❝ Some stories may be 18+ as they contain smut and/or detailed descriptions of content that may be upsetting, so if you’re underage and see a mark next to a story please do not read. I’ll always try to carefully highlight the warnings before each fic but it can happen I forget some of them, in that case feel free to notify me with an ask. Also, English is not my first language so I apologize for grammar mistakes or anything like that.❞
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❃ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 📖
⊱ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 💫
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⚝ 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐊𝐨-𝐅𝐢 ☕️
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✧࿓☾ Thank you so much for the support you constantly show me, for every single like, comment and reblog, for taking your time to read my stories. I appreciate every single one of you and I’m so grateful for everything you do for me, you have no idea how a single comment makes me happy and motivated to always write. I love you all ✧࿓☾
• Warnings: mention of trauma, panic attack, blood, use of gun and knife, death, curse words, violence.
• Word count: 16K (yeah I’m sorry about that lmao).
• A/N: that’s part 2 of Scars and Shields. First of all I want to apologize if I didn’t to a great job, I tried my best to write about the trauma, the feelings associated to it etc please bear with me lol, I’m more than happy to learn from my mistakes so please comment if I wrote something wrong. Let me know what you think about this, please comment, like and repost if you want, it’d mean the world. Love you all.❤️
<- Part one
Two months later your injuries had healed.
The bruise faded and when you looked in the mirror, it almost seemed like they’d never been there.
But they were there, you could still feel them. Maybe physically they were gone, but emotionally… God, it was a whole another story.
The fear was still there, strong, intense.
Marcus Kane had devastated you more than you’d ever cared to admit, and you hated it.
You hated that even after two months—even knowing he was behind bars—you still counted the exits in every building you entered, still looked over your shoulder, still jumped at the slightest noise, still startled when someone suddenly touched you.
Some days were better than others, some slower, some faster when you somehow managed to distract yourself, especially with work. Some days you found yourself checking the locks only once instead of three times, while others you flinched even when the wind blew the leaves a little more than usual.
And you couldn’t stand it.
You thought about it a lot: if you’d gone to therapy after your first attack, would you’ve have been stronger now? If you’d talked about it with someone, would you have been forced to face it all alone?
What if you hadn’t locked everything away in a box and thrown it into the depths of your mind, without the presumption that everything would be okay?
You didn’t have an answer for this and now, unfortunately, you were forced to pay the consequences.
Of one thing, however, you were sure: without Jay Halstead, you would’ve ended up in an endless abyss, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back up on your own.
It was hard to admit it to yourself, especially at first, but ever since that night—when you run to his house in tears—he had never left your side. Ever.
His presence hadn’t been overwhelming; on the contrary, it was like that first breath of fresh air you inhaled after spending so much time underwater.
He had never insisted, never told you what to do, how to behave, he was simply there. He was there in the little things, in the moments of difficulty that seemed small but were insurmountable for you.
And this was because he knew you, he knew who you were.
It was true, you had never confided in each other, you weren’t the kind of people to talk to each other about their feelings, but in all that time you had been partners, you had learned to know each other, really know each other, even if in your own way, even without too many words.
It was late at night, and all the team got back home earlier after successfully closing a case. The doorbell rang suddenly, and your heart skipped a beat, not because you were surprised, but because you knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.
When you opened it, you weren’t surprised to find Jay standing there, looking as if he’d stepped out of a modeling magazine.
“Well, you really were waiting for me, huh?” Jay teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, a smug smile on his lips.
You rolled your eyes, amused but trying to hold back a laugh. “I was already up,” you replied, making room for him to come in.
It had become your unspoken ritual. Since you were attacked, there hadn’t been a single evening, not even one, that Jay had left you alone. No matter what happened, after every incident, even if you both had your own commitments, even if you insisted it wasn’t necessary, he made sure you weren’t alone,
The first few times you resisted, feeling guilty and weak, but as the days passed, as you began to process everything—the attack, your undercover past with Kane—you realized how vital Jay’s presence was, how grateful you were for it, and how much he had helped you.
When you felt like it, you talked about it, encouraged by him but without too much insistence. When you had a panic attack, he was there, hugging you and whispering that everything was okay. When you cried because you felt broken, he dried your tears, telling you how you were the strongest person he had ever known.
And then everything went back to the way it was before, teasing you, playfully insulting you, pranking you, leaving you no time to dwell on the rest like you usually would.
“Look what I brought you and tell me if I’m not the best partner in the world,” he began, once you were both in the kitchen. He pulled out a box of special tea from a white bag… Your favorite one.
“Oh my God, Jay!” you exclaimed with joy. “How the hell did you find that?! I’ve been looking for it since forever. Thank you so much!” You almost jumped like a child, your heart fluttering erratically. Well, yes, you were an herbal tea lover, you couldn’t help it.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Grandma.”
You playfully hit him on the arm. “Stop calling me that.”
“Never,” he retorted, laughing. It was a nickname he’d given you since he discovered your endless supply of herbal teas. “Anyway, I found it by chance in a shop nearby, it’s nothing special.”
You picked up the box and looked at it for a moment as you smiled, because you didn’t believe for a second that he’d just found it by chance, and the thought that Jay had been scouring through shops looking for that particular brand of tea for you, made your stomach twist, in a way that happened all too often when you were with him.
“Thank you, seriously, you didn’t have to do it, I really appreciate it,” you looked at him for a moment and noticed how his cheeks had suddenly flushed, like his ears.
God he was so adorable, you wanted to squeeze the shit out of him.
Without thinking too much, you hugged him; you weren’t good with words, and you hoped in that hug, he’d truly understand your gratitude, not just for the tea, but for everything.
He stiffened for a second before returning the hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, his body relaxing.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.
You took a second, just one, to inhale his scent, that perfume that was becoming a sense of security, your lifeline.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, maybe a second, maybe a minute, maybe longer than was appropriate, longer than ideal for just two partners.
But you didn’t move.
Your body reacted before your mind did, the way you melted into his arms, how the tension on your shoulders slowly dissipated. It unsettled you, how normal and natural it was becoming, how easy it was becoming to let go with him.
In that moment, however, you decided not to think about it because it felt good being in his arms.
You focused only on his regular breathing, the warmth of his chest under your cheek, his heartbeat, the rapidity of which you couldn’t help but notice.
For a fleeting moment, a thought brushed the edges of your mind.
Please don’t let this stop.
You pushed it away immediately, guilt curling in your stomach. You shouldn’t have needed this, need him like this.
And yet, when his arms tightened around your body, you held on for a second longer.
When you finally pulled back, there was a moment of silence in which neither of you said anything.
You simply slightly raised your head, enough to look at him, and your eyes met his, so bright, so deep and unreadable. He looked at you intensely, as if he was about to say something, but finally he cleared his throat, breaking the moment as naturally as it had formed.
A small smile graced his lips. “How about a nice cup of tea now?”
“Great idea.”
You moved around each other in the kitchen with ease, as if he’d been there a million times. No hesitation, no need to ask.
Jay filled the kettle while you reached for two mugs, automatically grabbing his favorite without even thinking about it.
You started talking and joking, that hug as if it had never happened.
“You know,” he spoke casually, opening the pantry where you had only herbal teas, of every possible kind, “I wanted to ask you something. Do you even have something to eat in there?”.
You rolled your eyes. “Of course I do.”
“You wouldn’t think so,” he teased you. “One day I’ll turn on the TV and find you on that show ‘Me and My Obsessions’ or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m not obsessed. Can’t a girl like a nice cup of tea?”.
“That’s straight up obsession, darling,” he said as he looked through your immense collection. You tried to not to think about how your heart skipped a bit hearing him say darling. “I really don’t understand how you can like all these weeds.”
“Excuse me? They’re not weeds, they’re actually very healthy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he let out a small laugh.
“But why do I have to sit here and be criticized by someone who only drinks black coffee? Without even sugar, and you even have the nerve to say it’s so good.”
“Because it is good,” he picked up a carton of lemon and ginger tea and took a teabag from it, “still better than whatever medieval potion you have in here.”
You nudged him with your elbow as you passed by, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just uncultured.”
He looked at you, a raised eyebrow. “Wow. Attacked in my own kitchen.”
You paused, then smirked. “Pardon? Your kitchen? Pretty sure this is my apartment.”
“Still, I always end up cooking or making your potions when I come here,” Jay leaned back against the counter.
“And who asked you?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“My kindness, because without me you would’ve died of hunger living only on your herbal teas.”
“And yet,” you shot back, “you keep coming over and you’re making yourself one of my potions.”
For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe—before he recovered, that familiar grin sliding back into place.
“Guess I’m a sucker for punishment,” he said lightly, wiggling his eyebrows.
But the way he looked at you lingered just a beat too long.
The kettle whistled, filling the apartment with a familiar sound. You leaned back against the counter, watching Jay move, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
And maybe that was the problem.
You carried your mug to the couch, curling your fingers around the warmth as you sat down. Jay joined you a moment later, settling beside you with just enough space to be appropriate, and yet close enough you could feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of his shirt.
The film you had chosen played quietly in the background, some mindless film that you weren’t even really watching. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, awkward. It was… comfortable. Safe.
You sipped your tea and let your shoulders relax, your thoughts drifting.
Two months ago, being alone in your apartment felt unbearable. The walls were too thin, the silence too loud. Every sound made your heart racing, every shadow felt like a threat.
Now, with Jay sitting next to you, the fear didn’t disappear completely, but it softened. It dulled at the edges, manageable. You weren’t healed, you knew that. Some days were still hard, some nights still endless.
But you weren’t drowning anymore.
You realized, distantly, that Jay had become part of your balance. Not your crutch, but that steady presence that reminded you how to stand back up when your legs felt weak.
He didn’t fix things, he didn’t pretend to. He just stayed.
And somehow, that was everything.
Your gaze flicked to him briefly, looking at the way his jaw tensed when something on the TV annoyed him, the way his foot bounced slightly against the floor.
You wondered when you’d started noticing these things. When did they start to matter? Or were they always important to you but you were just now realizing it?
The thought made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
You looked back at your mug, suddenly afraid of where your mind was going.
This was safe. This was good. You couldn’t afford to complicate it. You couldn’t afford to name feelings you weren’t ready to face.
What if it was the situation that made you think those things? Because, let’s face it, he wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t for that night. Your relationship would’ve been the same, you wouldn’t have gotten that close.
Still… a quiet, traitorous part of you whispered a question you didn’t dare ask out loud.
What happens when this end?
When he decides I’m okay?
When he stops coming over?
When I have to relearn how to sit in this apartment alone?
Your fingers curled tighter around the mug, as if holding onto the warmth could keep the thought from slipping away.
He was there because he was a good friend helping a friend in a moment of difficulty, nothing more and nothing less, you couldn’t think otherwise.
Jay shifted beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “You okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar concern.
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
You settled deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket to cover your legs, the mug warm between your palms before taking another sip. Jay leaned back beside you as he too pulled the blanket over his legs, stretching his arm along the back of the couch—not touching you, but close enough that you were acutely aware of him.
Too aware.
You tried to focus on the TV, but your mind wandered, drifting backward without your permission.
Your head was exploding from everything that was happening, from all the confusion that was invading it.
This wasn’t new, that was the unsettling part.
Even before everything—before Kane—Jay had always been there. Not like this, not so constant, but present in ways you hadn’t questioned at the time. The lingering looks you’d brushed off as nothing. The way your stomach had flipped whenever he smiled at you, the instinctive trust you’d placed in him long before all of this.
You’d told yourself it was just partnership. Respect. Familiarity.
It had been easier not to look too closely.
But in that moment, sitting beside him in the quiet of your apartment, the truth pressed gently but insistently against your ribs. Something you didn’t want to listen to, however, because you knew it would only bring more pain, pain you weren’t ready to face. Something you’d ignored because acknowledging it would’ve meant risking something you hadn’t been ready to lose.
You swallowed, your grip tightening around the mug.
The fear wasn’t about needing him. It was about wanting him more than just friends and realizing you always had.
Jay shifted again, glancing at you. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, softer this time, like he was afraid of startling you.
You nodded, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
He studied you for a moment longer, like he knew there was more but wouldn’t push.
That was Jay. Always giving you space, even when every instinct in him probably told him to step closer.
And maybe that was why this hurt in a way you hadn’t expected.
Because if things had been different, he wouldn’t even have been there, and you’d never even had the courage to even face these thoughts.
