luluf03christianfandomgal

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

25 posts!

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Chapter 14 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65107366/chapters/172492198

Chapter 14: The Idea That Will Change You

Adam Ruzek

People think you have to yell to be angry, or cry to be broken, or tell someone flat-out when you care. Truth is, it is what you do in the quiet moments that shows the most. The things you chase down for someone who would never ask.

Sofía Warren is not the type to ask.

She shows up, keeps her head down, does the dang work. She is smart, sharper than she lets on, and tougher than anyone gives her credit for— including herself. But there is something in the way she walks lately— like she is always one step away from breaking again and praying no one notices.

Until this morning, I figured she was just trying to heal. The ambush shook all of us, but she got the worst of it. Still pushing herself to limp around like she owes this place her bones just to prove she belongs here.

Then Voight comes over, dropping a grenade in the middle of my coffee.

He said she inherited over a million bucks after her dad was killed. Jacob Warren. Big settlement, life insurance payout, all of it locked in a state trust until she turned eighteen. Said the money is still there— untouched.

And now she is sleeping in a shelter.

I do not even remember what I said back. Just nodding, setting the coffee down, and went straight to my desk.

It did not take long to find it. Some things don’t hide well when you know where to look. There it is— an old trust account under her name, opened by the state and flagged with a dispute notation right around the time she would have aged out. But there is no record of a dispute. No transfer. Just… silence. Like someone just stopped giving a dang and let the file collect dust.

I sat there staring at the screen for way too long. Not because of the money. Because of what it meant.

Sofía was not broke because she did not have options. She was broke because someone buried her lifeline under red tape and neglect. And either no one told her about it… or she never wanted to touch it.

I did not like either version.

So I call Jay over, run it by him. By the time I finish explaining, he is already pulling up court records and guardianship docs, looking for old signatures and missing files. We work fast, quiet, bouncing pieces back and forth like it was second nature. Because when one of our own gets screwed, the whole unit feels it. We just do not always say it out loud.

Turns out the problem started with an error. Some bureaucratic delay, maybe a missing document from a caseworker who moved on. But what should have been a six-week process never got resolved. The trust stayed in limbo. And no one followed up. Not the courts. Not DCFS. Not even the bank.

I can already feel the heat climbing behind my ribs.

Sofía has been walking around with that look in her eyes like the world owes her nothing, and maybe she is right. Because it sure never gave her anything easy.

By the time Voight heard what we found, he had his jaw clenched tight enough to break molars. Told Trudy to call someone she trusts in the system— someone who would remember the name on those old forms. I have seen Voight go cold on people before, but this is not anger. This is... protection. Control. Like someone messed with a part of the unit he considers off-limits.

That surprises me. A few months ago, I do not think he would have flinched if Sofía walked away. But now? He is watching her like a hawk. The kind of attention he only gives people he sees something in. Like he’s not just her sergeant anymore, but something closer. A tether. A father-figure.

Trudy did not say much when she came back, but the look in her eyes says enough. She had spoken to someone who knew the case. It checks out. It was negligence. Nothing malicious, just apathy and silence at the worst possible time.

The kind of screw-up that ruins lives quietly.

And maybe that would have been the end of it— a cold file reopened, a few forms filed, a quiet fix.

Except Hailey found me later, leaning against the edge of my desk like she had been holding something for a while.

“She knew,” she said, arms folding across her chest. “Or… I think she did.”

That threw me off guard for a second.

“You serious?” I ask.

“She never said anything. But I have seen that look before. I think she knew the money existed. She just never claimed it.”

I did not want to believe that. Who would sleep in a shelter with a million dollars waiting?

But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Not logic sense. Emotional sense.

Maybe the money reminded her of what she lost. Or who she was when she lost it. Maybe it felt tainted. Blood money. Guilt money. A price tag stapled to a little girl’s grief, like that was fair.

Still, it did not sit right. And I knew I could not just sit on the truth, not when she is out there surviving when she can be living.

So I found her.

___________________

Break room, late in the shift. She is nursing a coffee like it might evaporate if she moves too fast. I sit down, did not say anything at first. Just slide the file across the table.

Her eyes flick to it. Then to me.

“You got money,” I tell her. “Trust account. Over a million. Still in your name. Never released.”

She stares at the folder but did not touch it.

“I know,” she whispers.

Two words, soft as dust.

I did not react. Just wait.

“I knew it was there. But I never wanted it. Felt… wrong. Like if I touched it, it meant he really was gone.” Her voice didn’t waver. She did not cry. But I have been doing this long enough to know when someone is bleeding under the surface.

“You did not ask for it,” I told her. “You did not do anything wrong. That money is not a curse. It is not his death. It is your future. You get to decide what it means.”

She nods. Barely. The smallest movement. But something shifts in her expression— like she finally let herself want something. Even if it is just a way out.

I did not push. Did not make some grand speech. Just let the silence stretch.

Sometimes that is enough.

I heard her sniffle.

"I was in Ryan Doyle's custody when I found out about the trust fund. Eight and a half years old. A week before DCFS took me to my second foster family."

That hits like a sucker punch.

Her voice is not loud— but I hear everything in it. Eight and a half. Still just a kid. And she knew. Not because someone sat her down and explained it gently, but probably because Ryan Doyle used it like leverage. Like a twisted joke.

I feel my hands clench before I can stop them.

"Wait— he told you?" I ask, keeping my voice even.

She nods. Does not look at me. Just stares into the folder like it’s the past made solid.

“He found a letter in the mail. Legal stuff- something from the state about the account. He did not think I could read it, but I could.” Her mouth twists, not quite a smile. “He laughed. Said my dead dad left me a pile of money I would never see.”

I feel something low in my chest curl tight. That kind of cruelty sticks. Makes you think even your blessings are curses.

"And after Doyle— what happened to the trust?"

“I asked once. The next foster home told me I made it up.”

Of course they did.

She sniffles again, brushes a hand under her eye like she is mad at herself for even that much softness.

“I figured… maybe I imagined it. Or maybe it got taken away. By then, I just stopped asking.”

I lean forward, elbows on the table, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You did not imagine it. And it did not get taken away. It is still here. It is yours, Sofía. And you do not have to pretend you do not care.”

Her shoulders dip— just a little. Like she has been carrying so much weight for so long, the idea of letting some of it go feels impossible.

But she does not argue.

And I think that is the bravest thing she has done all day.

"I really wish my dad survived...!" She covers her mouth, trying to muffle a sob.

That breaks something in me I did not even know I am holding on to. Not because I have some perfect answer. Not because I have walked in her shoes. But because there is no armor strong enough to hold back that kind of ache when it finally cracks through.

I do not say anything right away. Just let the silence settle between us— not heavy, just… real. And maybe that is what she needs most. Not someone trying to fix it. Just someone who will not flinch from the truth of it.

After a few seconds, I reach out, slide a napkin from the dispenser across the table like it is a peace offering. She takes it with a shaky hand, still not meeting my eyes.

“I know he was not perfect,” she says, voice raw, “but he was mine. He made me feel safe. Like I actually mattered.”

“You did,” I say quietly. “You still do.”

Her chin trembles again, but she nods. And it is not some movie moment where everything is suddenly okay. It is just two people sitting with grief that does not have a timeline. And somehow, that feels like the most honest thing we can do.

“You are not alone in this, Sof,” I add. “You never were. You just forgot for a while.”

She finally looks at me, and even through the red-rimmed eyes and tear-blotched cheeks, I can see it— relief. Not because the hurt is gone, but because it is finally not just hers to carry.

And I will be darned if we let her carry it alone ever again.

_______________________

Both her hands fly to her mouth quickly when she began to sob. My first instinct is to hug her close. I did.

She stiffens, at first— reflex, survival, years of being told that closeness comes with conditions. But then she broke.

She did not just cry— she folds into me, shoulders shaking, fists clutching the front of my jacket like she needed something— someone- to hold onto or else she would disappear. And I let her. No words, no rush to make it better. Just arms wrapping around her and silence between us thick with everything she could not say.

“I miss him,” she whispers eventually, voice hoarse. “I miss who I was when he was alive.”

God.

I did not know what to say to that, not really. So I just hold her tighter. Because sometimes there is nothing to fix. No grand speech to make the ghosts vanish. Just this— being the anchor when someone is drowning in memory.

“You are still her,” I murmured eventually. “Bruised, yeah. Changed. But not broken.”

She did not answer. But her grip eases, just slightly. Like maybe— for the first time in a long time— she believes that is possible.

____________________________

Sofía steps into the office, a flicker of tension in her jaw— like she is bracing for impact out of habit.

Voight is sitting behind his desk, arms folded. I am leaning against the wall, more protective than casual. The silence is not heavy— it is gentle. Intentional.

Voight’s eyes soften just a bit. “You are not in trouble, kid.”

Sofía does not relax— not really. Her fingers twitch slightly at her sides, like she is trying to hold herself together without looking like she needs to.

I clear my throat. “We have been talking... about the trust. And about you.”

Her posture stiffens.

“You have been through more in almost twenty-two years than most people face in a lifetime,” Voight says, voice steady. “And still you show up. Day after day. But that does not mean you do not need space to be all of who you are. Not just the sergeant, not just the survivor.”

She blinks. Once. Then again— faster, like she is trying not to unravel.

I speak again, gentler now. “We think... maybe it is time you had a place that is just yours. Not just some apartment with a lock. But a place where you feel safe enough to rest. To reset, when you need to.”

Then— this is where it hits— the idea unfolds.

Voight nods toward a set of blueprints on the desk. “We have been working on a proposal. Something off-the-record, but protected. Funded by your trust, maintained privately. A home. But not just a home.”

I add, “A space where you can safely age regress. A place where you are allowed to not be okay, without judgment.”

Sofía’s face changes— shock first, then confusion, then something raw.

“You know?”

My smile is small, sad. “We see more than you think. You do not have to hide it.”

She stares at the papers— at the kind of safety she has never let herself imagine. And the catch is not that they found out.

The catch is… they do not flinch.

"What...?" Her eyes well up with tears. "Y-You are a-all doing this... for me...?"

"Yes." Every one of us step into the office. Jay gently strokes her hair.

She looks around, eyes wide and glistening, like she is waiting for the floor to vanish beneath her. Like this is a dream she is not sure she is allowed to keep.

“I... I do not understand,” she whispers.

“You do not have to,” I say, stepping closer. “You just have to let yourself feel it.”

Jay’s hand never leaves her hair— gentle, grounding. The way he touches her is not invasive—it isvan anchor. Something to say, You are safe. You are seen. You matter.

Hailey is the next to speak, her voice softer than I have ever heard it. “You carried enough alone. Let us carry some of it now.”

