esther's world

summary: he doesn't mess around when it comes to the light of his life (established relationship)

author's note: new obsession, so yk what's up, gotta write a fic abt it. One back and forth discussion with my sister, and we have this masterpiece. You're welcome.

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Music. Or rather, vibrations. Bass was pummelling through her body like a speeding truck. The thing they didn't tell you about college parties was that the music was always shit. Either some newly released rap song blaring on the speaker, or an EDM that she had come to memorise from hearing so many times. Every now and then, when a good song played, everyone seemed to enjoy their time a little more. Today was that exception.

In all honesty, the party wasn't even supposed to happen. But the end of the semester blessed the hockey boys with a reasonable excuse to round up whatever beers and alcohol they could find, let the word travel around campus and get everyone drunk as a final hurrah.

The jello shots were flowing through her veins, loosening her muscles just enough to feel alright about dancing. It was her and Allie between the mess of bodies in the living room. Their hands were intertwined as to not be lost amongst the people. They moved against each other. Drunken sways that she didn't entirely process.

John was in the kitchen, leaning against the edge of the island. Red solo cup in hand, backwards cap doing things to her mind that she couldn't entirely put into words as he talked to Garrett easily. She knew one thing, though. His mind could've been invested in whatever conversation they were having, but his eyes? Yeah, they were on her. When their eyes met, an easy grin lifted onto his face. Pride dripped off his teeth as he smiled into the cup, dark eyes following her as she moved around Allie. Mischief gleamed in her eyes. He quirked a brow.

That was their thing. It didn't matter where they were or who was around them; they'd find each other from across the room. If he were in a match and happened to catch her gaze in a crowd of cheering peers after a wicked goal, John would lower his head, even if it was the most minuscule amount, and raise a brow in her direction. You see me, baby? She'd smile in return. I see you, baby.

Allie's scoff from beside her broke her gaze away from John. "My god," She said jokingly, "You two are so sweet, it makes me want to throw up"

A laugh escaped her throat. She raised her hand, bringing Allie's along with it to gently spin her. "You're one to talk, Allie-cat. From what I hear, Di Laurentis is fitting into the boyfriend tag pretty well"

"Why not just ask Logan to be your boyfriend already? You two are practically married"

Her lips fell into a quiet pout as she shrugged. "We just...don't like the titles. And you know how it is with the hockey boys. Asking him to be my boyfriend is basically popping the question"

The music had seemingly slowed all together, something the couples would enjoy swaying to. She and Allie remained on the floor, talking quietly. Though she spoke, her words seemed to float away with a gust of misplaced wind. Her mind had begun to scatter upon the mention of 'boyfriends'. Allie's smile widened at the sudden dreamy look in her eyes.

Y/n was never one to date around. Not because she didn't want to. Because she was saving it -the love, the chase, the fall, and the complete and utter infatuation- for the one. She made that fact known to anyone she met, and soon the people around her seemed to understand that fact as well. She wasn't like 'that'. Then she met Allie and Hannah while she was working part-time at Malone's for a semester. Steadily, one party invite led to another, and that was how she found herself intertwined with John Logan. He was her brief break from ramrod-straight morals. Somehow, through the long hours of practice she'd sit through for the sake of being near him, the countless study sessions where he'd mindlessly remain by her side in the library, and the endless hours they'd spent talking at night long after they were meant to go to bed, John Logan had found a way around the set rules she had for herself, and crept into the crude little spaces of her heart with an ease she found difficult to understand.

"Just do it," Allie said after a while. "The guy's head over heels for you. I doubt he'd say no"

They laughed it off like any other time. Maybe she would, if the opportunity arose. And for a while after, everything seemed to be floating. The liquor had absorbed into her bloodstream, giving her just enough of a buzz that it was enjoyable. It seemed she was not the only one who was feeling it.

The joy was too brief. It all happened before she could really think. A hand began to snake around her waist. When she glanced over at the kitchen, John was still there with Garrett. The foreign touch drew a reaction from her that was so immediate it felt as though her soul had left behind her material body. She lurched forward, letting go of Allie's hand to strip the hand from her torso. There must've been a look of terror on her face because Allie's smile dropped.

As soon as she spun around, a huff of sour breath passed over her face. The eyes that stared back at her were entirely new. "C'mon, Doll. Dance with me, you know you want to"

"Call me that again and see what happens." Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. But it was the quietest creatures that were the most dangerous.

Allie held onto her wrist, staring wide-eyed between her friend and the man in front of her.

He huffed a laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. But she knew guys like him. They were never ones to back off that easily. His eyes would continue to trace the lines of her body, leaving a trail of dirt down the skin she would scrub meticulously later. Intoxication was clear in his dilated pupils. He certainly didn't look like one of the regulars who stumbled into the hockey house's parties. Probably just came for the free booze and the ladies. If he was a regular, he wouldn't have tried what he did. Not with her anyway.

His hands had fallen from the surrender, and they were reaching towards her again. "Don't be like that, Doll-"

The words hadn't even formed in the air before she grabbed the front of his shirt between the balls of her fist, pushing him back. His leg caught the back of the coffee table, and he fell like a log. There was a large hollow echo. The alcohol certainly wasn't doing him any favours.

"Get the fuck off of me or get the fuck out" The voice that came out of her mouth sounded far different from her own. It cut through the air, leaving a visible mark.

Allie's soft voice rang in her ear. "Y/n..." It sounded far away, like her head was underwater.

