I'm not 100% sold on the amount of time mentioned in this drabble, but the idea was one I couldn't pass up.

(Credit to the creators of Chicago P.D. where it is due.)

Hank's head comes up when there's a solid rap on the frame of his doorway. The wood is fading out, in desperate need of a paint job or even to be ripped out and replaced after so many years, but he's fond of the wear. It's late, the team's gone home, and he isn't expecting anyone but there's a familiar face waiting for his approval to enter.

Genuine fondness warms Voight as he gets to his feet, old joints creaking. "Halstead, come in. It's been a while."

Jay grins, easy and familiar as he enters, looking more comfortable in his skin than the aging sergeant ever remembers. "Yes, sir. We've been busy down at the 15th with this new narcotics ring making its name."

Their handshake is firm and Hank feels the history between them in it. Halstead's come into his own and he couldn't be more proud.

He resettles into his faithful desk chair that Burgess has been after him to replace in the last few months as the younger man takes one of the seats in front of his desk. "I've heard about it. You're doing good work, son. How're you liking the stripes?"

Halstead tries to cover his pride by ducking his head, but there's no disguising that grin over the recognition of his accomplishments. "It's really good, Sarge. I admit to missing the team here, but it's been really good, running my own unit."

Hank nods, watching his former subordinate, utilizing abilities honed over decades to root out the reason for the way Jay shifts every short while.

"That's good to hear, Halstead. I get asked about you a lot by the team–they'll be glad to know you're doing well over there. But you're not here on a social call."

"No, I'm not." Jay hesitates, watching Voight for a long minute before finding his resolve and firming his jaw. "I'd like to talk to you about your daughter."

It's been almost seven years since Antonio walked into Voight's intelligence unit with Jay Halstead from vice in tow, and five since Voight knew this conversation would occur someday. He is motionless for a beat before letting out a quiet breath, nodding and feeling every one of his five decades in that moment. "Go ahead, Jay."

"I'd like your permission to ask Erin to marry me, sir."

Hank deliberates his words, like he does for Erin every time she comes to him, needing reassurance that he doesn't regret taking her in. After all this time, Jay deserves that and more from him.

Finally, he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of the sudden tightness there. "Nothing would make me prouder, Jay."

Thank you for perusing this scrawl! Comments, critiques, and concerns are always welcome.