Sofía looks like she wants to say something, but the words collapse under the weight of her tears. She tries to cover her face again, but Trudy steps in— not with her usual snark, but a quiet steadiness— and nudges her hands away.

“Do not hide from this, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “You deserve every bit of it.”

Even Voight— stoic, composed, hands clasped—lets the emotion crease the edges of his expression. He does not need to say anything. His presence says it all.

Sofía's shoulders start to tremble again, but this time it is different. Not from fear. Not even from grief.

It is release. The kind that only happens when the walls finally fall and someone is still standing there with open arms.

She chokes out a laugh between sobs, glancing at me like I might disappear if she blinks.

“I did not think people could still… do this. Be this.”

“You always had us,” I say, voice thick now. “But now... you know it. That is the difference.”

She takes in the room— our whole team, silent and still, like we have closed ranks around her—and finally, finally lets herself crumble into it.

And in the middle of all the quiet—

Sofía Warren, for the first time in maybe forever, lets herself belong.

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Chapter 13 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65107366/chapters/172479364

Chapter 13: Inheritance and Mystery

Kim Burgess

The station hums with that familiar low buzz- phones ringing, footsteps echoing across tile, the occasional bark of a laugh that cuts too sharp. It should feel like any other morning. Routine. Predictable.

But something shifts. Subtle, like the air before a storm.

I catch Voight lingering near the bullpen longer than usual. His shoulders are not quite as tense. Not soft, exactly— but not steel, either. And when his eyes flick across the room, they land on her. 

She does not even notice. Head down, flipping through a case file, totally unaware of how the gravity in the room has changed around her. 

It is not the first time I have noticed. The way he looks at her— like he is trying to figure something out but cannot admit he already has. There is trust there. Quiet, unspoken. And a kind of protectiveness that feels... new.

Not bad. Just new.

And it stirs something in me I cannot quite name.

Maybe it is because I have been the new kid. I have worn the weight of being watched, judged, underestimated. Maybe it is because I know what it means to survive something that tried to break you. Or maybe it is just that I am a mom now, and every time I see someone try to tough it out alone, all I want to do is make sure they do not have to.

She is good. I will not deny that. Tough, smart, sharper than she lets on. But there is something behind her eyes that does not sit right with me- like she is always bracing for impact.

I decide right then— I am gonna keep an eye on her. Not because I do not trust her.

But because I know what it is like to need someone to notice you are not okay.

I watch Sofía get up from her desk slowly, despite the pain from her injured leg- even when Voight steps closer to help. It has been almost a month since she was discharged from Med and from the ambush. She brushes him off with a shake of her head— not rude, just... practiced. Like she is used to managing on her own. Like needing anyone feels like failure.

Voight backs off without a word, but I catch the flicker in his eyes. Concern. Frustration. Maybe even guilt.

I get it. The ambush changed all of us, but it carved something deeper in her. And while the rest of us have been trying to move forward, she has been pretending she already has.

I am not so sure that is true.

She walks with a limp that says more than she probably wants it to. I know physical pain when I see it— but it is the kind she cannot completely hide that worries me more. The kind that lingers behind the eyes when things get too quiet.

I grab two coffees from the break room and head her way before I can talk myself out of it. 

"Here," I say, holding one out like it is no big deal. “Figured you might want something stronger than whatever sludge Voight brewed this morning.”

She offers a small smile that does not quite reach her eyes. “Thanks.”

“Leg any better today?”

“Good days and bad ones.”

I nod. “Yeah. I know how that goes.”

She does not answer right away, just turns the cup in her hands. And I realize she is waiting for me to push— to ask the questions everyone else would not. Maybe part of her wants me to.

But I will not. Not yet. Not unless she gives me the opening.

Some wounds do not take well to daylight. I have learned that the hard way.

“I have to go back to the shelter tonight…” she whispers.

The words should not hit as hard as they do, but they land like a gut punch. Sofía rarely says anything that soft.

I study her— how she would not meet my eyes, how her fingers tighten around the coffee cup like it is the only thing keeping her grounded. That is when I feel it— the kind of ache that comes from knowing too much.

I have known Sofía Warren since she was ten. That part is true. But I was not around for the beginning. Kevin was. He was the one who found her after her dad, Jacob Warren, was shot right in front of her. Eight years old, blood on her shoes, silence in her throat.

He said she cried out for him. Screaming, wailing. Even trying to escape his strong arms to run to him and try to wake him up. To hope he is still alive. 

Her first placement was Ryan Doyle. And he was not the type of foster parent that deserved the title. On paper, he played nice. Behind closed doors… there were scars. Some you could see. Some you had to earn her trust to find.

She was bounced around after that— every six months, like clockwork. One house to the next, each one another reminder that belonging had an expiration date. By eighteen, she was out of the system and done playing by its rules.

And yet… here she is. Showing up. Doing the work. Fighting the good fight, even if it leaves her limping.

“You are not a burden,” I say quietly, setting my coffee down. “You deserve more than a bed at some overpacked shelter.” She shrugs like it is no big deal, but I see through it. Always have.

“Thanks,” she says, barely above a whisper. “I’ll call your contact.”

There is a beat of silence between us, thick and strangely sacred. Then she adds, “It does not get easier. But... it helps. When someone sees you.”

And yeah— that is the part that sticks with me.

I watch as Sofía limps away, probably to speak with Trudy.

I hear Voight’s familiar footsteps as he walks over to me. "She is strong. But, a shelter? According to the state, she got a $1.2 million inheritance when Jacob died. She could have used that money."

That stops me cold.

I turn to Voight, eyebrows raised, my voice low. “She had money?”

He nods, jaw tight. “The payout was from Jacob’s life insurance and a wrongful death settlement. Went into a state trust the second DCFS took custody. Should have transferred to her when she turned eighteen.”

I shake my head slowly, a mix of disbelief and something sharper twisting in my chest. “Then why in the world is she sleeping in a shelter?”

Voight does not answer right away. Just watches Sofía disappear down the stairs toward the front desk like the weight of that limp is only part of the story.

My mind is racing now. Because I know Sofía. And pride does not explain this. Not entirely.

“She ever mention it to you?” I ask.

“No.” He exhales through his nose. “Did not even know about the account until I had to pull old case files for that ambush investigation. The money is still there. Never touched.”

A long pause hangs between us.

“Maybe she does not know,” I say.

Voight’s expression hardens. “Or maybe she does not think she deserves it.”

And dang if that does not feel like the most Sofía thing I have ever heard.

I glance back toward the hall that leads to the stairs, jaw set. Because if that money is sitting in some forgotten account, and she is out here patching herself together in group shelters and walking on injuries that have not healed, then we have got more than a housing issue— we have a mystery. And I do not like the kind that comes wrapped in silence and shame.

Not when it is someone I care about.

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Chapter 12 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure is up!

Chapter 12: Eye of The Storm

Kevin Atwater

I have never seen her like this before.

Sofía Warren, my little angel, the same kid I used to carry around on my back when she was eight and asking why the stars moved, now walking into the interrogation room like she owns it. Leg wrapped, face pale, jaw locked.

Voight's pacing just outside. He did not want to let her do this. None of us did.

But she was not asking.

The room is dead silent, save for the faint hum of the camera. Ryan Doyle is slumping in the chair, his busted lip still oozing from the greeting Voight gave him. He looks up when she enters, and I swear to God, he goes pale.

"Well, I will be darned," Doyle mutters. "Little runt is still kicking."

"Shut the crap up." Sofía doesn't flinch. She closes the door, crutch in one hand, the other flipping open a file that is nothing but a prop. Her voice is steady. Cold.

"You are going to tell me why you came back."

He smirks. "Figured I missed the view."

She ignores him.

"You shot me in the leg, Doyle. Same leg I dragged around every day in those houses you left me to rot in. You know how many bones got broken in those years and worsened my condition of Cerebral Palsy? How many times I had to learn to walk again because of you?"

He laughs. A sick, dry sound.

"You were always a soft one. Your daddy made you weak."

Wrong move.

Sofía walks forward, closer than I ever want her to get to this piece of garbage. She leans over the table.

"My dad died a hero. You died a coward the day you ran."

Doyle shifts. He is not smirking now. He is sizing her up, realizing she is not a scared kid anymore.

"You think you got the guts to break me?"

"No," she says. "I do not need to break you. You already broke yourself the day you put a bullet in a rookie cop and thought you would not pay for it."

He lunges at her. Fast. Loud. Screaming.

But she does not even scream. Does not even flinch.

The glass explodes.

We are in the room before his hand even touches her. Halstead and I tackle him to the ground, Doyle spitting and thrashing like a demon unchained.

"YOU THINK THIS IS OVER?!"

"It is," I growl, pressing his face into the floor. "It has been over since the moment you put that gun in your hand."

Sofía is still standing. Just... standing.

Her crutch hit the floor in the scuffle, but she is not reaching for it.

Her eyes are empty. Hollow. I know that look.

I have worn that look.

She breathes out slow. One time. Then crumbles.

I catch her before she hits the floor.

She is shaking. Tiny tremors running through her limbs. Her thumb is already moving toward her mouth.

"Hey," I whisper. "It is over. You did it, baby girl. You are safe."

She nods. Barely. Does not say a word.

Voight storms in, looking like he is ready to kill again.

But when he sees her— wrapped in my arms, clinging to that invisible thread of strength left- he just stops.

He kneels next to her, one hand on her back.

"You did good, kid. But no more proving anything. You already proved enough."

Sofía sniffles once, then whispers the first words since the chaos: "Can I go home now?"

I squeeze her tight.

"Yeah, little angel. We will take you home."

And we do.

________________________

"But let me do something first..."

Her voice is quiet, shaking, but something in it twists my gut. I feel it in my bones.

"No, little angel."

But she wipes her face with the back of her sleeve, and just like that, the grief is gone. Her expression hardens, and I see it. That same mask Voight wears when he is ready to burn the world down.

"Sofía, no! We are done here!"

But she does not hear me. Or maybe she does, and just does not care.

Before any of us can stop her, she turns back to Doyle— still on the ground, cuffed, bruised— and grabs his face with one hand.

Her nails dig into his cheek like claws. Sharp. Merciless. He hisses in pain, trying to twist away.

"Look at me," she snarls, her voice more Voight than Warren now. "You remember this face. You remember the girl you tried to kill and failed. Next time you dream of revenge, you will see me. And you will know you lost."

Voight steps forward, hand on her shoulder. "That’s enough, Sofía."

She lets go. Steps back.

Breathing like she just ran through fire.

I reach out and grab her gently. This time, she does not fight it.

But Sofía is still not done.

Before we walk out of the interrogation room, I see her pivot suddenly— fast— and drive her boot into Doyle’s groin. He groans, body curling inward.