That's when she realised the music had stopped. Everyone was frozen in their positions, all of them having turned in the direction of the commotion. Her direction. No one said a word. No one made a move. And yet the trepidation that crept up was undeniable. If was as if the universe was telling her something was wrong, but instead of a soft nudge, her whole body was being whipped around. Her neck was growing hot, the heat slowly spreading up to her face.

Normally, she wouldn't care much for the attention. Hell, she was supposed to care less because she was a little drunk. What did it matter? Guys could be weirdos, and the sound of such commotion had become such a usual thing that it no longer drew the attention that it used to. But doubt flooded the back of her mind. What if I was wrong? What if I overreacted?

John's face suddenly came into view. His brows were cinched tightly like he was looking at a car's engine, trying to figure out what the problem was. His hand rose to her cheek. "Baby, what's wrong? What's going on?"

She couldn't find the words. It felt like tiny needles were continuously poking at her skin wherever he touched. Something stood between the echo of his voice and her ear drum. Nothing felt like it was fully there.

Garrett had joined them in the living room, having picked the guy off the floor by his collar like he was a rowdy cat. "Come on. Get up, fella" His grip was as firm as his voice, eyes narrowed as they pointed down at the guy.

The mortification seemed to only grow as the seconds pass. Feeling was beginning to return to her hands and feet. Little stopped her from staying here, but a lot stopped her from bolting. Allie was still holding her wrist. John was blocking the way to the front door, and she knew it'd be useless trying to get past him without an explanation.

Garrett's gaze flickered between her and the guy. "What'd you do to her?"

"What I did to her?" He repeated in a tone of amazement, "I didn't do nothing, man! I was trying to show her a good time and the crazy bitch pushed me over!"

The blur only seemed to intensify then. Maybe it was the build up of tears in her eyes or her brain simply beginning to shut down, but everything seemed to be too slow. All she could make out was John rushing the guy, taking him off Garrett's hands.

If there was shouting, she couldn't hear it. John took him by the neck, dragging him out the front door before tossing him off the porch.

"No, no, no..." She muttered under her breath. Whatever was keeping her inside seemed to disappear in an instant. She carefully shrugged off Allie's hand, shoving past the crowd that was beginning to gather by the door. The air was like a shock of cold water. The sight in front of her was the ice that ran down her shirt.

John was hunched over the guy, the white ball of shirt in his hands stretching so much that it was beginning to rip. His other hand was in the air, reeling back to send another punch to the guy's face. The moon lit up the scene like a spotlight. And beneath the gleaming blades of grass, crimson blood coloured the front lawn in delicate specks. It almost looked staged how perfectly everything fell. John's fist hit the guy's face once more, causing another round of splattering to join the army that had begun to form. Her feet moved themselves. She stumbled far enough down the stairs to get a better look at the guy's face. There was little reminiscent of his strange eyes and unfamiliar structure os his features. His nose now had an uncomfortable bend in the middle. Broken, no doubt. The sight made the uneasiness in her stomach grow.

"Yeah? Call her a bitch one more time. Do it!" His roaring voice split the fuzz that had grown over her ears. It wasn't the same soft voice that was speaking to her moments ago. The flames, once so calm and easy, now roared with a fierceness that almost frightened her.

It took seconds for Garrett and Dean to rush past her on the porch. They were quick to pull John off the guy but the damage was already done. There was a man on their front lawn, bruised and bloodied.

After that, everything seemed to blend together. She wasn't outside much longer, having been pulled back into the house by Allie, and a shaken Hannah who was following behind her. Tucker kicked everyone out, managing to find the guy's friends who seemed less than surprised at the sight of their friend. With a promise to take him home, peace had somewhat returned to the house. Or at least the little peace they had managed to salvage.

"What the hell was that?" Dean breathed as soon as the last person left the house.

Allie looked at her for a second before noting she was in no state to speak. The hot embarrassment was still evident by her red cheeks, but there was also something else. She explained everything, sparing a glance to her friend every now and again to make sure she was still standing.

A moment of silence passed. No one knew how to react.

The tension only grew when her voice broke the surface. "Where's John?"

Garrett looked at her sympathetically. "He went upstairs. Look, y/n, I'd give him a minute to cool down-"

She was already half-way up the stairs by the time he finished his words. The door to the shared bathroom was ajar. The furious rush of the sink running told her he was right behind there.

When she pushed the door open gently, John was in front of the sink, running his busted knuckles under the running water. A grimace lay under his hardened expression, the one she had come to learn and peel back. Wordlessly, she closed the door behind her, reaching to turn the water off.

The pain in his eyes seemed to fade when she gently grabbed his hand. Her eyes ran over the split skin around his knuckles from the barrage of punches. She'd seen many of his hockey injuries before -nasty bruises, split lips, scrapes, tears- but this one felt different. She was the reason for it. Guilt built up like a ball in her throat. Though her chest was moving, little air entered her lungs. A low hiss escaped from his gritted teeth as she barely brushed a finger over the wounds.

"Sit down" She whispered, "We should clean it out before we wrap you up"

Rummaging through their tiny medicine cabinet, she found a half-evaporated bottle of alcohol that would work. He'd positioned himself on the edge of the bathtub. She gently took his hand once more, savouring the warmth that spread through her fingers that had become freezing from the blood that was rushing to her head. With a clean rag she found on the rag, she began carefully dabbing at the wound. Most of the blood had been washed off, but a redness still lingered from the exposed flesh. It was hard to control her face. Every time she'd touch the wound, a sharp pain would spike in her own knuckles. As if she were feeling it.

