Prompt: The Fridge Loves Food: ...write something about 3x17...Maybe where Mouse realizes that Jay shouldn't be alone after he left the bar. So he calls Voight and asks him to look after him and Voight goes to the locker room to talk to Jay.

***takes place before the finale******which I actually enjoyed this year****points to Derek Has right there****

"Thing is...the firefights never scared me. It was coming home...and having to look into the faces of the wives...and the families...of the guys who didn't make it back."

Mouses P.O.V.

We don't talk it about it anymore. Not that there was time when it was a household topic, but at least, when I would say something, Jay would comment on it instead of shutting me out.

Unlike the fifty times today when I would ask him if he was okay, and he would shoot me a glare and walk away, instead of giving me a direct answer. I'd like to think it's because he doesn't want to answer my question with a lie, which I would see right through, and then he'd have to actually confront his feelings. He'd rather go about covering them with anger, seeking something between justice and vengeance, a motive no one would question.

A lot easier than unraveling inside a locked apartment with only a bottle of scotch to get comfort from. A lot easier than having to explain exactly why you had PTSD or that you still might have remnants of it.

And much, much easier, than admitting that you might just be human like everyone else.

...

"That bad huh." My mind snaps back to reality, me sitting at a table next to Choi, who's busy sipping his third beer while my fingers peel the wrapper off my fifth.

"What." Less of a question, more of a statement, but then, somehow that seems to perfectly reflect Jay and everything he does. Just like every action he took today seemed to do so as well.

"Your tour." I shrug.

"It could've been worse." My voice is hoarse, rough and edged with anger.

"Yeah you're right. You could've both been kidnapped, tortured, then burned alive." Warily I lift my eyes, gazing at the doctor as he innocently drinks the last of his beer, then waves for another round.

"You don't know-"

"I do. And I understand why you're mad at Jay."

"What, are you Charles now?" Ethan laughs, my sour attitude having little effect on him.

"My god you are a mean drunk." I frown at him as a waitress brings over two more bottles, plopping them down in front of us and clearing the old before silently escaping my view.

"I am not drunk." Choi just grins.

"Not yet." Huffing I take a sip of the amber liquid, savoring the feeling of it burning a trail down my throat.

"Who told you." Because I swear to god if it was Jay I am going to find that man having a punching contest with him.

"No one."

"Bullshit Choi, only a few people even know how that went down, and I certainly haven't been so open around you or anyone for that matter, and I know for a fact that there was no detailed report filed. So please, by all means, explain to me exactly how you know what we went through."

"Well for starters, I was there."

My face must be an accurate representation of I will fucking kill you in the next three seconds unless you explain because he moves on without missing a beat.

"I was sent out to Kandahar in 2006 as a temporary replacement for a medical officer at a smaller, more discreet base in Karz. After three weeks I got promoted to junior chief medical advisor, only because the last one was shot and killed by an twelve year old kid while trying to save a units tech officer. I was good at crisis, and I could improvise pretty well, so they figured why the hell not. I stayed there for the next four years, treating soldiers, saving lives and losing them at the same time."

2006. The year brings a lump to my throat. Jay and I met in 2005, eight months before we were deployed to Kabul. Sixteen months before we were transferred to Kandahar for special ops.

"I could have stayed longer. I would have too. Except I hit my limit. You know what it's like." Painfully I swallow, starting to regret my words.

"Every soldier has that memory. That one scenario they weren't expecting, or didn't think about. The one that hits them harder than anything else they've seen. It's the one that puts them over the edge, dangling them on the verge of a mental breakdown." I'd like to nod my agreement, but everything's so mixed up in my head right now, and the alcohol isn't helping. Too many memories, too much emotion associated with each of them. Ethan doesn't stop talking, his face just as lost as I feel.

"I was playing around with the rest of my platoon. We were a small group, only six of us, just moving around a soccer ball when suddenly there was this yelling. We thought the base was being attacked the way everyone was moving around, screaming orders. Finally we heard it over our radios…'incoming wounded.' But there was no trucks coming in, only a few going out, loaded to the brim, weapons hot. Took me a little while to figure out that they were protecting something, not attacking it."

He raises his head, gaze surprise imply soft as he looks at me. I want to puke.

"They opened the main gates and we're all sprinting towards them, looking for whoever the hell we were supposed to help. And I round the command tent, finally getting a view of outside the compound and….there you were. I couldn't tell who was leaning on who at that point, but then I bet neither could you."

Blood and sweat dripping into my eyes. The sun frying my head, making rational thought impossible. It's been almost twenty four hours since we were attacked, and all we've done is walking. Jays breathing is ragged and strangled next to me, his eyes are barely open if at all. His feet move with mine though, and that's all I can ask for.