Then, without missing a beat, she kicks him in the face. Hard. The sound of it echoes through the room. A sickening crack.

I swear, she may have killed him right there.

Hailey rushes forward to pull her back. Voight grabs her arm.

"Enough! That is ENOUGH!"

She is breathing like a storm. Wild. Unforgiving.

But her eyes finally blink, finally see again. She looks down at what she has done. Her hands shake.

"He deserved worse," she mutters.

I step in front of her, blocking her view.

"You are right. But not from you, not like this. Not anymore."

She lowers her gaze, tears mixing with sweat.

Voight does not say a word. Just wraps his arm around her and leads her out.

This time, she lets herself be led.

And then she breaks.

"I had to... I HAD TO!!" she screams, voice raw, throat tearing. Her knees nearly buckle. Voight and I catch her at the same time.

She is sobbing now. Uncontrolled. Desperate.

"I had to. He would not stop. He would not ever stop."

"We know," I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers. "We know, little angel. We got you now. He is done."

Voight says nothing, but the grip he has on her shoulder says more than words ever could.

We carry her out together. And this time, she doesn’t try to be strong.

"I had to... I HAD TO!!" she screams, voice raw, throat tearing. Her knees nearly buckle. Voight and I catch her at the same time.

She is sobbing now. Uncontrolled. Desperate.

"I had to. He would not stop. He would not ever stop."

"We know," I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers. "We know, little angel. We got you now. He is done."

Voight says nothing, but the grip he has on her shoulder says more than words ever could.

We carry her out together. And this time, she doesn’t try to be strong.

_________________________

"What happened?!"

Trudy storms in like a jackal on a hunt, eyes sweeping the corridor, tone sharp enough to cut steel.

Sofía, shaking in our arms, hides behind me like a frightened child. It guts me.

"What happened in there?! I heard Doyle screaming like he was on fire!"

Voight steps forward, calm but firm. "He pushed too far."

Trudy narrows her eyes. "Define 'too far,' Hank."

I glance at Sofía. She is clutching my jacket now like it is a lifeline, her face tucking behind my shoulder.

"Trudy... not now," I say quietly. "Please."

Her gaze softens just slightly. Then it lands on Sofía— small, pale, crying.

And the fire in Trudy's eyes flicker. She exhales. "Alright. Get her out of here. I will deal with the rest."

Voight gives a small nod.

We move again.

Sofía’s steps are unsteady, but this time, we do not let go of her for a second.

Then, her voice, barely above a whisper: "Sorry..."

Voight and I stop in our tracks.

"Maybe you guys should throw me in the Cage... I deserve it. Handcuff me if you like... I am basically a c-criminal..." Her voice cracks and breaks around the words, her eyes too big and full of something far worse than fear.

Guilt.

"No," I say instantly. "You are not. You are not."

Voight turns to face her, expression carved in granite. "You are not a criminal, Sofía. You are a survivor. And that cage? That is never gonna be yours. Not while I am breathing."

She does not look convinced. But she does not argue either.

She just walks between us, eyes down, holding herself like she is afraid she wll disappear.

Then her voice wavers again, soft and broken: "I am just being a burden now... I killed Doyle because of all the harm he did to my father, to me, to others... I should have been smarter..."

"Sof—" But my voice fails.

Because how do you argue with someone who is convinced they are beyond saving?

Voight steps closer. "You are not a burden. You are the reason we fight. Do not ever forget that." And this time, it is Voight who pulls her into a hug.

Tight. Fierce.

Like a father holding onto the last piece of something he thought he lost.

Then she whispers again.

"I cannot do this anymore, Hank..." Voight stiffens. His arms around her do not loosen, but they tremble slightly.

"You are not alone," he says, voice low, barely holding back. "You hear me? You do not have to do this alone anymore. You got me. You got all of us."

But Sofía just leans into his chest.

And cries like the fight has finally left her.

I move beside them, watching her collapse in the only safety she trusts.

"Sofía... hey. Little angel, look at me. Look at Kev." She does not at first. Her fingers tighten around Voight’s jacket.

But slowly, so slowly, she lifts her chin.

Her eyes meet mine. And I see it all.

The fear. The guilt. The ache of fourteen years.

"You are not alone," I tell her. "You hear me? You are not a burden. You are family."

She breaks again, falling into my arms this time.

And we hold her.

Because right now, that is all we can do.

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Chapter 11 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure is up!

Summary: As the team analyzes the audio Sofía recorded, a new suspect emerges from Doyle’s old circle. While Voight prepares a takedown, Sofía wrestles with her recovery and clings to the comfort of family more than ever.

Chapter 11: Loose Threads

Hank Voight

The bullpen is quieter than usual. Not the kind of quiet that means peace, but the kind that simmers with something ready to explode. Jay sits as he is hunching over his computer, waveform audio stretch across the screen, speakers low but audible enough that every word made my skin crawl.

"He should have finished the job. That girl was a loose thread. Doyle got soft. Now Voight is crawling all over the city like a dog with rabies."

My jaw clenches.

Jay paused the file.

"That voice is Doyle. Confirmed," he said, eyes flicking to me. "The other guy— could be Curtis Galloway. But Doyle? That is his voice. Plain as day."

"Where was this recorded again?" I ask, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it from someone else.

"Sofía caught it. Neighboring room at Med. She was not snooping. She just... heard it."

My blood boils.

Ruzek leans against the filing cabinet, arms crossing across his chest. "He is bold. Talking like that out in the open? That ain’t just cocky. That is a message."

"Yeah," I said, voice low, barely containing the snarl in my chest. "A message to me."

I stand up. "He puts my kid in the hospital, then brags about it? That is not cocky. That is suicidal."

My fist slams onto the edge of Jay’s desk. Hard. The crash echos through the bullpen. No one flinched. They are used to it.

"When I find Doyle, there will not be a hospital willing to take him."

Kim looks up, cautious. "Sarge—"

"No," I growl, pointing at the screen. "He tried to finish a job he started over a decade ago. He touched one of ours."

And that is when the door opened.

Sofía.

On crutches, hospital band still around her wrist. Pale. Eyes darker than usual.

"What in the world are you doing here, Warren?"

She did not flinch. That is the problem.

"Helping," she said, limping forward. "I heard the voice. It is him. I remember the way he breathed. That is him."

"You need to be in a hospital bed."

"I need to be part of this."

"You need to sit your stubborn butt down before I personally carry you back to Med."

She stares me down.

I saw Jacob in her. That same fire. That same refusal to back down when every bone in your body begs you to yield.

"He ruined everything," she said, voice cracking. "He killed my dad. He killed the little girl I used to be. And he tried to kill me again. Do not ask me to sit this out."

I step toward her, hands clenching, chest rising.

"You think I do not want you on this? You think I do not know what it means to want justice that bad you cannot breathe? But this—" I point toward her leg, then toward the screen. "This is personal. Which means you do not think straight."

"Neither do you," she fires back.

Silence.

God.

She really is her father’s daughter.

I sigh. The kind of sigh that makes your ribs ache. The kind that meant surrender— not of control, but of the shield you try to hold up between you and the people you care too much about.

"You wanna help? Fine. But you are not taking point. You stick to me like glue. You disobey even once, and I chain you to that hospital bed myself. You understand me?"

She nods, sharp. "Yes, Sergeant."

I look around the room. Every face on my team locked in, focused.

"Let’s bring the coward in. And if he resists—"

Crack.

I slammed my hand down again.

"—he leaves in pieces."

This is not just a case.

This is family.

And you do not leave blood on the sidewalk without consequences.

_________________________

Sofía stands next to me. I, ironically, did not even hear her moving.

"Hank. I have an idea that might help us get that Doyle trash bag to talk once we catch him." She has a smirk— one I surprisingly did not want to mess with.

Dang, I see Jacob in her.

I raise a brow. "You better not be planning to beat him with your crutch."

She chuckles. "Tempting. But no. I know what he fears. I remember the way he used to look when he got nervous— real nervous. If we can corner him in just the right setting, I think I can get in his head. Make him sweat."

I stare at her. "You are telling me you want to interrogate the guy who put a bullet in you?"

"I am telling you that if he sees me alive and stronger than he remembers, it will throw him off balance."

I should say no. Every part of me wants to.

But I see it. That fire. That stubborn refusal to be just a victim.

Just like Jacob.

"We will see," I mutter. "One step at a time. You get through today without falling on your face, then we will talk."

She grins.

God help me— she is gonna be the death of me.

_______________________

Sofía stands next to me. I, ironically, did not even hear her moving.

"Hank. I have an idea that might help us get that Doyle trash bag to talk once we catch him." She has a smirk— one I surprisingly did not want to mess with.

Dang, I see Jacob in her.

I raise a brow. "You better not be planning to beat him with your crutch."

She chuckles. "Tempting. But no. I know what he fears. I remember the way he used to look when he got nervous— real nervous. If we can corner him in just the right setting, I think I can get in his head. Make him sweat."

I stare at her. "You are telling me you want to interrogate the guy who put a bullet in you?"

"I am telling you that if he sees me alive and stronger than he remembers, it will throw him off balance."

I should say no. Every part of me wants to.

But I see it. That fire. That stubborn refusal to be just a victim.

Just like Jacob.

"We will see," I mutter. "One step at a time. You get through today without falling on your face, then we will talk."

She grins.

God help me— she is gonna be the death of me.

________________________

We roll out an hour later. West Side warehouse. Tip came in from one of Adam’s CI contacts—Red Galloway’s crew had been squatting there. Halstead confirms heat signatures on the thermal drone. Four bodies inside. One is pacing. The kind of pacing you only do when you're waiting for a storm to hit.

"That is him," I say, gripping my vest strap. "Doyle is in there."

I scan my team.

"Jay, Adam— rear entrance. Kevin and Kim, south side. Hailey with me at the front. Torres, you’re our eyes in the alley. Keep the exit sealed."

Sofía gives me a look as she is sitting inside the van with tech support.

"Stay put," I warn her.

She holds her hands up. "Not touching a thing, Sarge. Promise."

"Voight," Jay radios in. "Rear is locked. They bolted it."

"Breacher is coming in now," Adam confirms.

"On three," I mutter into my comms. "One... two..."

BOOM!

The door crashes inward.

Gunfire.

"Shots fired!"

"MOVE!"

We are in.

The chaos lasts thirty seconds. Three perps down, one trying to crawl under a workbench. None of them Doyle. Until I see a shadow bolt from the back room.

"Doyle!"

I am faster.

Tackle. Concrete. Handcuffs biting his wrists. He tries to spit at me— bad choice.

I slam his face against the wall.