Her eyes would flicker up to his face every now and then. They'd watch his eyes, searching every crevice to find the winces he was hiding. A crease would form between his brows whenever he did. It was small, but it was something she'd taken note of. When his frown deepened, she sighed.

"You don't have to pretend with me, tough guy" She muttered. The attempt at being light-hearted seemed to fall on a half-hearted laugh.

John looked up at her. His uninjured hand caressed the back of her thigh. "I'm sorry about tonight, baby"

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Johnny" She furrowed.

When she continued to dab at his knuckles, he stopped her gently, taking the rag away before setting it down on the counter. Just as he had done earlier that night, he cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Did he hurt you? If he did, I'm getting other people involved. Hell, I'll go file a police report..."

Her hand rested on top of his. "No. No, he didn't hurt me. I just...freaked out. I was drunk, and I had no idea what I was doing. I pushed him off, but I think I overreacted. I don't know"

At her admission, John immediately stood, dark, furrowed eyes scanning her face like he was looking for a lost treasure. "This isn't your fault, baby"

"But it is," She started, frustration beginning to build in her tone. "If I hadn't lost my temper on that guy, maybe he would've just left me alone. Maybe none of this would've happened at all, and maybe there'd still be a party downstairs where people were actually enjoying themselves, and you wouldn't be hurt right now"

"This is nothing, y/n. I've gotten worse injuries," He argued.

"That's not the point. The point is that I wasn't thinking straight, and I ruined it for everyone"

John shook his head. "Don't say that. I don't care if someone accidentally bumped into you, or touched you by accident, or insulted you on purpose. Whatever happens, you handle it the way you think should be handled. And if you don't want to deal with it, you come to me, and I'll deal with it for you, okay?"

She was silent for a long while, just staring up at him with her eyes still glossy with tears. Her heart was rapping at her chest with desperate knocks. All these months and he still managed to make her heart pound. A small smile broke on her face. "Maybe Allie was right."

"About what?"

"About how I'm completely in love with you"

summary: a little understanding goes a long way (non-established relationship)

warnings: mention of trafficking and sexual misconduct, thoughts of self-harm and suicide mentioned, harmful or violent language

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The world was a harsh place. Her teenage years had taught her the hardest lesson: Fragility was not appreciated in this world. In fact, it was battered and thrown about until there was nothing but a shell left. Much of her innocence was gone by the time she hit 14, and all that was left was a bruised peach.

It was what led her to the job in the first place. Being on the streets of Chicago opened your eyes not only to the frequent drug exchanges and shoot-outs, but the corruption that ran through its protectors. There had always been an urge in her to infiltrate it, to stop it. So when Hank Voight came into the picture, offering the impressive rookie a spot on the team to replace one of his detectives, it was like light poking through dark clouds on a gloomy day.

Y/n had seen a lot of things when it came to being on the job. A year in, and she had caught a stray bullet twice. She'd experienced many ops gone wrong. And foot chases had become almost routine. People often said the job was unexpected, but the action became mundane.

What she didn't expect was another version of her to be coming through the doors. Halstead's recruit. And he stayed. That was what aggravated her the most.

Dante Torres was cold, hard-headed and moral son-of-a-gun. Within months, he had become embedded in Intelligence just as she had. All of it was the same as how any recruit would be trained and treated, but she couldn't ignore the bubbling in her gut at his involvement in the team. Call it jealousy. Call it 'I hope you don't come in here and mess this up for me'. He was a part of the team. He told the truth, so they would lie for him.

They walked their own paths, rarely talking outside of work. It helped that Cook was his partner, and Atwater was hers. At least that way, they'd have an excuse for not looking in each other's directions.

The isolation only worsened when the truth about what happened with Gloria Perez was uncovered. She was no longer the only one who wouldn't look his way.

This night was no different than the others. They had just busted a drug house they had a warrant for, only to find a 15-year-old boy dead inside the guy's basement. Most of the day had been spent trying to find out whether this guy was involved at all. The evidence looked scattered.

She picked up her coffee cup. It'd been cold for hours, sitting half drunk by her monitor as she looked over everything once more. Darkness had already fallen outside. The careful hush of water from the tap was enough to drown out the silence that had built in the room.

Kim, Adam, and Kevin had gone home, having their own responsibilities to take care of. When she stepped out of the coffee room, Voight was on his way out.

"Get some rest," He muttered in his rough voice before buzzing out of the precinct.

Cook picked up her jacket from the back of her chair, "You coming, y/l/n? I can give you a ride home,"

She nodded, "Let me clean up a bit. I'll be down in five,"

The desks were always a mess when a case was ongoing. Pictures pinned up on whiteboards, folders stacked high, and the clutter of minds working on different things. She shuffled a few papers around, and was pushing in her chair when she saw Torres at the other end of the room.

Though she could only see the back of his head, the way his shoulders were hunched gave away his frustration. His hands were holding his head up as he stared wordlessly at the screen in front of him. There was a certain tension in the blades of his shoulders that looked familiar.

Her hands reached for the curve of her own shoulder. After years of labour and holding a gun, it had formed an armour-like shape. She pushed the knot away.

"You spent juvy in Maron?" She asked quietly, shouldering her jacket.

Dante's head lifted from the pillow of his hands, and turned just enough to meet her eyes.

"You sounded like you knew a lot about the place when you were talking to Voight"

He nodded silently. "When I was fifteen. After an...accident,"

Her eyes flickered past his face to the screen. Kai's picture was on there, blonde hair perfectly combed back. His innocence still twinkled in his eyes. He looked nothing at all like the boy they found in the garage. Nothing like the boy she had looked at under the sheet at the morgue. His youth was jealousy-inducing.