We're close. We are so goddamn close. There's shouting, yelling follows by the sound of engines starting up. I look up, but to many things are affecting my eyes and I can't see much more than a blurry wall of grey and orange in front of me.

Holleran shouts at me. I can't understand what he says, what anyone says. There are more people now, and suddenly we are ten feet from camp, half the base surrounding up while more run towards us from inside.

"You went rabid when they tried to take Jay from you. I don't know if you remember, but your own commander couldn't get you to let go of him. The rest of the medics were busy with the remains of your team, and I was the last one to get there, so naturally you instantly became my patients. I made everyone back off, then we just walked to the tent, went to the back where it was quieter and I had you sit down. The whole way you insisted I help Jay first, despite the fact you have a gash in your skull and a four inch piece of metal poking out of your abdomen."

I can't even feel my legs anymore, though I am sure they still move. Words are repeated to me, telling me I'm safe, that I need help, that I'm okay. Everything just confuses me more, and I shift, feeling Halstead's labored breathing weaken more. His weight shift suddenly, away from me. I'm afraid he's falling, until I see hands and I realize they're trying to grab him, get him away from me where I can't protect him. My hand tightens on my beretta, the number of bullets flashing in my mind before I raise the gun and press it to the man's head, screaming commands and obscenities in both English and Farsi.

They back off. My grip on Jay tightens and I pull him back against my body. We're okay. We're okay. We're okay.

The crowd backs off, and then there's a figure, speaking softly to us. A quieter place, somewhere to sit, rest, drink some water.

"Don't touch me." I say and the guy nods. I notice the red strip on his uniform. He's a medic. Walk a little further he asks. I do. Jay's head lolls against my shoulder as I struggle to move at all.

He's right, the place is quiet. We walked through some commotion or other, but finally he has us a cot to sit on, more of a stretcher with rope than anything else. There a sharp light in my eyes, sharper than the sun was, though we are in shade right now. My free hands raises again, the gun never having left it.

"Help him." My voice is barely a whisper, to broken and cracked to understand.

"Soldier-"

"Sargent." I hiss, finger on the trigger. "Now help him."

"It was interesting having to work with a gun pointed at my head, but I guess it helped prepare me for working in the Emergency Room here. I finally got Jay awake, not very lucid, but awake, and he, in three words, made you drop the gun and let him go. I got him onto the bed across from you, and it just went downhill from there. Jay couldn't breath, you were both low on blood, severely dehydrated, and had head trauma, although you more then him."

"I-...I don't re-remember…" My stutter comes back in full force along with the nervous tremors that always accompany my memories. I concentrate on breathing and thinking and forcing myself to process things before I start having a panic attack.

"Well you wouldn't. You passed out right after you let go of Jay. You missed the best part of the whole day."

"I, um...what?"

"After you lost consciousness, Jay he...lost it really. I think he thought you were dead, and that's why I wasn't working in you, but really, I was scared shitless, and was panicking. However I knew how to fix his lung, whereas I had no idea where to start on you, so while I radioed for assistance, and the medivac touched down to get the first group of guys, I had three or four soldiers from the base holding Halstead down just so I could inject a sedative." He smiles wryly at me.

"I stayed with you guys all the way to Germany, right up until they took you into surgery. The whole trip we had to keep Jay under, because every time he woke up he'd start freaking out, screaming and sobbing and trying to get to you. Ironic part was, since we were giving you both fluids and pain meds, he gained strength so fast that we had to strap him down at one point because we couldn't hold him."

"Why are you telling me this." I whisper as he takes a swig of his drink, studying the table for a moment before looking back at me.

"I'm telling you this, because you don't understand how much you mean to him. You can't get mad at Jay for not wanting to lose you. What he got out of that experience was that his weakness cost him your life. He knows the shit you went through to get where you are. The reason why he isn't talking to you about this is because he's afraid it's going to send you backwards. And then you'll be hurt and it'll be his fault. Again."

My mind flits to the way he fled from me today, but then always ended up gravitating back to my station. Like he wanted to be close to me but was afraid of what I would say if…

My heart drops to my stomach.

"Excuse me a sec. I need to go make a phone call."

Voight's P.O.V.

"...and I know you don't normally do this kind of thing but I uh, I can't really see straight right now so I don't think I'll be that much of a help-"

"Mouse."

"Yeah."

"I got it. Just do me a favor and take a cab home will yah? I don't really feel like telling Jay his best friends in the hospital." There's a loud crash, followed by some yelling and laughter.

"Will do sir." The rapidly spoken words are sounded before an abrupt click, which I follow by closing my own phone. I stare at the device for a couple seconds, like maybe it'll tell me how exactly to go about doing this. Instead it only shows me the time, which reminds me to get my ass in gear before he leaves and I'm left having to trek around the city to find him.