You glanced at him again, just for a second before bringing your eyes back to the film. He was watching the TV now, relaxed, unaware of the quiet war unfolding in your chest.
You wondered if he had ever felt it too.
Or if this had always been yours alone.
Jay took a sip from his cup, and you found yourself glancing at him again, involuntarily. It was only when you realized he was turning his head toward you that you immediately returned your eyes to the screen. Your face was ablaze, your heart pounding, a single realization settling heavy and undeniable in your chest—this wasn’t something that started because he stayed, it was something that stayed because it had always been there.
But you weren’t ready to face it, not at that moment.
“Hey,” he whispered after a while, drawing your attention from that movie you absolutely hadn’t been watching. You looked at him, seeing he’s already looking at you. “If you need to talk, I’m here, you know that, right?”
You smiled faintly, nodding. “Yeah, I know.”
His eyes roamed your face for a moment, sweet and attentive. “I know you know, but I also know I have to remind you every now and then.”
Your heart was beating so erratically you feared an imminent cardiac arrest. “You don’t need to… Really, I’m fine.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, I can see from here how that pretty little brain of yours is working right now.”
“That’s not true, I was just watching the movie.”
“You were watching everything but TV, come on.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I watch you a lot more than you think,” he replied so casually, as if these few, simple words hadn’t just turned your life upside down. “And that’s why I want to remind you that I’m always here if you need me, okay?”
You nodded, unable to form any meaningful sentence, your voice stuck in your throat.
He smiled sweetly at you and shifted a little, adjusting the blanket over your legs that had begun to fall to the floor. He made sure it covered you more. He was protective, thoughtful, and you struggled to remember the last person who had been so thoughtful to you for the simple reason that they wanted to be so without receiving anything in return.
“Thank you... For everything,” you whispered after a while, both of you intent on watching the movie. You didn’t even know if he’d heard you, but when his arm slid from the back of the couch around your shoulders—squeezing you a little closer to him—you had confirmation that he had indeed heard you.
For a moment, you let yourself just be. No fear. No panic. Just tea, the quiet hum of the apartment, and Jay.
You stayed like that, until tiredness took over and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder. You were probably dreaming, because, at a certain point, you even felt his lips touch the top of your head.
You didn’t ask yourself if it really happened or not, you simply let yourself be cradled in his arms, in a deep sleep that you rarely had anymore.
-
You were at work, weeks later, in the middle of a morning that felt deceptively calm.
Those weeks had brought small steps forward. You’d finally found the courage to see a therapist, sat through your first session with your hands clenched in your lap, your voice shaking only once—or twice—when certain words came too close to the surface. Time had passed in a blur of cases, coffee breaks, late nights buried in paperwork, and you hadn’t missed how thoroughly you were drowning yourself in work you didn’t strictly need to do.
Maybe it wasn’t healthy, overworking yourself just to stay afloat. But it kept your mind busy, and busy meant quiet. If that was the price of feeling okay, you were willing to pay it—even if your therapist had gently suggested otherwise.
You were sitting at your desk when a familiar voice caught your attention.
“So…” Kim said, and you looked up at her as she sat on the edge of your desk. “You look… Better.”
“Better?”
She nodded, studying you with an intense, searching gaze. “You seem more present, less… I don’t know, like you’re running on fumes like the first few days.”
The first few days after the attack, she didn’t finish, but that’s what she meant.
You let out a humorless laugh, meaning against the back of your chair, arms crossed over your chest. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little,” she smiled. “But really, how are you doing?”
You sighed. “I’m better. Some days are better than others, but I really feel better.”
“They’re still steps forward, I’m glad to see you like this.”
You spontaneously shifted your gaze to Jay, who was talking about something with Kevin and Adam, one hand wrapped around his disgusting coffee cup and the other tucked into his pants pocket, his posture relaxed. Kim followed your gaze, and in that moment, Jay flicked his eyes on you, mid-sentence.
You blushed and looked away before looking at Kim again.
She looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you pressed.
“You’ve been doing that a lot, you know?”
“Doing what?”
“Staring at him. You really think we wouldn’t notice?”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not staring at him, stop with this nonsense.”
“Did I say it’s a bad thing?”
You inhaled through your nose, your shoulders stiff. “Kim…”
She studied you for a moment. “He’s always been like this with you.”
“Like what?” You frowned.
“Looking at you, seeing where you are and how you are, making sure you’re okay,” she replied, “and before you say it’s the situation, my answer is no, he’s always been like this with you.”
“That’s just a partnership. We’ve been working together since… Hell, forever. Plus, he’s like that with all of us, that’s just how he is.”
“Sure, that’s how he is,” she winked, “but you can’t deny that he’s always been different with you, ever since you became partners.”
“Mmm, of course I can deny it, because it’s not like that. It’s his nature.”
“Babes, stop wearing blinders,” she retorted, “we’ve all seen the way he looks at you, like you hang the moon. Every time something happens, he checks on you before everyone else. He watches you like a guard dog ready to tear apart anyone who might hurt you. It’s just… I don’t know, he’s very protective of you, even with us.”
“With you?”
“Yeah, Kevin once made a joke about you. I don’t even remember what it was, but Jay almost bit his head off, and that’s just one example.”
You glanced back at Jay, who had just finished laughing with Kevin and Adam and was now looking at the room, eyes flicking toward you again. You quickly looked down at your hands, again, pretending you hadn’t noticed.
You could feel his eyes on you and this made a bunch of butterflies explode in your stomach like you were a teenager.
God, I’m so gone.
Kim leaned closer, her tone softer, almost conspiratorial. “I’m not saying it’s anything you have to deal with right now. I’m just saying… Whatever this is, it didn’t start with Kane. He’s always been like that. And I promise, everyone else in the team noticed it too.”
You exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden tightness in your chest. “Kim…”
“Relax,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m not trying to mess with you. Just... Telling how I see it from my point of view."
You let out a short, humorless laugh, and when you looked up again, Jay was talking to Adam, but his eyes were already on you.
You looked at each other for a moment, heart thudding a little too fast, when Voight exited his office, his voice interrupting that little moment of peace.
“Listen up, everybody,” he said, and you all snapped to attention. “I just got a call.”
There was a short pause, and you frowned when his eyes met you. That single look was enough to tell you something was wrong.
“The first hearing in Marcus Kane’s trial was supposed to be held in the next few days,” your boss spoke, and just hearing his name made your insides twist. “This morning they were taking him to court, but there was an accident, and he…” he sighed. “He managed to escape.”
In that precise moment, you felt your entire world fall apart.
Every step forward, every progress you had made, vanished like sand in the wind.
You felt all eyes on you, wary, as if they were waiting for you to collapse at any moment. You also felt his gaze, especially his gaze.
But you remained impassive, as if Voight was talking about any other case.
“How did it happen?” you asked, managing to keep your tone apathetic and flat.
You’re fine.
You’ll be fine.
Voight, like the rest of the team, observed you for a few moments. “Listen…”
“How did it happen?” you asked again, your hands folded in your lap, palms sweaty, fingers trembling.
You counted mentally. You had to stay calm, you were a cop, you had a job to do.
“A head-on collision, a car went the wrong way and collided with the vehicle carrying Kane.”
“How do we know it wasn’t planned?” Kevin asked.
“We know for sure it was. The driver has already been identified: Vincent Kane, his younger brother. The impact was too violent and he died instantly.”
You exhaled a breath but by now your brain had stopped cooperating, listening, thinking.
The words echoed, sharp and invasive, crawling under your skin. Images rushed in without warning, metal restraints, dark spaces, the sound of your own breathing too loud in your ears, the knife stabbing your skin.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral, your posture steady.
I’m okay. I’m here. I’m safe, you told yourself that over and over, like a mantra.
Someone asked another question. Voight answered. The conversation moved on. The world kept spinning like nothing had just shattered inside your chest.
But you could feel it now, that familiar pressure building, tight and suffocating. Your palms were sweaty, your heartbeat loud enough you were convinced everyone could hear it. The walls felt closer, the air thicker.
You stood up abruptly.
“Excuse me,” you muttered, already moving, not caring about your teammate’s voices calling your name.
You just walked, fast, too fast, toward the hallway, your breaths coming shallow and uneven. By the time you reached the bathroom, your vision was starting to blur, your chest burning with the effort of trying to breathe normally.
You barely made it into the bathroom before your back hit the wall and you slid down, knees folding against your chest.
No. No, not here. Not now.
Your hands shook as you pressed them to your face, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear—
But your lungs refused to cooperate.
The panic hit fully then, brutal and overwhelming, a tidal wave you hadn’t seen coming. Your breaths turned into gasps, your body curling inward as if it could somehow make itself smaller.
“Are you okay?” Someone asked you.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Out. Now.” Jay’s voice reached your ears, your arms still wrapped around your legs, head resting on your knees. You didn’t even know who he was talking to.
Jay immediately sat down in front of you, after locking the bathroom. He didn’t dare touch you, knowing that would only make things worse. His insides twisted, in pain from what you were going through.
“Hey,” he whispered, unaware of whether you had heard him or not. You didn’t respond, just stayed there curled up, shaking like a leaf. “Hey, it’s okay, everything is going to be alright, I’m here with you.”
His chest tightened. God, how much he wanted to hold you and cradle you in his arms, protect you from all the things that were tormenting you, to wrap you in a little bubble so that nothing and no one could hurt you again.
But he couldn’t do it, not in that moment.
He knew panic attacks, trauma, well; he’d experienced them firsthand, and he knew more than anyone that pushing you would only make things worse.
He closed his hands into fists and remained in the same position, close enough for you to feel him but far enough away so you wouldn’t be scared.
“You’re not alone in this, you don’t have to face it alone,” he murmured, “he’s not here, he can’t hurt you. You’re here, you’re safe.”
Your breath hitched, uneven, and he leaned a fraction closer to you, careful not to crowd you. “Look at me,” he said gently, his hands hitching to caress you. “Just for a second, please.”
“Leave… Leave me alone, Jay,” you muttered.
“You know damn well I won’t do this, baby,” he answered, “Just look at me.”
You finally raised your head, and his heart sank as he saw your puffy, red eyes. But you weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost in space.
“Do you feel like giving me your hands?” He asked softly, holding out both his hands toward you. You stared at him for a moment before placing your trembling palms on his. Jay squeezed them, his thumbs caressing your skin.
“That’s it. Now look at me and breathe with me.”
You finally looked into his eyes, but you couldn’t speak. Another tear rolled down your cheek, and he squeezed your hands imperceptibly.
“I’m here with you, you’re not alone, okay?” He continued, “Do you trust me?”
You nodded.
“Then trust me when I say, I won’t let anything happen to you. As long as I breathe, that son of a bitch won’t touch a hair on your head.”
“Why does this keep happening to me?” You whispered, your voice broken, hoarse from crying.
Jay’s breath caught at your question, his heart breaking for you. He didn’t know how to respond, because there was no clean answer, no logical explanation for the tricks the brain sometimes played.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Instead, he tightened his grip on your hands just enough to remind you he was still there. “Because trauma doesn’t work on a schedule,” he said quietly. “And it doesn’t care how strong you are.”
Your fingers trembled in his and Jay leaned towards you just a little more. “But this doesn’t mean you’re going backwards,” he continued, his voice steady even though his chest felt tight. “It doesn’t erase the work you’ve done. It just means your body remembers something your mind is still learning how to process.”
You shook your head weakly. “I should be better by now.”
“No,” he said immediately. Not sharp, but firm. “You don’t get to ‘should’ yourself through this. Give yourself some time and, above all, some credit.”
Your eyes flickered up to him at that, unfocused but searching.
“You survived something that shouldn’t have happened to you, what you went through was traumatic, he kidnapped and tortured you and now you’re facing this monster again,” Jay went on, softer now. “And your brain is doing exactly what it was wired to do, trying to keep you alive. Even when it gets it wrong.”
Another tear slipped free. He resisted the urge to wipe it away, staying still, letting you decide how close was safe.
“You’re not weak,” he added. “You’re not broken. Hell, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met in my entire life, you survived that traumatic shit, you got back on your feet and not everyone is capable of doing that.”
Your breathing slowly began to match his, still shaky but no longer spiraling. Jay watched it like it was the most important thing in the world.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good. Just like that. In and out.”
You swallowed. “I hate feeling like this.”
“I know baby, I know,” he whispered softly.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your breaths and the low hum of the building around you.