"Did a year when I turned thirteen. My uncle...he had me running the streets before I even really knew what dope was," A slight chuckle followed her words, though there was little that was humorous. "I guess life turns around for everyone, huh?"

Dante smiled. It was brief, barely even a press of his lips but it was a smile. "Guess so"

Silence had began to fill the room in such a way that her feet moved on their own. She pushed herself away from the table, moving towards the stairs that decided whether her night would end in the precinct or with leftovers at home. When she reached the first step, Dante spoke again.

"It was my step-father," He began, looking almost guilty, voice softening to something barely above a whisper. "He was hitting my ma. I almost killed him..."

With a firm shake of her head, she said, "You did what you had to do."

There were a plethora of thoughts built up in her mind, about the case, about the miniscule details of life that were largely irrelevant, and she rifled through each and every one of them in search of something to say to him. Being a cop, you were supposed to know how to handle grief. And for the most part, she did. Until now. The look on Torres' face was too weighted, too dark for her words of comfort to penetrate.

"It's going to be a long day tomorrow," She muttered finally after a long while. "Get some rest, Torres"

"See you tomorrow, y/l/n,"

They'd come to an understanding that night. No longer were they rivals but reluctant peers.

The days came and went but one thing lingered on. Torres. He had offered to go undercover at Maron to infiltrate whatever was going on behind closed doors. There was an eagerness in his voice when he said the words to Voight. Like a child who wanted sweets. And his point was unshakeable: He knew Maron. That was his reality for part of his life so it wouldn't be hard to fit it. Getting the kids and guards to say something wouldn't be hard either. Torres was smart in the kind of way you never really expected.

When their eyes met after Hank had confirmed the play, the words were barely contained in her mouth. Don't do it.

Seconds later, Hank had pointed to her. "You're going to be his main communication, y/l/n. You track the calls, you log the evidence and everything Torres finds in there"

Days into the op, she already noticed herself glancing over at her phone too often. She listened too closely when Torres came into the office with Intel. And when he'd leave, she worried. She worried for the boys at Maron. She worried for the succession of the op. And she worried for him.

The nights were long, and for many, she found herself staring up at the ceiling, waiting for her phone to ring. It was no different tonight. But instead of closing her eyes, she grabbed her keys and drove to the station.

At least her time awake would be put towards the case.

She expected the office to be empty. Though this was a case of top priority for them, Voight had the tendency of shooing off any straggling persons that wanted to stay later than they should've. The lights were on, and a familiar figure was sitting at his.

"What are you doing here?" She frowned.

Dante glanced past his computer towards her. Wine-coloured circles had began to form under his eyes, and the shadow of an unshaven beard was evident across his jaw. He rubbed his eyes with a rough hand.

This undercover op wasn't as deep as the others she had witnessed. No one questioned his sudden appearance; therefore, no one watched him when he clocked off. Still, a nervous flutter went off in her chest.

"I couldn't sleep," He muttered, "What about you?"

Her frown had gotten deeper at the nonchalance in his voice. "You shouldn't be here, Torres." She said, walking towards her desk.

His eyes trailed the back of her head as she moved across the room, finally drifting off when she turned to meet them. Dante stared down at his hands, picking at the skin around them.

"You shouldn't be here either," He finally said when she had settled at her desk. "But you are"

"Couldn't sleep either," She replied.

Both of them sat facing away from each other, touching nothing, looking through nothing. Not a particle of air was moved. The tension--whatever tension that was--had settled like a thick blanket of cobwebs.

She found herself looking at the board of evidence. The pictures of the boys from Maron pulled at the guilt in her chest. It willed her to talk.

"What the hell's going on in there, Torres?"

And as if he knew exactly what she was talking about, Dante answered, "Art's not pimping out the boys cause he wants to. It's something bigger than that, you don't do something because you want to in there. Someone from the inside is making him do it. We just have to figure out who"

"One of the guards?"

"Probably. We can't know until Art talks. He's close to breaking...I can feel it" He breathed.

"Did that happen to you?" The words slipped her mouth before she could stop them.

He was looking far off like he always did. Never truly there. Never truly listening. A memory seemed to play in his eyes, and sadness overwhelmed them in a matter of seconds. "No. I was one of the lucky ones..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry--"

He shook his head, "Don't worry about it...I wonder if it was happening when I was there. If I could've done something about it earlier." His voice faded until they were surrounded by silence once more.

For a long while, they just stared at each other. There was nothing more that could be said to ease the truth that had been dumped into the room. The air was so thick it was almost hard to breathe.

The creak of the wood signalled y/n to Dante's sudden movement. He had risen, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.

"I'm gonna head back. Good night, y/n"

She sucked in a careful breath, "Hey, Dante?"

The length of floor between them had been crossed in three strides to where Dante had stopped at the top of the stairs. Her arms wrapped around him carefully, her chin coming to rest on the nook of his shoulder.

"I'm sorry...about everything"

The heavy sigh on his chest eased when his arms wrapped around her figure.

This apology...it was different. It was no longer just for stepping over the carefully drawn line they had placed long before. It was not just for prodding in places she shouldn't have. It was for all the times she had looked past him. For having looked down upon him. For the jealousy, and pride, and ego that had ruled their relationship. It was for all the things she hadn't known, and did know now. It was for all the things that she couldn't erase.