"You think you can shoot my kid and walk away?!" I growl. "You got no idea who you’re messing with."

He sneers. "She is still breathing, ain’t she?"

Crack!

I punch him once. Hard enough to loosen something important.

"You just made the biggest mistake of your life," I snarl. "You tried to end a life I swore to protect. Now you are gonna find out what happens when you mess with my family."

Hailey grabs my arm. "Voight. Enough."

I breathe hard.

But I do not hit him again.

Not yet.

__________________________

Back at the van, I radio Trudy for prisoner transport. Doyle's wrists are in handcuffs and he is slumping in the corner, cursing through broken teeth. I am still seething, pacing the pavement just outside.

That is when I hear her.

"I am going to face this coward who ruined my life for almost 14 years."

Sofía.

She gets up from her seat inside the van like the bullet wound in her leg does not exist. Determine. Unshakable.

"Warren! Sit your butt down!" I bark.

Trudy is already stepping in front of her. "Kid, no. You are not cleared, and you well know it."

Sofía shrugs her off.

"He does not get to hide behind bars without facing what he did. Not just to my dad. To me. I need to look him in the eye and let him see he did not win."

"Sofía," I growl, stepping in. She turns to me.

"You promised me one thing, Hank. One step at a time. Well, here is mine. Let me take it."

I swear I see Jacob standing there instead.

And just like that— I know I am not stopping her.

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Chapter 10 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65107366/chapters/172045114

This is a chapter with the new cop in Season 12 of Chicago P.D., Kiana Cook! There is not too much info about her yet, but I tried. Enjoy!

Chapter 10: New Blood, Same Fire

Kiana Cook

It had been raining in Chicago for three straight days.

Not the kind of rain that washes away grime and leaves the city gleaming— no. This was the kind that clung to everything. Cold. Soaking. Angry. I could feel it in my bones as I step into the 21st District, my boots leave wet prints on the tile floor.

Trudy gives me a once-over from behind the front desk. “You look like you lost a fight with a thundercloud.”

I give a half-hearted smirk, running a hand through my damp curls. “Yeah, well, the thundercloud got a few hits in.” She hands me a case file. “Voight is upstairs. He’s been pacing like a panther. You might want to tread lightly.”

“Copy that.”

I turn toward the stairs, taking two at a time, my grip tight on the rail. Ever since Sofía got shot, the mood upstairs has shifted. There was a hum in the air, like something ready to snap. Like we are all just pretending not to be furious. But I know the truth— every single one of us is pissed to the core.

Even me.

Especially me.

Sofía Warren is the new rookie. Newer than me, technically. But you would not know it by the way she looks at people. Big brown eyes, always scanning, always soaking up the room like she expects someone to strike. Always prepared to smile, even when it is clearly costing her something to do it. I saw the signs before anyone else knew. Not the thumb-sucking or the hospital stay. No. I saw it in her posture. The way she flinches when you move too fast. The way she locks her locker like she expects someone to ransack it.

Because I used to lock mine the same way.

I am halfway up the steps when I hear it: shouting. Voight. Ruzek. Torres.

I paused. Listened.

“…He was her placement!” Torres snaps. “She was eight, and that sick freak was supposed to protect her!”

Voight’s voice came next, low and hard. “When I find him, it’s not gonna be a clean arrest.”

That is enough for me. I step through the cage door and into the bullpen. “Anyone got a lead on Doyle?” I ask, tossing my wet jacket onto my desk.

Ruzek looks up. “Not unless you have got a psychic in your back pocket.”

“Sorry. Mine is off today.”

Jay is on the phone, pacing. Upton is cross-referencing call logs. Kevin has a murder in his eyes. Kim sat next to a half-empty coffee, her face pale and furious.

And Voight?

Voight stood in the middle of it all. Still. Quiet. Watching.

I meet his gaze and he gives me a slight nod.

“Cook,” he said. “You got that contact in Narcotics still?”

“Yeah. Garcia. He owes me.”

“Good. Use him. I want to know if Doyle’s been running any dope or using old safehouses. If he is back in town, he did not come to be quiet.”

“On it.”

I grab my phone and walk out of the bullpen. Dialing. Waiting.

Garcia picks up on the third ring. “If this is about that rookie getting shot, you are not the first one to call me.”

“I better be the last,” I snap. “You hear anything or not?”

He sighs. “Word is, Doyle has been bouncing between Englewood and Lower West Side. Someone spotted him buying burner phones yesterday. Unconfirmed.”

“Where?”

“Quick Cash Mart. Corner of 27th and Sawyer.”

I am already pulling my keys from my pocket. “Send me the footage if you can get it.”

“Consider it done.”

I hung up and head straight for my ride— a black Lincoln Nautilus. Sleek, powerful. Like me.

I did not ask for backup. I did not clear it with Voight. I know better. But I also know the line between initiative and insubordination, and I dance it like a freaking ballerina.

The store is run by a guy named Ezequiel. He remembers me. I used to patrol the block when I was still with Tactical.

“Detective Cook. Been a minute.”

“Still just Officer,” I correct him. “You got footage from yesterday?”

He nods, leading me to the back. The footage is grainy, but it is him. Doyle. Older, hair thinner, but those cold eyes have not changed.

And he is not alone.

There is another guy. Heavyset. Tattoos up the neck. Familiar.

I snap a photo with my phone. “This guy. Who is he?”

Ezequiel squinted. “That is Brick. Street name. No clue his real one. He runs protection gigs for scumbags. Likes cash up front.”

I nod. “Gracias.”

________________________

Back at the district, I toss the photo onto Voight’s desk. “You are welcome.”

He looks up at me, brow raised. “You went solo?”

“I am not apologizing for doing my job.”

His gaze darkens. “Neither will I when I bench your butt if you pull that stunt again.”

I hold his stare. “Noted.” But he pockets the photo. So I know he is not really mad.

________________________

Later that night, I went to the hospital.

Did not tell anyone. Just showing up.

The lights are low. Kevin is asleep in the corner chair. Kim has curled up against the couch. Trudy’s badge pin gleaming softly on the side table. And there she is.

Sofía.

Small. Fragile. But alive.

I pull the chair closer and sat down. She stirs, eyes fluttering.

“Kiana?” she whispers.

“Yeah,” I said. “It is me, rookie.”

She blinks up at me. “Why are you here?”

“Because you got shot and scared the crap out of everyone.”

Her lip quivers. “I did not mean to.”

I reach out, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “Nobody ever does. Does not mean we do not still show up for each other.”

She is quiet for a while. Then her voice— smaller— whisper, “They keep saying I am the baby. That I am part of the family. But what if I mess it up? What if I keep being a burden?”

I leaned in closer. “You are not a burden, Sofía. You are a survivor. That is not weakness. That is fire.”

She blinks. “You sound like Voight.”

I smirk. “God help me, I have been here too long.”

She smiles a little. A genuine one.

Then she whispers, “Can I… can I just be little for a while?”

I did not flinch. I did not tease. I did not question it.

Instead, I reach into my jacket and pull out a small, unopened juice box I had grabbed from the vending machine. “Apple or grape?”

Her eyes light up.

“Apple, please.”

I pop in the straw and hand it to her. “There you go. No judgment here.”

She took a sip, hands shaking just slightly, and nestles deeper into her pillows. The stuffed bear on her chest rose and fell with each breath.

And I just sat with her.

Silent. Still.

A guardian in plainclothes.

___________________________

I did not mean to fall asleep next to her, but I did.

One second I was watching her chest rise and fall, and the next, my head is tilted back against the vinyl chair, neck aching, legs twitching from bad dreams.

I dreamed of Tactical. Of that hot August day when the breacher did not make it out. When I pulled a trigger too slow. When a girl half Sofía’s size bled out because I second-guessed my call.

I jolt awake, hand instinctively reaching for my sidearm. But the room is calm.

The only thing stirring is the soft rustle of hospital sheets. Sofía has shifted a bit, her thumb still near her mouth, juice box long empty and dropped beside her like an old toy.

“Easy,” I whisper to myself, rubbing my eyes. “Just the ghosts again.”

I stand up, my muscles protesting the angle I had been sleeping in. Checked the door. Cracked it open. Nurses pass, murmuring softly. A cart squeaking by.

I turn to go back in— but then I heard it.

“…she was a mistake.”

The voice was low, rough. Male.

I press against the doorframe, ears sharp.

“She’s a loose thread,” the voice continues. “Should have finished it. Now Voight’s got the whole unit foaming at the mouth.”

Another voice chuckles.

I peek into the next room’s doorway. Two men. One sits beside a patient in bandages— some low-level offender we brought in last week. But the guy in the chair?

I know that face. Brick.

Same neck tattoos. Same thick frame. Same coward who was with Doyle in that Quick Cash Mart footage.

My pulse spikes. I duck back in, grabbing my phone. Hit record. Then move quick— snapping a blurry shot through the cracked door.

Sofía stirs behind me.

“Kiana?” she calls weakly.

I move fast, kneeling beside her again. “Shhhh. I am here. You good.”

She blinks at me. “You heard something?”

Smart girl.

I show her the phone. “Yeah. I think we just found Doyle’s backup.”

She looks at the screen and nods, eyes suddenly clearer, sharper. “That is him. I heard that voice earlier. The one talking to the guy in the bed.”

“Alright.” I squeeze her hand. “Then you just helped us close in on Doyle.”

A knock on the door snaps us both around.

Voight.

He steps in like a storm with a badge. Eyes like steel.

“What have you got?”

I hand him the phone. Let him hear the snippet.

He did not blink. “That is our guy.”

Sofía sat up straighter. “It is him, Hank. I heard him say Doyle’s name.”

Voight looks at her for a long moment. Then he nods. “Good work, Officer Warren.”

Her eyes light up like someone has handed her a badge made of gold.

I could not help but smile.

He turns to me. “You and Ruzek are with me. We hit that house before the lead goes cold.”

“Yes, sir.”

I grab my jacket, giving Sofía’s hand one last squeeze. “You rest. You earned it.”

She nods. “Kiana?”

“Yeah?”

She looks up at me, still that flicker of childlike innocence glowing behind her exhaustion. “Thanks for being my big sister today.”

That one hit me square in the chest. Like a bullet with a bow on it. I did not say anything.

Just nod and shut the door behind me.

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Chapter 9 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65107366/chapters/171781252

Chapter 9: Badge and Blanket

Trudy Platt

There is a stillness in hospital hallways that gets under my skin. It is not like the quiet you get at the district after midnight. No— this is different. It is sterile, muffled. Like everyone else is waiting for bad news that is tiptoeing down the hall.

I hate it.

I hold two cups of coffee, extra cream and sugar in one, bitter as my soul in the other. The nurse at the station points me toward Sofía’s room before I even ask. Guess I am not the only one making repeat visits.