Standing I grab my jacket and keys, slipping the latter into my pocket before shrugging the old leather thing onto my shoulders. I lock the door from the inside, then throw off the lights before stepping out and closing my office.

On my way out of the bullpen I throw a glance out one of the large windows in the room, nodding to myself as I see the grey Chrysler still parked there. I take the stairs slightly faster than normal, not wanting to do this outside. But then of course, I'd need to know what exactly 'it' is. Mouses words flit back to me as I see Platt packing up for the day.

"...don't know if there's anyway you could find him for me? He doesn't...shouldn't be alone right now. What we went through overseas...well it was a lot like today."

The words had put concern in me, although not fear. Maybe if the call had been more frantic, if Mouse had been more sure Jay was going to hurt himself...well that would have been cause for fear.

When I told the kid I was glad to have him in Intelligence, I meant it. Not so much as a 'hey, I'd rather you not die because then I gotta train someone new and there's a lot of paperwork involved in that' although it was like for a while. It was more like 'hey, don't get hurt because if you do I don't know if the rest of us, myself included, could handle having to deal with losing anyone else.'

I remember how the feeling I had toward the kid gradually changed, my anger at the arrogant rookie slowly subsiding to acceptance, followed by just a general indifference.

Keys changed it a little. Showed me a lot about Jay, and the kind of guy he is. Not that I expect any of my detectives to talk so easily, but even now I can't deny the tiny swell of pride and satisfaction I felt when I was on the phone with his kidnapper.

"...your boys tough. He won't talk."

Nor did I miss the way he bounced back into work after his medical leave like getting the shit beaten out of him and being treated like a caged animal was nothing.

As if he'd done it before and was used to it by now.

But I didn't ask him, he never showed any sign of mental issues because of it, so I let it slide and we moved on to the next case.

"Trudy, you seen Jay around?" The Sergeant just gives me a look before jerking her thumb towards the locker room.

"Try not to beat him up to bad, I don't want to have to fill out insubordination reports tomorrow." Her sarcasm is palpable as she sends me a glare before heaving a bag onto her shoulders and brushing past me towards the doors. I wind around her station, navigating the maze of offices and rooms before finally finding the opening in the white walls the serves as the entrance to a room I haven't been to in almost five years.

If I still held some uncertainty of what to do or say to Halstead when I found him, it's all wiped away the second I turn the corner and see him.

Blood soaks into his shirt, covering his arm and running down to form a small pool in his limp palm, which had overflowed to create a bigger pool on the white tile. Broken pieces of what used to be the mirror above a small sink litter the floor around him, some pieces glinting in the light from where they sit on his clothes. But it's his eyes, and the tears that run from them that really snap everything into motion.

"Christ, Jay." I whisper. Wary of broken glass I move forward and snatch one of the towels off the countertop, one probably used for the showers in the back. Kneeling down next to him I fold the towel into an appropriate length before examine the wound. I can't really see it that well, there's too much blood, but I don't see any sharp edges sticking out so I go ahead and press the cloth the wound.

It stretches from his wrist to a few inches below his shoulder, cut cleanly through his shirt and the skin beneath it. A better look the amount of blood tells me he's not in any trouble right now-the bleeding already slowing under the pressure from my hands-but he's definitely going to need stitches. Which would require a hospital, maybe his brother, oh and of course, him being able to stand.

"Jay." His eyes keep staring at the wall, looking almost empty.

"Halstead. We need to get you to a hospital." No, not quite empty. More like he's somewhere far, far away. Lost in a place that doesn't exist.

"Look Mouse ca-" It happens so fast my brain can't even process what's going on until it's already over, and by that time pain is already shooting up my back and registering in my neck as Jay presses an arm against my throat. I'm flat on the ground, breathing heavily, staring into the wild, feral eyes of an age old instinct to protect. Rage flares in Jay's eyes, but not recognition as he presses harder against my skin, making it harder to breath.

"Jay-" I gasp, struggling to move. It's like he's sideways over me, one entire shin pressing my legs to the floor while the other knee presses painfully into a pressure point on my arm. His other hand has my wrist pinned awkwardly to the floor. I realize that in a simple twist of the fingers he could snap it with ease.

Blood drips onto my jackets, a soft pat pat as the drops smack the leather. The only other sound is his ragged breathing. I open my mouth as if about to speak. He leans forward slightly to put more pressure on my vocal chords, taking weight off my legs. It's all I need.

Twisting sharply I bring my leg up to hit him in the back, throwing him forward and off me. Before he can react more than a grunt, I'm behind him, throwing one arm around his neck and locking it in place with my other. Jay bucks wildly against the choke hold. But I've practiced this more than almost anything in my career, and there is no way he's getting out of it.