"We'll make sure those bastards never see the light of day," She whispered.

summary: the lines between good and bad are too blurred, but someone's there to make them clear again (established relationship)

warnings: violent actions and violent language, mention of guns and shooting, description of injuries

author's comment: I'm imagining this would take place in Season 5 of Chicago PD 'cause you can't tell me that wasn't a peak season.

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The air had barely been disturbed for hours. She pushed her glasses to the top of her head, watching her fellow colleagues typing away at computers or filling out the nth paperwork of the day. That was certainly what they didn't warn you about in the academy: Being a cop didn't always involve field work, or raids or stakeouts, but the mind-numbing, boring task of filling out paperwork.

For the 3rd time, she glanced past her computer. Jay saw her lurking eyes, quickly raising an eyebrow.

"What?" He asked. There was a feigned annoyance in his eyes, as they fell pointedly upon hers, though the quirk of his lip revealed his amusement.

"I'm going for a drive,"

Jay breathed a laugh, "You're not going to do the paperwork Platt just handed you?"

"I won't tell if you won't" She smiled, shuffling it aside.

Just as she stood, hand resting on the car keys that they shared, Voight's door opened. His phone was leaving his ear as if he had just gotten off a call. With a single whip of his finger around the room, everyone looked up from whatever they were doing.

"Warrant for the Hayes' safe house just got approved. Gear up," He ordered.

She had always found the process of suiting up the most tedious. Every buckle had to be in place, every gun reloaded, and every mind dead set on one goal. Even as the vest laid heavy over her chest, she couldn't help the feeling of dread that was beginning to pool in her stomach. It always did.

Jay glanced over at her just as he had slipped on his own vest. "I guess you're finally getting your drive, huh?"

"Guess so," She muttered, pulling at the strap on her shoulder. He was faster, reaching over to tug it into place. "I could've done it myself, Halstead." There was no actual venom in her voice. A small smile was already wrapped around his face like he knew.

"Well, Ace, I do it better"

A stupid smile climbed its way onto her face. Ace. It was something he had called her ever since she joined the unit four years ago. She was the youngest of them all, fresh out of the academy with the help of a scholarship. It had all really been a surprise. Who would want a juvenile protecting them?

She was good at it, being an officer. Through careful dedication, she'd made a name for herself and from there had become Detective y/n y/l/n.

Jay and Hank were the first to look at her with some resemblance of respect. Even now, they were pooling in his eyes like an overfilled cup of water.

Everyone loaded into their respective cars, and the drive began. The rotation was almost military. The kingpin they were hunting, Andrew Hayes, supplied Chicago with all the coke that it had, so it was certain he had eyes around the city. They had lost a lead months ago. Even a small opening like this was like an ocean for a man as big as Hayes was.

Jay drove silently beside her. Voight and Olinsky are in front of them. Atwater and Rusek behind them, whilst Burgess and Dawson circled from the left.

The house on Pilsen looked as if it were moments away from collapsing. The exposed brick was a capture of the time that it was built and all the storms that had been weathered. Loose wood planks boarded up the windows. One firm kick would knock the whole house in on itself.

A voice crackled over the radio as Jay pulled in to park.

"Rusek, Atwater, knock on the door. Show 'em the paper. The rest of you stay put and lay low. I don't want this guy getting any clue that we're here," Voight rasped dangerously.

She leaned back, resting a rigid hand on the gun in her holster, and watched.

The house was still, though the streets around it moved in its usual ounce of normalcy. Kids were at the other end of the street on their bikes whilst the watchful eye of their mother looked out from the window. There were a few straggler of people simply just laundering. Though, some caught her eye in particular.

A man with his hood up caught a glimpse of Rusek as he passed through the alley at the side of the house. The man pressed a number on his phone.

"You see that?" She asked, glancing at Jay. The pit of unease in her chest only grew. "Are we fried?"

"Sarge, we've been spotted. 10 o'clock. He's calling someone," Jay hissed into the radio, already getting out of the car.

She could already imagine the way Voight swore under his breath as he watched the two figures ahead of him get out of the car. Her hand rested stiffly on her holster, eyes never once leaving the guy as he exchanged a few words with the person on the other side.

Before she could make any hedge way towards him, a loud crack of wood signalled her to the house.

"We've got a runner!" Rusek's desperate voice came over the radio. Atwater had pushed the door in completely, having already started the chase as Rusek followed.

One glance was spared at the guy on the other side of the road before she joined in on the chase. It was a suspicion, she told herself; he's just an innocent bystander.

"I'm going through the alley," She told Jay before veering to the left of the house.

The gun would lead, and she would follow. The stench of sewage seemed dizzying as she ran through the muddied strip of ground between two buildings.

"White male. Black shorts, black top heading eastbound," Atwater called over the radio.

As she crossed over to the other side of the road, no longer did the streets seem so full. The desolation made way for the sound of boots beating against the sidewalk. She could see the man in front of her, unarmed, panic written on his child-like face. He couldn't be a day older than 18.

He rounded the corner. Her chest burned, legs beginning to feel the strain of running, but she continued.

She could no longer hear the team. The radio had been silent for a while.

Then, he ducked into a building, something that resembled an old warehouse. She followed, shouldering through the door. The distance between them had almost been closed entirely, but as soon as she entered the building, she knew it was back to square one.

The crisp clang of the metal door echoed off the walls. Yet, she couldn't hear a single sign of movement. No displaced breath, no unmeasured step.