Then, cautiously, Jay moved one knee closer. “If it’s alright,” he said quietly, “I can stay right here as long as you need. Or I can get you out of here. Your call.”
And he meant it. Every word.
You hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Just… Stay.”
Something in his chest loosened. “I’ve got you,” he said, low and steady. “Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here.”
And he stayed exactly where he was, anchoring, present, unmovable, not as a hero, but as someone who cared too deeply to leave.
You sat there on that cold floor for an indefinite amount of time, him helping you take deep breaths, but not a word was said.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered suddenly, so quietly he almost imagined he’d heard them.
He frowned. “For what?”
“For all of this,” you sighed, your gaze fixed on your fingers still intertwined with his. “For being a burden…”
“Hey, hey, no. Stop,” he interrupted you immediately, his heart contracting painfully. “Don’t do that.”
Your eyes met his, uncertain, guilt-ridden.
“Don’t even finish that sentence. Don’t ever, ever, apologize, not to me, not to anyone else, okay? I never want to hear you say that again.”
You remained silent, your eyes still full of tears. God, he hated seeing you like this, he hated not being able to do anything to make you feel better.
“You’re not a burden, never have been, and never will be, do you hear me?”
“But…”
“No, no buts,” he squeezed your hands even tighter, firmly yet gently. “I choose to be here with you. There hasn’t been a single time I’ve felt forced, believe me. I just…” he sighed, pausing for a moment and trying to modulate his words before saying something he might regret, “there’s nowhere else and no other person I’d rather be with right now.”
You smiled, so faintly it almost went unnoticed.
“Can I?” He whispered, and you nodded, not even knowing what he wanted to do. He let go of one of your hands and placed his palm on your face, while his thumb dried your tears, first one cheek, then the other.
Jay couldn’t stop looking at you; despite your red eyes and your tears, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
A warm feeling took over him as he noticed the way you leaned into his touch. “Can I hold you? Just for a little bit.” He then murmured, almost in a whisper.
“Please,” you responded immediately, without any hesitation.
He let out a small smile and moved next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
You leaned into him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater like it was the only real thing in the room.
Jay exhaled, long and quiet, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I've got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
He stayed like that, unmoving, breathing with you, letting the weight of you settle against him like it belonged there.
His free hand continued to absentmindedly caress your hair, your face as you sat there in the bathroom, the cold floor and the icy wall behind you.
There was a moment of silence, a silence filled, however, by Jay’s racing mind, by his breathing, trying to regulate it, as if he was afraid you’d escape if he breathed wrong.
He hugged you and held you in a way that made it seem like he needed it more than you, and maybe, in a way, he did.
He tried to focus on something else, on anything else unrelated, but he couldn’t, not when your scent was overwhelming his senses, not when the smell of your shampoo filled his nostrils, not when your arms were so tight around him, as if he was your lifeline.
He didn’t want to think too much because if he did, he’d lose the grip he’d fought so hard to maintain.
This, however, wasn’t new; he’d spent years doing it. Because he cared long before all this happened, long before the fear, the panic, the nights spent with you. And, to be precise, it wasn’t your fear or your panic, but his.
He was terrified to lose you, terrified anything might happen to you, terrified to even know you’re hurt. That’s why he was always there, not because he had to, but because he wanted it, he needed it.
He’d always had a strong sense of protection for you, right from the start, and it was obvious to everyone. Whatever happened, whether it was interrogating a suspect, going to shady places, he made sure you came first.
He’d wondered why, so many times, why he was like this with you, but he’d simply buried this question, telling himself it was just partnership, loyalty, friendship. He’d buried it under jokes, quips, his teasing until you went crazy.
It was easier that way. But ever since that night... Damn, Jay couldn’t find peace, he couldn’t forget the terror on your face when he opened his door, when he saw you soaked, hurt. The panic and fear he felt in that moment, God, were something that would scar him forever.
He wanted nothing more than to lock you in a glass bubble, so he’d always know you were safe, and it killed him knowing he couldn’t do that, knowing how much you were suffering and not being unable to protect you.
And now, with you in his arms, so vulnerable, Jay struggled. All of his careful compartments had collapsed into one unbearable truth: he’d been lying to himself.
He hugged you a little tighter, pulling you closer.
Jay swallowed hard.
If things had been different, if Kane had never happened, he would’ve kept pretending, kept the distance, kept the line clean and untouched, as he had always done in all the years since he’d known you.
And he hated that it took this, he hated that your pain had dragged the truth into the light.
Because loving you hadn’t started with Kane, no, he had just made it impossible to ignore.
He shifted slightly, as if this thought prevented him from staying still. He had to do something, he had to distract himself or he’d end up ruining everything, and you didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t right, not with what you were going through.
“If I could carry this for you,” he said, his voice low, controlled but thick with something he didn’t name, “I would. In a heartbeat.” He didn’t expect a response; to be honest, he wasn’t even asking for one.
“I know,” you whispered back, and your arms tightened. “I would do the same for you.”
Jay closed his eyes, his heart beating so hard it almost burst out of his chest. He wanted to scream, cry, break something because he was overwhelmed, overwhelmed by his feelings, by what you were doing to him.
Without even thinking about it, he lowered his head and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your forehead. It was gone almost as soon as it happened, that kind of touch that felt instinctive rather than intentional, but he had to do it, he needed it.
He froze for half a second after realizing his gesture. He held his breath, ready to pull back, to apologize, to pretend it hadn’t happened, but you didn’t pull away, instead, you wrapped your arms a little bit tighter around him.
So, he stayed.
And that scared him more than anything else.
“We should get back,” you said, after a while, breaking away from the embrace. Since when had your absence caused him such an emptiness? Since when not being able to hug you anymore disappointed him so much?
“How are you feeling now?”
“I can’t lie to you, I… I don’t feel good thinking about him being out there somewhere… But I’m better now.”
“We’ll get that son of a bitch, I promise.”
You smiled faintly. “I know.”
Jay stood up and offered you a hand to help you, which you immediately grabbed.
He unlocked the door, and you were about to leave when you grabbed his hand this time.
He looked at you with a confused look on his face, which quickly turned to utter shock when you leaned toward him and pressed your lips on his cheek.
More than astonishment, he almost had a heart attack, and he wasn’t even exaggerating.
“Thank you, Jay… For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, he stared at you blankly for a few moments before realizing he had to speak. “A-anytime,” he stuttered, fucking stuttered.
You nodded once and, after opening the door, went back toward the bullpen.
And Jay stayed where he was for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the door pretending like you didn’t just shift the entire axis of his world.
It wasn’t even a kiss, more like a light touch. Your lips barely brushed his cheek, too fast for even his brain to register, but it was enough to set his skin on fire, it was enough to destroy that entire wall that so hard he had put up to.
His chest tightened painfully, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar since he met you.
He could still feel the ghost of it, the warmth, the softness, right there, just under his cheekbone, like his skin had already memorized it.
Jay swallowed hard.
Don’t read into it, he told himself immediately.
Don’ turn this into something it’s not.
She’s fragile. She’s grateful. That’s all.
His heart was hammering now, loud and reckless, and there was a sharp, familiar ache behind his ribs, something he was terrified to name.
He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral, even if every instinct screamed to reach for you, to pull you back, to hold you so tightly to him, to kiss you until he stole your last breath.
Instead, he grounded himself the only way he knew.
Control.
But God, if he hadn’t already been in too deep, that little kiss would’ve pushed him there.
When you returned to the bullpen, the rest of the team was there discussing the case, Kane. As soon as they saw you—Jay just few steps behind you—they stopped talking and watched you for a moment.
“Everything alright?” Voight asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes, I’m sorry, everything’s fine.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jay approach the whiteboard, positioning himself next to it, his eyes only on you.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, kid,” Voight continued, sighing, and you immediately understood where he was going with this. He knew the whole Kane thing; besides Jay, he was the only person on the team who knew. “But you can understand that you can’t work on this case since you’re personally involved.”
You exchanged a fleeting glance with Jay, as if asking for help, but no help came. Rationally, you understood, you would’ve said the same thing if you were Voight, but on the other hand, you hated being sidelined.
“I can help, boss. It’s clear that whatever he’s up to is against me and…”
“Absolutely not,” Jay intervened, his tone so resolute and authoritative that even you froze, “we won’t use you as bait, forget it. We’ll come up with a plan to find him.”
“He’s right,” Adam continued, “it’s too dangerous, we can’t give him what he wants on a silver platter.”
“Go home,” Voight resumed, “you’ll have protection 24/7, and we’ll keep you updated on anything. Try to get some rest.”
You sighed, resigned, knowing you’d never win this battle. You nodded and, without another word, grabbed your bag.
“I’ll walk you out,” Jay had said, but you didn’t respond, simply walking toward the exit.
The walk to your car was silent, that heavy silence you weren’t used to anymore, especially with Jay.
“I know you don’t like the idea of being off the case,” he spoke first when you reached your car, “and you know how much I hate to say it, but Voight is right.”
“I know he’s right, but it pisses me off anyway.”
“I hate that you have to stay home alone, I wish you’d stay here so I could always know you’re safe…”
“…But I’m not focused enough to stay here, yes, I know, I get it,” you finished the sentence for him.
“Hey,” he pressed again, stepping fully into your space, careful but firm, forcing you to stop. “Look at me.”
You hesitated for a second, jaw tight, then finally lifted your eyes to his.
“I know you’re mad,” Jay said quietly. “And I know it feels like we’re taking something away from you. But this…” he gestured vaguely back toward the building, “It’s about keeping you safe, that’s our number one priority.”
You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “You say it like I’m made of glass.”
“No,” he replied immediately. “I say it like you’ve already been through enough.”
That stopped you, his words landing better than you expected. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, your stomach twisting in pain. “You think I don’t know that?” you asked, voice lower now. “But I feel useless… I’ll just be sitting home while you’re all out there hunting him down… I…”
Jay exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his next words. “You’re not useless,” he spoke. “But Kane is unpredictable, and if there’s even the smallest chance he’d come after you—”
“He already did,” you interrupted, sharp. “And I survived.”
Jay’s jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he said, low. “And I’m not letting him get another chance.”
The finality in his tone sent a chill through you.
You studied his face for a moment, the tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders were held too rigid, the way he never for a second stopped looking at you.
“Jay…” you started, then stopped, unsure of what you were even trying to say.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said.
You frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Humor me,” he replied, almost gently. “If anything feels off, anything, you call me. Doesn’t matter the time or what I’m doing. You call me and I’ll be there.”
“I will.”
“No, you won’t, not when I’m working on this case, so please promise me.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I promise.”
Something in him eased, just a fraction, but it wasn’t enough, it was like he wasn’t believing you.
You reached for your car door, then paused. Your hand hovered there for a second before dropping back to your side.
“Jay,” you said again, softer now. “Thank you again. For earlier. For… Everything.”
He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things and didn't trust himself with any of them. “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied.
“I know,” you said. And then, almost without thinking, you reached for his hand, for the second time that day, with an ease that scared you to death.
Just briefly. Just enough for your fingers to curl around his, warm and grounding.
His breath caught, barely audible.
“Please be careful,” you added quietly. You were about to let go of his hand when his fingers grabbed yours again, squeezing them tighter than you did.
“I will,” he answered, “you too, and if you don’t want to call just text me, please, I can’t focus if I don’t know you’re okay.”
These words managed to further open the chasm that you carried around for too long.
“I will, I promise,” and this time, you truly meant it.
You let go of his hand and you were about to open your car door, when he preceded you and do it for you. You smiled and slid inside before he closed it.
As you drove away, you didn’t look back.
You didn’t see the way Jay stayed there long after you were gone, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t shake, his hand still hot from your touch.
You didn’t know that sending you home hadn’t made him feel better at all; instead, it had only made him scared he was running out of time.
Your apartment was too quiet, too calm, and for some strange reason, you hated it.
Your mind was in complete turmoil, you couldn’t think clearly, you couldn’t concentrate on one thing before the thought ended up on something else.
You carelessly dropped your bag on the ground, taking a deep breath trying to regain your composure. You tried to focus on the background noises, the distant noise of passing cars, the soft hum of the refrigerator, your own breathing which was louder than anything else.
You told yourself you were fine.
You weren’t spiraling. You weren’t panicking. You were just… Tired.
After kicking off your shoes, you moved through the apartment on autopilot, locking the door, checking the windows. Once. Then twice even if the police officers outside your door already did it.
It annoyed you how natural it had become.