His hands grab at my arms as he tries to push me back against a wall, but his boots slip on the bloody floor, causing his legs to slid from underneath him. The sudden weight throws me off balance for a second, although my concentration remains on the hold so I end up sliding unceremoniously to the floor, taking Jays flailing body with me. Once on the floor I take note of sudden release of tension from my detectives body. His hands flop to the side and I loosen my hold, scooting out from under him slightly to make sure he's actually out.

He isn't. Not quite anyway. His eyes are dull and barely open as I push out from underneath him. I kick away the larger shards of glass that are within arms reach, then snag the towel and resume pressure on his arm. The towel is just about soaked through when the bleeding finally slows to somewhat of a stop (our little altercation having aggravated it), but I reach to grab another clean one anyway, tossing another to sop up what evidence there is on the floor.

Returning to my patient I am greeted with a small moan as I push back on his arm. Turning my eyes towards his face I can see a brighter, more aware Jay gazing back.

"Did you get the number on the truck that hit me?" He says with a groan. I smirk. Well, at least his sense of humor stayed intact.

"Yeah. You." His eyes widen slightly then move to find his arm.

"Shit." He whispers, gaze flicking around the room to see the glass and bloody towel before going back to his appendage.

"Was that...did I…?" I let the question hang, watching instead as his runs his tongue across his lips as if to help his mouth form the words better. He seems to come to a conclusion without my assistance, a flicker of memory flashing in his eyes for a second before guilt registers.

"Sorry." I nod, grab his good hand and place it against the towel on his bad arm.

"Hold this. And don't worry about it kid, I've seen soldiers react a lot more violently than you."

"Gee thanks." His voice is flat with sarcasm as I turn around, moving the towel around to clean the mess of blood. After getting most of it I chuck the two soiled clothes into the trash can, then set about pushing the glass into a pile in the corner for someone else to pick up.

"Come on." Halstead looks at me from the floor for a second, head cocked to the side in amusement. He sits up without the use of his arms, then I bend down to help him stand. He sways a bit upon reaching vertical altitude, but despite looking extremely disoriented, walks without help. I do have to grab his arm to steer him towards my car, but that's only because he was drifting towards his like maybe I'd let him go by himself.

"Voight-"

"Shut up. I just found you near catatonic and bleeding on my locker room floor. Which means you're going to Med where your brother can look at you, and your going to do what I say and like it." He opens his mouth to protest again as we reach the black escalade.

"Or I can always admit you to the hospital overnight for a prolonged stay if you'd like." Jay glares for another couple seconds before begrudgingly pulling open the passenger's seat door, slipping inside, and slamming it like angry child. I heave sigh before climbing in myself.

And to think I could have actually had a relaxing evening.

…

"What the hell happened to you?!"

"Nice to see you too Will." Halstead mutters. I tighten my hold in his arm in case he decides to make a run for it. I had to practically drag the kid out of the car once we got here, although I suspect his foul attitude is because the blood loss and adrenaline dump are finally catching up to him.

"He decided he was going to try fighting a mirror and the mirror won." Will attentions shifts from the towel on his brother's arm to me. From the exasperated sigh that comes from the man, I assume he believes me.

"Come on." Tugging at his shirt I force Jay to move to follow the doctor. This lands him in a treatment room with Rhodes, who I can tell is trying hard not to ask any questions, although the curiosity must win out as he pulls out a piece of mirror from his patient's arm. He stares at it for a second, then looks at Will and I, the former who wasn't allowed to work on his brother but could stay and watch.

"How…?" He lets the question hang. When he receives three flat glares in response he just shakes his head and drops the piece into a metal tin.

"I don't want to know."

The younger of the two brothers sits through all of it, all the mandatory question and standard checks, without a complaint. I see Will's brow furrow with worry when he hears how the last time Jay ate anything was this morning, and the last time he much of any sleep was the weekend. I decide to take pity on the kid and not tell him that Jay's lying through his teeth right now. He probably doesn't even remember the last time he slept through the night.

"...and just for medical record, how did this happen?" Jay looks at me. I look at Will. Will studies the tile floor beneath his shoes.

"He slipped in the locker room. Some water on the floor, probably from a leaky sink or something." Rhodes looks at me for a second before pursing his lips and nodding, making his exit and dragging his colleague with him. Jay and I are left in complete silence, allowing me time to study the black stitches crawling their way up his arm. The kid looks weary beyond his years, exhaustion plaguing every line of his slumped figure. He looks half asleep laying on the bed with an ice pack on his throat. There's some slight bruising, but nothing dangerous or terribly noticeable.

I'd like to say I feel guilt over that. I don't.