When I step inside, Kim is dozing upright in a chair by the bed. Kevin's in the other corner, half-asleep with a Bible open on his lap, thumb still tucked between the pages like he forgot what verse he was reading. And there she is— Sofía Warren. Tiny thing, curled up like a baby bird under a mountain of sterile white hospital blankets, IV in her arm, monitors blinking their slow, steady rhythm.

She is clutching a stuffed bear someone must have brought from the bullpen. I bet Voight made sure of it. Man looks like a wrecking ball most days, but you put one of his “kids” in a hospital bed and he will fall apart in private before he lets it show in public.

I quietly set the coffees down, one near Kim, one near Kevin. Then I walk to the side of the bed. Sofía stirs a little— thumb twitching up toward her mouth before she stops herself halfway, like she is ashamed. Like instinct is something to hide and be ashamed of.

I crouch next to her.

“Sweetheart,” I whisper, brushing a bit of hair from her forehead. “It is alright. You are safe now.” She stirs again, and I catch her mouthing something I can not quite hear. Maybe it is “Daddy.” Maybe it is a prayer. Could be both.

Does not matter.

I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a tiny CPD badge pin— one of the old-school pins we give out at school events. She might not be awake yet, but I tuck it into her palm and gently fold her fingers around it.

“You still got your shield, baby girl,” I murmur. “And we still got you.”

_____________________

I sit next to her bed in the world’s most uncomfortable vinyl chair, arms crossed, spine screaming. But I do not move.

Not until I hear it.

“Trudy… thank you…”

I glance down, surprised by the voice—soft, hoarse, but unmistakably hers.

Sofía’s eyes blink open fully, dark brown and still glassy from whatever cocktail meds they have got her on. But there is a smile there. Small. Real.

“Man,” she mumbles, shifting slightly, “I feel like whatever pain meds I am being given is turning me into Sleeping Beauty or something.”

I let out a breath I did not know I had been holding and raise an eyebrow. “Sleeping Beauty did not get shot in the leg during a drive-by ambush, kid.”

She chuckles— then winces.

“Alright, take it easy.” I lean forward, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. “Last thing we need is you tearing something while trying to make fairytale jokes.”

Sofía’s lips twitch upward, and she relaxes into the pillow. “Is everyone okay? Dante?”

I nod. “He is fine. Rattled, but fine. Kid has not left the district since it happened. Keeps asking Voight when he can visit.”

Her brows knit. “He saw everything.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “He saw more than most rookies see their whole first year.”

She goes quiet, and I see it— the tension behind her eyes. The fear. The shame. Like her body is here, but her heart is back on that sidewalk.

“You did not do anything wrong, sweetheart,” I say, my voice low but firm. “You were walking out of the building. You did not start that fight.”

She swallows hard. “But I was the target...”

“No,” I correct. “You were the victim. And that makes a difference.”

She does not argue, but her hand drifts toward her cheek— thumb grazing her lip again in that same soft, familiar motion. A comfort habit. Something from long ago that never quite left her.

I gently place my hand over hers. “It is okay, Sofía. No one is judging you. Not here.”

A pause.

Then she whispers, “I had a dream. He was there. Alvin.” I freeze.

“Olinsky?”

She nods. “He talked to me. Told me my dad would be proud. Said I was still a kid at heart- and that it was okay.” My chest tightens. I do not say much. Just give her hand a little squeeze.

“I think…” she starts, then falters. “I think I want to be little for a while.”

My voice softens. “Then you be little, sweetheart. We got the big stuff handled.”

"But… Doyle…” she murmurs, eyes starting to brim again. “I want to help, Trudy! I am a cop—" I stop her with one firm hand on her shoulder.

“No,” I say gently but with enough force that she knows this is not up for debate. “Right now, you are a hurt cop. One who almost bled out on the sidewalk because a monster from her past came crawling back out of the darkness.”

Her lip trembles. She wants to argue— I can see it in the flicker of her brows, the set of her jaw- but her body is betraying her. She is tired. Still trembling slightly from the meds and the aftermath.

I lean closer, voice quieter now. “You being here, alive, breathing? That is helping more than you know. Voight already got the whole unit moving like a war machine. Jay is pulling footage. Adam is talking to informants. Torres is on the edge of blowing the windows out just pacing.”

I pause, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You do not have to fight this one alone, sweetheart. Let us fight for you.” Sofía’s eyes squeeze shut, two tears slipping out, tracking down her cheeks. Her thumb hovers by her lip again. She hesitates.

“Go ahead,” I whisper. “It is just us. You are safe. Nobody here keeping score.” She curls into herself a little more, and finally lets the thumb rest against her mouth. Comfort. Innocence. Survival.

I reach over and tuck the blanket around her tighter. Then I rise, smoothing down my coat.

“I am gonna be just outside the door. You need anything— even a stuffed animal or a juice box- you buzz.”

She nods slowly, already slipping back into the haze of pain meds and comfort.

I stop at the door, looking back at her— this tiny warrior who thinks she is not allowed to rest. “You are a cop, Sofía,” I say softly. “But you are also family. And family means we carry each other.”

I leave her with that, stepping into the hall and letting the door click quietly behind me.

____________________

The hallway is quiet, but not in the cold hospital way anymore.

It is the quiet you feel in your chest when you have just sat beside someone who broke your heart a little— but in the kind of way that makes you grateful they are still here to break it. I lean back against the wall outside Sofía’s room and let out a slow breath, crossing my arms tight over my chest like it will hold everything together.

For a second, I close my eyes.

She is alive.

That is the only thing I care about right now. Not promotions, not paperwork. Just that girl in there, wrapped in too many wires and not enough softness. She has been through more than most officers twice her age, and still calls me Trudy like I am a fairy godmother instead of a beat-up sergeant with a thousand-yard stare and bad knees.

I pull out my phone and type out a message to Voight.

T: She is awake. Thumb in her mouth. Still our baby.

I hover over “send” for half a second, then hit it.

The buzz of the hospital fades into background noise. For a moment, just one, I let myself feel it— the weight of it all.

Then, suddenly—

The static of my shoulder mic flares up.

“5021 George to 5021 Ida. Trudy, you there?”

Voight.

His voice is all gravel and grit, like a man running on rage and fumes. I straighten immediately, thumb to the radio.

“5021 Ida, go ahead.”

“We got movement. Street cam picked up Doyle’s vehicle four blocks from a stash house on 26th. We are moving in. Tell the kid to sit tight.”

I glance toward Sofía’s door, my chest tightening again. She is not going anywhere— she can barely lift her head without wincing— but I know what he means.

“Copy that. She is safe. We are all in.”

There is a pause.

Then, “Good. ’Cause when I find that son of a gun, he will not hurt anybody else ever again.”

The radio clicks off.

I tuck it back on my belt, blow out a breath, and glance once more at the door.

“You just rest, baby girl,” I whisper to the silence. “Let the wolves do what they do.”

__________________

The radio is quiet for a few seconds. Too quiet.

I hate that part— the space between orders, the waiting, the part where your stomach turns knots because no news usually means something is about to blow.

I shift my stance, one hand resting on my belt near my radio mic, thumb twitching like it is searching for something to do. I have not felt this keyed-up since… well, since Justin.

Then it hits me.

This feels the same.

Because this is the same.

Voight is out there chasing justice for a kid he loves like his own, and I am standing in a hallway praying that none of them end up bleeding for it.

My radio crackles to life again. “5021 George. Ruzek’s circling the back. Upton’s with me. No sign of Doyle yet. Doors barricaded.”

I press my thumb to the mic.

“Copy. Proceed with caution. Watch your six.”

I glance toward the hospital room. Just a sliver of light coming under the door. She is probably back asleep.

Or so I think.

The door creaks open behind me. I turn, expecting a nurse. No.

It is Sofía.

Half-sitting in the bed, squinting like she is forcing herself to stay upright. Her cheeks are flushed, and that stuffed bear is still clutching close to her chest— but her voice? Clear.

“Trudy,” she says softly, “I need to tell you something.”

I walk back in, pulling the door half-closed behind me. “Hey, what did I say about resting?”

“I know. I was resting,” she says, then shifts, wincing. “Until the guy in the next room had a visitor. I overheard them.”

My brow furrows. “Overheard what?”

She reaches under her pillow— classic cop move— and pulls out her phone. “I didn’t mean to snoop. But they were loud. And… I recognized one of the voices.”

She taps the screen and hits play.

I lean closer.

A crackling recording plays: muffled at first, then clearer. A man’s voice—older, rough, bitter.

“He should have finished the job. That girl was a loose thread. Doyle got soft. Now Voight is crawling all over the city like a dog with rabies.”

A pause. Another voice responds, more nasal.

“You think they’ll trace it back?”

“Not if they do not find the second car. Or the cash. It is still buried. Nobody is talking.”

My blood runs cold. I step back, stunned.

Sofía stares at me, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was Doyle’s cousin. He came to visit someone in recovery—he did not know I was awake. Or that I would understand what I was hearing.”

I look at her— really look. Still pale. Still trembling. But laser-focused.

“You recorded this?” I ask. She nods.

“Because I am not just the victim, Trudy. I am a cop. And I know what evidence sounds like.”

Something swells in my chest. Pride? Relief? Awe? All of the above.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty,” I murmur, reaching for my radio again, “looks like you just gave the wolves their scent.”

I hit the mic.

“5021 Ida to 5021 George.”

Radio crackles.

“Go ahead.”

“Sofía just handed us audio. Confirming Doyle was not working alone. There is a second car. Cash stash. Possibly a cousin in play.”

A long beat.

Then Voight’s voice, dark and full of renewed fire: “Copy that. Tell our girl—she just turned the tide.”

I do not leave Sofía’s side after that.

_____________________

She’s lying back again, pale and trembling just under the skin, but her grip on that stuffed bear and her CPD-issued phone might as well be handcuffs on a suspect— tight, unwavering.

Her voice is soft, but her words are solid. “They are gonna get him, right?”

I place a hand over hers. “Yeah, sweetheart. Thanks to you, they will.”

Then my radio crackles to life again.

“5021 George. We got eyes on the cousin. Confirm ID: Elijah Doyle. Apartment off Archer. Second car in the garage— black Impala, damage to the front grille, consistent with witness report.”

I squeeze Sofía’s hand gently. She blinks up at me, face full of quiet hope. Voight’s voice cuts through next, colder than January wind.

“Light it up. I want him breathing but scared.”

The silence after that is heavier than before. Sofía’s eyes widen.

I kneel beside her again, tucking her phone back under the pillow. “You did your job, Officer Warren. Now let Intelligence do theirs.”