You sank onto the couch and pressed your palms into your eyes, breathing out slowly. Your therapist’s voice echoed faintly in your head—Name what you’re feeling. Don’t run from it.
Fear.
Anger.
Frustration.
And something else you didn’t want to unpack.
Jay’s face kept intruding in your thoughts. The way he looked at you in the parking lot, the way his hand felt, solid, steady, like something you could anchor yourself to, the way he hugged you in that cold bathroom when you were falling apart.
Your chest tightened again, breath catching just slightly.
Not again.
You focused, counted your breaths until the pressure eased, focused on the things surrounding you.
You went to your bedroom and pulled a box you kept under the bed that contained several files, all the documents that related to Kane’s case, that box you managed not to open it in weeks.
You stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding.
You returned to the living room, setting the box on the coffee table, fingers trembling only a little as you lifted the lid.
Reports. Photos. Timelines. Notes you’d written years ago when you first worked on his case, in a handwriting that didn’t quite look like yours anymore.
You flipped through them slowly and the phone buzzed on the table. You froze, and for half a second, terror took hold of you, irrational and sharp, before you forced yourself to look.
A message.
From Jay:
You home?
Your breath left you all at once, fear replaced by relief.
To Jay:
Yeah, I’m okay. Just working through some stuff.
Three dots appeared, disappeared and then appeared again.
From Jay:
Don’t push yourself.
To Jay:
I won’t. How are things going over there?
From Jay:
We’re working on it, I’ll let you know if we find anything.
You knew full well this would never happen, and you didn’t know how to feel about it, whether relieved or irritated.
To Jay:
Okay. Be careful.
You set the phone face down and decided to take a quick shower before going back to the files, the papers spread out like a chaotic map of Kane’s crimes.
Every detail, every report, every photo you’d stored a hundred times before, was there in front of you. You weren’t supposed to be working on this case, but you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t just let it go.
Your fingers traced over his old movements, his connections, the patterns of his violence. It should’ve been easier, after all these years, but your stomach twisted every time you read his name. The memories you’d tried so hard to lock away poked at the edges of your mind… The panic, the terror, the knife.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay focused.
Five things you can see… Four you can touch… Three you can hear…
The hours passed in tense quiet, the sun dipped lower outside, shadows creeping across the floor, and still, you worked, because if you didn’t, the panic would’ve left you no escape.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered where Jay was, what was he doing? Did he find something? Was he thinking about you?
He was indeed thinking about you; in fact, you were the only thought that crossed his mind.
That, and finding that son of a bitch, that’s why he was outside a motel, breathing fast and his hand on his gun.
It was now almost 1:00 a.m. Voight had forced everyone to take a break, but Jay refused, continuing to work alone on any clues. He had found a lead, a guy who had reported that a man—who Jay had then immediately identified as Marcus Kane’s brother—had paid cash for a fake passport.
Kane’s face was all over the news and when Jay answered a call from an anonymous caller who was sure they’d seen the fugitive heading to a motel, he couldn’t help but investigate.
The motel looked like it hadn’t seen maintenance since the late nineties. One flickering neon sign buzzed weakly above the entrance, half the letters burned out, the word 'MOTEL' reduced to a 'M—EL'. Paint peeled from the railings, cigarettes littered the ground, and the smell of damp concrete and old smoke hung heavy in the air.
Exactly the kind of place someone like Kane would choose to hide.
Jay stayed in his car for a moment longer, engine off, headlights dark. He scanned the second floor, eyes narrowing when he spotted a faint light bleeding through the curtains of one room at the far end. Room 217.
His jaw clenched.
He should’ve waited, should’ve called for backup, he knew he had to let Voight know he had a possible location. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there alone, that it could’ve been all a setup.
But he wasn’t thinking rationally, all he could see was you, curled up on yourself, shaking, crying, fighting for air. All he could hear was your broken voice asking why.
He didn’t have time, Marcus could escape while waiting for reinforcements and it was an option that Jay would’ve never given up on.
He stepped out of the car quietly, gun drawn, keeping close to the shadows as he crossed the lot. His heart hammered against his ribs, every muscle taut, every sense sharpened. Years of training guided his movements, but beneath it all there was only anger.
There was no one around anymore, just him—-to be honest he didn’t even know if there was a living soul in that place—so he moved as quiet as possible as he took the stairs, slowly, stopping just before the second floor.
He listened.
Muffled footsteps.
Jay’s grip tightened on the gun.
He moved down the walkway, back to the wall, breathing slow and controlled. As he passed each door, his thoughts kept betraying him, slipping back to you.
He already knew you’d kick his ass for ignoring your messages, but he couldn’t tell you where he was, not without putting you in danger. He knew that at the slightest opportunity, Marcus wouldn’t miss a chance to kill you.
And it was a thought Jay didn’t even subconsciously want to formulate.
He stopped in front of the door.
The cheap wood was scuffed, the lock old. No sound now from inside. Maybe Kane was asleep. Maybe he was waiting.
Jay raised his hand, hesitating for just a fraction of a second.
He tried the handle and, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He didn’t give it much thought, the adrenaline coursing through his veins just at the thought of catching that bastard.
But if he’d been concentrated enough, controlled enough, he would’ve known it was too easy to find Kane, that something was undoubtedly wrong.
Every instinct screamed at him, but he pushed the door open anyway, gun leading the way. The room was dim, lit only by the bathroom light left on. Clothes were scattered on the bed, a half-packed duffel bag on the floor.
“Chicago PD,” Jay called out, voice low but firm. “Marcus Kane. It’s over.”
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then out of the corner of his eye, Jay saw movement, fast, too fast.
He barely had time to react before something—or rather, someone—slammed into him from the side, knocking him hard against the dresser. His gun clattered to the floor, skidding under the bed.
Kane had been waiting.
And Jay realized, too late, that this was no longer an arrest, that he was going to fight for his life.
Kane immediately threw himself on him, without even giving Jay time to get up to his feet and react. A fist hit him full in the face, hot and harp, sending him crashing against the wall. For a moment, he was short of breath, but it wasn’t the time to think; he just had to act.
“Not exactly who I was expecting to be honest, but I guess it’ll do,” Kane sneered, his face twisting into something sinister.
Jay froze for half a second, and then it hit him. Why was it so easy to track him down, why was he was found so quickly. He was waiting for YOU.
“She’s always been a stubborn woman, I figured—”
But Jay didn’t let him finish his sentence; he threw himself on Kane, grabbing him by the collar of his filthy, crumpled shirt. He punched him square in the face, then another, before pressing his forearm against Kane’s throat, nearly cutting off his airway.
The latter wheezed, but that wasn’t enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face.
“Talk about her again and I’ll make you suffer like you never did,” Jay spat a millimeter from his face.
“I knew she’d come eventually. Couldn’t help herself. Always trying to be brave.”
Something inside Jay snatched.
He punched Kane once, twice, again, knuckles splitting, blood slicking his fingers, though he was totally oblivious to the pain. Kane collapsed to the floor with a grunt, coughing hard, but still laughing.
“You think sending her home kept her safe?” Kane taunted between gasps. He spat on the ground, a mix of blood and saliva, then wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. “I left traces…” he breathed heavily, “I wanted her to find me… I wanted to see the look on her face when she realized I wasn’t done with her yet.”
Jay tackled him.
They hit the floor hard, the motel bed creaking under the impact. He straddled Kane, fists raining down, every blow driven by a single, horrifying image of you walking in here, alone, what Kane was going to do to you.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed in his face, “you’ll fucking pay for everything you put her through!”
Kane twisted beneath him, suddenly desperate, hand flashing between them.
Jay didn’t see Kane grabbing the knife from his pants pocket, not until it was already sinking into his flash.
Pain exploded through him, blinding and white-hot.
He gasped, hands faltering just long enough for Kane to shove him off. Jay stumbled back, one hand instinctively pressing to his abdomen, coming away soaked in blood.
Kane dragged himself upright, swaying, smiling through bloodied teeth.
“Guess I still win,” he said. “Either way… She loses. Man, I can't wait to see her face when she finds you.”
Jay completely lost his mind, like he never did before.
He lunged again, ignoring the agony tearing through his body, thanks to the adrenaline that flowed in rivers through his veins, slamming Kane into the wall, then the floor.
The knife clattered away somewhere out of reach.
Jay didn’t stop, he couldn’t.
Every punch was fueled by terror, by guilt, by the unbearable thought that it could’ve been you.
He had lost count of the punches he’d landed, ignoring the pain each blow inflicted, the blood seeping from his wound, ignoring the sound of Kane’s skull being smashed against the dirt floor of that motel.
Jay ignored everything until Kane stopped struggling.
He froze, chest heaving, staring down at him, eyes open but now lifeless, his body still.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
I just killed Marcus Kane.
Jay staggered back, vision blurring, blood soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the carpet. He braced himself against the wall, breathing shallow and uneven, his forehead covered in sweat.
She was supposed to come here.
He slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind him, shaking now, not from the pain, but from the horror of how close you’d come.
He reached for his phone from his pocket when—with horror—he realized he’d left it in the car.
He was tired, exhausted, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he had to call for help, or he’d bleed to death there, on that filthy floor, alone.
God, he wanted you, he wanted you there, so bad he couldn’t breathe.
The strength continued to slowly leave his body, but despite this, he didn’t give up. He tried to stand up, leaning against the wall.
He kept pressing on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but his grip was too weak, almost useless. He managed to take a few steps before collapsing again.
This time, however, he couldn’t get up
But suddenly—after an infinite amount of time—he heard footsteps coming from outside the room, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.
He wasn’t used to praying, but in that moment, he did, he prayed to see you. He winced again in pain as he tried to get up again, but to no avail.
“Jay?”.
A voice reached his ears from afar, but he smiled despite this because he would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, even among a million people. He wanted to scream so badly, to tell you he was there, but he couldn’t, only faint whispers escaped his lips.
Staying awake was becoming increasingly hard, every breath felt like another stab, but he fought to keep his eyes open, because if he was to die that night, you were the last person he wanted to see.
You didn’t receive any answer but, on the other hand, you weren’t even sure you’d be able to hear it yourself since the loud pounding of your heart was deafening you.
You continued walking down the silent corridor with your gun pointed forward, terrified of what lay ahead.
But something immediately caught your attention. The hallway was dark, except for one room, whose light illuminated a small section.
You quickly approached it, and when you entered the room, your worst nightmare, your greatest fear, just became real.
Jay was lying on the floor, covered in blood, barely conscious.
You immediately put the gun back in its holster before grabbing your cell phone and dropping to your knees beside him.
“Hey, hey, hey, Jay, stay with me please. I’m calling for help,” you spoke before quickly calling for backup and an ambulance.
Your cell phone landed on the floor, your hands on his face as you slightly shook him. “Please stay awake for me, okay? Don’t fall asleep, the ambulance is on the way, please, Jay…”
He muttered something you couldn’t understand, and your heart broke when you saw that small smile on his lips, as if he’d just realized you were really there.
“It’s going to hurt a little, but I have to do it, okay? I have to stop the bleeding,” you quickly took off your jacket and pressed it firmly against his wound, your insides twisting as you saw his beautiful face contorted in pain.
Your vision was blurred by the tears you hadn’t realized were pouring like a raging river. “I know, I know…” you sniffed. “I’m so sorry, God, I’m so sorry…”
“H-hey…” he murmured.
You smiled at him, through your tears. “Hey baby, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay… I’m not leaving you…” With one hand, you stroked his face and hair, while the other continued to hold the now bloody jacket firmly over his wound.
“You… You’re h-here…” he continued to breathe heavily, as if every word he said was torture.
“Shh, it’s okay… it’s okay… Yeah, I’m here… Please stay with me, okay? Don’t leave me, Jay, I’m beginning you…” you literally sobbed, feeling your heart being ripped out with every second that passed.
“Help!” you screamed, the sound ripping out of your chest, raw and unfiltered. “HELP—PLEASE, SOMEBODY!”
Nothing.
The silence was underpinned only by your sobs and Jay’s heavy breathing.
Your voice echoed down the empty motel walkway, bouncing off cracked concrete and empty rooms. No doors opened. No one came.
“Help us!” you cried again, hysterical, your throat already burning. “Please—he’s bleeding… Someone help me!”
“No… No, no, no…” you blurted out, shaking your head as if refusing to accept it could somehow change the outcome. You pressed both hands harder against his wound, desperate, ignoring the way his blood soaked your palms, your skin. “Stay with me, Jay. Stay with me, please—please…”
Your hands slipped. You couldn’t stop the bleeding. You couldn’t fix this. Panic clawed up your throat, sharp and uncontrollable.
