy!”

Everyone looked up. Everyone except Pearl. She was underlining something when Hank spoke.

“Did someone adopt a mascot and forget to tell me?”

His gruff voice cracked through the air. That’s when Pearl finally looked up.

And her heart dropped. Then soared.

Echo.

Two weeks ago, she’d gotten an email from her old Sergeant—the one she spent too much time with in Geneva. The message was brief: Her partner, Echo, was up for retirement.

She’d trained him from day one of K-9. He’d been with her on every deployment. A piece of her soul.

And now… she could take him home. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to keep carrying a missing piece of herself everywhere she went.

“Echo,” she whispered, tears immediately welling.

Echo cried out too—eager, electric, tail thudding against the tile as he waited for the go-ahead.

One nod.

That’s all it took.

He barreled toward her, and Pearl dropped to her knees just in time to catch him.

His tongue found her cheeks immediately—one year of separation and sorrow swept away in licks and laughter.

“Guter Junge,” she whispered in German through giggles. “Good boy.”

Everyone in the bullpen was smiling. Jay’s eyes shone with unshed tears.

Echo finally stepped back, sitting without command. Loyal to the bone.

Pearl stood, placing one last kiss on his head, and walked to her former sergeant—her once-lover. She extended her hand.

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

He took it with a kind smile.

“Don’t be a stranger now, Delmar.”

Jay watched the way the man looked at her. Soft. Familiar. Something once intimate still flickering behind his eyes. Jay knew. They all did.

Echo, still alert, locked eyes with Hank. The older man stared back expressionless.

“More of a cat person, Marine,” Hank muttered.

Jay snorted quietly.

Voight cleared his throat.

“How about a little furlough today, Delmar?”

Pearl’s eyes widened. She glanced between Echo and Voight.

“Are you sure?” she asked, hesitantly.

Voight nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.

“You two deserve it. We’ve got it covered.”

Pearl exhaled her gratitude, gathered her things, and clipped Echo’s leather leash with practiced ease. She moved quickly, walking out of the bullpen like she had a mission again.

Jay watched her go.

And he hoped—God, he prayed— that this was the start of her next chapter.

One month later, she had her worst PTSD episode yet—at work, at least.

They were moving on a warehouse on the Southside when it hit—a bang of metal clanging sharp and sudden through the air.

She was going in with Voight, a few steps behind him, when it happened. They passed right outside a door when her breathing quickened, her mind shifting to automatic like a trigger pulled without thought. There was no going back, not for a while. Her mind blanked, her hearing dulled, and her vision vanished—gone for the moment.

She cried out, sobbing instantly, bracing herself against the cold brick wall. Voight was mid-sentence, barking orders when she started to go down. He caught her just in time, lowering her to the ground.

“Go in, go in! I’m staying back,” Voight ordered.

“Stay with me, Delmar.” His voice was firm as he held her, slapping her face—not hard, but enough to shock her back.

Her eyes flickered uncontrollably, tears streaming down.

“I can’t see! I can’t see, Voight!” she sobbed. He stopped, his hands steadying her face.

“Officer down. I repeat, officer down. Need an ambo at 3211 South Belmont Avenue, now!” Voight barked into his radio.

Jay, across the building, took off running. He ignored Antonio screaming after him.

He knew what was happening.

He was all gut. She was all pattern.

“Stay back, Halstead!” Voight yelled into the radio, but Jay was already in sight.

Pearl clutched Voight’s arms like a lifeline—something to anchor her to this world.

“My eyes!” she shrieked as Jay closed in.

Voight’s face betrayed his terror. Big, bad Hank Voight, shaken to his core.

“I said stay back!” he yelled at Jay.

But Jay didn’t answer. His hands found her cheeks, steadying her.

“Pearl!” His voice cracked with panic.

“I told you to stay back, goddammit!” Voight yelled again.

Jay locked eyes with him. “I’m not leaving her. You can’t ask me to do that.” he snapped.

Voight was stunned, silenced.

Unfortunately, Jay’s radio was on. Everyone heard it as the ambulance rolled up.

Pearl curled into Jay’s side. His demeanor softened; he whispered to her, promising it would be okay.

Then she was ripped from his arms, Brett and Mikami pulling her onto the gurney with Voight’s help.

When Jay pushed to go with her, Voight held him back.

“We have a job to finish,” Voight said. Jay stayed behind.

That moment would be a mark on their relationship from then on.

Because the last look on her face would forever be stitched into Jay’s soul.

Standing there, helpless, without the freedom to act—feeling like he was back in uniform, thousands of miles away across the ocean.

Forever trapped in that torment.

Unable to save the girl he’d loved for far too long.

Unable to protect her from the mind that threatened to consume her—once and for all.

He never saw her again after that—well, not for a few years.

The last image he carried, one that haunted his nightmares in every variation imaginable, was of her in pain. Mental anguish. Being ripped from his arms, her mind spiraling, while he was ordered to stand down and stay back.

In that moment, he felt like he was back in the Army—taking orders from a sergeant and forced to obey. He’d forgotten what that helplessness felt like.

Depleting. Deafening. And, honestly, it broke him.

Pearl was sent back to San Diego three days later, to her childhood home on Mission Beach. Her parents took her in. She quit the force, passing word through Trudy once she was lucid enough to form the words. She called her brother and sister-in-law to pack her a couple of bags and bring Echo to the hospital. Pearl was leaving Chicago—for good, she hoped. It had always been a stopover, never the final destination. Whatever that destination was.

That first night home, Pearl finally slept. Soundly. For the first time in months.

Echo curled beside her, breathing easier as he recognized her once-familiar rhythm. The waves outside her window sang her to sleep, and she didn’t wake for 14 hours.

Without much thought, she slipped on her gym shoes, grabbed her headphones, and walked Echo down to the beach. The sun kissed her skin, warm and soft, like a quiet baptism. She smiled up at the sky and let herself be washed in its gold.

Later, she sat in the sand, pulling Echo close for a quick photo. Her sleeves were rolled up on a white flannel shirt, worn over blue jean shorts that looked like they’d seen better days. Her well-loved California rainbow sandals peeked out at the bottom of the frame. And her smile—genuine and wide—was something she hadn’t worn in a long time.

A week later, she pulled out her tried-and-true blank stationery cards.

Dear Jay, There will never be enough words to explain how sorry I am for leaving again—without saying goodbye. I just want you to know: I’m okay. I’m safe. I’m well-rested. And I finally got my açaí bowl... and my Spanish coffee.

She smiled at the memory—Jay showing up at random hours, hands full with bowls packed with oats, cocoa nibs, granola, fruit, and cinnamon. She always muttered “Bless your heart” under her breath as a joke. He’d roll his eyes, then show up later with coffee mid-shift to make sure she was caffeinated enough to fight back the exhaustion eating at her soul.

Please know that I’m alright, and I’ll write again soon.— Pearl

P.S. Here’s a shell—I picked it up on my first walk with Echo. My dad used to say seashells are the way to someone’s soul. That if you hold one close, it remembers something for you. A feeling. A person. A moment. I thought maybe this one could remember something for you too. Maybe peace. Maybe hope. Or maybe just the sound of the sea when things get too loud.

She also slipped in the photo from her first day back—the smile he hadn’t seen since before. Before deployment. Before the weight of the world took hold.

Before everything changed.

Jay and Pearl wrote to each other for the next two years, filling each other in on civilian life. The good, the bad, the ugly — you name it, they shared it all.

Jay confessed that even after more than ten years out of the Army, he still struggled. He wrestled with adjusting to civilian life, haunted by the fact that some of his platoon hadn’t been so lucky to make it home.

They talked about the state of the world, politics, the TV shows they binge-watched to distract themselves from nightmares, how she was settling into her new role at the Marine base as a K-9 trainer, how the intelligence unit was doing, and, of course, the everyday mundane things.

Their letters spanned pages, arriving weekly or bi-weekly. Both eagerly anticipated mail time, never knowing if a new letter had come in.

Trudy always wore a knowing smirk when Jay stopped by the front desk, patiently waiting to ask if the mail had arrived that day. She once joked that he should get a job at the post office — to make her life easier.

They shared the heavy realities of the guilt they carried daily, the difficult decisions not to return to active duty. They couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt—knowing they had the rare choice to stay out, a choice most active members never had or would have again.

Another year had passed when Jay told her he was leaving Chicago.

He was reenlisting.

She hadn’t seen it coming.

Pearl had truly believed that after everything—after the trauma, the bloodshed, the rebuilding—Jay Halstead wouldn’t set foot on a base again. Wouldn’t wear the uniform. Wouldn’t walk back into the storm.

But if there was one thing she’d learned about Jay, it was this: he never walked away from a fight if someone still needed saving.

It was such a Jay Halstead thing to do, she supposed.

Still, it didn’t stop the ache in her chest when he said the words. It didn’t quiet the voice in her mind that screamed you could lose him.

Pearl was honest with him. Painfully so. But she was also supportive, because she understood. She understood how it felt to still need the mission, even when the mission had almost broken you.

It took everything in her to not beg him to stay. To not ask him to choose her over duty.

Because she remembered too well the long months where her own uniform had stayed neatly folded in a drawer, and how that reality had gnawed at her every day.

It ate her alive—this knowing she wasn’t on the field anymore, that she wasn’t out there making a difference. She carried guilt like armor.

But the only thing that had kept her grounded—kept her alive—was Jay.

So she let him go. With grace. With faith.

Before he left, she pressed her hands to his chest and promised she’d be praying to the stars for his safety. She told him she loved him. And that Echo would remind him, in his own stubborn way, to not do anything reckless.

A week later, she received a letter from him—short and simple.

"Scouts honor"

Jay’s letter had arrived twice that week—once on Monday, and again on Friday—just as Pearl was winding down after a long day of housework in her little Oceanside abode.

She furrowed her brows at the unexpected envelope, fingers pausing for only a beat before she carefully tore it open.

Her eyes scanned the words too fast, heart racing ahead of her mind. She had to read it again, slower this time, to make sure she hadn’t imagined it.

He was asking her to meet him in Buenos Aires.

If she could.

Jay knew she was working out of the base in San Diego County. He also knew just how much PTO she’d racked up over the last several months. He told her to bring Echo along, too—said the old boy deserved a trip just as much as they did.

Pearl smiled down at her most faithful companion, who was already watching her with expectant eyes.

“Guess we’re going on a trip, Bear,” she murmured, ruffling his ears with a soft laugh.

Two weeks later, she found herself walking through the cobbled paths of Plaza de Mayo, toward the meeting spot Jay had suggested. Her steps were steady, but her heart was anything but.

Her anxiety was a living thing in her chest — clawing, loud, insistent. What if it was a joke? What if he changed his mind?

Jay didn’t immediately recognize the woman standing in the distance — but he did recognize Echo.

She had her back to him, snapping photos of the square. Echo, ever the soldier at her side, stood tall and focused beside her, alert and loyal as ever.

Jay smiled, already hearing her voice in his head, and called out, “Was worried you wouldn’t show.”

She turned quickly — too quickly — and twisted herself into Echo’s leash.

Jay lunged forward instinctively, his hands gripping her arms as she stumbled, steadying her before she could hit the ground.

A startled laugh escaped her, breathless and slightly embarrassed. His eyes searched hers, scanning for injury — or maybe just confirmation that she was real.

She was. Real, and standing right in front of him.

His hands stayed on her forearms a second too long, reluctant to let go.

“I was worried you would flake on me,” she replied with a crooked grin, sarcasm laced in her tone, “but then I remembered that Army transportation is, what’s the word—ah, yes—notoriously slow and disorganized.”

Jay grinned, eyes crinkling. “Hi to you too, Delmar.” He dropped into a crouch beside Echo.