…

Well, maybe a tiny bit.

An intense whispering match is going on outside the room. I can tell Conner isn't happy about the situation, not in the slightest, but he has no reason to keep Jay here, and no leverage to get any information out of Will. A sharply hissed 'fine' signals the end of the conversation, and then they are both slipping back into the acutely lit area.

Rhodes sighs, frowns, then starts going over the damage and how to take care of the injuries at home, including the signs of infection, when to change the bandages and what exactly he shouldn't be doing with that arm. To my surprise Halstead has a mild concussion, which means he needs to be woken up every two hours by someone to make sure he doesn't have serious brain issues.

Symptoms of a concussion include: headache, confusion, lack of coordination, memory loss, dizziness, sleepiness, excessive fatigue and ringing in the ears. Allow me to check off all of the above, especially the last one, if the way Jay's been rubbing at his ears is anything to go by.

Almost seventy stitches in the arm to go along with a couple butterfly bandages on other, much smaller cuts, as well as two fractured knuckles, the rest bruised; making his injury list is complete. Rhodes hands a half asleep Jay a baggie containing medications and such, has him sign a couple papers, then tells him he's free to go and leaves the room. Leaving me deal with my physically and mentally drained detective.

With a sigh, Will walks over to the bed where Jay was sitting up and struggling to put on his jacket. I watch from where I stand, trying to figure out how we got in this situation.

I'd like to blame the episode in the locker room on the concussion. Jay was clearly out of it, and his reaction was clearly that of a reflex, something ingrained in him by fear and instinct. That I could make excuses for. And if I wanted to, I could put it down simply to the head injury and a rough day and never think of this again.

However my brain can't seem to get past the way he let me touch him, let me inflict pain even, but didn't respond until I said Mouse's name.

Mouse said what happened today was like something from his tour. Which is fine in all, in fact it makes a lot of sense, especially considering the way he reacted. It was calmer than when Benbenek was after him, but only just, and only on the outside, like his emotions went much, much deeper than he was showing. A couple times his face would go blank, void of anything, almost as if he was tapping into whatever training he got in the Rangers just to remain mild mannered around us.

Or he was remembering what ever happened overseas. Which would mean he was bouncing back and forth between two selves all day. Two different realities, with two different scenarios that seemed the same, and two different versions of himself, neither of which knowing how to deal with everything.

It's a wonder he didn't snap sooner.

"Are you taking him home?"

"Hmm? Yeah." Startled out of my thoughts, I push off the wall, moving to stand next the Will who walks from next to the bed to usher me off to the side.

"Drop him off at my place would you? I'll see about getting home a little earlier tonight to check on him and maybe text Erin she could-"

"Erin's not going to know about this. Ever. Got it?" Will narrows his eyes but agrees nonetheless.

"Don't worry doc. I'll take care of him. This earns an odd look from the man but again, he just nods before turning back to his brother. A few soft words are spoken and then the brothers finally part ways, Jay standing as Will's pager goes off and he rushes from the room.

Neither of us say a word as we exit, and the silence extends into the parking lot and the drive home.

The city is brightly lit, streetlights illuminating the unusually quiet streets while skyscrapers' large metal tops blink neon against the pitch black night. Jay fights a battle with sleep, but after two minutes of nothing but soft radio and the hum of the engine, he's out like a light, arm cradled against his chest in the sling meant to keep him from ripping the stitches, while his dark hair acts as a pillow for his head against the passenger side window.

The twenty five minute drive turns out to be a fifteen one without the traffic, and I park on the side of the quiet street. Turning off the car I stare at my passenger for a couple seconds, wondering if maybe the lack of motion would wake the sleeping form next to me. When he doesn't moves I reach, hesitantly, to touch his shoulder. When that fails, I resort to shaking, then talking, then yelling.

Nothin. He doesn't even stir.

Sighing I exit the car, wondering how I'm going to carry one hundred and seventy pounds of Halstead up the stair without one of us getting hurt. Fortunately, it doesn't come to that, as he wakes once I open his door. Mind you, that's probably because he was leaning against it, and just about fell out of the car in the process of returning to the land of the living.

Once he's finally standing outside of the vehicle, I snag his hospital bag from the floor as the confusion sets in.

"This isn't Will's apartment." I lock the car.

"Wow, you figured that out on your own did you?" His eyes snap to me, a haze of painkillers clouding them, the lighting of the street making them seem so dark they're almost black. By the time he's fully processed my response it's too late to make a comeback, so he ends up just following me up my steps as I unlock the door.