“I can’t do this without you,” you choked. “You don’t get to leave me here alone, you hear me? You promised me.”
His face was so pale, sweat slicking his skin, but his eyes, God, his beautiful eyes, were still on you, or at least, he tried.
“I… I didn’t… I… Want you t-to see this,” he whispered, a faint, crooked ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“I don’t care,” you cried, shaking your head as tears spilled freely, falling onto his chest. “I don’t care about that. I just need you alive. I need you to stay with me, please Jay, don’t do this to me.”
He closed his eyes and the fear and panic no longer made you think.
“No, no, no, please… Hey, open your eyes, you hear me? Eyes on me baby, please stay awake.”
Your chest hurt, your lungs burned like a forest on fire. You couldn’t get enough air, like the panic was trying to drag you under again, only this time it was worse because it wasn’t just your fear anymore.
It was about him.
He shifted weakly beneath you, a pained sound slipping past his lips, his eyelids struggling to stay open. He was struggling, so damn much and you couldn’t do anything to help him.
“I can’t lose you,” you cried, the words spilling out without permission, without thought. “I can’t… I won’t survive.”
You leaned closer, forehead pressed to his, tears dripping down your cheeks, onto his skin, onto the blood you were desperately trying to stop.
“I love you,” you sobbed, the words ripped straight from your chest, so messy and broken. “I love you so much Jay… Please, I need you to stay. Please. Please stay with me.”
The moment the words left your mouth, it felt like the world stopped.
You hadn’t planned to say it, not like that, but it was true, and it had been true long before this moment.
His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched weakly against your sleeve, as if anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him here, his eyes searching your face.
“I wanted to… To… Protect you…” he coughed. “He… He won’t hurt you again…” he whispered again, voice rough, strained. It was only then that you noticed that body in the room, that now lifeless body, belonging to the person who had ruined you the most.
But you didn’t care. You felt nothing about it. You just wanted to save Jay.
“I l—…” he continued but the words died in his throat, his eyes fluttered.
“Jay? Jay!” Panic ripped through you again. “Jay… Oh my god… No, no, no, please… Open your eyes, stay with me.”
But his grip loosened, his head rolled slightly to the side.
“Jay!” you screamed, terror tearing straight through your chest. You pressed harder against the wound, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please… Please wake up… Talk to me…Please I need you.”
You screamed for help again, voice hoarse, desperate, echoing uselessly through the empty motel hallway.
Sirens cut through the night like a lifeline and you were never so relieved to hear that sound.
You barely registered the sound at first, too busy counting his breaths, begging him under your breath not to leave you, but then the flashing red and blue lights painted the motel walls, and you subbed in relief so hard it hurt.
“They’re here,” you whispered frantically, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Jay, baby, they’re here. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallways and suddenly the room was full, paramedics, lights, movement, orders being barked back and forth.
They stabilized him, then lifted him onto the stretcher, and you followed their every move, refusing to leave him alone for even a moment.
“Jay, please, stay with me,” you whispered, your eyes always on him, almost the entire way to the hospital. You wanted to grab his hand so badly, hoping he could hear you, know you were by his side and you’d never leave him. “Don’t leave me…”
“He’ll be okay, right? Will he make it?” You asked louder, not taking your eyes off his unconscious body, terrified of the answer.
“He’ll need a transfusion and surgery right away,” the paramedic replied, without actually giving you an answer, and for some other reason, this hurt even more. “Do you happen to know his blood type, ma’am?”
“A positive,” you replied, without even thinking.
This thought made you freeze for a moment. Damn, you even knew his blood type, how could you deny that you didn’t love him all this time?
His chest rose shallowly beneath the oxygen mask, each breath uneven. The monitor beside him beeped steadily, maybe too fast, his blood pressure too low.
“I love you,” you whispered again. “Don’t leave me please.”
That ambulance ride was the longest of your life, and even though it was traveling above the legal limit, it still felt like it was going too slow for you.
When the ambulance slowed suddenly, then finally stopped, you breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re here.”
The doors flew open and cold night air rushed in. Hands moved everywhere at once, lifting him, pulling, and suddenly he was rolling away from you.
“No, no” you said immediately, panic exploding again in your chest. You stumbled after them as they rushed him through the ER doors. “I’m here, I’m with him… I need to be with him…”
“Miss, you need to stay back,” someone said, firm but not unkind. “Let us do our job.”
You reached for him anyway, fingers brushing his hand just before they pulled the stretcher farther ahead.
They pushed through the doors to the trauma bay and they slammed shut in your face.
And you lost it.
You sobbed, chest heaving as the weight of it all crashed down on you at once.
You looked at your hands, the blood on your hands, on your clothes—damn, it felt unreal, like none of this could possibly be happening. How could this be reality? How had you gone, in the space of a single day, from hugging each other to praying with every fiber of your being that he would survive?
You slid down the wall slowly, knees hitting the floor as another sob tore out of you.
You really couldn’t believe this was really happening. You couldn’t conceive the thought that you might actually never see him again, you couldn’t accept that the one time in your life you’d had the courage to tell him you loved him was because he was hurt.
What if it was the last time you spoke to him?
What if it was the last time you held his hand?
What if it was the last time you hugged him?
You shook your head as if trying to push that thought away. Jay wouldn’t give up, he was strong, he could handle this too.
The noise around you only made you more unsettled, too many footsteps, too many people talking, too many bells and monitors ringing, too much light—God, you couldn’t take it anymore.
The mere thought of him being there, only a few steps away from you, that only a door separated you, but you couldn’t be there for him devastated you.
“Miss.”
A voice in the distance called you.
“Miss.”
They insisted.
It was only when you felt a hand on your shoulder that you jumped, finding a nurse staring at you with a worried look.
“How is he? Is he okay? Is he awake?” You asked immediately, snapping to attention.
“They’re about to take him to surgery,” she replied, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
It was clear she was referring to the blood on you. The blood of the person you loved.
You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek.
“Do you want to call someone?” She continued, looking at you with eyes full of pity and sadness, before handing you a handkerchief, which you immediately accepted.
“Um… No… I…” you sniffed, reaching for your cell phone. Only when you felt your pockets being empty you remembered throwing it on the floor in that damned motel. “Actually, yes, I… I forgot my phone. Thank you.”
She smiled kindly. “I’ll be right back, but first, let’s get on the chair here, okay?”
You nodded and stood up, then immediately sat down on one of the various chairs in the emergency room hallway.
“Can I get you something else?”
You shook your head.
“Okay, I’ll be right back with a phone.”
You called Voight, trying to explain the situation as best you could, trying to be as clear-headed as possible, even though you probably sounded like a robot. He said he’d be right there with the others, and you responded only with a feeble “okay” after telling him which hospital you were in.
You thanked the nurse before handing her back the phone, accepting the bottle of water she had, despite everything, brought you.
A lump rose in your throat, suffocating.
You couldn’t even cry anymore.
You wanted to scream, break something, run into the OR just to catch a glimpse of him. Instead, you remained there, helpless, broken, your heart beating too hard and too slow at the same time.
Time lost meaning.
You didn’t know how long you sat there staring into space, maybe minutes, maybe hours, before you felt a presence beside you.
You looked up with difficulty.
Voight.
He didn’t say anything at first, he just stood there, eyes scanning your face, the blood on your clothes, the way your hands trembled faintly in your lap. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
For a moment, you wondered if he was waiting for you to speak. You tried, but you couldn’t. You just stared at him as if you said the words out loud, they’d become real.
“He’s in surgery,” you finally whispered, voice hoarse, barely more than air. “They took him in a few minutes ago.”
Voight nodded once, slow before sitting down next to you. “I know.”
Your chest caved in.
“I was supposed to stay home,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I know you told me to stay home and I tried, I swear I tried but I just…” Your breath hitched. "I had this feeling. Like something was wrong..."
You broke off, shaking your head. “If I’d gotten there sooner,” you murmured. “If I—”
Voight interrupted you. “Listen to me kid,” he said quietly, but firmly enough that you had no choice but to look at him. “None of this is your fault.”
Your eyes burned. “He went alone.”
“He went alone because he wanted to protect you,” Voight replied. “Because that’s who he is, the only thing he cares about is you.”
That didn’t make it hurt any less.
You pressed your lips together, fighting the sob that threatened to tear you open again. “He was bleeding so much,” you whispered. “He tried to stand t-to talk. I thought…” Your voice cracked. “I thought I was going to lose him right there.”
Voight’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “But you didn’t and you won’t.” He rested his forearms on his knees, mirroring your posture. “The doctors are good. This hospital’s one of the best. If anyone can pull him back from the edge, it’s them.”
You nodded weakly, though hope felt like something dangerous now.
“The rest of the team are on their way,” he added. “You’re not doing this alone, he won’t be alone.”
You swallowed hard. “I told him I love him,” you said suddenly, the confession tumbling out. “I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if…”
Your throat closed but Voight didn’t look surprised, instead, he nodded again, slower this time. “He heard you,” he said simply. “Even if he couldn’t answer. He knows.”
That almost broke you completely.
You buried your face in your hands as silent tears slipped through your fingers.
Minutes and minutes passed and the rest of the team arrived, though you weren’t in the right mind to talk to any of them.
Hours and hours passed.
Hours in which you had done nothing but torment yourself and pray from him. You cleaned your face and your hands, though your clothes still bore the weight of that horrible night.
Then footsteps approached.
A doctor emerged from the double doors, mask pulled down around her neck, eyes searching the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, heart slamming against your ribs.
The doctor’s gaze landed on all of you as you approached. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” you answered, and even if it wasn’t true, the doctor immediately knew from your gaze you’d never let go.
The doctor nodded once. “He’s still in surgery,” she said. “It was a severe abdominal wound. He lost a lot of blood and we had to transfuse two bags of blood.”
Your stomach dropped and you stopped breathing for a second.
“But,” she continued, carefully, “he made it through the first critical phase. The next few hours will be fundamental.”
You exhaled shakily, legs threatening to give out beneath you.
“He’s alive,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
“For now,” the doctor said gently. “But he’s fighting.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He was truly fighting.
For the next two hours, you kept pacing back and forth in that waiting room. The rest of the team was there, but no one spoke. The anxiety was too much, the worry overwhelming.
When the surgeon finally announced that the surgery was over and he’d be taken to intensive care, you literally felt the ground disappear beneath your feet.
You hated hospitals, you hated the smell that hung in the air, you hated the sound of that monitor, you hated knowing that there were people fighting for their lives, you hated knowing that your Jay was there.
You found yourself outside his room, your body shaking, your heart pounding.
You couldn’t find the courage to go in, to see him like that. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You took a deep breath before taking a step, then another. When your eyes landed on Jay, it was like the air had been knocked from your lungs. God, a punch would’ve hurt less.
He was lying on that bed, his eyes closed as if he was simply sleeping, his oxygen on, the monitor echoing with his steady heartbeat. His chest was rising and falling, slowly, too delicately.
You approached his bed, your breath involuntarily held, walking so slowly as if you were afraid of waking him. Your fingers hovered for a few seconds over his hand, barely touching it, before you took it, and, God, what a relief it was to feel his warm skin against yours.
His angelic face was relaxed, but it was surrounded by the purple bruise that marked his fight with Kane.
He’s dead, he can’t hurt anyone anymore.
With your free hand, you slowly caressed his cheek, delicately, scared at the thought of hurting him. Your fingers brushed his hair, hoping somehow, he could feel it.
You leaned in slightly and gently pressed your lips on his forehead, leaving a small, sweet kiss, just like he had done in that bathroom not so many hours before.
“I’m here, I’m not leaving you,” you whispered, “You’ll be fine, everything will be fine.”
You sat next to him, on a chair in the room, and grabbed his hand, kissing it, holding it close to your face.
You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know how to behave and not being able to do anything to help him was destroying you, making you feel more useless than ever before.
You had heard somewhere that talking could help patients, they could hear you even if they were unconscious, and that’s what you did.
“I’m so sorry, Jay,” you began. “It’s all my fault, this…” you sighed, trying to hold back the tears but failing miserably, “This shouldn’t have happened, not to you… I—”
You paused for a second, trying to reconnect your thoughts.