She reached for her radio, "5021 Ocean, I need backup on the abandoned factory east of Pilsen. Lost eyes of the suspect." The heavy breath she took left a bitter taste on her tongue.

A quiet sigh followed the radio. Her ears perked, eyes following the echo to the direction of the sound. An unfinished doorway--unlit, and cloaked with shadow--met her gaze.

Found you.

Slowly, she inched towards it, sticking to the wall. "Chicago PD, I know you're in there, kid. I need you to come out here with your hands up, and no one has to get hurt"

"I didn't do anything..." A shaky voice from the other side of the door replied.

Her grip on her gun loosened for a moment, then tightened once more. It was always the smoothest talkers who were the crime lords and kingpins. It was the sweetest voice that had enough venom to kill a hundred men.

Before she could take another step, a loud crack echoed. She ducked behind the door just in time. The wind stirred by a bullet had whizzed past her, missing her ear by an inch. Momentarily, all she could hear was the reverb of that bullet, and a flash of black cloth shooting past her. Dammit. He's armed. Her feet moved before her mind could.

They were exactly where they had begun, but she couldn't let him go that easily. He turned into an opening of exposed brick. He looked back for a moment. In that brief second, she swore intent was clear in his eyes. A flash of silver caught her eyes. She could not bring herself to duck behind the wall. The bullets he shot ripped into her abdomen, sending her flying back to the ground. The kid took two bullets to the shoulder and fell into the room with a deep, heavy thud.

Air found its way into her lungs, but seemingly could not find its way out. Pain rippled through her ribs with every little movement she made. With one hand still on her gun, pointing down at the boy who was now motionless, she reached for her radio.

"5021 Ocean, Officer down," Every word shot a pain up the side of her body, yet she gritted her teeth and continued. "I need backup. Suspect's down with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. He's not moving"

Every second felt like several minutes when she was lying on that cold concrete floor. She had managed to feel around her vest. Tearing the band off the side of her body felt like ripping away her own skin. The slow movements seemed to prolong the pain even more. Biting down on her lip, she pulled the straps off, managing to slip just enough off her chest to check the damage.

Warm wetness met the tips of her finger alongside ridges of broken skin. Not a bullet wound. Her sigh of relief came out as a whimper. She pressed hard. At least she could stop some of the bleeding while she waited for backup.

Moments later, she heard familiar footsteps rally through the house.

Jay was the one who found her on the ground. He fell to his knees beside her, the alarm on his face growing deeper when he saw the blood that coloured her hands.

"y/n..." He breathed quietly, ripping the vest away from her body. "Stay with me, baby. Stay with me"

His heart was thrashing around in his chest at the sight of her. All the colour had left her face. Her mouth opened with all that she wanted to say, but nothing sounded. He laid his hand on top of hers, peeling it back for a moment to catch sight of the wound.

"It didn't go through," He muttered quietly to himself, finally taking a full breath of air in. "I got you. Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me, y/n,"

The team arrived seconds later, sparing worried glances at her before tending to the boy. He himself had not made a noise since she had shot him. Despite the splitting pain of a major bruise and a few broken ribs, she couldn't help but worry. Did I kill him...?

Everything passed slowly from then on.

Bret and Dawson got her to the back of the ambulance and checked her out. She had denied a trip to the hospital. At least not until she knew the kid was alright. Jay was no further than an arm's length away the entire time, arms crossed, face tight with worry.

She stared out at the space in front of her. The adrenaline had subsided, and the pain was greater than ever, but she could not bring herself to react.

Voight inched towards the ambulance as Bret finished dressing the wound.

While they let her wounds be dressed, Jay filled her in on the kid's identity. Andrew Perez, or Andy as his mother would call him. He'd been a runner for Hayes for 5 years, one of his most loyal henchmen. Though it was hard to erase the softness of his voice. It was one thing of Andy's that had yet to be made rigid by the harsh nature of crime.

"How is he?" She asked quietly.

He shook his head, "Bullet hit his neck. He was gone when responders got to him."

Her mouth fell open, yet nothing came out. "He's dead? That can't be...I shot him in the shoulder. It wasn't meant to be lethal..." Her voice cracked.

"It was a good shoot, y/l/n," Voight said, certainty echoing in his voice. "When IA gets here, you tell them what happened, and they'll believe you. It was self-defence, clear as day." He didn't have to look closely to see the sadness that pooled in her eyes. With one careful hand on her shoulder, Hank turned and left.

The silence was a great foe in a moment like that. She could do nothing but stare down at her hands as they rested stiffly on her knees. Blood had dried, crusting between the groves of her palm. Her blood. Yet, all she could hear ringing in her head was the kid's voice. His last words. I didn't do anything...

"Hey," Jay frowned, shaking his head, "Stop thinking about it."

"I killed a kid, Jay. He...he couldn't have been older than 18. He had his whole life ahead of him, and I just..."

"Stop it," He said firmly. "You did what you had to do. He shot at you first, and you returned fire. Everything was by the book--"

A sharp pain built in her throat, but she blinked the tears away. "It's not about what's by the books. I killed him. He was a son. He could've been someone's person, and I took him away from everyone"

Pain was evident in his eyes when they finally met hers. The warmth of his gaze had not left her since she had been brought out of the building, as if she would just disappear into thin air if he looked away.

"He almost took the love of my life from me, so I don't care if he died," He muttered. His hands shook as they moved towards her, sweeping an escaped hair behind her ear. "I thought you were dead. Please don't ever do that to me again"

"I can't promise that..."