Echo didn’t hesitate — no sniff test, no hesitation. He leapt into Jay’s chest like he hadn’t seen him in years, tail wagging, tongue out, pure joy radiating from him.

Dogs always knew the good ones.

Jay stood, brushing fur off his jacket. “So. There’s a bar a few blocks that way — killer fish tacos, strong margaritas, and guac that might make you cry.” He nodded back toward the street.

She tilted her head, amused. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did. If I recall correctly, you dragged Dawson up to karaoke right after our last taco night. Gabby too. Severide and Casey had to physically remove you two from the stage so Antonio could finish singing ‘My Heart Will Go On.’”

She groaned, covering her face. “I had the worst hangover the next day. But that night? That was a good one.”

Jay smirked. “Second round tonight?”

She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, Halstead.”

Three margaritas later — stomachs full of tacos, guac, and laughter — Jay walked her and Echo back toward her hotel.

There was something different about her now. A lightness to the way she carried herself. Like a stone had finally rolled off her chest.

“I haven’t had an episode in almost a year,” she shared, voice soft. “My psychiatrist thinks I’m turning a corner. I don’t know what ‘normal’ means anymore... if it ever existed. But this? Days like this? It feels like a start.”

Jay nodded, choosing his words carefully when she asked about his deployment. She didn’t need details. She knew. The weight, the reality of it all — still fresh, still heavy. But she also knew these moments — this sliver of peace — were sacred.

They paused at the steps of her hotel. Echo’s ears perked as a nearby band played, couples spinning in rhythm to a vibrant Mexican love song. She smiled softly, eyes drifting to Jay — who was already watching her.

“Uh—” “I—” They both stumbled, laughing like two idiots caught in something much bigger than them.

She took a breath. “Would you want to come up?”

His gaze flickered away, momentarily guarded. But when his eyes found hers again, something inside him ignited.

He nodded, silent but certain.

She reached out. He took her hand.

Upstairs, she unclipped Echo’s leash, letting him curl up by the window with a full belly and a sleepy huff. The room was quiet, save for the city sounds drifting through the cracked window.

She turned back—and Jay was already moving toward her.

Their kiss was magnetic. All the time, distance, and unspoken feelings pulled tight and finally snapping loose.

What once had been water and oil—now churned together like butter, warm and effortless.

His hands slid up the side of her waist, reverent, familiar, and she helped him peel off her black tank top. They stumbled slightly, laughing against each other’s lips before he scooped her into his arms and tossed her gently over his shoulder.

She shrieked in surprise, half-laughing, half-scolding. “Jay!”

He laid her down carefully on the bed, then hovered just long enough to take her in — every freckle, every scar.

God, she was beautiful.

And it wasn’t just the way she looked. It was the way she was. The way she had laughed earlier. The calm confidence that had slowly replaced the storm in her eyes.

He kissed her again. Slower this time.

They undressed each other without rush — no shame, no fear. Just need. History. Love.

His fingers traced stories written on her skin. Her mouth pressed gratitude into every inch of his.

“I swear to God, Halstead, if you—”

He shut her up with a kiss, hungry and soft.

She gripped his shirt, muttering, “Finally,” and pulled it off, exposing him in the amber glow of the bedside lamp.

He looked like strength personified — but she knew how much of him was stitched together with hope and heartbreak.

And in that moment, as she gazed up at him, something fragile and profound passed between them.

She faltered — just slightly — insecurity flashing in her expression.

Jay saw it. He leaned in, gently shifting her back, slowing them down.

He needed her to know: this wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t just a night.

This was them.

Clothes shed. Breath tangled. Hearts cracked open.

What they shared wasn’t frantic or hurried. It was deliberate. Healing. Sacred.

Their bodies collided with something soft and steady — the rare kind of intimacy born from shared pain and hard-won trust.

He looked at her like she was everything.

And she looked at him like he might be the only thing that ever made sense.

Because they both knew — without saying a word — this was more than they expected. More than they'd let themselves believe.

And that scared them.

Because no one knew what tomorrow held. And nothing in their lives had ever been guaranteed. But this? This moment was real. And for now, it was enough. If there ever was such a thing.

The image of her leaving and walking into the Mexican airport would be etched in his mind for some time. Though their four days together would overshadow that moment, always.

The two of them continued to correspond for the next nine months, when he sent a letter asking her if she would meet him in Rio in three months.

It has been one year since their last trip.

Her mind immediately replayed their last night together. It had been hot, heavy, and emotional.

All these years not confronting or speaking about thoughts or feelings, boiled over.

And yet, none of their letters had touched on any of it.

It was business as usual between them.

Yet, against her judgement, she wanted more.

But Jay was in no position. It wasn't fair for him, she thought, if she had said anything.

Besides, he was aware of her, but not in the way she wanted, she thought.

Rio.

Hot, humid, and full of good tequila.

Her shoulder-length brown hair held soft waves this time—different from her long, cowboy-copper strands of the past. The ash brown had crept back in over the last year, and she welcomed it. She felt like herself again. Finally at home in her own skin, her own story.

Jay stood at the gate, his eyes scanning the crowd, flicking from one traveler to another. His shoulders were tense, a hand resting on the strap of his duffel.

And then he saw her.

There she was—her weekend bag slung over one shoulder, her passport and phone clutched in one hand, a beat-up metal water bottle swinging casually in the other. No rush in her steps. No nerves. Just her.

But Echo was nowhere in sight.

His heart skipped a beat—not the good kind.

“Hi!” she called out with a wide grin, and his fears evaporated as they both moved toward each other, the hug happening naturally—like they hadn’t skipped a beat.

“Hey,” he murmured against her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla and sandalwood. Still her. Always her.

He pulled back slightly, brow quirking as he took in the new hair. “You changed it,” he commented with a small smile, and she giggled, brushing a piece behind her ear.

“It was time,” she replied with a shrug, her smile softening.

He looked over her shoulder. “Where’s Echo?” he asked, already reaching for her bag without needing to be told.

She exhaled, her smile dipping into something gentler. “He’s with my parents for the weekend,” she said, watching his face. “Everything’s okay,” she added quickly when concern flickered in his eyes. “He just... he prefers naps to airplanes these days. He’s earned that right.”

Jay nodded, a smirk curling on his lips. “I’m glad that’s all. He’s a good guy.”

“A very good guy,” she agreed, voice warm as they slid into the car he’d rented.

They drove along the Rio coast, windows down, the breeze tugging strands of hair from her face. The city buzzed around them, music drifting from open-air bars and beachside shacks. Brunch was vibrant—sugar-dusted pastries, eggs with too much chili, and mimosas poured too generously for someone running on adrenaline and not enough sleep.

They hadn’t planned on falling into bed that fast.

But plans were for people with better self-control.

Maybe it was the warmth of Rio. The way it clung to her skin, bringing color to her cheeks and light to her eyes. Maybe it was the way she laughed with her whole chest now, her guard down in a way he hadn’t seen since... before.

Maybe it was the mimosas. Maybe it was muscle memory.

Or maybe it was them.

Pearl hadn’t expected to feel it this intensely again—this magnetism, this fire. She was flirty, bold, unfiltered in a way she hadn’t let herself be in a long time. He responded in kind. One shared glance turned too long, one brush of his hand over hers too soft, too intentional.

The air between them crackled the whole ride back to the hotel.

By the time they reached the door, the tension had built into something that dared them to ignore it.

She fumbled with the keycard. He stood too close behind her.

"You remember which room we're in?" she asked without turning around, voice playful, breath already a little uneven.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her neck. "Only if you're in it."

Her laugh was soft. Nervous. Hopeful.

Inside, the door clicked shut behind them, and—

They hadn’t meant to fall into bed. But the morning sun filtering through gauzy curtains didn’t seem to care.

Pearl stirred first, curled against his chest, the rhythm of his breathing slow and steady beneath her cheek. The sheets were tangled at their waists, the air thick with the scent of skin and last night’s hotel lavender.

She blinked slowly, taking in the curve of his jaw, the faint scar near his collarbone, the dog tag chain still around his neck. Familiar. Sacred. Still hers, in the quietest way. A part of her had always memorized him like this. Just in case.

Jay shifted beneath her, his voice gravel-soft. “You always this cuddly after mimosas?”

Pearl huffed a laugh, her fingertips tracing an idle line over his chest. “Only with people I’ve known in three lifetimes.”

He let that sit for a moment. Then: “I missed this.” His tone wasn’t teasing. “I missed you.”

Pearl’s breath caught, just a bit. “You could’ve said something. Before now.” Slightly teasing.

“I didn’t know how,” he said, eyes meeting hers. “And I guess I thought maybe you were better off. Without… this.”

Him being here. Her being home in San Diego, training puppies. While he was trying to make it home.

“Jay.” Her voice was soft. Too soft. “You were the only thing keeping me breathing some days.”

His hand slid along her spine, grounding them both. “I don’t know what we are anymore. But I never stopped feeling it.”

She nodded, eyes pricking. “Neither did I.”

A beat of silence stretched between them—full of possibility, hesitation, and everything that had gone unsaid.

Then, with a smirk that barely masked the way his voice cracked, he whispered: “So… breakfast?”

Pearl laughed, burying her face in his chest. “God, yes. But you're not getting out of this talk forever.”

“I’d never want to.”

And somehow, even though nothing had been declared… something had been spoken.

They never did, in fact, finish that conversation. But they did spend their afternoons barefoot on the beach, their evenings sipping tequila in hole-in-the-wall dives, and their nights tangled together in that narrow, borrowed bed.

She returned to the beaches of Oceanside unsure of where they stood.

The way he spoke—so openly, so unlike him—meant something. But he was still too unsure to voice what or how he felt. Just like she was.

So they continued as usual. Their correspondents. Their limbo.

Until the phone call came. She never got phone calls.

Jay. Tennessee. Outpatient rehab. Rubble from a bomb. Three to four months. He wanted her there. No—he needed her there.

That night, she had her first nightmare in over three years.

That night, her mind made up for all the slow and steady years lost. Years where nothing shifted. Years she spent trying to feel steady again.

She clutched her dog tags to her chest as Echo curled at her feet, offering what comfort he could. The cold steel kept her grounded—reminded her she was still standing, ten toes down, on this side of the veil.

Her tags meant she was still here. They were still here. They hadn’t been given to someone else.

By sunrise, she and Echo slipped into the airport for a red-eye. Alert. Exhausted. Awake. Coffee and croissants were her only lifeline that morning.

They landed outside of Nashville just after 8 a.m.

Jay was already there. Sling on his arm. Waiting, patient. Waiting for his lifeline. His compass.

His smile stretched wide when he spotted her—and she didn’t hesitate. She picked up her pace, Echo right at her side.

Without a word, they fell into each other’s arms like they’d been doing it for decades. Like it was second nature. Familiar. Home.

Echo sat patiently beside them, smart enough to wait his turn—and wise enough not to jostle the injured shoulder.

The three of them walked out the doors, hand in hand, and straight into the next few months.

Three long months.

The epitome of domestic bliss.

Fresh coffee every morning from a French press. Daily walks through the neighborhood. Fights over how Jay folded his laundry. Him judging her dish-loading skills.

And of course— The unspoken sweetness of sex. Soft, passionate, intoxicating sex.

But they kept pretending it was nothing. No big deal. Just two people… coping.

Except it was everything. It was the first thing on their minds when they woke, and the last thing pressing on them when their heads hit the pillow.

Everyone around them saw it. Something deeper. Something settled. Painfully domestic.

They played the part of partners too well. So well it terrified them.

Because they both knew what came next.

The unknown. War. Death. The possibility Jay wouldn’t escape it again. Wouldn’t outrun it this time.