“I really don’t know where to start, I want to tell you so many things…” you kissed his hand again, “First I want to say thank you, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you, truly, for everything you’ve done for me, for being there for me in the worst moments, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Your voice broke at the last words, your hand slightly squeezing his, trying to hold on to him because, if you hadn’t, you would’ve collapsed.
“It’s always been you,” you continued, “always, even when I pretended it wasn’t, even when I tried to convince myself it was just friendship and partnership… All these years, God… I’ve been so stupid, such a coward…” you took a deep breath “I’m so sorry, Jay, you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to hear me say I love you in THAT moment, not in that way, but I just…” a tear rolled down your face, “I love you so much…”
“I tried to convince myself it was just the trauma, but it was a lie because every time I look at you, I know what I feel goes way beyond that, it’s something so deep I can’t even explain it,” you shook your head slightly, “up until now, I’ve lied to myself and preferred living the lie rather than facing the fear of ruining everything, but now… Now I don’t want to hide anymore, I love you so much it terrifies me, I don’t know what to do.”
Your thumb caressed his bruised knuckles, and it was another stab in the stomach.
“I should’ve told you before, I know,” you continued, “I should’ve told you when we were bickering over coffee, when you teased me about my tea collection, when you pulled all those pranks on me, when you smile at me, when you laugh until you lose your breath…” you stopped speaking when another uncontrollable sob escaped your lips.
“But I need you to wake up, baby, please, I need you so much. You always said I was strong, that I had armor, but the truth is, I was because of you, because you were always there beside me no matter what happened, you always helped me get up without saying anything and you always did it without making me feel like a burden and now…” you sniffed, your vision now blurry from the tears, “Now look at you… You’re here because of me…”
You slightly leaned forward, your cheek hovering close to his hand while still keeping your gaze on him.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself, how I’ll ever live with the fact that you got hurt because of me. You always protected me, and when I should’ve protected you, I failed, and I’m so sorry, baby, I hope you’ll forgive me…”
There was another moment of silence.
“Please come back to me… I can’t live without you, Jay, I don’t know how to be in this world without you… Without you making my life impossible, without you forcing me to watch those stupid action movies only you like, without you making me feel so safe with just a hug. I can’t imagine going to work and not finding you sitting at your desk, with a pre-made donut you saved just for me even though you always say it’s not, without you making fun of my handwriting…” You chuckled bitterly as your mind replayed all those moments, moments you would’ve sold your soul to relive. “So, wake up, Halstead, you understand me? You need to wake up.”
You remained silent for an indefinite time, sitting there next to him for all the hours that followed, even after the sun had risen, even when the others tried to convince you to go and rest, but you refused to move.
The hours passed, sometimes you continued talking to him, other times you simply looked at him, in silence, your hand always in his while your thumb drew imaginary circles on his skin.
At some point, your voice gave out completely.
Your head dropped forward, resting against the edge of the bed, forehead brushing his knuckles. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, you didn’t mean to, you just remembered that exhaustion took over at a certain point, quietly, while your fingers were still intertwined with his.
Pain.
This was what Jay felt when his eyelids opened slightly. He blinked once, twice, three times, trying to adjust to the blinding light in that room.
The events of the previous evening flooded his mind like a raging river, so it didn’t take him long to realize he was in a hospital bed.
He tried to move but couldn’t, not even when he tried to convince his body to do it.
He felt heavy, all his muscles ached, his throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper was rubbing against him.
He tried to lift his hand but couldn’t, and it was only when he looked down at the figure next to him that he understood why he couldn’t.
His heart sank when he saw you curled up in the chair, head resting on his hand, fingers intertwined, eyes closed.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes again and opened them again, before looking back at you, and to his great relief, you were still there.
He wasn’t hallucinating, he wasn’t dreaming, you were really there, next to him.
His fingers twitched weakly against yours, and this simple movement was enough to wake you. Your head snapped up, and he wanted to take a picture of your face again when your eyes met his.
“Oh my god… Oh god! Jay you… Oh god you’re awake!”
“Hey,” he smiled weakly when you jumped to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. You carefully grabbed his face, looking at him as if wanting to make sure it was really real.
“You’re awake… Oh fuck… How do you feel? God, you’re really awake.”
He chuckled, every muscle in his body aching. He raised a hand and placed it on yours, caressing it. “I’m fine, a little tired, but I’m fine now.”
And it was true. Even though everything hurt, even though he could barely keep his eyes open, even though even breathing felt like a stab, he truly was fine. Because you were there.
“I thought I lost you… I thought—” you whispered, but you stopped when he grabbed your hand, removing it from his cheek and bringing it to his lips before pressing a kiss.
“It takes more than that to finish me off, baby, you’ll never get rid of me.”
You chuckled through your tears. “Don’t ever do this shit to me ever again, you understand me?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I’m not planning to get stabbed again, that’s enough,” he replied, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Can you hug me now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please. You won’t hurt me,” he whispered, “I need it, I need to hold you.”
You hesitated for a moment, and it was the cutest and, at the same time, the most painful thing he’d ever seen. He understood your hesitation, but he didn’t want to see it, he never wanted to see you hesitate to hug him.
You finally nodded. He felt the mattress shift when you sat on the edge of the bed, and your hands trembled when you hugged him.
He wrapped his arms around you, his hands clutching your shirt in a fist as if you were his lifeline, completely ignoring the pain in his side. God, holding you and smelling your scent was enough for him to make everything else fade into second place.
He exhaled, all the weight shifting off his shoulders, finally feeling at home.
He was so grateful to be able to hold you again, touch you, hear your voice, look at you.
“Fuck, I missed the way you stink,” he muttered, and his heart exploded when you laughed. Man, he loved the sound of your laughter so much he just wanted to record it so he could listen to it over and over again.
“Yeah, well, look who’s talking,” you replied, pulling away from the embrace, a small smile on your lips.
“Well, I’m justified, I’m hurt, I have the right to stink.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad to even hear your insults.”
He chuckled. “I’m just getting started.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The room seemed to fade into the background, the steady beeping of the monitor, the distant footsteps in the hallway, the hum of the machines, none of it mattered.
All Jay could see was you. The way your smile lingered, small and fragile, the way your eyes searched his face, as if you were still afraid he might disappear if you blinked.
He studied you like he had all the time in the world now.
The faint shadows under your eyes told him you hadn’t slept. Your hands were still trembling slightly, even though you were trying to hide it.
Jay lifted his hand, slow and careful, and brushed his thumb just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed falling.
“Did you mean it?” He then found the courage to ask, his voice so low he couldn’t even hear himself.
Your smile grew a little bigger, letting him know you understood what he was referring to. “What? That I love you?”
His stomach twisted and his heart skipped a beat. He nodded feebly, the courage he’d previously found now completely gone. A second passed, the blink of an eye, but to him it seemed like an eternity.
He was terrified of your answer.
What if you’d backtracked? What if you’d only said it out of concern? In the heat of the moment?
“Yes, I meant it,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his again. “I didn’t mean to tell you then, like that, and I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but yes, detective, I really, really love you.”
A treacherous tear fell down his cheek, and in that moment, he realized he’d let himself be stabbed a thousand more times if it meant hearing you say that.
You loved him.
All this time pining away, trying not to ruin your relationship, trying to stay as close to you as possible without letting you know how he truly felt... And you loved him.
God, he felt so stupid.
It was your turn to wipe away his tears this time, your thumb caressing his cheek, looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
“I was terrified…” he finally found his voice. “I was afraid of dying and not being able to tell you how much I love you, so much it fucking hurts…”
He let out a breath, now like a raging river. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I feel so stupid now… All this time I tried to convince myself it was all in my head because I was terrified of losing you,” he reached up, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, memorizing every line, every tiny freckle, every little scar he’d always noticed but never told you how much they meant to him.
“I’ve been bottling it all in… Every look you gave me, every word, every stupid fight I started just to make you laugh or get a reaction. I’ve loved every second of it, even the pain, because it’s you… God, it’s always been you, and it’ll forever be you,” his voice got lower, more desperate, “and now you’re looking at me like this… Fuck… I can’t—”
Jay’s breath caught when you pressed your lips to his. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
It took him a few seconds to process what was happening.
You were kissing him.
You.
Were.
Kissing.
Him.
One second, he was drowning in his own thoughts, terrified of expressing his feelings and the next you were kissing him, your lips so warm and soft against his.
His brain short-circuited.
Your hands were cupping his face, your mouth was on his and you were really kissing him.
Holy shit.
His chest tightened so hard it hurt worse than any stab wound would ever.
A shaky breath left him and his hand came up on instinct, fingers curling gently in your hair, letting himself go completely. He kissed you back slowly, like this was something sacred, something he’d dreamed of for so long he’d convinced himself it’d never be real.
It was desperate, but it wasn't rushed, it was everything he’d ever wanted and never thought he’d be allowed to have.
All the time he was close to you, all the times he imagined what it’d be like to kiss you, what it’d feel like, nothing could compare to the explosion he felt.
He could feel you trembling against him, the way you lingered, like you were memorizing him the same way he was memorizing you, the taste and the feel of you, the fact that this was actually happening.
When you pulled back, just barely, you rested your forehead against his, eyes closed, breath uneven.
His heart was racing and the monitor expressed it.
There was a moment of silence that you broke, as only you knew how to.
“Wow, your breath really smells like shit.”
Jay burst into laughter but winced when a pang shot through his abdomen. “Fuck it hurts, stop making me laugh,” he said. “And yes baby, keep talking dirty to me.”
You laughed and Jay barely had time to recover from the fact that kiss when the door creaked open.
“Alright,” a familiar gravelly voice said, “I think that’s enough romance for one hospital room.”
Jay sighed, eyes still half-closed, forehead resting against yours. Of course.
You pulled back just in time to turn and see Voight standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. Behind him, the rest of Intelligence hovered like old gossips.
Ruzek was the first to step in after Voight. “Damn, man,” he said, eyes flickering between the two of you. “You look like shit.”
Jay smiled. “Good to see you too, Adam.”
Burgess followed, softer, relief written all over her face. “We’re really glad you’re okay, Jay.”
“Yeah,” Atwater added, nodding. “You scared the hell out of us.”
And then there was Antonio, trying, and failing, to hide a grin as his gaze kept going back and fort between you and Jay. His eyes lingered on the way your hand was still tangled in Jay’s, like neither of you had even noticed it.
Jay noticed but he didn’t let go.
“Did we interrupt something lovebirds?” Antonio smirked.
“No.” “Actually yes.” You and Jay answered at the same time.
Voight cleared his throat. “Doctor says you’re going to be fine. Couple weeks of rest, no heroics.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s optional.”
Voight’s mouth twitched, just barely.
There was a beat of silence.
“Now kids,” Voight said, talking to the others, and raised his hands, palms facing up. “You know what to do.”
You and Jay exchanged a confused look as the rest of the team snorted, starting to pull out some money and placing it in Voight’s hands.
Jay stared. “What the hell is happening?”
Voight took the money calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Ruzek rubbed the back of his neck. “So. Uh. We had a bet.”
Jay groaned. “Of course you did.”
“A bet?” you repeated slowly. “About what?”
Kim winced apologetically. “About whether you two were ever going to end up together.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
Antonio shook his head. “Nope,” then added, “I said six months. Ruzek said never. Kim said you’d figure it out on your own.”
Jay narrowed his eyes. “And Voight?”
He met Jay’s gaze evenly and then looked at you. “I said it’d only happen if one of you almost died.”
Silence.
You stared at him. Jay stared at him. The heart monitor filled the space with its steady beeping.
“Oh…” Jay said weakly, “that’s fucked up.”
Voight shrugged. “I know my detectives.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re all unbelievable.”
“Get some rest, Halstead.” Voight said and then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And try not to get stabbed again. I’m not betting on round two.”
Voight walked out of the room and the rest of the team took turns hugging Jay.
You sat next to him, fingers intertwined as your teammates gave both you and Jay shit.
And for the first time in a very long time, he felt like that—despite what happened—everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
• Warnings: mention of trauma, panic attack, blood, use of gun and knife, death, curse words, violence.
• Word count: 16K (yeah I’m sorry about that lmao).
• A/N: that’s part 2 of Scars and Shields. First of all I want to apologize if I didn’t to a great job, I tried my best to write about the trauma, the feelings associated to it etc please bear with me lol, I’m more than happy to learn from my mistakes so please comment if I wrote something wrong. Let me know what you think about this, please comment, like and repost if you want, it’d mean the world. Love you all.❤️
<- Part one
Two months later your injuries had healed.