"Voight you don't have to-"

"I do. Now shut up and get inside." I hold the door open, gesturing dramatically. Maybe it's because of our conversation today, or perhaps the trip to the hospital, but he stumbles inside without another protest. Which is odd, but then maybe all of this 'Jay Halstead not being stubborn for once in his life' is because he's dead on his feet and is just about done with everything concerning today. Not that I can really find it in me to blame him, because if I'm being honest with myself, he handled the case a lot better than I would have had it been me in that situation.

Shaking my head to banish such thoughts, I close and relock the door, then join my guest in the kitchen. Halsted looks more lost than a seven year old boy in a lingerie shop, standing there in the middle of the room, his eyes on the floor while one hand picks as the tape holding a bandage to his knuckles.

"You okay kid?" His head jerks up to see me, as if he was surprised I'd actually be in my own house. Once he makes eye contact his head quickly drops again, nodding, but looking insufferably awkward as he stares at his shoes, like he's too afraid to actually see my kitchen lest it somehow be an invasion of privacy.

"Jay." He shifts his feet, but doesn't respond.

"Look at me." It's hesitant, but he does. I was right in the fact of him being afraid, there's a wary fear in his eyes when they meet mine. But of what exactly I have yet to figure out. Or maybe I just don't want to.

"It wasn't your fault."

For moment we simply stare at each other, the kitchen only brightened by a single street light outside. His chest hitches at my words, eyes dark as the night we drove under to get here. Neither of us move, and I'm still there as he finally, finally starts talking.

"Yeah." He whispers, a single word, then he repeats it louder, in his normal voice, and I reach over to flick on the lights so he can find the table.

"Yeah I know that. I do. It's just...my head's having a hard time figuring that out." He drops into a chair, tapping his temple rather harshly with a finger to emphasis the point.

"You know…" He stops, taking a breath and letting it out slowly through his mouth.

"Two days ago the Alexin Ford Academy of Police Protection officially accepted Terri into their next class, to start in three weeks." I sigh, then glance at the clock. It's not actually that late, the clock only just ticking eleven now. It feels later though. It feels like a full week and a half had gone by since this morning, when we got the call.

...

"Yes! Two points for Ruzek!" Atwater groans in defeat as Adams paper ball sails into Erin's waste basket across the room, narrowly avoiding contact with my coffee. I glare.

"Wow Adam, and here you had me thinking you actually had more than one brain cell up there." Alvin deadpans, walking out of the break room to slap his partner upside the head. This sends amusement floating through the bullpen, Antonio almost choking on his drink as he cracks up.

"Hank!" The whole unit stops their laughter at the tone of Erin's voice. It's fear, urgency and panic all wrapped in one. I tense as she bounds up the stairs, looking terrified. I don't even get a word out my mouth before she goes into detail of the call into dispatch.

"...haven't been able to raise them on the radio since."

"And you sure its him?" It's a redundant question I know, because Erin doesn't panic over nothing, and this is her partner so it's guaranteed she checked at least three times before coming to us. Sure enough, she's nodding, slightly out of breath from the rant.

"Units are about two minutes out at this point, an ambulance is about five. If he was hit we'd get there well after it would do anyone any good." The room is quiet for a second as Dawson's words really get processed. I turn to Alvin, ignoring the dread thats settled in my stomach.

"Go. Tell us what's going on and we'll move from there." He nods, face serious as he starts to gather his things.

"The rest of you, start digging into this company. Odds are this is a robbery gone way bad. Start looking into anyone who have access to routes and security." The guys jump at the order, looking rather appreciative to have a job to focus on.

"And where are you going?" Lindsay stops dead in her track, coat already on, keys in hand.

"Voight…"

"Erin." I walk closer, lowering my voice slightly although at this point no one is paying attention to me anymore. Her face spells an unknown fear, a terror that speaks numbers to how in love she is with him.

"He's going to need you at your best. Which means you need to calm down and be strong."

"Oh and I can calm down here sitting on my ass-"

"Yes! And a lot better than driving like a maniac to a scene that he may not even be at anymore. Al will get us information as fast as he can, you know that." Her posture crumples.

"Hank...if he's...I can't…" Her voice catches, raw grief flooding her voice. I know. If he's dead, there's no telling how deep her pain will go.

"I know kid, I know. Just...lets sit okay? Give O a little time, and we can figure it out from there alright?" Erin nods, then mumbles something about going to talk to Mouse whose downstairs. I watch her trudge down the stairs, shoulders hunched with the weight of the world. Sighing I set my jaw, wondering what the conversation between Will and I would be like if I had to tell him his brother was dead. I turn back to my office, ready to make a call to Mrs. Goodwin.

I pass his empty desk, sitting innocent and worn, a fantastic oxymoron that compares beautifully to the man who sits in it every day.

'You better be okay, kid.'

...

"He requested to be in placed in the twenty first."

"What?"