She’d always said she could never be an armed forces wife. Because she couldn’t live with the thought of losing her partner to war. She had already lost enough of herself to one. She couldn’t imagine losing someone else—especially not the one she was meant to spend her life with.

That’s why there had been Nico McDowell.

Her other sergeant. The one she’d spent too many nights with in Geneva to ever make it anything more.

She always told herself it was just a distraction. A way to be close to someone—intimately, temporarily. Just enough to survive the long months. The endless days of dust, fear, and fire.

So even now, even in domestic bliss with Jay, it all struck a nerve.

Because no matter how good it felt… It reminded her of what could never truly be.

Their last day in Tennessee, Jay invited her to spend a few final days in Savannah, Georgia—his last three days of leave before shipping back out to South America.

They’d overheard a couple raving about it in a restaurant weeks earlier, and after a little digging, Jay had decided it was the place. Quiet, coastal, full of charm. He wanted one last escape before heading back into the chaos. But more than anything, he wanted to spend it with her. Only her.

Pearl had agreed with a smile on her face—the kind of smile she reserved for everyone else. The one that didn’t reach her eyes.

The two of them were a slow, aching unravel. This—whatever this was—was dying, and they were going down with the ship.

After a warm day of wandering through Savannah’s sunlit squares and draping moss-lined paths, they returned to their rented room, where the night was quiet, hushed, and calm. They held each other like they had the night before a mission—full of tenderness, full of fear. It was the calm before the storm.

The next morning, she slipped out early for a run with Echo. Her legs moved through the still streets, but her mind was loud—racing with everything she wouldn’t say.

Back in the kitchen, she made coffee and stirred together some oatmeal, her fingers absently holding her mini gold dog tag like a lifeline.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she and Jay were a ticking time bomb, and that this—this fragile, beautiful thing between them—was one mortar blast away from being obliterated.

Jay padded in, greeting Echo with a gentle rub before the dog nestled beneath the breakfast nook. He stepped up behind Pearl, pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, and reached for a coffee mug beside her hand.

She felt her cheeks warm as his arm wrapped around her waist. She leaned into him slowly, gratefully, grounding herself in his warmth—while the cold press of her dog tag kept her steady.

A compass. A lifeline.

Jay’s gaze dipped down to the delicate chain, brow creasing. “What’s that?” he asked.

Pearl glanced down, then up at him with a faint smile. “My parents had it made when I got back from my fourth tour in 2008,” she said, fingers brushing the tag. “It’s a smaller version of my dog tags. My parents still have the originals back home. I didn’t start wearing it again until this year.”

She turned slightly in his arms, her hands finding the counter’s edge behind her. His eyes held hers, as if searching for more—searching for the part she didn’t say.

He didn’t press her. Instead, he bent his head and kissed her forehead, slow and steady.

That was answer enough. Her silence said everything.

The storm was coming.

They sat on the balcony of the rental, tequila between them, the humid air thick with cicadas and silence.

"You know the Army wouldn’t last a day in a real Marine op," she said, smirking behind her glass.

Jay scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from someone who left her combat boots behind for a K9 training leash.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I still outrank you.”

“Only in sass.”

It started as banter. It always did. But then something shifted.

“They have more structure,” Jay added quietly. “Resources. Stability. Marines burn out by thirty. Army gives you something to come back to.”

“Sure,” she bit back, “if you make it back. Marines might burn out, but at least we don’t pretend we’re built for comfort.”

Jay stiffened. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Choosing comfort?”

She hesitated. “No. I think you’re choosing what's easier.”

"Funny," he said, voice quiet now. “Coming from someone who ran.”

Her breath caught. “I didn’t run.”

“Then what do you call it?”

A long pause. Then she shrugged, falsely casual. “Survival.”

He looked at her then — not angry, just tired. Tired and something else.

“You always do that,” he said. “You wrap the truth in uniforms and old arguments. Like this is about branches or brass. But we both know it’s not.”

She swallowed hard. “Then say what it is about.”

He looked away, down at his hands, the glass, the railing. Anywhere but her. “We wouldn’t survive it. Not really.”

“Because you won’t let us try.”

“Because you won’t stay.”

And just like that, it ended. They didn’t yell. They didn’t cry.

Just silence— The kind of silence that cracked something deep inside.

An hour later, they were tangled in the sheets again. Desperate. Wordless. Pretending it meant nothing.

But it did. God, it did.

She straddled him, both of them drowning in the heat—fueled by everything they wouldn’t say.

Her breath caught as his hand slid up, grazing her chest, not in lust—but searching.

Searching for it.

Her dog tag.

He clutched it, fingers curling around the cool metal like it was a lifeline. A compass. Maybe it was.

And as the morning crept in—sunlight slicing through half-closed blinds— it became exactly that.

A direction. A decision.

When Jay rolled over, reaching for her— she was gone.

No Pearl. No Echo.

Just her dog tag, resting silently on the nightstand.

Her final answer. Her own quiet goodbye.

She’d pulled down the one thing that had been hanging between them since the beginning—something neither of them ever named aloud.

Call it a situationship. But that word felt cheap, when you counted the scars, the sleepless nights, the way they bled into each other.

Whatever it was— it was over.

And her dog tag said what she never would.

Death.

And now, it would take its place next to the seashell and photo- of her and Echo, she had sent years ago.

Somehow, someway, she had made it back to the Windy City—a place she still considered a stopover on the way to her forever home. Wherever that was.

A year had passed.

Which meant she was now forty-six.

She felt old. Exhausted. Behind on life.

But moving back to Chicago offered a quiet kind of solace. She found purpose in helping raise her brother and sister-in-law’s two kids—children she absolutely adored. With the rest of the family back in San Diego, their little crew here felt even more sacred.

She and Jay hadn’t exchanged a single letter since that night in Savannah. She’d cut things off with finality, leaving behind her dog tag.

It was two-fold.

On one hand, it marked the literal death of whatever they were.

On the other, it meant he could still carry a piece of her wherever he went.

Just like she still carried his letters—and the trinkets he’d sent from South America.

But today, she stood tall in her dress blues, dog tags hanging from her neck. Echo by her side. They were being honored, along with over a hundred other service members. Former Marines—now.

After her final deployment, she’d left the door open. Just in case. Even though every return home meant battling a war in her own mind, she always thought—maybe—she’d go back. Back to hell on earth.

But after Jay… she chose something different. She chose retirement.

No longer an active Marine. No longer bound to the battlefield.

It was terrifying.

And yet—here she was, facing the thing that scared her most: letting go.

Sergeant Nico McDowell had just finished his speech. The words held layers, subtle nods only some would catch. Her family heard them. So did the select few friends invited.

When her name was called, she stood with Echo, walking across the stage, saluting McDowell before he pinned the Marine Commendation Medal to her chest.

Then, he handed her a shadow box—an American flag, Echo’s dog tag, and a coin etched with his name, unit, and recognition.

The crowd erupted for Echo—retiring as the only K-9 that day. And let’s face it: people loved dogs.

They turned to take a photo, and she felt it—that unmistakable touch. Nico’s hand on her lower back. Familiar. Habitual. History.

She led Echo off the stage, back to their seats.

An hour later, the hugs poured in—her parents, her brother, his wife, her best friend from basic training back in 2002.

“Oh! Did Elliot tell you?” Brianna asked.

Her brow furrowed.

She didn’t respond. Because that’s when they saw them.

Staff Sergeant Jay Halstead. Sergeant Hank Voight.

No longer Detective Halstead. He lost that title the night she left him.

Now, she acknowledged his rank in the Army. Out of formality.

“Hank?” she asked, just as Echo’s tail wagged furiously at the sight of Jay.

Two South American deployments and three long months in Tennessee had made her favorite guy miss her favorite man.

Well… used to be.

“Couldn’t miss my favorite kid retiring, now could I?” Voight said with a smirk.

She laughed, hugging him one-armed as Echo began to pull forward—eager.

Slightly irritated, she let go of his leash, confident he wouldn’t run.

She was wrong.

Apparently, retirement suited him well.

He bolted, only to stop suddenly—his paws pressing into the thick grass of Millennium Park.

She tilted her head, confused.

Echo stared directly at Nico—the man who brought out the brightest parts of her. He had laid her foundation. The one who made her feel something in the quiet of Geneva nights, in between croissants, espresso, and tangled sheets. He trained her. He built her.

Then Echo turned.

Jay.

He represented what could have been. At one point, maybe even her future. He symbolized all the things she tried to outrun: the military, her vulnerability, her post-war identity. But he also stood for a life after chaos. A life rich in meaning—though shadowed by trauma, PTSD, and anger. He gave her stability when she didn’t even recognize herself. Held her through the dark. Loved her in quiet, steady ways. His letters—his love language.

Her hands clenched at her sides.

Echo looked at her.

Just once.

As if to ask—

Which one do we become now?

It started the moment Jay fell asleep— the familiar, hated nightmare.

Pearl, bleeding out. Echo, nowhere in sight. And him—frozen—unable to reach her before they took her. The devils. The ghosts. Satan himself.

He jolted awake, chest heaving, sweat trickling down his temples and collarbone. The panic surged fast—sharp and suffocating.

His eyes locked on the nightstand. His phone lay next to her dog tag—the one she'd left behind like a ghost of goodbye. He reached for it, fingers curling around the cold metal before snatching up his phone with the other hand.

He called the one contact he thought might still come running.

Might.

After all this time?

Across the city, in Pearl’s apartment, an arm was draped over her waist— warm, familiar. Comfort in the dark.

She and Nico had just drifted off when the phone rang. Her body tensed on instinct.

Always a light sleeper, she blinked herself awake and answered quickly. “Hello?” she murmured, voice raspy from sleep.

On the other end—silence. Then breathing. Shaky. Unsteady. Just enough panic woven in to make her heart stop.

“Jay?” she whispered.

And that was when she knew—she had to go.

Pearl made her way upstairs fast, her boots hitting the stairwell with a heavy, steady rhythm—Marine-like.

Her training kicked in on instinct, like she was searching for a wounded company member. And in many ways… she was.

Her hand paused on the handle of his apartment door before twisting it open. She shook her head with a small grin.

Unlocked. Just like always.

Jay used to say—rarely, but meaningfully—that he liked playing with fire. He liked toying with death and danger. It made him feel comfortable, at home in twisted ways. Like he was back on the battlefield. And for some veterans… that’s the only way to feel at ease.

Her boots hit the wooden floor. She moved toward the bedroom but paused in the hallway. Soft sobs floated from the cracked door.

She shrugged off her jacket, revealing a well-worn knit cardigan, and kicked off her scuffed Doc Martens. His head turned slightly at the sound, his breathing catching for just a second.

She walked in slowly, her knit socks silent on the carpet.

Jay looked up. Their eyes met.

She saw how war-torn he truly was.

New scars—ones she hadn’t seen a year ago. The same man she’d fallen in love with, but worn down by war and violence, re-molded by grief. His eyes were the darkest shade of blue she’d ever seen on him. No light. No peace. Almost black.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was broken, shallow.

Her brows knit, arms crossing tightly over her chest. With a small scoff, she said, “After ten years… that’s what you ask me?”

Ten years of letters. Ten years of hookups. Ten years of circling the conversation they both refused to start.

To finally—once and for all—either come together… Or let it all die.

The thing that had kept them breathing. The thing that had kept them human.

Jay blinked slowly, her words sinking in. Ten years of her. Ten years of them. Flashing in and out like gunfire.

"You’d really think," she continued, voice cracking, "after ten years of me running toward you—toward the chaos, the war inside you—that I wouldn’t come tonight?” Her breath hitched, and tears welled. “You think I’d just sit back while you're in here drowning? You think I’m that cruel?"