If you were, could you do a Jay Halstead x female!reader (established relationship), where the team is doing field work like they do, and bullets start flying, unfortunately, as they do, but the reader gets shot in the back? She’s ultimately fine because the vest absorbed the shock and stopped the bullet, but due to the force or the close proximity basically knocks all of the wind/air out of her, to where she can’t catch her breath for a scary amount of time?

If you aren’t accepting requests or don’t write anything from this, no pressure, all is good. But thank you anyways!

Hello hello !! I really hope you enjoyed 'TRUST', it's one of the first fics I've written in a while apart from my more serious projects. And I'm totally doing requests, so of course I'll write yours. Currently, I'm in the midst of my final exams, and it might take me a while to get it out, but do keep an eye out for it!! xx

warnings: violence/violent language, mention of trafficking and sexual assault, brief description of blood

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Cold, hard criminals were what she was used to. People who had been hardened by the harsh realities of underground organisations, hierarchical systems, and lies. Where bonds were based on loyalty, and where loyalty was fear. The man on the other side of that door was different.

"y/l/n," Hank had called, sauntering out of his office. He signalled to the interrogation rooms, "You and me. C'mon"

She'd be a fool to deny the pleasure of breaking this guy. Before she had left the room, she made sure to give the picture they had stuck on the whiteboard a long stare as if seeing it again was an unlikely reality. Dwight Whitman read Jay's sprawled handwriting. Dwight's frozen eyes stared back at her. He'd be the shell of the person he was when she came out of that room.

While she was locking her gun away in the safe, a lingering figure had caught the corner of her eye. Jay's hands were tucked deeply into his pockets, a sign of his nervousness.

"Pictures of the victims," He muttered, sliding a familiar yellow file into her hands. Jay was now leaning against the wall beside her, eyes shooting past his shoulder to make sure no one had caught sight of his departure.

"Do we have anything else?" She frowned. Even for a simple case, the contents felt too light in her hands. There wasn't much she could do with a feather. This man was experienced, having been in the trade so long that he could point out a decite if a hair was out of place.

Jay pressed his lips into a line and shook his head.

She didn't reply, simply scanning the front of the file. The routine took hold of her, and she slipped the gun from its holster, carefully placing it in the locker. The metal lock closed with a certain clang. The missing weight on her belt was immediately noticeable. 'When had safety become violence?' She questioned, thumbing her belt loop.

A quiet 'hey' broke her train of thought. He was already looking at her by the time she met his eyes.

"Don't stress it too much," he said softly, "This is what you do, and no one else can do it better than you"

Something between a scoff and a laugh escaped her lips, "Your faith in me is truly...inspiring."

"You got me to tell you about my past. You can make anyone talk"

There was a certain warmth that she felt with Jay. He was grinning now, lips curved deeply though soft around the edges. A wrinkle remained in the bunch of his brows, as if he didn't know what relaxing was. She felt the urge to smooth it over with her finger. Maybe that's why she cradled a certain safety with him. He was broken, but so was she.

Hank greeted her with a curt nod at the dark door. "We move carefully," He says with a certain warning in his voice.

Dwight sat leaning against the concrete walls with an undeniable comfort. The suit he was wearing had remained intact, and his gleaming, scourned smile even more so. Not a hair was out of place. And yet, it was his name attached to all these girls. It was his face that had plastered itself across their phones, and it was he who was in handcuffs, suspected of smuggling them to their death.

"Detectives," he greeted.

Voight took a seat beside him as she reached to undo his cuffs. First step in rapport-building: the more comfortable they were, the more they'd run their mouth.

And like that, everything moved as planned. Y/n knew every muscle in her body remained tense as she talked to the man in front of her. She could feel Jay's eyes on the back of her head as they talked, the only thing that kept her face expressionless.

Jay's arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he watched the exchange play out. There was a strange expression on Dwight's face that left a sour taste in Jay's mouth. Something's wrong, he kept telling himself, only to be reminded of who was in the room.

His heart softened a bit when his gaze flicked to her. Trusting her was the only thing stopping him from bursting through the door. Those were the words she had uttered to him once after a long night. Their legs thrown over each other on the couch, take out boxes lying on the coffee table as a bad show played on the TV.

"Did I go too far?" She had asked, pulling at a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Do you think you went too far?" He repeated softly.

Her face was furrowed, clouded with doubt and uncertainty. "That's why I asked"

"And I trust your decision. I trust you. So, do you think you went too far?"

"No." "Good"

The moment mixed with reality so easily that Jay almost forgot where he was. A long scrape brought him back to reality. Hank was standing beside Whitman, one hand leaning against the table. Whitman was caged in, yet his smirk remained.

Her gaze sharpened. She willed him to slip up in the long tales he crafted, hoped he'd mention a name, mention a location. Her efforts fell flat.

Hank's voice too started to carry an air of impatience, "Look, Dwight," he started, talking as though he were explaining terms to a teenager, "We have CCTV footage of you walking to the warehouse. Tell me why, five weeks later, we find them". He set the photo of the three girls down in front of the man. Their bodies were twisted, mangled to the point their bones stuck out like oddly shaped rocks. Though Dwight didn't flinch.

"Did you do that?" She asked. It was the first time she had talked in a while. He turned to look at her.

There were no signs of disdain or discomfort on his face. Just an eerie calmness she could not explain. "Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves, Detective. We see men like Ted Bundy and the Golden State Killer, and how they go on a spree, killing all these innocent young women. I have a loving wife. Two young, impressionable daughters. What kind of example would I be setting if I had killed those women? What kind of man would I be if I dumped their bodies like that? Left the bodies in an old warehouse and visited them like they were some trophies?"