"When he got out. Considering his entry marks, he would have got it too. Especially if he stayed at the top through out the academy." I am, for once, at a loss of what to do at this point. The kid looks so tired, bone weary fatigue that mixes with something else, a type of cognizant misery that makes it seem as though he's done this before. As if he's seen people shot in front of him, seen good friends killed over nothing but greed and hatred, and now, he's just going through the motions. Given his service record, he most definitely has, but I have a feeling today really hit home.

I know dealing with things like this, by shutting down and forcing yourself to feel things you're not ready for isn't healthy, not in the slightest, but honestly, I have no idea how to help him. I don't know about his past, I don't know what happened overseas, and I have no idea how he coped coming back from the war. In fact, I don't even know what he did before coming to the twenty first, other than working in gangs. Which, ironically, is where I was before Intelligence.

My mouth opens to say something, what, I'll never know, because my jaw snaps shut as I see his face. I don't even think he realizes he's crying, but the tears stream down his cheeks unchecked, his eyes staring down at his hands, looking for blood that isn't there, his breathing heavy and staggered.

"Kid."

Swallowing back worry, I force myself to move, putting a hand on his shoulder and sitting down next to him. A sob forces its way out of the man, and then another, and another, until he's leaning against me, mouth open in that silent scream that indicates the worst kind of grief.

"It's okay Jay. It's okay." I whisper, frozen in place as he shakes against me. I know a large part of this is the combination of the drugs, the aftereffects of shock and adrenaline, and the stress from today. I know he probably won't remember this tomorrow.

I guess that'll be the problem. Because I'll remember it. I'll remember how he broke down, and for once in his life let someone help him. I'll remember how he whispered "What did I do" over and over again into my shirt as he tried to justify his life to fate.

I will know. But he might not. Which will mean every day in the bullpen I'll have to pretend I don't know exactly how much pain he walks around with , how much hurt he carries on his soul because clearly, if so many people, so many friends, have died in front of him that he knows how to feel afterwards...he's seen a lot more than any of Intelligence has, he's done a lot more than we have. I'd rather not think about what that means.

When Halstead finally quiets it's almost midnight, and his stillness is more from exhaustion than anything else. He doesn't move, instead seems content to fall asleep slumped against me still sitting in my kitchen chair. It's something of a paradox, considering how out of character the entire night has been for each of us. Makes me kinda glad he won't commemorate most of this, because knowing Jay he'd just be embarrassed and confused and at a general loss at how to deal with it.

It takes some coaxing, but eventually I get him to move, though I have to help him stand. Getting him upstairs is a major event, as Jay's legs seem unconnected to him, like it's a struggle to lift his feet never mind keep them coordinated. I tow him into Justin's old bedroom, pushing him to take off his shoes and jacket before he flops onto the bed, out before I can even turn the light off. I leave the door open, then move down the unlit hall, setting an alarm on my phone.

It's going to be a long night.

…

Well, I wasn't wrong, especially if the bruise on my side is anything to go by. It happened nearly four hours ago, and I can see the beginnings of more color flowering along the right side of my abdomen where Jay's open palm slammed into my skin.

I now wake him up by throwing things at him.

Sighing, I exit the bathroom, then turn around and reach back inside to grab my second mug of coffee. Padding across the hallway, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Ten AM, on the dot. Poking my head inside the bedroom, I look at the splayed body half buried under pillows and blankets. On arm hangs off the edge of the bed, while the only sound coming from the man being soft breathing, much better than the ragged gasps that I heard at six in the morning as he was in the midst of a nightmare, one that I stupidly tried to wake him from with force.

Hence the bruise.

"Jay." The call goes unanswered, as I expected, but hoped for otherwise. Finally entering the room, I carefully approach the bed and poke his hand. He jerks, making me jump back wary of more of a reaction. Instead Halstead just shifts, tucking his arm back underneath the comforter with a sigh. Satisfied that he's at least semi conscious, I feel it's safe enough to shake his shoulder.

"Jay. C'mon get up."

"Mmphf."

"Sorry what was that? I don't speak 'muffled pillow'." I accompany my words with another, more forceful nudge.

"'M up. I'm awake." He mumbles, face still smashed into his pillow. I nod.

"Okay. I'll just open the blinds then." I actually make it all the way to the window before his head pops up, eyes blurry and unfocused but open.

"How about...we don't do that."

"Then get up. Erin's blowing up my phone wanting to know where you are, and I don't think I can deal with that much excitement in two days." He frown at the sarcasm, then drops back onto the pillows.

"Do I have to though."

"Yes. Now get your ass out of bed before I stop telling her you're fine and start telling her there's something wrong and that she needs to get over here right now because clearly you are not okay without her." This earns me a glare.