“Hey—hey,” he whispered.

He pulled her toward him, between his knees, his hands wrapping around her hips. Her skin lit up like fire beneath the fabric.

She leaned in, her forehead pressing against his. They both exhaled.

Stillness.

His eyes were shut tight.

And in the silence, she felt it. The nightmare. Still playing in his mind. Her, bleeding out. Him, just out of reach.

She pushed him back softly, just a bit, before straddling him, her hands clasping both sides of his face.

His hands found the base of her back, his thumbs hooked around the front of her waist.

"Hey—hey, don’t leave me. Don’t disappear on me," she whispered, brushing her thumbs gently over his cheekbones.

His forehead pressed against her chest, and his arms wrapped around her like he needed her to stay upright. He breathed her in—vanilla and sandalwood—like it was oxygen.

"You’ve spent ten years running from me. I’m not giving up on you just yet, soldier,” she murmured.

He gave a quiet, broken chuckle. “I could say the same thing about you, marine.”

She smiled faintly, but the silence that followed curled at the edges.

Then his voice came, low and sharp. “He was at your place. Nico.”

Her body tensed under his touch.

Jay didn’t look at her. Just stared past her, jaw clenched. “Lucky guess.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “And what, you thought I moved on? That I replaced you with a voice and a uniform?”

His eyes searched hers, torn between wanting to believe and not daring to hope.

“You don’t get to be angry,” she whispered. “Not when we haven’t spoken in a year. Not when you disappeared without a word.”

He swallowed hard, voice thick. “I wasn’t angry because it was him. I was angry because it wasn’t me.”

Her breath caught.

His gaze locked on hers. “I wanted it to be me who answered your calls. Who got to see you walk in wearing that dumb cardigan, still pretending it’s not cold outside. Who got to fight with you, make up with you, fall asleep beside you.”

His hands tightened around her waist. “I know you left that necklace to end things. But I didn’t see it that way. I kept it. I carried it with me—through every base, every rotation, every goddamn firefight. Like a piece of you was with me.”

She stared at him, eyes glassy.

“Jay…”

He stilled, "Because I wanted to tell you in Savannah. I wanted to ask you to wait for me. I was going to — I was ready to give you everything. But you left me. You left me with just your dog tag." he paused, biting the inside of his lip before looking back up at her.

“You said I liked playing with fire,” he murmured, “but you’re the one thing I kept. The only steady thing. Even if you burned me.”

She let out a shaky laugh, hands still on his face.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re the only place I ever wanted to land.”

Then, softer. “Has anyone told you lately that you’re dangerously unpredictable? Like some ghost of the Corps? Always quiet… always slipping through the cracks… always showing up right before I fall apart.”

Her nose scrunched in a quiet laugh through her tears.

“You’re such a liar.”

“Semper Fi,” always faithful, he whispered. “I meant it.”

She grinned, but it dropped quickly, her demeanor turning serious. Stoic.

"Why? Why did you run, Jay? Why did you string me along for so many years? Was I just a placeholder? For the time being? Until you-you, found someone who wasn't broken? Who wasn't running from the never-ending war, in my mind?" She asked softly, voice faltering.

His heart broke, because that was never it.

Jay shook his head, eyebrows furrowing, "Oh god no-never, I-I," He paused as his own voice gave out. He swallowed, taking his time to find the right words.

"You're not broken, Pearl, you've never been broken. I only ran because, I've always believed you deserve someone better- someone who isn't broken. Who doesn't wake up every night, clutching the pillow, afraid his heart is going to give out, who thinks he's never gonna be able to step back from the ledge." He said, his gaze flickering, pulling away, feeling ashamed.

She sniffled, "How about a truce, Mr. Man?," She teased, slight humor in her gaze.

He chuckled softly, "Truce, boss," He grinned.

Pearl smiled, her body sagging just a bit. Her eyes flickered down to his chest, and she saw a faint outline of a necklace or something beneath his grey shirt.

Her eyebrows creased, her gaze never flickering back up, as she slowly traced her hand up towards his neck, he breathed in nervously.

Her hands found the gold necklace, before pulling it through and freeing it.

Pearl gasped, tears brimmed her eyes, as she stared at it.

Her gold dog tag, that she'd left on that damn beside table in Savannah, Geargia.

She opened her mouth, but Jay beat her to it.

His voice was low—steady, but barely.

“I know you left it to end things. To walk away clean.”

He looked up at her then, eyes sharp but soft in a way only she ever saw.

“But I never saw it that way.”

He reached up, brushing his fingers over the tag, still resting against her fingers.

“You left it behind... but I carried it. Carried you. Everywhere I went.”

He swallowed, voice just above a whisper.

“It was never just metal to me, Pearl. It was a piece of you. And I couldn’t let go of that. I didn’t want to.”

She didn't respond; she didn't need to.

Her kiss said all the words she couldn't say or form.

Jay lifted her off him slowly, setting her down gently on her back, and her arm rested near her head, mirroring his other arm on the other side.

His gaze bored into hers before his lips kissed her—soft, slow, like a sacred prayer.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe the same air, his voice dropped to a murmur.

"Has anyone told you that you're the most unpredictable, stubborn, pain-in-the-ass Marine I've ever loved?"

She laughed through her tears, and he smiled.

"You move like a ghost when you want to, sneak into my life like a mission no one sees coming… and every damn time, you leave me wrecked in the best and worst ways.”

He brushed a thumb under her eye.

"But you also show up. When it counts. Like now."

She grinned, pulling him down with such fierce force- their mouths colliding like an animal hunting their prey.

Shortly after, their bodies wrapped up in one another, savoring each other's warmth and presence.

Holding each other like they were heading off for battle tomorrow, but the only battle was their mind this time - and that, that was enough.

It was four months later, and the early sting of May heat poured down on the city. Pearl’s favorite time of year. What made living here worth it. What made the winters survivable.

Her back faced the world as she stared up at the courthouse.

Her blush-blue mid-length dress fluttered in the soft wind of the afternoon. Her cream-colored — pearl — heels shifted every few seconds, fingers clutching a bouquet of peonies and eucalyptus like it was life or death. One hand slipped instinctively to her chest, to the spot beneath the fabric where a small gold dog tag lay — Jay’s.

It steadied her.

"Didn’t think you’d show!" came the unmistakable sass of Jay.

She turned in a single twirl.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in the effortless beauty of his soon-to-be wife.

She smiled — a little nervous, a little self-conscious — before teasing with a sultry grin,

“What, and miss the chance to haunt your nightmares in white lace for the rest of your life?”

His breath caught again.

“Sweet mother of God,” he muttered, eyes refusing to meet hers — because if they did, they might not make it up the steps to get married.

"Besides, army transportation is notoriously slow, remember?" She quipped, and he shook his head with a chuckle.

“Come on, Detective.” She laced her fingers through his, tugging him toward the entrance. As they climbed the steps, he patted his chest — the place where the flower spot held her dog tag. Just double-checking. Again. As if he hadn’t already ten times today.

“You’re late—” Trudy began, pausing to inspect their outfits — or lack thereof. “You’re boring, Halstead.” Then, eyeing Pearl, she added,

“But you look nice.”

Pearl blinked. Trudy never complimented anyone. Jay was about to speak, but Pearl patted his chest with a smirk.

“Shh,” she whispered.

“Judge Ellis hooked me up — old friend. Let’s go,” Trudy grunted, motioning for them to follow.

Their hands stayed tightly locked.

Hearts pounding — hers, his — perfectly in sync. Like always.

“There she is!” Kim’s voice rang out. Pearl looked up to see her standing with Hailey and Voight, leaning casually against the marble wall.

“You guys look good!” Hailey grinned, rushing in for a hug.

Voight stayed back, a small smile playing on his lips — quiet approval.

“You kids clean up nice,” he offered, voice gruff in the way that still soothed them. “Nice suit,” he added to Jay, who flared with pride — maybe a little cocky now.

“And you — darling — as always,” he added to Pearl.

She nodded in thanks, eyes a little wet already.

Trudy huffed, pushing open the door to the small courtroom.

“Let’s go,” she barked, clearly irritated… but deeply invested.

Inside, no judge waited. Just Trudy — arms crossed, eyes expectant.

Jay and Pearl stood together at the front, hand in hand, her bouquet now in Hailey’s care.

Trudy glanced between them.

“You two have emotionally wrecked half the force — maybe a few civilians — but sure, let’s get you legally bound.”

The sarcasm was thick. The love was thicker.

“Marriage is a little like policing,” Trudy began. “You gotta show up every day — even when it’s raining — and remember why you signed up.” “These two? They’ve been showing up for each other for over ten years. This is just making it official.” A pause. “And thank God — I’m tired of watching Jay walk around like a kicked puppy.”

Laughter rippled through the room. Pearl beamed. Jay rolled his eyes — barely.

They giggled softly, holding each other’s gaze, as Trudy gestured for them to begin.

“First aid, Jay — you’re up,” she barked.

Pearl grinned, wide and toothy.

Jay chuckled, pulling his hand from hers and fishing into his jacket — right where her dog tag rested.

Her heart ached — full, full, full.

“I spent my whole life learning how to survive. War zones, alleys, backrooms… I got good at walking away. At shutting doors before anyone could get close enough to hurt me.”

He looked up at her, a soft flicker of a smile forming.

“But then there was you. And no matter how many miles we put between us… how many times I messed it up… Somehow, you always came back.”

A beat.

“You are the loudest silence I’ve ever known. The stillness I didn’t know I needed. You saw me — all of me — and you stayed.”

He took her hand, grounding himself.

“I know I’m stubborn. I know I don’t say things when I should. But this? This is me saying it. I love you. I want every version of life with you — the good, the bad, the bloody, the boring.”

“I vow to fight for you. To show up. Even on the days I forget how to breathe — I will remember you. I will choose you.”

He smirked. “And I promise to work on my clothes folding. Scout’s honor.”

Laughter again.

“But mostly… I promise to never let the fear of losing you stop me from loving you — fully, recklessly, every single day.”

His eyes glistened. “Because you are the only war I’ve ever wanted to surrender to.”

A single tear fell from Pearl’s eye. She sniffled, chest tight, heart thunderous.

Still, she stood steady.

“You once told me I was reckless. That I didn’t know when to stand down.”

She laughed softly.

“Yeah… guilty as charged. Because no matter how many times I tried to walk away, I always ran straight back into your fire.”

“Even when it burned. Even when I swore I wouldn’t do it again. Because somehow… the burn always felt better than the silence.”

She paused, breath shaky, voice cracking just a bit.

“I’ve made peace with a lot of ghosts in my life. But not you. Never you. Because what we have? It’s not something you bury. It’s something you carry. And I have — every step of the way.”

“You and me — we’ve been through war zones and worse. Not just the ones with bullets. The ones in our heads.”

“And yet here we are. Not because it was easy — But because it was real. Because we chose each other. Again and again… even when we didn’t say it out loud.”

She grinned, wiping away a stray tear.

“I know Echo would be over the moon we made it here. Probably wagging his tail with a bone in his mouth — wearing that bowtie he hated.”

Jay laughed, tear falling free. She pressed her palm softly to his chest.

“So this is me choosing you. Not because I have to. But because I want to — on the good days, the bad ones, and every impossible in-between.”

“You are my safe place in a world that never quite was. You are my ‘I made it home.’”

“And if this is the rest of the fight… Then I’m in. Always. Even when you’re being a stubborn, impossible, maddening soldier.”

She smiled. “Especially then.”

Trudy smirked and slowly stepped back out of frame.

Jay and Pearl blinked at her.

“Kiss, goddammit,” she muttered.

Laughter. Cheers. Flashbulbs.