You'd be exactly where I need you, was all she could think of.

When there is an impermeable man, you take whatever opportunity you have. Through the monotone in his words, she found a spot untainted by insanity.

"Your daughters...Eve and Rowan, was it?" she asked. There was a quiet danger behind her words. A silent threat. Take the bait, you bastard.

Both of them watched--from both in front and behind the mirror--as his shoulders tensed. His face hardened, the warmth and sympathy in his eyes quickly turning to unbeatable rage.

"What about them?" he hissed, animosity beginning to build in his voice.

"Where are they right now?" Her voice was flat, betraying none of the triumph that was running through her veins.

"Don't bring them into this"

The room was silent, air filling with a deadly sense of dread. Whoever was to speak first would be igniting a flame, one that would take up the whole room, to leave only one survivor.

Just as he had opened his mouth to speak once more, the door to the interrogation room opened. Burgess, looking as sorry as ever, looked towards Voight.

"Sarge, we need you for a second..."

Voight passed a silent look towards the glass, then to her. She lowered her eyes for a moment. A wordless nod.

As soon as they were alone, Dwight began talking, carefully chipping away at the rusty nail at the edge of the table. "You understand people, Detective. You wouldn't be here if you didn't," he stated quietly. "So you must know how easy it is to see what foolish things they desire. How easily they fall into your grasp. How you can make them do so much in exchange for so little..."

"You killed those girls, Whitman" she frowned.

"You're no saint yourself, are you? Oh, the famous Detective y/n y/l/n. Knowingly brutal. Corrupted beyond belief, and yet justice always follows your name"

He was watching her carefully now, waiting for a reaction, watching her eyes with an intensity that she could only ever see from a man like him.

"This isn't about me, Whitman"

Dwight stood like a shadow moving through darkness. She mirrored him, walking around to the other side of the table.

"Oh but it is," he smiled. "You talk about me killing these girls, mutilating their bodies like you haven't taken lives of your own. So where do we draw the line between what is right and what is accepted?"

Her hand rested firmly on the door knob.

"We're done here" she hissed, turning to leave.

Before she door could even open, the sound of scraping cut through the air and a firm force pressed into her back. Her hand twisted, and she barely smothered the moan of pain that left her lips. She fell against the wall, stumbling to the side, her hand clutched to her chest.

She reached for her gun. Nothing.

Then, came the sound of death: The clear click of the door being pushed shut.

Jay's voice echoed through the glass, strained and shaky as he yelled for her.

Before she could think, breath caressed the hairs on the back of her neck. She rose quickly, hands moving with as much strength as she could muster. Though, every punch failed to land, quickly deflected by Whitman's trained hands.

Her trivial efforts were in vain, having now ended up pinned on the floor. Danger flashed before her eyes when she caught sight of the rusty nail on Whitman's hand. He struck like a riled up python. Ruthless. Unforgiving. Crazed.

The team's efforts to gain access to the room echoed, seemingly far away as if her head were under water.

Her arms burned. C'mon, Jay...

On the other side of the mirror, Jay had watched it all unfold in slow motion. He saw Whitman get hold of the screw. He watched as the fire burning behind his eyes grew. He watched as he lunged for her as she turned to leave.

Her. His woman. His life. His will to live. Atwater was at the door, throwing his shoulder against it. It wouldn't budge. Every thump signified how close she was to danger.

Jay's heart was running at the walls of his chest over and over again. Blood rushed to his mind. People were rushing into the hallway but no one had made it into the world yet.

"y/n!" He yelled once more, beating a fist against the glass.

Whitman's nail had barely missed her face, grazing her ear instead. Blood trickled into her ear.

"Someone do something, dammit!" Jay ran to the door, peering over at the team. The door wasn't moving. The bastard had enough effort in him to lodge the table against it somehow.

Just as he was about to join them, Jay glanced back at the sight of her in the ground. The window glittered mockingly. A chair caught his eye. There was no going back now.

He picked up the stool, smashing a leg into the glass. It shattered without much effort.

Only now did y/n's raw screams hit his ears. He jumped through, ignoring the shooting pain up his palms as he did so, finally ripping Whitman off her.

Jay's fist met the guy's jaw. Once. Twice. Blood splattered, though he still struggled. After a moment, someone pulled him away. The breath heaved off his chest in heavy waves. Rusek and Atwater had him against the wall, the nail rolling on the floor limply.

The door was open. Voight glanced at him, a hard look on his face, then past him at the ground.

"y/n..." Jay finally breathed.

The sight of her was enough to bring him to his knees. She had pushed herself up to the corner of the room, holding her bleeding ear as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Get that bastard out of here, were the first words she muttered to him with a shaky breath.

Her eyes looked at the chaos around his figure. The broken table that had been pushed aside. The glass coated the floor. The worried eyes that were looking at her. From all those pairs, she met Jay's. The same eyes that had looked at her that fateful night. The ones that carried so much trust and faith. They had not changed. They were her constant.

His rough hands cupped her cheek as gently as he knew how, brushing back the tangles of hair that had fallen over her face. She was breathing hard, stuck between staring at death and looking at him.

"You're alright," He breathed softly, eyes running over every part of her face. He sounded as though he were speaking more to himself.

Despite the aching that was beginning to grow in her ear, she nodded. His arms welcomed her warmly, fitting around her as if they had been a part of her this entire time.