The bruise faded and when you looked in the mirror, it almost seemed like they’d never been there.
But they were there, you could still feel them. Maybe physically they were gone, but emotionally… God, it was a whole another story.
The fear was still there, strong, intense.
Marcus Kane had devastated you more than you’d ever cared to admit, and you hated it.
You hated that even after two months—even knowing he was behind bars—you still counted the exits in every building you entered, still looked over your shoulder, still jumped at the slightest noise, still startled when someone suddenly touched you.
Some days were better than others, some slower, some faster when you somehow managed to distract yourself, especially with work. Some days you found yourself checking the locks only once instead of three times, while others you flinched even when the wind blew the leaves a little more than usual.
And you couldn’t stand it.
You thought about it a lot: if you’d gone to therapy after your first attack, would you’ve have been stronger now? If you’d talked about it with someone, would you have been forced to face it all alone?
What if you hadn’t locked everything away in a box and thrown it into the depths of your mind, without the presumption that everything would be okay?
You didn’t have an answer for this and now, unfortunately, you were forced to pay the consequences.
Of one thing, however, you were sure: without Jay Halstead, you would’ve ended up in an endless abyss, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back up on your own.
It was hard to admit it to yourself, especially at first, but ever since that night—when you run to his house in tears—he had never left your side. Ever.
His presence hadn’t been overwhelming; on the contrary, it was like that first breath of fresh air you inhaled after spending so much time underwater.
He had never insisted, never told you what to do, how to behave, he was simply there. He was there in the little things, in the moments of difficulty that seemed small but were insurmountable for you.
And this was because he knew you, he knew who you were.
It was true, you had never confided in each other, you weren’t the kind of people to talk to each other about their feelings, but in all that time you had been partners, you had learned to know each other, really know each other, even if in your own way, even without too many words.
It was late at night, and all the team got back home earlier after successfully closing a case. The doorbell rang suddenly, and your heart skipped a beat, not because you were surprised, but because you knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.
When you opened it, you weren’t surprised to find Jay standing there, looking as if he’d stepped out of a modeling magazine.
“Well, you really were waiting for me, huh?” Jay teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, a smug smile on his lips.
You rolled your eyes, amused but trying to hold back a laugh. “I was already up,” you replied, making room for him to come in.
It had become your unspoken ritual. Since you were attacked, there hadn’t been a single evening, not even one, that Jay had left you alone. No matter what happened, after every incident, even if you both had your own commitments, even if you insisted it wasn’t necessary, he made sure you weren’t alone,
The first few times you resisted, feeling guilty and weak, but as the days passed, as you began to process everything—the attack, your undercover past with Kane—you realized how vital Jay’s presence was, how grateful you were for it, and how much he had helped you.
When you felt like it, you talked about it, encouraged by him but without too much insistence. When you had a panic attack, he was there, hugging you and whispering that everything was okay. When you cried because you felt broken, he dried your tears, telling you how you were the strongest person he had ever known.
And then everything went back to the way it was before, teasing you, playfully insulting you, pranking you, leaving you no time to dwell on the rest like you usually would.
“Look what I brought you and tell me if I’m not the best partner in the world,” he began, once you were both in the kitchen. He pulled out a box of special tea from a white bag… Your favorite one.
“Oh my God, Jay!” you exclaimed with joy. “How the hell did you find that?! I’ve been looking for it since forever. Thank you so much!” You almost jumped like a child, your heart fluttering erratically. Well, yes, you were an herbal tea lover, you couldn’t help it.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Grandma.”
You playfully hit him on the arm. “Stop calling me that.”
“Never,” he retorted, laughing. It was a nickname he’d given you since he discovered your endless supply of herbal teas. “Anyway, I found it by chance in a shop nearby, it’s nothing special.”
You picked up the box and looked at it for a moment as you smiled, because you didn’t believe for a second that he’d just found it by chance, and the thought that Jay had been scouring through shops looking for that particular brand of tea for you, made your stomach twist, in a way that happened all too often when you were with him.
“Thank you, seriously, you didn’t have to do it, I really appreciate it,” you looked at him for a moment and noticed how his cheeks had suddenly flushed, like his ears.
God he was so adorable, you wanted to squeeze the shit out of him.
Without thinking too much, you hugged him; you weren’t good with words, and you hoped in that hug, he’d truly understand your gratitude, not just for the tea, but for everything.
He stiffened for a second before returning the hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, his body relaxing.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.
You took a second, just one, to inhale his scent, that perfume that was becoming a sense of security, your lifeline.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, maybe a second, maybe a minute, maybe longer than was appropriate, longer than ideal for just two partners.
But you didn’t move.
Your body reacted before your mind did, the way you melted into his arms, how the tension on your shoulders slowly dissipated. It unsettled you, how normal and natural it was becoming, how easy it was becoming to let go with him.
In that moment, however, you decided not to think about it because it felt good being in his arms.
You focused only on his regular breathing, the warmth of his chest under your cheek, his heartbeat, the rapidity of which you couldn’t help but notice.
For a fleeting moment, a thought brushed the edges of your mind.
Please don’t let this stop.
You pushed it away immediately, guilt curling in your stomach. You shouldn’t have needed this, need him like this.
And yet, when his arms tightened around your body, you held on for a second longer.
When you finally pulled back, there was a moment of silence in which neither of you said anything.
You simply slightly raised your head, enough to look at him, and your eyes met his, so bright, so deep and unreadable. He looked at you intensely, as if he was about to say something, but finally he cleared his throat, breaking the moment as naturally as it had formed.
A small smile graced his lips. “How about a nice cup of tea now?”
“Great idea.”
You moved around each other in the kitchen with ease, as if he’d been there a million times. No hesitation, no need to ask.
Jay filled the kettle while you reached for two mugs, automatically grabbing his favorite without even thinking about it.
You started talking and joking, that hug as if it had never happened.
“You know,” he spoke casually, opening the pantry where you had only herbal teas, of every possible kind, “I wanted to ask you something. Do you even have something to eat in there?”.
You rolled your eyes. “Of course I do.”
“You wouldn’t think so,” he teased you. “One day I’ll turn on the TV and find you on that show ‘Me and My Obsessions’ or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m not obsessed. Can’t a girl like a nice cup of tea?”.
“That’s straight up obsession, darling,” he said as he looked through your immense collection. You tried to not to think about how your heart skipped a bit hearing him say darling. “I really don’t understand how you can like all these weeds.”
“Excuse me? They’re not weeds, they’re actually very healthy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he let out a small laugh.
“But why do I have to sit here and be criticized by someone who only drinks black coffee? Without even sugar, and you even have the nerve to say it’s so good.”
“Because it is good,” he picked up a carton of lemon and ginger tea and took a teabag from it, “still better than whatever medieval potion you have in here.”
You nudged him with your elbow as you passed by, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just uncultured.”
He looked at you, a raised eyebrow. “Wow. Attacked in my own kitchen.”
You paused, then smirked. “Pardon? Your kitchen? Pretty sure this is my apartment.”
“Still, I always end up cooking or making your potions when I come here,” Jay leaned back against the counter.
“And who asked you?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“My kindness, because without me you would’ve died of hunger living only on your herbal teas.”
“And yet,” you shot back, “you keep coming over and you’re making yourself one of my potions.”
For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe—before he recovered, that familiar grin sliding back into place.
“Guess I’m a sucker for punishment,” he said lightly, wiggling his eyebrows.
But the way he looked at you lingered just a beat too long.
The kettle whistled, filling the apartment with a familiar sound. You leaned back against the counter, watching Jay move, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
And maybe that was the problem.
You carried your mug to the couch, curling your fingers around the warmth as you sat down. Jay joined you a moment later, settling beside you with just enough space to be appropriate, and yet close enough you could feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of his shirt.
The film you had chosen played quietly in the background, some mindless film that you weren’t even really watching. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, awkward. It was… comfortable. Safe.
You sipped your tea and let your shoulders relax, your thoughts drifting.
Two months ago, being alone in your apartment felt unbearable. The walls were too thin, the silence too loud. Every sound made your heart racing, every shadow felt like a threat.
Now, with Jay sitting next to you, the fear didn’t disappear completely, but it softened. It dulled at the edges, manageable. You weren’t healed, you knew that. Some days were still hard, some nights still endless.
But you weren’t drowning anymore.
You realized, distantly, that Jay had become part of your balance. Not your crutch, but that steady presence that reminded you how to stand back up when your legs felt weak.
He didn’t fix things, he didn’t pretend to. He just stayed.
And somehow, that was everything.
Your gaze flicked to him briefly, looking at the way his jaw tensed when something on the TV annoyed him, the way his foot bounced slightly against the floor.
You wondered when you’d started noticing these things. When did they start to matter? Or were they always important to you but you were just now realizing it?
The thought made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
You looked back at your mug, suddenly afraid of where your mind was going.
This was safe. This was good. You couldn’t afford to complicate it. You couldn’t afford to name feelings you weren’t ready to face.
What if it was the situation that made you think those things? Because, let’s face it, he wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t for that night. Your relationship would’ve been the same, you wouldn’t have gotten that close.
Still… a quiet, traitorous part of you whispered a question you didn’t dare ask out loud.
What happens when this end?
When he decides I’m okay?
When he stops coming over?
When I have to relearn how to sit in this apartment alone?
Your fingers curled tighter around the mug, as if holding onto the warmth could keep the thought from slipping away.
He was there because he was a good friend helping a friend in a moment of difficulty, nothing more and nothing less, you couldn’t think otherwise.
Jay shifted beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “You okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar concern.
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
You settled deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket to cover your legs, the mug warm between your palms before taking another sip. Jay leaned back beside you as he too pulled the blanket over his legs, stretching his arm along the back of the couch—not touching you, but close enough that you were acutely aware of him.
Too aware.
You tried to focus on the TV, but your mind wandered, drifting backward without your permission.
Your head was exploding from everything that was happening, from all the confusion that was invading it.
This wasn’t new, that was the unsettling part.
Even before everything—before Kane—Jay had always been there. Not like this, not so constant, but present in ways you hadn’t questioned at the time. The lingering looks you’d brushed off as nothing. The way your stomach had flipped whenever he smiled at you, the instinctive trust you’d placed in him long before all of this.
You’d told yourself it was just partnership. Respect. Familiarity.
It had been easier not to look too closely.
But in that moment, sitting beside him in the quiet of your apartment, the truth pressed gently but insistently against your ribs. Something you didn’t want to listen to, however, because you knew it would only bring more pain, pain you weren’t ready to face. Something you’d ignored because acknowledging it would’ve meant risking something you hadn’t been ready to lose.
You swallowed, your grip tightening around the mug.
The fear wasn’t about needing him. It was about wanting him more than just friends and realizing you always had.
Jay shifted again, glancing at you. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, softer this time, like he was afraid of startling you.
You nodded, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
He studied you for a moment longer, like he knew there was more but wouldn’t push.
That was Jay. Always giving you space, even when every instinct in him probably told him to step closer.
And maybe that was why this hurt in a way you hadn’t expected.
Because if things had been different, he wouldn’t even have been there, and you’d never even had the courage to even face these thoughts.
You glanced at him again, just for a second before bringing your eyes back to the film. He was watching the TV now, relaxed, unaware of the quiet war unfolding in your chest.
You wondered if he had ever felt it too.
Or if this had always been yours alone.
Jay took a sip from his cup, and you found yourself glancing at him again, involuntarily. It was only when you realized he was turning his head toward you that you immediately returned your eyes to the screen. Your face was ablaze, your heart pounding, a single realization settling heavy and undeniable in your chest—this wasn’t something that started because he stayed, it was something that stayed because it had always been there.
But you weren’t ready to face it, not at that moment.
“Hey,” he whispered after a while, drawing your attention from that movie you absolutely hadn’t been watching. You looked at him, seeing he’s already looking at you. “If you need to talk, I’m here, you know that, right?”
You smiled faintly, nodding. “Yeah, I know.”
His eyes roamed your face for a moment, sweet and attentive. “I know you know, but I also know I have to remind you every now and then.”
Your heart was beating so erratically you feared an imminent cardiac arrest. “You don’t need to… Really, I’m fine.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, I can see from here how that pretty little brain of yours is working right now.”
“That’s not true, I was just watching the movie.”
“You were watching everything but TV, come on.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I watch you a lot more than you think,” he replied so casually, as if these few, simple words hadn’t just turned your life upside down. “And that’s why I want to remind you that I’m always here if you need me, okay?”