She nods, but she is gripping the bear a little tighter.

____________________

Meanwhile, the rest of the team storms into the apartment. Voight being in charge, per usual. I can hear their voices through my radio.

“Ruzek, back entrance. Jay, with me. Upton, watch the stairwell. No mistakes.”

Ruzek: “Got it. Back alley’s clear.”

Halstead: “Front door locked, blinds drawn. He’s hiding something.”

Voight: “Then let’s knock like we mean it.”

I heard a loud crash. The sound of wood splintering through the radio makes me flinch. Sofía does too. She is listening to everything.

Voight: “Chicago PD! Show me your hands!”

Upton: “Sarge! He is going out the back—”

Ruzek: “Not today, dirtbag!”

Another thud. A grunt. Muffled curses.

Jay: “Suspect down. Not dead. Got the cousin. Got the car.”

Voight: “Read him his rights. Then ask where the cash is.”

I look at Sofía.

She is crying— but they are quiet tears. Not from fear. From relief. I brush a hand down her hair, whispering, “They got him.”

She sniffs, managing a shaky smile. “I’m glad…”

Her eyes close again, exhaustion taking over.

“…but make sure Sarge does not do anything that will get him suspended.”

I smirk. “No promises, kid.”

I pull the blanket up to her chin and sit back down in the chair. The radio has gone quiet again, but this time it is a good quiet.

A job done.

A wolf caged.

A baby cop sleeping safe under a badge and blanket.

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Chapter 8 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65107366/chapters/171620350

Chapter 8: No One Left Behind

Hailey Upton

The door to the hospital room shut with a soft click behind me. I stood there for a second, the kind of second where your lungs forget how to work. Sofía lays curling in a tangle of blankets and wires, her thumb resting near her mouth, breath coming shallow and slow.

She looks… small.

Not just physically— but young. Vulnerable. Breakable.

Kim and Kevin had just stepped out to grab coffee. Adam has gone with them. I volunteered to stay.

She stirs, whimpering. Her lashes flutter open. Big, brown eyes lock onto me.

Then panic.

“Kev…?” Her voice cracks. “K-Kim? Where—?”

She sat up too fast. Pain lance through her leg and she cries out, arms flail in confusion. Her hands reach toward the door, then curl into the hospital sheets like they were lifelines.

“Hey, hey, Sofía…” I cross the room in two steps, crouching at the side of the bed. “It is okay. They are just down the hall. It is me— Upton.”

Tears well up in her eyes. “I— I want Kevin… or Kim… please…” Her plea shatters me.

I am not them. I am not safe the way they were. I do not know how to do this— comfort, softness, all the things that made you feel warm inside instead of raw. But she needs someone.

So I did something I rarely ever do.

I sit on the bed, gently, and wrap my arms around her. “They are coming back,” I whisper, rocking her just slightly. “But I am here, okay? You are safe. You are not alone.”

She let out a tiny sob and tucks her face into my shoulder. Her hand clutching my sleeve like a child afraid of the dark.

And I hold her tighter. Just like someone has done for me, once.

I did have to leave to meet up with Sarge and everyone else though...

____________________

Soon, back in Intelligence, I watch Voight pacing like a caged wolf in the bullpen. Torres has just pulled up traffic cam footage of the black sedan that sped off after the ambush. The plate was partial. But not partial enough.

Adam slams his fist down angrily. “Doyle. Same idiot. Still in Chicago.”

Voight did not even blink. “That sick son of a—” He turns, eyes flashing. “That was his message. Put a bullet in my kid and leave her bleeding on the dang sidewalk.”

Jay opens his mouth to say that Sofía is not technically Voight's kid. But his mouth snaps shut when Sarge gave him an icy glare.

“Voight,” I said carefully, “we are going after him. You know that. But we need to think smart—”

He faces toward me. “I do not want smart, Hailey. I want him.”

Everyone fell silent.

“You do not touch a cop. And you sure as crud do not touch a child who wore the badge to honor her father after everything she has been through.” His voice cracks— not weak, but sharp— with fury barely held in check.

“She was eight,” Kevin mutters. “He was her first placement after her dad died. He was supposed to protect her.”

Voight’s hands curl into fists. “Instead, he used her. Hurt her. And now he wants to finish the job.” His voice dropped an octave—cold, gravel-thick rage. “I am going to make him wish he stayed buried.”

________________________

I am back at the hospital a few hours later. Sofía is asleep again. She clings to the edge of my coat like a child refusing to let go of her blanket as I sit at the edge of the bed.

Kim walks in quietly, her arms full of coffee.

“She okay?” she whispers.

I nod. “Woke up. Panicked. She thought she was alone.”

Kim’s eyes darken. “Doyle is still out there.”

Kevin steps in next, jaw clenching. “Then we end it.”

I look at the girl curling up under the blankets, then back at the door. In that moment, I knew exactly what Voight meant. This is not just about justice anymore. It is about protection. About family.

About making sure no one ever hurt our baby again. EVER!

____________________

We hit the door fast and hard as we enter where this coward, Ryan Doyle, is possibly hiding.

Voight did not bother to wait for backup. He kicks the door in like the devil himself was behind him.

“DOYLE!” he roars, gun raised. “Chicago PD!”

We swept the space— moldy walls, stained furniture. The place reeks of cowardice, beer and madness.

And then—

“CLEAR!” Adam shouts from the back.

Voight stalks into the center of the room. He picks up a crumpled picture frame off the floor—an old photo of Doyle in uniform. He stares at it for one long second—then hurls it aggressively against the wall.

Glass shatters. Frame cracks.

“That sick fool not gonna run forever,” Kevin said.

“Darn right he is not,” Voight growls. “When I find him—”

“You will do it right,” I said, stepping in.

He looks at me— like a wolf that has been cornered. Then nods once.

But his eyes?

They are already burning the path to Doyle’s grave.

Back at the hospital, later that night, I step back into the room. Sofía was still asleep, Kim on one side, Kevin on the other, both holding her hands. A children’s Bible lay on the tray table, the one she carries with her like a lifeline.

She is safe. For now. But Doyle is still out there.

And none of us— none of us— would rest until he is not.

Notes: This chapter is a bit jumpy with the scene, but the show is like that. Enjoy!

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Chapter 7 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65107366/chapters/171516571

Chapter 7: Guardian in the Shadows (Ambushed Pt. 2)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: As Sofía slips into unconsciousness after the ambush, she finds herself in a dreamlike space between life and death—where an unexpected guardian appears. Detective Alvin Olinsky, long gone but never forgotten, offers her comfort, wisdom, and a reminder that even in the darkest moments, she is not alone. A ghostly visit from the past meets the heart of a girl still learning to heal.

I really wanted to explore how someone like Sofía—who is emotionally vulnerable but incredibly strong—might respond to a fatherly presence from someone who was important to Voight and the CPD family.

NOTE: 🕊️ This chapter is written from the POV of Alvin Olinsky, appearing to Sofía in a dream or hallucination while she is unconscious after the ambush in Chapter 6. Inspired by his reappearance as a vision to Voight in Season 11, this is my take on Olinsky becoming a quiet guardian for the next generation.

This chapter has dreamlike imagery, soft comfort, and found-family vibes. 💙

Alvin Olinsky (Dream/hallucination sequence)

It is quiet here. The kind of quiet that does not belong in a city like Chicago. The streets are not humming. The sirens are not screaming. The world is just... still.

And that is when I see her.

Sofía.

She is lying on the ground, curling up like a frightened little baby girl. Thumb in her mouth. Blood soaking through her pants.

I know I should not be here. Crap, I have not been around in years. Not really. Not since…

But the job is never done either way. Voight used to say that— “The badge doesn’t leave you. Not even in the ground.”

So I watch her. This tiny thing—this kid with fire in her bones and ghosts in her eyes. She reminds me of my daughter. No. She reminds me of me.

She is somewhere between the pain and the peace. Between the bullets and the breath. I step forward, even though I should not be able to. Dead men do not walk. But maybe they dream. Or maybe the living call us back when they need us. I do not know. I am just assuming.

“Kid,” I say gently.

Her head lifts. She is not sure if she is asleep or gone, and frankly, neither am I. Her eyes flicker with recognition— but not like she knows me. More like she feels me.

“Who… who are you?” she asks, voice as fragile as frost. I crouch beside her. My knees do not hurt here. Nothing does.

“Just a friend,” I say. “You are safe right now.”

She flinches. “It hurts.”

“I know,” I murmur. “Pain has a way of reminding us we are still here. But it does not last forever.”

She curls into herself, childlike. I see the trauma clinging to her like shadows. And I know what that kind of hurt does to a soul. The kind of damage you do not talk about. You just carry.

“You’re not alone, Sofía.”

She blinks, eyes wide. “You know my name?”

I smile. “I have been watching. We all have. You got more people behind you than you think.”

She sniffs. “Even Voight?”

My smile softens. “Especially Voight. He might be a hardhead, but when he takes someone in... he does not let go. Not really.”

Her lips quivers. “I miss my dad.”

“I know you do.” I place a hand on her shoulder. Somehow, it feels real. Solid. Like this moment exists outside the rules. “He would be proud of you."

“Really?”

“Yeah. You became the kind of cop he wanted to be. Honest. Brave. The kind that does not lose her soul in the crossfire.”

She starts to cry again, quietly. But I do not stop her. Sometimes, tears are more cleansing than confession.

“Why are you here?” she finally whispers.

I take a breath, even though I do not need to.

“Because part of you needs to be reminded you are still a kid at heart—and that is okay. And because sometimes the ones we lost send others to stand watch.”

A pause.

Then she looks up at me, brow furrowing. “Are you… dead?”

I chuckle. “That obvious, huh?”

She shrugs. “You are glowing a little, in a sense.”

I look down. I am glowing a little. Typical. I guess.

I stand and extend my hand. “Come on. You got people waiting for you.”

She looks uncertain. “Will it hurt when I wake up?”

I nod. “Yeah. Probably. But that is the thing about pain— it means you made it through.”

She takes my hand. And just like that, the dream begins to fade.

“Will you tell my dad… I love him?” She asks.

I look at her, placing a hand over my heart. “Already did, sweetheart.”

The hospital lights start to pierce through the fog. I hear the beeping of machines. The anxious voices of family— not by blood, but by choice.

Before she wakes, she turns back to me one last time. “Will I see you again?”

I smile gently. “Maybe. But not too soon, alright?”

She nods, hugging me gently. It feels real as I wrap my arms around her before letting her go. And just like that—

She is gone.

Back to the world. Back to the pain.

But not alone.

Never alone.

Enjoy!

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Here is Chapter 6 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure to read here!