Jay stepped forward, cupping her cheek with one hand, thumb brushing gently along her skin.

He pulled her into him.

The small group clapped and hollered as Jay tilted her back slightly, kissing her like he meant it — like they’d survived everything just to get to this moment.

She pecked him again, fast and smiling.

“I love you, Ranger.”

“And I, too, Marine,” he whispered, stealing one last kiss.

No more running. No more tiptoeing. No more ghosts. No more pretending they were just shadows of who they used to be.

Just them.

Partners — in every way that counts. And most of all: in love.

They were like an invisible string—their dog tags—pulling them together for over ten years. But now, that string was infinite.

#jay halstead #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead imagine #chicago pd #chicago pd fic #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd blurb #one chicago #one chicago fanfic #one chicago blurb #one chicago imagine #hank voight #equallyshaw masterlist #⚘ anna writes

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equallyshaw · 1 month ago

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do you all understand what i'm trying to say. do you see the vision.

#POOOOKIES #my shaylasss #pope Cody #animal kingdom #shameless #Mickey gallagher #mickey milkovich

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equallyshaw · 1 month ago

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The brown eyest baby girlest doctors to ever grace television

#UGHS #these men right here #!!!!#noah wyle #robert sean leonard

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equallyshaw · 1 month ago

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#too good #!!!!!#toronto maple leafs

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equallyshaw · 1 month ago

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My sister got married today and I sobbed like an absolute baby 😭

#anna's thoughts

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equallyshaw · 1 month ago

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just finished animal kingdom....i knew who was going to die.....but i wasn't prepared for that

#what a ride #what a fucking gutpunch #WTFFFFF #animal kingdom #anna's thoughts

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equallyshaw · 1 month ago

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i love uuuuuuuuu, im so glad you enjoyed!!!! means the world 🫶🏻🥺

on the corner of Clark | Charlie Reid x voight daughter! 1/2

warnings: swearing, mentions of overdoses & addiction. gun shots + wounds. word count: 7.2K

seeing these gifs + others, reawakened the chicago fan in me from 2014..i was an OG watcher, and being born and raised in chicago- i just HAD to watch it lol but but, im using some older characters from Chicago Fire, because i haven't watched since 2021, so it'll be off a little bit. Jay Halsted is also still in this world, etc.

also slowburn af lol 97% proofread lol

The corner of Clark and Halsted. Always Clark first, then Halsted—because Jay Halsted always came after Clark. It has been a place of chaos, sirens, and loss. A cursed landmark where things always fell apart.

For once, this corner wouldn't be marked by blood and heartbreak—but by the quiet, unwavering kind of love that would stay.

Clark Makenzie 'Kinzie' Crawford and Jay Halstead grew up just a few houses down from one another on the South Side of Chicago. Her, Jay, and his older brother Will—three kids racing up and down the block in every season, every kind of weather, at all hours. It was their corner. Their world.

That was before everything changed.

She was twelve when it happened—when the weight of her mother’s addiction finally crushed what was left of their little home. Years of drug abuse ended the way it so often does: in silence, in grief. And that grief left her at the doorstep of her godfather, Hank Voight.

Voight had always had a soft spot for her. She came before everything—always. Even when distance stretched between them, even when years passed without a word, he kept watch. Made sure she was safe. Made sure she was cared for. Provided for.

Because that’s what you do when someone is yours, even when the world falls apart.

And so, the corner of Clark and Halsted was no longer home.

It was memory.

She hadn’t stepped foot on that block in years.

But the name still came easy. The rhythm of it. The weight.

Clark first. Then Halsted.

Even through it all, it would always be home— even if it wasn’t.

━━━

Twenty years had passed.

Clark was now thirty-six. She’d made it through graduations, sorority life, shuffled from apartment to apartment with college roommates, hit major milestones, and found her own slice of happiness—free, fulfilled, and in love.

Hank Voight had missed all of it. Her graduation from high school, her undergrad years at Notre Dame & paramedic school.. Finding her place—her home—at Engine 51, on the South Side. He missed it all.

Clark hadn’t seen her godfather in two decades. Not since she’d packed up her things and moved into her godmother’s house on the far South Side—where it felt like the suburbs, even with a city zip code. Lakeshore Drive was only twenty minutes away, but it felt like another world. She’d left after her junior prom, just sixteen, after a public blowout with Voight. He’d been more than her godfather—he had been her dad in every way that mattered. She’d never known her biological one, and Voight had filled the void. He raised her. Molded her into the woman she became.

But that night? That humiliation? She ran. Told herself she’d never set foot in his district again. That she’d go anywhere else—anywhere with a bed, a warm meal, a little peace.

And yet… here she was. Back on the marble steps of his precinct.

Trudy stood above her, exactly where she always had, like a queen on her throne. No hesitation. No second glance. She rushed down the stairs like time had never passed.

Trudy loved that girl. She always had. Spent countless nights helping her with homework, keeping her company while Voight worked long hours. She was the first one to know when something was wrong at school. The first to buy her Girl Scout cookies. And often, the shield between Clark and the brutal truth of what Voight did for a living.

Without a word, Trudy scanned Clark—an old habit—and Clark gave her a look that said more than words could.

“Sit, sit,” Trudy said softly, and Clark obeyed, settling on the step with her black tote and the duffel bag that Kelly Severide had packed for her.

Then Trudy stormed upstairs.

Voight was mid-argument with Charlie Reid, who wasn’t exactly welcome in this building, when Trudy barged into Intelligence.

“Voight!” she snapped, throwing the door open.

He sighed, already irritated. “I’m in the middle of something, Trudy.”

But she gave him a look that cut through the noise.

“Boss, you need to see this,” she said firmly. No explanation. No hesitation.

He sighed again but stood up, brushing past her. Reid followed, sensing something had shifted.

“What is so important that you needed to dis—” His voice stopped cold.

There she was.

Sitting on the steps, arms on her knees, eyes straight ahead.

His heart clenched.

His mind had to be playing tricks—blaming the lack of sleep, the endless cases. But it wasn’t a dream.

Clark.

His goddaughter.

The same expression from all those years ago when she was left at his doorstep by CPS. The same look of quiet pain and guarded hope.

His mouth parted, but the words caught somewhere between a breath and a sob.

“Sweetpea…” he whispered, stepping down slowly, one stair at a time.

She turned to him, her face crumbling the moment their eyes met.

He sat beside her without a second thought.

“Hey, hey…” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her like a lifeline.

His voice was softer than anyone in the building had ever heard. Except Trudy. She’d seen it all—the heartbreak, the sleepless nights, the moments Voight thought he lost her for good.

He brushed a strand of hair from Clark’s face as she leaned into him.

“I didn’t know who else to go to,” she whispered, the words breaking like glass between them.

Voight pulled her tighter into his chest. He didn’t need an explanation. Not yet. Not now.

From the doorway, Trudy’s eyes brimmed with emotion. Charlie Reid watched too—quiet, curious, trying to understand the magnitude of what he was seeing.

That was Clark.

Voight’s goddaughter.

The one from that night.

And though the years had changed everything, one truth remained:

She was still his little girl.

No matter what.

━━━

It had been two weeks since she sat on those marble steps. And now, she was back at her childhood home.

Still the same—lived-in, creaking, yet somehow warm.

It still felt like home.

Voight had lived in Bridgeport for years. Decades, really. He’d never left. Which felt like a small corner of the city.

It was a little after midnight—post-shift at the firehouse—and she had decided to bake cupcakes.

Vanilla, to be exact.

Voight would never tell a soul, but those were his favorite.

He also wouldn’t tell the world he had a huge sweet tooth.

Their baking nights, back when she came home to him at twelve years old, had become a tradition. Sunday afternoons often bled into Sunday nights, filled with the smell of sugar, the hum of reruns—Seinfeld, later The Office as she got older.

Now here she was, twirling around the kitchen like she’d never left.

Wearing her staples: an old CPD shirt of Voight’s (something about their own ‘summer’ Olympics in 2004), trusty wool socks, and boxer briefs she’d definitely stolen from Kelly.

His name still hit her like a truck, igniting every emotion she’d worked so hard to box away.

Kelly—who had broken up with her just two weeks ago.

Seven years. Gone.

They’d started dating a couple of years after she joined 51. Sneaking kisses behind closed doors, brushing hands around corners, the not-so-subtle glances that everyone pretended not to notice.

Even after their brief breakup following her 29th, they’d found their way back. Strong. Steady. Sturdy.

They were a couple you could count on—rivaled only by Dawson and Casey before Gabby left for Puerto Rico.

But now?

Now, it was tense. Stressful. Anxiety-inducing.

And still, she was trying.

Trying for the house.

Trying for herself.

Trying for her sanity.

Clark was mid-spoonful of homemade buttercream frosting when a knock sounded at the front door.

Her brows pinched together as she checked the time—12:05 a.m.

Who the hell was knocking at this hour?

She sighed, spoon still between her lips, and made her way toward the door.

The old wood floors creaked beneath her feet with every step.

She paused just before the entryway, double-checking that the firearm tucked into the dead plant by the door was still in place.

It was.

And the plant was most definitely dead.

She pulled the door open—and froze.

A man stood there—tall, brooding, in uniform. His eyes swept over her—feet to face, assessing. He didn’t mean to pause at her legs, at the way the fading t-shirt hung just above her knees. Her 5'4" stature, now more apparent than ever. But he did. His jaw tightened when he caught himself.

Clark arched a brow, taking a small step back. “You got the wrong house, Officer.”

The man didn’t budge. “Clark Voight?”

Her fingers twitched near her waist, “Who’s asking?”

“Detective Charlie Rowe.” He held up the small manila envelope in one hand, the other tucked neatly into his jacket. “Voight’s expecting this. Off the record.”

Clark blinked slowly. “You’re Charlie?”

The name clicked.

She remembered that night now—he looked older, rougher. Silver streaks cut through his hair, no longer the dark brunette with that hint of auburn. He was much more attractive than she remembered—more than she expected, even.

Her eyes snapped back to his, skeptical but intrigued. “You sure Halstead didn’t send you to check on me? Make sure I didn’t torch the place mid-cupcake crisis?”

Charlie smirked, barely. “Cupcake crisis?”

“You heard me,” she said, folding her arms, still leaning against the doorframe. “Last night off for the week, and I’m spending it with buttercream and self-pity. Wild times.”

“I’ll try not to disturb the frosting,” he replied, his tone dry, but there was a hint of humor there. She blinked, catching it. Not completely humorless after all.

Still, she didn’t step aside. She just held her hand out. “Gimme.”

Charlie hesitated, his fingers brushing hers as he handed over the envelope. The brief contact sent a jolt through him. Her expression didn’t change, but something in the way she stood—it was like a live wire.

Clark tucked the envelope against her hip, tilting her head as she studied him. “That all?”

He gave a small nod, eyes steady. “Yeah.”

She didn’t say thanks. Didn’t smile.

Just nodded once, then turned and began closing the door. But before it shut entirely, she leaned into the frame and gave him one last once-over.

“You’re weirder than I remember.”

Charlie’s mouth opened, but the door clicked shut before he could respond.

Inside, Clark let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She set the envelope on the counter and returned to her cupcakes, heart racing just a little faster than it should have for someone who’d just answered the door in pajamas.

Outside, Charlie stood frozen on the steps for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes flicked to the plant near the door again.

He knew exactly what he saw.

And she knew he knew it.

━━━

It had been a week, and she was finally clocking out of the firehouse—for good, at least for a few days.

Sleep was on the agenda. Maybe catching up with Voight, too. Maybe.

Clark pinched the bridge of her nose just as Casey called out from the office area. “Phone call for you.”

She nodded, eyebrows drawing together, and made her way over. She gave him a faint smile. “Thanks,” she muttered, then picked up the receiver.