"You wouldn't dare." I pull my phone out of my pocket and pretend to start texting, mouthing the words as I start to exit the room.

A groan and barely audible 'fine' floats through the room.

"Coffee's down stairs." I call, already heading down said steps. A few minutes later I hear the sound of the water turning on, then in a time I'd find too short to take a shower he's already standing next to me in the kitchen, raiding my coffee machine.

Despite the ten hours of sleep and the shower, he still looks like shit. Dark circles sit underneath dull green eyes, standing out like ugly bruises against skin so pallid it's almost colorless. His arm sits in its sling, the one he wore for about an hour before shrugging it off in his sleep. White gauze covers on hand and peeks out from underneath his long sleeve, medical tape keeping it in place.

Good thing I already gave him a weeks medical leave, because if he came up the steps to the bullpen looking like this (and I know he wouldn't wear the sling either, like that would somehow dissuade me) there's absolutely no way he'd be going anywhere but back home.

Which is probably why he doesn't question me when I plop the bottle of pain meds down next to him. They aren't that strong, more like prescription tylenol, but they do the trick, and Jay doesn't object as I force him to swallow two of them, though he does glare as I jokingly tell him to open his mouth to make sure.

Afterwards we sit in silence, just drinking our liquid caffeine. It's not an uncomfortable silence, certainly not as awkward as it could have been. But there is tension, more on his front than mine, although I suppose that's to be expected, especially since this is probably a brand new situation for him.

Also, he's in my house, standing on my floors, drinking my coffee. Never mind new situation, this is lightyears away from anything he would have imagined when he first showed up in Intelligence.

Finally though, the silence breaks.

Jay picks his head up from where he had been staring into his mug, looking scared but determined; his face overall just an open book.

"Voight-" He doesn't get to finish, my side door bursting open and a nearly frantic with worry Erin rushes her way inside. Her eyes flit to me, then to Halstead, whose eyes have widened to the size of dinner plates in surprise. Lindsay makes a beeline for her partner, enveloping him in a tight hug that forces him to put down his glass to return it. There's a small, muffled conversation, quiet words whispered back and forth, one voice shaky and concerned, the other calm and quiet with comfort.

Soon enough Erin steps back, giving a critical eye to his appearance. I watch apprehension resettle on her shoulders before she turns to give me a glare.

"I thought you said he was fine." I flip open the paper on my counter like I didn't see anything.

"He's breathing isn't he?" This earns a famous Erin Lindsay 'shut the fuck up' face, which she turn on her boyfriend's as he protests the conversation.

"Erin, I'm f-"

"Jay Halstead I swear to god if you finish that 'fine' I might just kill you. You wouldn't answer my texts or calls, I had to go pick up a drunk Mouse who kept asking if you were okay, which I couldn't answer because I didn't fucking know-Where the hell did you go?! Do you have any idea how worried I was?!" Jay chooses this moment to interrupt her fast paced tyrad with an answer.

"Well if your entry was anything to go by then yes-"

I can practically see the smoke pouring out of her ears.

"Go get in the car." She hisses through gritted teeth then stomps upstairs towards Justin's room. I had texted her around eight, asking if she'd pick him up. Its saturday so we all have the weekend off, but I still figured Jay would rather heal in his own apartment with his partner rather than his boss. I'm not wrong, if the slightly relieved look on his face is anything. I told Erin the less detailed version of what happened last night, not including the full scene at the locker room or anything else really, just saying there was an accident and that he was staying at my house.

Of course she wanted more details, but accepted that she'd have to ask Jay, because I wasn't saying anything.

"Hey Sarg…" I continue reading the front page, answering with a non comential:

"Hmm."

"...Thank you." The words don't quite register to be as strong as his tone, which is the thing that makes me look up to face him. In that stare I can see I was wrong.

He does remember last night, and everything that happened before. He knows I won't tell anyone, won't say anything to him unless he asks, and that earned me something in his eyes.

A higher form of respect. Maybe even trust.

Erin rounds the corner again, carrying Jays jacket and other belongings he left upstairs. She glances between Halstead and I, clearly wondering what she's missing.

"You ready?" She asks, and Jay dumps the cup in the sink and nods, moving with her to walk out the door. Lindsay pauses at the door way. She looks at me, I at her,and this time there's more of a promise in the gaze. A mutual agreement that this was right. I nod and she returns the gesture, a small smile on her face.

"...The police standing next to you are your family. And to me, there's nothing more important..."

And thats the first one! As you can see it was based off of a prompt- so open the flood gates! leave one in a review or even PM me!

Also this story isn't going to be updated in the same cycle as my other stuff- in fact its going to be pretty random. Also there will be no regular length for these either, so some might be shorter than others. Still, send me your requests, and ill do my best to meet them!