Chapter 6: Ambushed (Pt. 1)

Dante Torres

It has been a month since I started at the 21st District. I got to meet everyone, including Sofía Warren. I know she is a rookie who is five months in, longer than I have been in Intelligence. From the corner of my eye, I silently watch her at her desk. She is fumbling with something in her pocket. She soon glances over at me and I turn away quickly with a smirk.

"¿Qué pasa, Torres? You are looking at me from the corner of your eye with a look that is spiking my own curiosity." Sofía gives her own smirk back at me. I try to play it cool, not wanting to give away my interest in the rookie. "Just making sure you're not getting into any trouble, Warren," I reply with a hint of teasing in my voice. I glance back at her, noticing the way her eyes sparkle with amusement. She seems to be enjoying our little exchange, and I find myself wanting to keep the conversation going.

I hear Sofía laugh. Her laugh sounds so much like a little girl and it is surprisingly adorable. We cracked a few jokes here and there, which lightens the mood around the bullpen.

We continue to laugh until I saw something unusual Warren is doing, even though she is is attempting to be discreet. Her thumb touched the edge of her bottom lip and quickly went into her mouth. She starts to slowly suck on it. Wait- she sucks her thumb still? Is she too old for that? I feel a pang of surprise, following by curiosity. I have never seen adults suck their thumb. It is... endearing, in a weird way. I find myself wondering what is going on with her, what could be causing her to revert to this childhood habit. Is she anxious about something? Stressed about a case? I glance around the bullpen, making sure no one else, besides Kevin and Kim, has noticed, before looking back at Sofía. She is still sucking her thumb, oblivious to my gaze. I feel a sudden urge to reach out, to ask her if she's okay, but I hesitate. I want to avoid embarrassing her or make her feel self-conscious.

Kevin and Kim walk over to her. I hear Kim talk to her softly, "Sweetie, do not suck your thumb. It is not good for your teeth." I see Kevin nod in agreement. But I hear Sofía whimper and fuss like a child. Her face scrunches up, and she looks like she is about to pout. Kevin and Kim exchange a knowing glance, and Kevin says, "Hey, little angel, we are just looking out for you. You are a tough cop, but you are still our Sofía." Kim adds, "And we do not want you to hurt your teeth or yourself in general, okay?" Sofía looks down, her thumb still in her mouth, and I can see the struggle in her eyes. She is clearly torn between the comfort of the habit and the embarrassment of being caught, even with two people who already acknowledge her habits. I feel a sense of sympathy for her, and I wonder what it is like to have people care about her so deeply.

Even though everyone else in the bullpen is oblivious to what is going on since they are so engaged in their work, I notice Sofía's head laying on her desk. Kevin and Kim attempt to comfort her as she continues to be discreet with her thumb sucking. And to not draw attention to the rest of Intelligence.

I watch as Kevin gently strokes Sofía's hair, and Kim whispers something I could not hear in her ear. Sofía's eyes are closed, and her thumb is still in her mouth, but she seems to be calming down. I can see the tension in her body easing, and her breathing slowing down. I feel like I am intruding on something private. But at the same time, I am intrigued by the dynamic between Sofía, Kevin, and Kim. They seem to have a deep understanding of each other, and it is clear that they care about Sofía deeply. I wonder what is going on with her, what could be causing her to feel so overwhelmed. And I find myself wanting to help, to be a part of this little circle of comfort and support. Kevin noticed that I am still staring. I turn my head back to the paperwork on my desk. But I feel his hand on my shoulder. "We should talk." He whispered.

I look up at him, and he nods towards the hallway. I follow him out of the bullpen, wondering what he wants to talk to me about. As we walk, I can feel his eyes on me, and I sense that he is trying to read me. We stop in front of the vending machines, and Kevin turns to me. "Curious about Sofía, are you?" he asks, his voice low. I hesitate, unsure of how to respond. But Kevin just smiles and says, "I know you are. And I am going to tell you something about her. But you have to promise me you keep an open mind."

"Alright." I cross my arms. "So, what is Sofía's story? I know she grew up in foster care that was... harsh. She bounced around from one abusive foster family to another every six months until she was eighteen."

Kevin nods as he looks down at the floor. "Yeah... She went through physical abuse and a lot of emotional abuse as well. But when she was eight years old, she lost her father; fellow officer Jacob Warren in 2010 who was murdered. Never knew her mother. I found her a few hours after that. She was scared, tired because it was past her bedtime and... that is also when I found out that she regresses..."

I blink, "Regression?"

Kevin looks up at me, his eyes serious. "Yeah, regression. When Sofía gets stressed or overwhelmed, she sometimes reverts back to a younger version of herself, I guess. It is like her mind is trying to escape the trauma and pain she experienced as a kid. She would suck her thumb, talk like a little girl or babblelikean infant, and sometimes she would even forget that she is a grown woman. It is not something she can control, and it is definitely not something she is proud of. But it is a part of who she is, and something that Kim and I learned to deal with over the years."

I nod, trying to process this new information. I can see why Kevin is telling me this, and I appreciate his trust in me. But I am also aware that this is a lot to take in, and I am not exactly sure how to react. Part of me wants to reach out to Sofía, to comfort her and let her know that I am there for her. But another part of me is unsure, and I do not want to overstep any boundaries.

"Have you or Kim ever thought of taking custody of her when you guys first saw her? Well, Kim knew her sinceshe was ten." I ask.

"I did..."

"What stopped you guys from wanting to take custody and adopt her?"

Kevin's expression turns wistful, and he looks away for a moment before responding. "I did think about it, seriously. I wanted to give her a stable home, a family that could love and support her. But... at the time, I was still dealing with being new to Patrol. I was not in a place where I could provide the kind of care and stability that Sofía needed. And Kim... Kim was going through her own struggles, too. We both wanted to help Sofía, but we did not feel like we could take on that kind of responsibility."

He pauses, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "Plus, the system... not always easy to navigate. There are a lot of hoops to jump through, a lot of red tape. And even if we had tried to adopt her, there is no guarantee that it would have worked out. But we did what we could, you know? We stayed in her life, supported her, and made sure she knew that she had people who cared about her. And as she got older, she became more like a little sister to us, someone we could protect and look out for."

I nod. "She is Intelligence's baby, in a sense."

Kevin smiles, a warm and fond expression on his face. "That is exactly what she is. Even though we do not say it out loud or anything. We all take turns looking out for her, making sure she is okay. And she has grown into an amazing young woman, despite everything she has been through. We all are proud of her, in our own way." He pauses, looking at me with a serious expression. "And I think that is why it is so important for us to be careful with her, to make sure she is not getting in over her head. She still got some vulnerabilities, some scars that have never fully healed. But with the right support, the right people around her... I think she is going to be just fine."

My brows furrow in a bit of confusion. "Come on, man. Who else knows about Sofía's history?"

Kevin sighs, "Just you, Kim and I right now. I am guessing Sarge, Hailey, Jay and Adam have their suspicions, though." I nod, understanding the need for discretion. "I see. Well, I appreciate you trusting me with this, man. I will make sure to keep it to myself." I pause, thinking about the others who may have suspicions. "Do you think they will ever put the pieces together, or is it something that will always be kept under wraps?"

Kevin shrugs. "I am not sure, man. But I do know that Sofía's got a good thing going here with Intelligence. We are a family, and we look out for each other. If anyone can help her heal and move forward, it is us who will." He looks at me seriously. "Just remember, this is about Sofía's well-being, not about gossip or drama. Let's keep it that way, okay?"

"Got it."

Hours pass, I had to work late. I sat at my desk when Sofía walks by, "¿Trabajando hasta tarde, Torres? " She asked in Spanish.

I look up from my paperwork, a small smile on my face. "Sí, trabajando hasta tarde," I reply, matching her Spanish. "Tengo que terminar este informe antes de irme a casa." I pause, looking at her with interest. "¿Y tú? ¿Qué te trae por aquí a esta hora?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

Sofía leans against the desk, a playful glint in her eye. "Oh, solo pasaba por aquí para ver si alguien más estaba trabajando tarde," she says, her voice low and smooth. "Parece que soy la única que no puede dejar de trabajar, excepto tú, por supuesto." She smiles, and I can see the hint of a challenge in her eyes, like she's daring me to keep talking to her.

I roll my eyes and switch back to English. "Sofía, really. What are you actually doing here?"

She sighs. "Sarge asked me to stay. I mean, I do not mind. This place is quiet at night, which I like. I do not like loud."

I scoff. " And, yet, you can fire a gun that is loud."

"I wear special ear protection, Torres. I may have sensitive ears, but I do not let that stop me." I chuckle, impressed by her spirit. "Fair enough, Warren. I guess I underestimated you." I lean back in my chair, looking at her with interest. "So, what do you like to do when you are stuck here at night? Do you just sit around and think deep thoughts?"

Sofía smiles, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, no. I like to explore. I like to see what kind of trouble I can get into when no one is looking." She pauses, looking around the empty bullpen. "Amazing what kind of secrets you can uncover when everyone is gone home for the day." She leans in, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Want to come with me and see what kind of trouble we can find?"

"How about we just enjoy a walk?" I offer instead. In response, she nods. We soon grab our things and head out. Good thing we finished our work.

As we walked out of the station, Sofía and I were lost in conversation, enjoying the quiet of the night. The streets were empty, and the only sound was the distant hum of a car engine. Suddenly, the engine roar grew louder, and a car came speeding around the corner, its tires screeching as it took the turn. I felt a surge of adrenaline as I realized what was happening, but before I could react, the car's window rolled down, and a gunshot rang out.

"WARREN, GET DOWN, NOW!!"

But it is too late. The bullet hits her leg!

Sofía's body jerked backward, and she cried out in pain as she fell to the ground. I rushed to her side, my heart racing with fear. "Sofía, no, no, no! Oh God, Sofía!" I screamed, feeling a wave of panic wash over me. I quickly grab my radio, calling for backup. "This is 5021 Ocean, I need backup at the 21st District! Drive-by shooter! We also need an ambulance en route!"

Dispatch reply with "Copy that" as I kneel down next to Sofía as she wails in agony. I look at her, seeing her lips quiver as she meets my eyes. I saw a little girl in pain. Gently holding her close, I put pressure on the gunshot wound.

"¡Dante, me duele!" She wails. I gently stroke her hair. Her thumb immediately goes to her mouth to help her self-soothe.

The sound of sirens grew louder, and I knew that help was on the way. I gently pull her thumb out of her mouth, remembering what Kevin said earlier.

"Lo sé, lo sé. Ayuda está en camino. Lo prometo."

For the Spanish speakers who need a little help with translation:

• ¿Trabajando hasta tarde, Torres?- Working late, Torres?