“Crawford speaking,” she said, her voice casual but clipped.

“Well, well, well... if it isn't little Miss Voight.”

Her stomach dropped.

Her eyes snapped toward Boden, busy at his desk, then flicked to Casey, still signing off his paperwork. She turned her back to them, shielding herself.

“Who is this?” she asked, voice low. Controlled.

The line chuckled, warped and static-filled. “Don’t you remember? All the fun times—well, your mother and I, at least.”

Her heart thudded hard in her chest. A deep pounding started behind her eyes.

Her mom.

“That's neither here nor there, sweetpea. Just wanted to say hi... maybe catch up. Actually—wanted to touch base before I send some not-so-innocent pictures of you, sweetpea.”

She gasped, the breath sucked from her lungs.

“What would Daddy say,” the voice continued, “if he saw those snapshots of you and Charlie last week? Just socks and a shirt—nothing underneath. Practically begging him to come inside.” A pause. “Daddy wouldn’t be thrilled, would he?”

She gripped the counter with one hand, the other fisting by her side.

The voice chuckled. “Or—what about Roman? Officer Roman. Six years ago? That night you tried to forget?”

She froze.

They knew.

They knew about Roman. About the night she buried deep and never once spoke of. About the ache, the anger, the recklessness. About how she’d been a grown woman with a teenage girl’s ache for revenge. And how Roman had been just stupid enough to go along with it.

The voice laughed again, sharp and delighted.

“Maybe I’ll send cupcakes to Voight. Or, better yet—email him the video.”

Her heart stuttered. For a few seconds, it didn’t beat at all.

“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

Seeing was different than hearing. Seeing would destroy everything.

“Talk soon, sweetpea.”

Click.

Silence.

She stood there, the receiver still cradled in her hand. The checkered floor blurred beneath her gaze. A sting hit the backs of her eyes. She sniffled, wiped her nose, and gently set the phone down.

Then, without a word, she turned and walked out.

Maybe if she pretended it didn’t happen… it’d all go away.

━━━

It was 5 days later, when she was walking out of the firehouse—her back-to-back shift had just ended.

She was walking out in front of Casey, Severide, Hermann, and Kidd. She was practically bolting out of the station that morning.

Anywhere that wasn’t Voight’s—her house, she didn’t feel safe.

She felt like she was being watched, and she knew she was.

A deliveryman stepped up to the driveway and paused, looking around at the house before meeting her eye.

"Delivery?" she questioned softly, and they nodded. "Is Clark Voight around?" they asked.

She felt her heart plummet again. "It's, uh, it's not Voight, but that's me," she said nervously.

Her hands visibly shaking as she reached for the box of Vanilla Cupcakes, she knew what was in there.

Casey stepped next to her, seeing her hands shaking, and he took the box for her.

"Thanks, man," Casey bellowed, and the deliveryman left.

She sighed, staring down at it, her mind a million miles away, Casey surmised.

She bit her lip as Hermann spoke, "Ooo! Cupcakes!" He cheered, pulling the top of the box open, as Casey studied her face like a military man.

Hermann pulled the top open, revealing a small letter placed on the side, addressed to her.

She pulled it from the box and sighed.

"Who is it from?" Kidd asked, and she shrugged, opening the letter carefully.

God forbid, it’s laced.

If Voight knew, he would have opened it himself, not allowing her near it. Just in case.

Severide stepped up to the group now, peering into the box before signaling his 'goodbye,' his gaze lingering on Clark, who stared at the letter.

Clark shook her head, opening the letter.

Dear Miss Voight,

Hope this letter finds you well! How much would it take for Kelly to never find out about that night, hmm? What would it take for me to be silent to your father? To burn the pictures? To make sure Voight never sees you in that way, scarring your relationship even more?

Clock is ticking, Sweetpea.

Talk soon!

Signed, X.

Casey watched the blood drain from her face before slapping Hermann’s hand softly.

"Don’t eat the cupcakes, just in case they’ve been laced," he ordered.

Hermann and Kidd sighed. "Now I’m gonna be thinking about cupcakes all day," Stella cried, and Hermann laughed.

"I guess I gotta drop by Jewels to grab some, I see," Hermann said sarcastically.

Stella laughed. "It’s Jewel, singular—no 'S', Hermann," and Hermann waved her off.

Clark finally tore her shaky and glassy eyes from the letter to Casey.

"I need Boden," she stated.

Casey pulled her inside after calling for Severide, just as he was about to hop in his car.

She now sat facing Boden, waiting on pins and needles for her dad to arrive. As well as Jay, whom she specifically requested, but knew her dad would head over anyway.

It was just them two. When Jay entered the room, he immediately walked over and pulled her in for a hug.

Before he pulled back slightly, checking her for any injury or signs of distress.

"I’m fine, I promise. Dude, stop," she said, pushing his chest back a bit before he sighed.

"You’re gonna give me an early death, I swear to God, Kinzie," he huffed, standing up as Severide, Casey, Voight, and Reid entered.

Why the fuck was he here?

Jay stood up, moving to the side of Clark, his back facing the windows.

Voight and Reid both gave her a once-over, checking for any injury.

All they found were her shaking hands, threaded with each other’s.

Her right knee was also thumping, and no cease was in sight.

"Miss Crawford has informed me that she received a phone call yesterday, as her shift ended. Casey was the one who originally received the call, out there in the office. And today, she was met with a delivery person—who delivered her vanilla cupcakes and a letter inside."

She bit the inside of her cheek as Voight took the letter that lay next to it on Boden’s desk.

He saw the signature, "X." and he handed it to Reid, as Voight spoke.

"I know who it is..." he paused, looking briefly down at his daughter, who stared straight ahead, and he sighed.

"It’s a disgruntled gang member I took down in 1990. He’s been out since '99." Her head raised, turning ever so slightly.

The year her mother died.

Before she could speak, he continued, "I’ve been tracking him for years. Keeping tabs on him, and have been waiting for him to strike—"

She cut him off, now fully rising from her seat.

"You knew all along, and kept it from me?!" she questioned, voice rising with anger.

"I did it to protect you, Clark," he stated.

She shook her head. "You knew, you knew for over 20 years, and now you're saying something? Let me guess, he's somehow connected to prom night, hmm?" she bellowed, arms crossing her chest.

Voight didn’t need to respond; his silence was deafening.

Kelly and Jay both saw the tell-tale sign that she was about to lunge forward.

Jay grabbed her from behind, pulling her back, whispering, "Not right now, Kinzie, not right now." He hummed, and she thrashed against him once.

"Kinz," Kelly started, stepping in front of her, between her and Voight.

She looked up at Kelly in disbelief.

He shook his head softly. "Not like this," he stated, his words and tone calming her just a bit.

"Let’s go," Jay breathed softly, before she complied and walked out with him and Kelly.

Reid watched with a stoic expression, sensing that there were years of unresolved issues between Voight and Clark.

His mind raced with the weight of the situation. It was clear, though no one had outright said it, that Voight’s protective nature had crossed into dangerous territory—keeping secrets for decades. Reid couldn’t help but wonder how Clark must feel, betrayed by the very person who should have been her protector. He knew how damaging silence could be. As an investigator, he had seen it happen before: families fractured by long-held secrets. But this… this felt different. This felt personal.

Reid’s eyes flicked to Voight. The man’s cold demeanor seemed to harden even more in the presence of his daughter’s fury. He couldn’t blame her for lashing out. He had no idea how anyone could live with such a burden, knowing your father had kept something this huge from you. Reid couldn’t even imagine carrying that kind of weight for so long.

As soon as the door shut, leaving him, Voight, Boden, and Casey, Voight was already explaining their plan for the time being.

Praying to God, they could get this son of a bitch, just before he sent those photos—Voight prayed to God he’d never see.

But Reid couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The calm before the storm.

━━━

Voight had known. He'd known for over twenty years.

He’d followed her silently through the rest of high school—after that fretful prom night, through her final two years at the Catholic school, all the way to Notre Dame, then paramedic school. Every step she’d taken, he had eyes on her.

She’d only recently put the pieces together—how perfectly timed certain coincidences were. The professors who “happened” to check in. The neighbor across the hall who just so happened to work security. He’d had people surrounding her for years. Without her knowledge. Without her consent.

He told her everything the night he got back.

The case. How he’d accidentally killed “X’s” daughter during a bust gone wrong. The connection to her mother—how it was him who had sold her the drugs the night she overdosed. A truth he’d carried like a weight, dragging behind him.

It took her a full week to speak to him again.

She was shattered. Her trust, cracked. Her heart, stitched back together in a rush of anger, grief, and disillusionment.

Now, here she was—a month later. A different kind of battle. A different kind of silence.

Clark nudged her father into the dining room chair with a firm, guiding hand, while Charlie took the seat opposite. The stew was slow-roasting in the kitchen, the mashed potatoes simmering beside it. Brownies—because of course there were brownies—were cooling on the stovetop.

Reid had come over that Sunday evening. Off the record. Unofficial. Maybe even unwise.

She’d convinced him to stay with some mumbled excuse about having made extra “just in case Voight got a 2 a.m. craving.” Voight had rolled his eyes. Clark had smirked.

And Reid? Reid had watched her. Quietly. Closely.

The way she moved—graceful and gritty, like someone who had built a life out of ruins and recipes. She flowed between the kitchen and dining room like she belonged to both.

And she made Voight—Hank fucking Voight—laugh.

Not just grunt. Laugh.

Something about her muttered sarcasm, the way she flicked a dishtowel at his chest when he tried to sneak a brownie. “You’re gonna lose a finger, old man,” she warned.

Reid didn’t laugh. He didn’t move. But his chest did something strange—tight, warm, and protective all at once.

He’d seen brilliance before. Trauma, too. But this was something different. This was a woman walking around with a bullet lodged in her soul and still managing to set a table with love.

And God help him—he wanted to sit at that table for as long as she’d let him.

Clark - herself - too, studied him. Watched the way she and her father interacted with one another.

Calm. Steady. Stealthy.

Everything her father was, but in his own twisted ways.

She felt herself drawn to it, listening in on their hushed voices.

Her body stilling just briefly, when she heard his voice drawing closer, and then he stepped into the kitchen.

He took a few steps in. "Voight said there were drinks in the fridge?" He asked, waiting for a confirmation.

She nodded, looking over her shoulder, her hair waved loosely, draped over her shoulders like a waterfall.

He swallowed, with a soft nod before walking over to the fridge - closer to her, and opening it with ease.

She turned back to the pot roast and began to plate it.

Redi shut the fridge behind him, moving towards the small recycling bin that was next to the garbage.

One of the lasting effects of Clark, from when she was younger.

As soon as she heard the beer top fall within it, she snickered softly.

Her mind replayed the time she finally got Hank to get a recycling bin, and to actually use it.

"You ok,?" Reid asked softly, and she turned back towards him, chin over her shoulder and nodding.

She turned back towards the plates, cheeks blazing, "Yeah, just remembered something, funny story," She hummed, turning around with the plate in hand, her back leaning back against the cool counter.

Counteracting the heat pulsing through her body.

His gaze lingered on her before drifting to the plate, and back to her.

"All for me?" he asked, voice low.

She smirked, eyes locking with his. "Well… you did show up uninvited, and technically on unofficial business. Figured I’d feed you something before Voight starts embarrassing me."

"I did now, huh?" he shot back, sarcasm curling off his tongue.

He stepped closer, taking the plate from her hands.

Their fingers brushed—hers suddenly on fire, his breath catching. A jolt passed between them, same as before.

The way she stood there—unbothered, tempting, powerful— She was a live wire. A blaze waiting to be touched.

He stepped back a few steps before walking out.

She bit her lip- hard once he was out of the kitchen.

She turned back towards the two plates and sighed.

Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

She walked back into the dining room, with two plates - one for her, and the other for Hank.

She placed it down in front of him, and he thanked her.

Reid had waited to dig in until she came in.

She took notice of the surprise, respect, or kindness.

Clark pulled a knee up to her chest and dug in.

The three of them's conversation flowed naturally. She jumps in at random points to add a small tidbit, humor relief, and, honestly, to embarrass her dad just a tad.

Clark and Reid found their gazes lingering on each other as the other conversed with Hank.

A few times, they met one another's eyes before looking away quickly.

At one point, Hank returned the favor- ripping a few laughs from his daughter.

Reid watched the way she eased into their conversations, etching herself within his mind and soul, small smiles that she could only form on his face.

"Well- it's been fun, you two, but I have some things to get done," She began, standing up from the table, both men's eyes following her.

"It was good seeing you, Detective Reid," he cut her off, "Charlie," and she nodded.

"I'll see you in the morning." She hummed, turning towards her dad, who nodded, "Night, Sweetpea." She smiled at that.

◦

It was now 2:15 am when she pulled herself from her bedroom—interrupting her Dance Moms marathon, an essential night ritual for her—to grab a piece of brownie. The rich scent of chocolate filled the air, and she sighed in contentment.

She stood in the kitchen now, wearing her typical outfit of an oversized t-shirt, mismatched shorts, and thick wool socks, the only comfort in the middle of the night.

Clark had just taken the brownie out of the microwave when the phone rang, startling her from her thoughts.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the old-fashioned house phone, still connected by a thick chord. She hesitated before pulling it off the receiver, the weight of the phone suddenly feeling like a heavy burden in her hand.

She stood there for a moment, fingers lacing around the cord, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Voight residence," she said, her voice more composed than she felt.

"Oh, why, good evening, Miss Voight," the voice on the other end made her body freeze. A chill ran down her spine.

Not him. Again.

"Aw, don’t look so shocked, Sweetpea," the voice purred, dripping with malice. "Just wanted to check in on my favorite cop killer’s daughter..."

Her stomach churned as she quickly cut him off, her words coming out harsher than intended. "Wha-What do you want?" she demanded, gripping the phone tighter, leaning into the counter.

She could feel the apprehension crawling up her throat as she instinctively licked her lips, the words sticking.

He chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "Wanted to check in to see how you and daddy are. I see you guys had company over for dinner, and…" He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

Her head whipped around, her eyes darting out of the kitchen window, scanning the street outside, looking for anything out of place.

"Don’t get paranoid now, Kinzie," he sneered. The sound of her name on his lips, twisted with that cruel tone, made her blood run cold.

No one outside of Jay, Kelly, and Will Halstead called her that. Not even Hank.

Her heart dropped into her stomach, the air feeling thicker, suffocating her.

She swallowed, the soft sound of it audible over the line. She could almost hear him smirk on the other end.

He didn’t give her time to respond. "How about you and I meet?" His voice dripped with something darker. "How does that sound? Maybe then you can figure out the real reason why Kelly broke up with you, hmm?"

Her breath hitched, panic clawing at her insides. She cut him off before he could say more. "Don’t bring him into this!" she shot back, her voice trembling but firm, a thread of warning wrapped around her words.

"Oh, I see," he mocked, a sharp laugh punctuating the air. "Or you’ll do what?"

Silence. The weight of her fear made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

"That’s what I thought, Sweetpea…" He hummed on the other end, drawing out the last word in that nauseatingly familiar way.

She clenched her jaw, her heart pounding against her chest, but she wasn’t done. "Don’t call me that," she growled, her voice a warning now, dripping with pure venom.

His voice lowered, the mockery in it thickening. "Your threats aren’t that scary, Missy. But maybe I’ll loop in Reid somehow... oops, I mean Charlie!" He chuckled to himself, clearly enjoying the torment he was causing. "Besides, I saw how close you two got tonight. How you relaxed as soon as he stepped into the room... the way your cheeks flared as you turned around… and that comment? You cheeky, cheeky girl."

Her stomach twisted with disgust, her pulse quickening.

"Talk soon, Clark," he purred before hanging up.

Her hand shook violently as she held the receiver, her knuckles white as she slammed it back onto the base. The sound echoed through the empty apartment, reverberating in her chest.

Her vision blurred, and she had to blink hard to clear the moisture from her eyes. The weight of the conversation, the underlying threat, and the impossible fear settled heavily in her gut.

She stared at the brownie on the counter, forgotten and left out to cool, its edges hardening into something that no longer resembled the sweet comfort it once was.

Just like her exterior now—hardened, cold, and brittle.

And just like her interior, a shell of what it used to be.

━━━

She hadn’t planned to be here.

Three weeks ago, she never would’ve believed she’d willingly return to this corner.

Clark & Halsted—the root of all her demons.

And yet, somehow, still the backdrop of a childhood laced with magic.

Clark had always come first. Then Halsted. It was his name she whispered when things got bad. His voice she remembered in the darkest hours. And now, Clark held her hands inside the gray pockets of a worn CFD zip-up.

Her breath was shaky. Uneven. And altogether—not enough.

Sweat beaded at her temple, clinging like a warning. The wind kicked up, tugging at the hem of her sleeves.

The street was too quiet. Too still. Like it knew what was about to happen.

Her head snapped at every sound, haunted by the devil she feared most— the one who’d stolen her mother, her childhood… and Voight, even in the crosshairs of prom night.

Clark sighed beside her as she waited on pins and needles. Her eyes drifted up to the green street signs nailed to the light post.

Clark & Halsted.

Her mind spun—scattered, unfocused. All she could hear was her own frantic breathing. She didn’t hear the firefighters checking out the gas leak down the street. Because there wasn’t one. She didn’t hear the silent fleet of police SUVs barreling toward her, lights flashing without sirens.

She didn’t know that the ones who loved her most were just around the corner— gathering at the greatest intersection in her mind.

She was looking at the streetlight when she felt it.

She hadn’t heard it. Hadn’t seen it coming.

But she felt it.

Three bullets sliced through the air from across the street, several houses down.

Two of them found her— One to her chest. One to her hip.

Without a beat, she collapsed.

And in that moment, she begged for death.

She begged God—or whoever might be listening—to take away the pain, to bring her home.

Despite the fire in her chest, despite the agony searing through her veins— She was here. Still present.

Clark felt the blood pooling out of her, thick and unrelenting. And then the world rushed in—

Tires screeched against pavement. Firefighter boots pounded the asphalt, growing louder.

Torment. Absolute torment.

Hands pressed to her chest. Her eyes fluttered from the night sky— to Jay.

She opened her mouth to speak, but only blood came out.

She couldn’t speak. Her voice was trapped— but her mind was screaming.

“Oh God—oh God—oh God,” Jay cried, panic cracking his voice. “Hank!”

Not Voight. Not Sergeant. Hank.

The father of his best friend. The only one who could fix this.

Severide dropped to the pavement beside her before Jay could. His hands found her hip, screaming into the radio for Ambo 61 to move faster.

Her house had been the one with the fake gas leak. She hadn’t known they were just around the corner when the shots rang out.

But she knew— Severide and Casey would always be the ones running toward danger while everyone else ran away.

Voight fell to his knees, muttering broken no’s, his hands cupping her face as if he could keep her here.

Her eyes locked onto his. Her mouth moved, but no sound came.

“Stay with me, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice cracking. Not his usual gravel—this was something softer, rawer. A father’s plea.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he said, more to himself now, rocking slightly. His thumbs brushed away blood that kept coming, no matter how hard he tried to wipe it away.

“Don’t do this to me,” he choked out. “Not you. Not again.” His forehead rested against hers, grounding him—grounding her—against the chaos.

“Look at me, baby. Look at me,” he whispered, his breath hitching.

For a second, he was just a father. Not a cop, not a sergeant—just her dad. And in that second, the whole world collapsed around him.

The ambulance skidded into view. Brett jumped out before the vehicle fully stopped.

“Move!” she yelled at Jay.

Jay stood and backed away, arms raised, hands trembling. Then he paced. Tugged at his hair. Mumbling prayers. Begging whoever was listening to keep his best friend—his sister—alive.

Severide remained on his knees, staring at the darkened stain of her blood, his soul ripped out and left on the pavement.

Hermann, Kidd, and Mouch helped Brett and Mikami load her into the ambulance.

Voight followed without hesitation, his steps steady but his mind a war zone.

He climbed into the truck just before the doors slammed shut, watching in quiet agony as Brett fought to save the one person who still connected them all.

Casey placed a firm hand on Severide’s shoulder. They stood there, frozen, before Casey stepped away and joined Boden, who spoke urgently into the CFD radio.

Reid had been the one to call in backup the moment the shots rang out. He’d been just yards away when he heard them— and his blood had gone cold before he even saw her fall.

Now, he stood several feet back from the mess of uniforms and blood, heart breaking— but pretending he wasn’t falling apart.

This wasn’t his scene. Not officially.

But he would never let her down again. Not if it killed him.

He hadn’t touched her. He couldn’t. He hadn't earned that.

So he did what he was trained to do: He barked orders. Coordinated units. Shut the block down fast and clean.

It was easier than looking at the red-stained concrete, easier than seeing Voight wrecked.

But his hands were shaking.

And when someone called his name, it took him too long to answer.

Jay, meanwhile, had turned away from the scene, sobbing into his hands. Her blood on his palms. Now smeared across his face.

He didn’t hear his mother calling his name from the sidewalk.

He hadn’t even thought about his childhood home, not since arriving at the scene.

Only her.

“Jay,” she said softly.

He turned, and immediately crumpled into her arms.

She’d stepped out of the house the moment she saw Casey standing with Boden. Her stomach dropped.

If Casey was there— Jay couldn’t be far behind. And if not Jay… then Clark.

She had prayed she wouldn’t see either.

But here he was. Her son. Absolutely falling apart.

She pulled him in tighter, whispering comfort he couldn’t hear.

Then, without a word, he stepped back and headed for his SUV.

“Jay!” she called, but he was already opening the door.

Severide looked up from the blood-stained concrete. As soon as he heard the door creak open, he moved.

He slid into the passenger seat silently, just before Jay could drive off.

The firehouse exhaled the breath it hadn’t realized it was holding.

One of their own had just gone down— and none of them knew if the last time they saw her would be as she bled out beneath that damned streetlight.

━━━

Clark lost consciousness on the way there, Brett working tirelessly through her own sobs, hands soaked in her best friend’s blood. Panic blistered through her every breath as she drove, racing the clock. She didn't even realize when Clark’s body went still—didn’t let herself.

And as the lights faded, so did Clark.

But not completely.

Not before her mind slipped away… back to the night her life changed forever.

Prom. 2006.

She and Jay had made it back from the afterparty around 1 a.m.—buzzed, tipsy, a little too carefree. Jay’s parents were out of town, so naturally, the night continued at his house with a few others.

By 2 a.m., after several awful beers and a shot she definitely shouldn’t have taken, her phone rang.

Voight.

Begging, pleading, screaming for her to come home. Telling her to get out of that house.

He thought she knew better. Thought she understood what alcohol could do to a person.

But all Clark heard was control. Authority. His voice shattering her teenage high. She screamed back, cursed him out, told him he was ruining everything—her night, her freedom, her growing independence. She could still hear the things she said. Words that dug into him like bullets.

She didn’t even realize she was crying as she snatched up her keys. Jay shouted for her to stay—begged her—but he didn’t follow. And he’s hated himself every day since for that choice.