• Sí, trabajando hasta tarde- Yeah, working until late.

• Tengo que terminar este informe antes de irme a casa- I have to finish this report before heading home.

• ¿Y tú? ¿Qué te trae por aquí a esta hora?- And you? What brings you here at this hour?

• Oh, solo pasaba por aquí para ver si alguien más estaba trabajando tarde- Oh, just passing over here to see who else is working late.

• Parece que soy la única que no puede dejar de trabajar, excepto tú, por supuesto- Looks like I am the only one who cannot stop working, except you, of course.

• ¡Dante, me duele!- Dante, it hurts!

• Lo sé, lo sé. Ayuda está en camino. Lo prometo.- I know, I know. Help is on the way. I promise.

Enjoy!

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Chapter 6 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father Figure is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65107366/chapters/169918384

Now, Chapter 7.... You know the drill!

(Still do not have a picture of my OC, Sofía Warren, yet)

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

I just got an idea to create my own Community based on Chicago PD and Chicago Med (I am a fan of those two shows), but I am not sure now that I know that a Community for it exists (just joined 😉).

Community:

Made a similar poll in the Community!⬆️

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Update:

I was bored one day and decided to vote on my own poll.🙃🤣

I am just not sure how I wanna organize all of these chapters.

I just want opinions 🙃 I am stumped.

Hi!

Chapter 5 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father-Figure is up!

Now, for Chapter 6... I am caving and going to do more characters!😅 Not all of them, though.

I would put Sofía Warren (my OC), but I do not have a pic of her yet.

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Hi!

Chapter 5 of A Sergeant's Heart: Father-Figure is up!

Now, for Chapter 6... I am caving and going to do more characters!😅 Not all of them, though.

I would put Sofía Warren (my OC), but I do not have a pic of her yet.

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

To those who wanted Jay Halstead's POV!

Chapter 5 is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65107366/chapters/168843946

This chapter mentions that Sofía has CP (Cerebral Palsy). She can walk, but with a drag. Sofía's CP is based on my own history with it.

But the rest of the chapter does not go through a whole heap of detail. 🙃

Chapter 5: Protect You

Jay Halstead

I walk into the locker room with a surprised and curious look on my face. I know last week was rough on Sofía, but to see her snuggle up against Ruzek as tears fall down her face is something I did not expect to witness. "Warren, you good?" I ask with a hint of concern. Ruzek looks up at me, and nods slightly. Sofía, still crying, doesn't seem to register my presence. I take a quiet step closer, my eyes locked on Sofía, trying to read between the lines. What's going on here? Is everything okay?

Warren eventually looks up, pulling away from Ruzek quickly. "Yeah. I am fine." She says bluntly as she wipes a hand over her face. She gets up from the bench, walking over to her locker. I watch as she opens it and takes out a police cap.

"Papí..." I hear her whisper under her breath. The cap must have been Jacob Warren's. Ruzek told me briefly that her dad was a cop here, but died when Sofía was a kid. As I watch Sofía's eyes well up with tears again, I can sense the depth of her emotions. She is trying to hold it together, but it is clear that she is struggling. I take another step closer, my voice softening. "Hey, Warren, you do not have to put on a tough face around us. We are all family here. What is going on?" I ask, trying to get her to open up. Ruzek looks at me, then back at Sofía, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. Sofía takes a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the cap in her hand. "It is just...today is the anniversary of my dad's death," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. I can see the pain etched on her face, and my instincts tell me to give her space, but also to be there for her. I glance at Ruzek for a little help, and he nods slightly, as if to say he got this under control.

I decide to give them some space, but still keep a watchful eye. "If you need some time, Warren, take it. We got your back," I say, trying to sound reassuring. Sofía looks up, her eyes red-rimmed, and nods slightly. For a moment, I see a glimmer of the little girl she must have been when her dad died, and it hits me immediately that as an age regressor, she might be experiencing emotions and memories that are still raw and unprocessed.

Might have been soldier instincts, but to immediately recognize even the slightest signs of age regression... am I going insane or something?

_____________________

As far as I know, she grew up in foster care. With foster families that were abusive to the bone. I think she nearly got abused to death by the last foster family she had at eighteen. She is twenty-two now and is fulfilling her life.

But I stare at her, I can see the scars of her past etched on her face, even if not physical. The way she carries herself, the way she talks, it is all a testament to the fact that she has had to fight to survive. And now, she is still dealing with the aftermath of all that trauma.

I feel sympathy for her, and a sense of responsibility as her partner. I want to help her, to support her, but I know I have to be carefully. She is not going to open up to me easily, not after everything she has been through.

"Warren, we should get back to the case," I say, attempting to keep my tone neutral. But as we continue to work, I still keep an eye on her. If she needs someone to talk to, I will be here, listening.

As we walk back to the car, I notice that she is kinda limping slightly, her right leg dragging more than usual. I want to ask her if she is okay, but I refuse to push her for an answer. Instead, I just keep pace with her.

She suddenly winces when we get back to the car.

"You good?"

"Yeah. Just a muscle spasm. CP does that to me sometimes." Warren sits down slowly into the front passenger seat. I frown, concerned, as I watch her wince in pain. "Do you need to take a break?" I ask, hesitating for a moment before getting into the driver's seat. "We can take a few minutes, get you stretched out or something."

I glance over at her, noticing the way she's rubbing her leg, trying to massage out the spasm. I can see the tension in her body, the way she is gritting her teeth. It is clear that she is in more pain than she would like to admit.

"Warren, do not even dare push yourself too hard." I tell her, trying to sound gentle but firm. "We can handle this case without you overexerting yourself. Your health is more important than solving this thing today."

I hear her scoff, "Says the detective who got shot I do not know how many times throughout his career, kidnapped twice or so, gets reprimanded by Voight-"

"I get it!"

She chuckles. "We are stubborn, Jay. Just drive."

I smile, but it quickly falters.

I start the car and put it in gear, heading back to 21st District. I am not going to push her to keep going if she's not feeling up to it. We can always come back to the case later, when she is feeling up to it again.

I am willing to protect this rookie. Like a brother.

Enjoy!

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

10 posts!

[luluf03christianfandomgal]

Give my bestie @fanartiststar (formerly @book-of-arts04 but blog no longer in use but still available to scroll through!) some LOVE on her first (or second?) fanfic!😁

Hello ENA Fandom!

Newbie here, but I figured I would write a fanfic based on some silly idea I had while looking at the gameplay of ENA Dream BBQ. Also, I'm on board with the ENA is a former soldier theory, so a little bit of mention there too just so you know.

Warning: will contain mentions of hunger and in-game supposed oppression of ENAs. You have been warned.

Also, sorry in advance if it seems OOC or even not supported by fact. It's just ENA is generally disliked, but how much does it manifest? No clue.

Froggy locked up the last door of the office, satisfied. "That should do it. The others should be going home about now," he mused to himself. "Another good day done and well!"

He froze as he heard a grumbling sound, like someone's stomach. "Eh? Well, that wasn't me. Wonder who it was..."

Froggy looked around and to his shock, found ENA sitting on the concrete ledge, curled up. "E-ENA?! What are you still-"

"I'm awake!" Her candy cane colored body lurched forward and her right half screamed. "I'm up, sorry." She rubbed her eyes and then, her left half came alive with a telltale smile. "What seems to be the issue?"

Froggy stared. "ENA, what are you still doing here? Everyone already left."

"Ah, the early bird catches the worm, as they say!" ENA said airily. "Why go home when we can spend the night here and not waste utilities? It is a gorgeous night, after all!"

Froggy was not convinced. He pulled out a clipboard and flipped to ENA's profile. "No, it doesn't say an address here...," he mused as he saw it was blank.

Another grumble cut through the air and Froggy caught her hugging her torso. "When did you last eat?" He asked warily.

"Oh, on our lunch break!" ENA replied happily with a dismissive hand wave. "Maybe just something still stuck in there."

"ENA, do you have a home at all?" Froggy lept at that hesitation moment.

ENA blinked, her face perfectly neutral. All she could hear was the constant rejection by various real estate agents as they saw that she was an ENA, the various landlords and ladies who turned their nose at her. "We don't need a criminal like you here!" "You? Get out of here, JENA!" "A DENA? Ha! Like we'll house a war mongol like you!" "A house? Sure, give me 2,000 Chocolates. A month." "I'm sorry, but we have no more room. A man came and snatched up the last space."

Froggy read the silence. "No matter," he sighed. "Come with me. It's about time you have a meal."

ENA hesitated, then followed. Froggy didn't have to turn back to know her right half was staring at him.

It took some time, but they made it to a Ramen shop that reluctantly let ENA in on the promise of no weaponry was on her person. Froggy found that ridiculous, he has a metal detector set up that went off at even Coral Glasses' glasses. Other than her badge on her hat, ENA had nothing!

Froggy ordered two plain Ramen bowls for the both of them while ENA kept looking around in shock. "What's wrong?" He asked. "You have never seen the inside of a restaurant?"

"Well, not in business," ENA mused. She turned to the left, hiding her quote unquote "Meanie" face. "I... always seemed to find them empty."

Froggy snorted. "I find that hard to believe. With such a decorated soldier like you, it shocks me everyone acts like you're a monster."

The face of the salesman personality smiled, but Froggy could tell she was gritting her teeth. "Oh, some entities! They worry I might get too hyper at the smallest of conflicts!"

"Uh huh. And how often does that happen?"

Silence.

Their bowls came, thankfully, although the entity that served them spat in one and slid it to ENA, who was busy trying to come up with a lie and not focusing. "Hey! Is that how you treat a customer?!" Froggy yelled at the entity. "What has she done?!"

ENA jumped, startled. "What's happening?"

The entity took ENA's bowl away before another came back with a bow and apology. "We're sorry about that," they whispered before walking off.

Froghy sighed. "Some people... eat up, I can hear your stomach over the music."

ENA lifted the chopsticks and shakily brought some to her mouth. As soon as it hit her taste buds, it was an instant flavor explosion. Even if the Ramen was simple, it made her eyes moisten with tears that she was eating warm, fresh food. Packaged food from the vending machine, no matter how many Chocolates she wasted at it, couldn't fill her up and keep her warm at night.

Froggy watched her devour the food with rigor. It was quite sickening that people kept ENAs at arms length from them. Then again, he knew he was no different when they first met and he contacted her for help with dealing with the Boss. He was nervous, yes, but also, he had seen ENAs and their focus. One by his side was surely a help.

ENA slowed down a bit, coughing. "Pardon me!" She said with a smile. It didn't last long as she looked down and her right half took over. "Thank you..." She whispered. "It's been a long time..."

Froggy nodded. "I'm here for you," he told her with a pat on the back.

Thank you for reading!