The car was a gift. Her 16th birthday. A silver Toyota Highlander—technically still registered to Voight, who claimed he gave it to stop her from borrowing his every weekend. But there was love behind it. Pride. But he made it clear that it was a luxury—not a right. A privilege most kids in the city didn’t have. He’d drilled that into her like it was gospel. He’d told her that day, “It’s a privilege, Clark. A damn luxury. Don’t be stupid with it.”

She was. That night, she was.

Blood alcohol: 0.08. Barely enough to slur her words, just enough to kill someone. Enough to destroy trust.

She pushed herself into the seat, blurry eyes locked on the road, shaky hands gripping the wheel. She made it a few blocks down Clark Street, inching toward Lake Shore Drive—her favorite stretch of road in the entire city.

And then it happened.

Right by Lincoln Park Zoo. She was struck—t-boned from the passenger side in a blinding collision that stole the sound from her ears. Not even her fault. But it didn’t matter.

She blacked out.

When she came to, her lungs were panicked, desperate. Every breath hurt. Her limbs felt like they were filled with wet cement. Sirens in the distance. She clawed for the door, kicked it open, stumbled out.

A stranger ran toward her, yelling for her to stay in the car, but she didn’t listen.

Then: hands. Not the Samaritan’s. Stronger, steadier. He caught her before she hit the pavement. Pulled her into his chest, held her like he knew her.

“Clark. Clark, hold on for me,” he said, rough but calm.

She sobbed into his chest, hands fisting his uniform. He smelled like city streets and something faintly sweet—gum or cologne, she never figured out which.

She didn’t know him. But she clung to him like a lifeline.

Then: headlights. Paramedics. Her father’s voice tearing through the night like a gunshot.

“CLARK!”

Voight was there—racing, frantic, shoving past officers, grabbing her name from the air like he could pull her back with it.

She didn’t even notice when she was transferred from arms to stretcher. Not until the officer stepped back, badge catching the light.

4038.Nameplate: REID.

Her dad turned on him like fire. “What the hell happened, Reid?!”

“I rolled up just after the crash. The other driver took off—I didn’t catch them,” Reid explained, voice tight.

Paramedics worked quickly. “Vitals are stable. No obvious concussion. Maybe whiplash. We'll run a breathalyzer to be safe—”

“No,” Voight cut in. “She doesn’t need that.”

His voice was sharp. Defensive. He believed his daughter was smarter.

The EMT insisted. “It’s protocol, sir.”

Clark’s stomach sank. Her chest ached.

The test beeped.

A pause.

The paramedic’s face fell.

0.08.

Voight snatched the device from their hand. Stared at it like it betrayed him.

She watched his face twist. That look—the disappointment—was worse than a broken bone.

“Other than this, she’s alert,” the EMT offered. “We can take her in, or she can go home with you, or—”

Voight turned. “I’ll make a call.”

Clark didn’t have to ask who. Godmother. South Side. Always came running. Because Voight couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Strike one.

She sat on the curb with a foil blanket around her shoulders. Cold. Shaken.

He came back and stood over her.

“You’re just as dumb as the rest of them,” he muttered.

Her heart cracked open.

“What?” she whispered, voice trembling.

“Were you that dumb, Clark? Leaving Jay’s house like that?” he snapped.

“You told me to!” she cried.

Wrong move.

“Don’t you scream at me, Clark Makenzie Crawford!” he bellowed, finger jabbing toward her like a knife.

She recoiled. Shrunk into herself. Reid took a half-step forward, watching.

“Don’t you dare act like your mother. Don’t you dare become her.” Voight’s voice cracked under the weight of those words.

She flinched.

He wasn’t mad at her. He was terrified of losing her to the same demon that stole his best friend.

"You should’ve told me. Why’d you act like a damn child and get behind the wheel?!"

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was shaking, barely able to breathe.

“You know what this does to me? My reputation?”

She stared at the ground.

“A fucking disgrace. Embarrassment,” he muttered, turning his back.

Nobody dared to stop him.

The paramedic touched her shoulder. She flinched.

“I want my mom,” she whispered. “I want my mom.”

Another medic knelt beside her. “Want me to call her?”

Voight turned around, his voice ice-cold. “Call who?”

“Her mom,” the medic said, confused.

Voight stared at her like she’d spat in his face.

“Don’t bother. She’s dead,” he snapped.

Clark didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

Her eyes flicked toward Reid. Just once. Just enough to see that he hadn’t moved. Still there. Still watching. Still with her.

When Voight stormed off, Reid quietly stepped into his place.

He stood beside her for the next half hour.

Didn’t ask anything. Didn’t say a word.

Just stayed.

She never even learned his first name. Didn’t remember his face. Didn’t remember anything— Until she saw him again.

Twenty years later.

━━━

Voight sat there, torn between fear and grief. Fear for the daughter he'd nearly lost, and grief for everything that had ever gone unsaid between them. The last twelve hours had been a relentless hell. He couldn’t shake the image of her, bloodied and broken, from his mind.

He’d waited in that sterile hospital hallway, every second stretching painfully longer. Dr. Will Halstead had given him no updates in three hours.

She was stable. That was all they knew.

Now it was in her hands—if she wanted to wake up.

Jay and Kelly had been there, camped out in the family waiting room for what felt like an eternity. Will had to drag his brother away at one point, force him into clean clothes and a sink to scrub the blood from his face before he scared the elderly patients walking by.

Casey had come to check in and dropped off clothes, which Will finally got Kelly to change into. But Voight… Voight stayed rooted. Eyes glued to the sterile checkered floor. Still holding her hand. Still hoping she'd squeeze back.

He wasn’t a religious man. Hadn’t been for decades. But tonight, he found himself praying—praying to a god he hadn’t thought about since her mother died. A god who took good people. A god who, if he were listening, owed him a goddamn miracle.

Clark never deserved this pain.

At exactly 4:04 AM, she jolted awake.

That moment—you know the one, where you’re drowning in a dream, lungs full of water, everything closing in? That’s how it felt to Clark. Only in her dream, it wasn’t water—it was her own blood. Filling her lungs, thick in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. Then, just like that, it shattered into clarity.

Prom night. The ambulance. The searing pain. Jay’s voice yelling her name before everything went black.

Her eyes snapped open. The sterile scent of the room hit her like a slap. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She couldn’t move—couldn’t think. Until her gaze landed on her father.

Voight had been watching her the whole time, silent and still. But the second their eyes met, she saw the fear melt into raw, overwhelming relief.

He saw the freeze in her chest, the panic, and before she could even process it, a breath rushed from her lips.

“Sweetpea.”

His voice cracked. He kissed her hand—the same hand she'd unknowingly been gripping.

“Oh my god… Clark,” he whispered, tears rushing to his eyes. She hadn’t expected him to react like this—hadn’t expected him to break.

He kissed her hand again, then pressed it to his temple like it was sacred. His eyes stayed on hers, full of emotion, full of regret.

And she remembered it all.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered. Her throat ached, her voice was paper-thin. “For everything. For pushing you away. For what I said that night. I didn’t mean it. I—”

Voight shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

“But I—”

“No.” His voice dropped, thick with guilt. “It wasn’t you, sweetheart. It was me. All me. I should’ve been better. I should’ve listened more. Loved louder. Protected you harder.”

He leaned in and pulled her into him, careful but unflinching. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Clark. But I’m damn lucky you’re still here to give it.”

Her arms found their way around him—weak, but real—and for a brief moment, the weight of everything unspoken softened in the quiet between them.

Then came a knock. The door creaked open.

Will Halstead stepped inside, clipboard in hand and a crooked, exhausted smile on his face.

He looked between them—Clark clinging to her father, Voight holding her like she was still five years old and scared of thunderstorms.

Will exhaled. “Well… looks like I lost a bet.”

Voight didn’t say a word. Just slowly turned his head and gave him a look so cold, so piercing, it could’ve stopped a heartbeat.

Will raised both hands in surrender. “Kidding. Totally kidding.”

Clark, despite everything, cracked the tiniest smile.

"How ya feeling, Kinz?" He questioned, full attention on her.

Clark nodded, “I’m okay. Slightly uncomfortable, but okay," she managed to say, offering him a tired smile.

Will couldn’t help the grin that broke out, “Well, you’ve got some gnarly pain meds coursing through you right now, Kinzie,” he said as he flicked on the monitor next to her.

He glanced at her, catching the fear that flickered behind her eyes. “We’ve got you on heavy Oxycodone, but we’ll slowly adjust that as you move upstairs, okay?”

Her eyes widened slightly. Oxycodone. A drug her mother had been addicted to for years. She couldn’t help but flinch.

Voight caught her reaction immediately. He shot Will a pointed look, his eyes narrowing. Will, understanding, immediately nodded in response.

"No, I get it,” Will said, his tone sincere. “We’ve given you a safe and controlled amount, but I’ll talk to the ICU about switching it to something else, alright?”

Clark nodded, grateful for the understanding.

Will tapped her arm gently, a quiet gesture of comfort. “Let me go make the switch, and I’ll grab Jay for you.” He gave her a smile before stepping out of the room.

Voight, who had been quietly watching the exchange, stood up. “I’m gonna call your godmom real quick, kiddo. Charlie will be right outside if you need anything.” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple before stepping out.

As soon as he left, Clark saw him.

Standing just outside the post-op room, his broad frame leaning against the wall, his eyes scanning the hallway. He was standing guard, watching over her as if he always had.

She stared at him, hoping, waiting for him to turn around. When Voight was finally out of sight, he looked over. Caught her eye.

He wasn’t expecting her to be watching him.

He checked the hall once, then moved into the room, his presence filling the space with quiet tension.

“You're here?” Clark asked, disbelief coloring her voice as her brows furrowed.

He stilled for a moment, then slowly sat in the chair beside her, nodding.

“Yeah, your dad didn’t trust any other cop to do as good of a job watching over you,” he said casually, as if it wasn’t anything personal.

But Clark felt it. Hank fucking Voight had never trusted anyone like this. Never allowed anyone to take this kind of responsibility over her.

It felt… intimate.

“Well, he picked a great guy,” she replied with a smile, her voice steady.

Reid raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “You were the one to pull me from that car, weren’t you?” She asked, her tone softening. “You were the one to call your dad, stayed by me when he couldn’t. Gave me the shred of comfort that he couldn’t that night.”

She paused, letting it settle in the air.

“And for that, I thank you. And for now, of course,” she hummed, glancing at him.

Reid’s smile grew, warm and genuine. “You’re very welcome, Miss Clark.”

There it was again. That subtle pull between them, lingering just beneath the surface. She was the fire. He was the catcher.

She smiled softly, her hand reaching out, grasping his. A squeeze. A quiet connection.

Then, as if the air shifted, Reid smiled to himself, more to his own thoughts than to her. But Clark caught it. And the warmth in her chest flickered brighter, something fragile and real.

It stayed there—for a moment.

Then Jay stormed through the hallway, halting when he saw them.

And something inside her stilled.

Because Clark knew. Knew in the pit of her stomach that this—this moment— might be the last time she’d feel that kind of comfort. Might be one of the last times she’d ever hold his hand. Might be the last time anyone saw her this whole.

aaaaand there we have it (:

PLEASE like and reblog, if you enjoyed! would love to hear any feedback or thoughts, in the comments

xx anna

pt ii coming up- shortly !

#reacts #chit chats

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equallyshaw · 1 month ago

Text

on the corner of Clark | Charlie Reid x voight daughter! 1/2

warnings: swearing, mentions of overdoses & addiction. gun shots + wounds. word count: 7.2K

im using some older characters from Chicago Fire, because i haven't watched since 2021, so it'll be off a little bit. Jay Halsted is also still in this world, etc.

also slowburn af lol 97% proofread lol

masterlist. | next.