You nodded, unable to form any meaningful sentence, your voice stuck in your throat.
He smiled sweetly at you and shifted a little, adjusting the blanket over your legs that had begun to fall to the floor. He made sure it covered you more. He was protective, thoughtful, and you struggled to remember the last person who had been so thoughtful to you for the simple reason that they wanted to be so without receiving anything in return.
“Thank you... For everything,” you whispered after a while, both of you intent on watching the movie. You didn’t even know if he’d heard you, but when his arm slid from the back of the couch around your shoulders—squeezing you a little closer to him—you had confirmation that he had indeed heard you.
For a moment, you let yourself just be. No fear. No panic. Just tea, the quiet hum of the apartment, and Jay.
You stayed like that, until tiredness took over and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder. You were probably dreaming, because, at a certain point, you even felt his lips touch the top of your head.
You didn’t ask yourself if it really happened or not, you simply let yourself be cradled in his arms, in a deep sleep that you rarely had anymore.
-
You were at work, weeks later, in the middle of a morning that felt deceptively calm.
Those weeks had brought small steps forward. You’d finally found the courage to see a therapist, sat through your first session with your hands clenched in your lap, your voice shaking only once—or twice—when certain words came too close to the surface. Time had passed in a blur of cases, coffee breaks, late nights buried in paperwork, and you hadn’t missed how thoroughly you were drowning yourself in work you didn’t strictly need to do.
Maybe it wasn’t healthy, overworking yourself just to stay afloat. But it kept your mind busy, and busy meant quiet. If that was the price of feeling okay, you were willing to pay it—even if your therapist had gently suggested otherwise.
You were sitting at your desk when a familiar voice caught your attention.
“So…” Kim said, and you looked up at her as she sat on the edge of your desk. “You look… Better.”
“Better?”
She nodded, studying you with an intense, searching gaze. “You seem more present, less… I don’t know, like you’re running on fumes like the first few days.”
The first few days after the attack, she didn’t finish, but that’s what she meant.
You let out a humorless laugh, meaning against the back of your chair, arms crossed over your chest. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little,” she smiled. “But really, how are you doing?”
You sighed. “I’m better. Some days are better than others, but I really feel better.”
“They’re still steps forward, I’m glad to see you like this.”
You spontaneously shifted your gaze to Jay, who was talking about something with Kevin and Adam, one hand wrapped around his disgusting coffee cup and the other tucked into his pants pocket, his posture relaxed. Kim followed your gaze, and in that moment, Jay flicked his eyes on you, mid-sentence.
You blushed and looked away before looking at Kim again.
She looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you pressed.
“You’ve been doing that a lot, you know?”
“Doing what?”
“Staring at him. You really think we wouldn’t notice?”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not staring at him, stop with this nonsense.”
“Did I say it’s a bad thing?”
You inhaled through your nose, your shoulders stiff. “Kim…”
She studied you for a moment. “He’s always been like this with you.”
“Like what?” You frowned.
“Looking at you, seeing where you are and how you are, making sure you’re okay,” she replied, “and before you say it’s the situation, my answer is no, he’s always been like this with you.”
“That’s just a partnership. We’ve been working together since… Hell, forever. Plus, he’s like that with all of us, that’s just how he is.”
“Sure, that’s how he is,” she winked, “but you can’t deny that he’s always been different with you, ever since you became partners.”
“Mmm, of course I can deny it, because it’s not like that. It’s his nature.”
“Babes, stop wearing blinders,” she retorted, “we’ve all seen the way he looks at you, like you hang the moon. Every time something happens, he checks on you before everyone else. He watches you like a guard dog ready to tear apart anyone who might hurt you. It’s just… I don’t know, he’s very protective of you, even with us.”
“With you?”
“Yeah, Kevin once made a joke about you. I don’t even remember what it was, but Jay almost bit his head off, and that’s just one example.”
You glanced back at Jay, who had just finished laughing with Kevin and Adam and was now looking at the room, eyes flicking toward you again. You quickly looked down at your hands, again, pretending you hadn’t noticed.
You could feel his eyes on you and this made a bunch of butterflies explode in your stomach like you were a teenager.
God, I’m so gone.
Kim leaned closer, her tone softer, almost conspiratorial. “I’m not saying it’s anything you have to deal with right now. I’m just saying… Whatever this is, it didn’t start with Kane. He’s always been like that. And I promise, everyone else in the team noticed it too.”
You exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden tightness in your chest. “Kim…”
“Relax,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m not trying to mess with you. Just... Telling how I see it from my point of view."
You let out a short, humorless laugh, and when you looked up again, Jay was talking to Adam, but his eyes were already on you.
You looked at each other for a moment, heart thudding a little too fast, when Voight exited his office, his voice interrupting that little moment of peace.
“Listen up, everybody,” he said, and you all snapped to attention. “I just got a call.”
There was a short pause, and you frowned when his eyes met you. That single look was enough to tell you something was wrong.
“The first hearing in Marcus Kane’s trial was supposed to be held in the next few days,” your boss spoke, and just hearing his name made your insides twist. “This morning they were taking him to court, but there was an accident, and he…” he sighed. “He managed to escape.”
In that precise moment, you felt your entire world fall apart.
Every step forward, every progress you had made, vanished like sand in the wind.
You felt all eyes on you, wary, as if they were waiting for you to collapse at any moment. You also felt his gaze, especially his gaze.
But you remained impassive, as if Voight was talking about any other case.
“How did it happen?” you asked, managing to keep your tone apathetic and flat.
You’re fine.
You’ll be fine.
Voight, like the rest of the team, observed you for a few moments. “Listen…”
“How did it happen?” you asked again, your hands folded in your lap, palms sweaty, fingers trembling.
You counted mentally. You had to stay calm, you were a cop, you had a job to do.
“A head-on collision, a car went the wrong way and collided with the vehicle carrying Kane.”
“How do we know it wasn’t planned?” Kevin asked.
“We know for sure it was. The driver has already been identified: Vincent Kane, his younger brother. The impact was too violent and he died instantly.”
You exhaled a breath but by now your brain had stopped cooperating, listening, thinking.
The words echoed, sharp and invasive, crawling under your skin. Images rushed in without warning, metal restraints, dark spaces, the sound of your own breathing too loud in your ears, the knife stabbing your skin.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral, your posture steady.
I’m okay. I’m here. I’m safe, you told yourself that over and over, like a mantra.
Someone asked another question. Voight answered. The conversation moved on. The world kept spinning like nothing had just shattered inside your chest.
But you could feel it now, that familiar pressure building, tight and suffocating. Your palms were sweaty, your heartbeat loud enough you were convinced everyone could hear it. The walls felt closer, the air thicker.
You stood up abruptly.
“Excuse me,” you muttered, already moving, not caring about your teammate’s voices calling your name.
You just walked, fast, too fast, toward the hallway, your breaths coming shallow and uneven. By the time you reached the bathroom, your vision was starting to blur, your chest burning with the effort of trying to breathe normally.
You barely made it into the bathroom before your back hit the wall and you slid down, knees folding against your chest.
No. No, not here. Not now.
Your hands shook as you pressed them to your face, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear—
But your lungs refused to cooperate.
The panic hit fully then, brutal and overwhelming, a tidal wave you hadn’t seen coming. Your breaths turned into gasps, your body curling inward as if it could somehow make itself smaller.
“Are you okay?” Someone asked you.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Out. Now.” Jay’s voice reached your ears, your arms still wrapped around your legs, head resting on your knees. You didn’t even know who he was talking to.
Jay immediately sat down in front of you, after locking the bathroom. He didn’t dare touch you, knowing that would only make things worse. His insides twisted, in pain from what you were going through.
“Hey,” he whispered, unaware of whether you had heard him or not. You didn’t respond, just stayed there curled up, shaking like a leaf. “Hey, it’s okay, everything is going to be alright, I’m here with you.”
His chest tightened. God, how much he wanted to hold you and cradle you in his arms, protect you from all the things that were tormenting you, to wrap you in a little bubble so that nothing and no one could hurt you again.
But he couldn’t do it, not in that moment.
He knew panic attacks, trauma, well; he’d experienced them firsthand, and he knew more than anyone that pushing you would only make things worse.
He closed his hands into fists and remained in the same position, close enough for you to feel him but far enough away so you wouldn’t be scared.
“You’re not alone in this, you don’t have to face it alone,” he murmured, “he’s not here, he can’t hurt you. You’re here, you’re safe.”
Your breath hitched, uneven, and he leaned a fraction closer to you, careful not to crowd you. “Look at me,” he said gently, his hands hitching to caress you. “Just for a second, please.”
“Leave… Leave me alone, Jay,” you muttered.
“You know damn well I won’t do this, baby,” he answered, “Just look at me.”
You finally raised your head, and his heart sank as he saw your puffy, red eyes. But you weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost in space.
“Do you feel like giving me your hands?” He asked softly, holding out both his hands toward you. You stared at him for a moment before placing your trembling palms on his. Jay squeezed them, his thumbs caressing your skin.
“That’s it. Now look at me and breathe with me.”
You finally looked into his eyes, but you couldn’t speak. Another tear rolled down your cheek, and he squeezed your hands imperceptibly.
“I’m here with you, you’re not alone, okay?” He continued, “Do you trust me?”
You nodded.
“Then trust me when I say, I won’t let anything happen to you. As long as I breathe, that son of a bitch won’t touch a hair on your head.”
“Why does this keep happening to me?” You whispered, your voice broken, hoarse from crying.
Jay’s breath caught at your question, his heart breaking for you. He didn’t know how to respond, because there was no clean answer, no logical explanation for the tricks the brain sometimes played.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Instead, he tightened his grip on your hands just enough to remind you he was still there. “Because trauma doesn’t work on a schedule,” he said quietly. “And it doesn’t care how strong you are.”
Your fingers trembled in his and Jay leaned towards you just a little more. “But this doesn’t mean you’re going backwards,” he continued, his voice steady even though his chest felt tight. “It doesn’t erase the work you’ve done. It just means your body remembers something your mind is still learning how to process.”
You shook your head weakly. “I should be better by now.”
“No,” he said immediately. Not sharp, but firm. “You don’t get to ‘should’ yourself through this. Give yourself some time and, above all, some credit.”
Your eyes flickered up to him at that, unfocused but searching.
“You survived something that shouldn’t have happened to you, what you went through was traumatic, he kidnapped and tortured you and now you’re facing this monster again,” Jay went on, softer now. “And your brain is doing exactly what it was wired to do, trying to keep you alive. Even when it gets it wrong.”
Another tear slipped free. He resisted the urge to wipe it away, staying still, letting you decide how close was safe.
“You’re not weak,” he added. “You’re not broken. Hell, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met in my entire life, you survived that traumatic shit, you got back on your feet and not everyone is capable of doing that.”
Your breathing slowly began to match his, still shaky but no longer spiraling. Jay watched it like it was the most important thing in the world.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good. Just like that. In and out.”
You swallowed. “I hate feeling like this.”
“I know baby, I know,” he whispered softly.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your breaths and the low hum of the building around you.
Then, cautiously, Jay moved one knee closer. “If it’s alright,” he said quietly, “I can stay right here as long as you need. Or I can get you out of here. Your call.”
And he meant it. Every word.
You hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Just… Stay.”
Something in his chest loosened. “I’ve got you,” he said, low and steady. “Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here.”
And he stayed exactly where he was, anchoring, present, unmovable, not as a hero, but as someone who cared too deeply to leave.
You sat there on that cold floor for an indefinite amount of time, him helping you take deep breaths, but not a word was said.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered suddenly, so quietly he almost imagined he’d heard them.
He frowned. “For what?”
“For all of this,” you sighed, your gaze fixed on your fingers still intertwined with his. “For being a burden…”
“Hey, hey, no. Stop,” he interrupted you immediately, his heart contracting painfully. “Don’t do that.”
Your eyes met his, uncertain, guilt-ridden.
“Don’t even finish that sentence. Don’t ever, ever, apologize, not to me, not to anyone else, okay? I never want to hear you say that again.”
You remained silent, your eyes still full of tears. God, he hated seeing you like this, he hated not being able to do anything to make you feel better.
“You’re not a burden, never have been, and never will be, do you hear me?”
“But…”
“No, no buts,” he squeezed your hands even tighter, firmly yet gently. “I choose to be here with you. There hasn’t been a single time I’ve felt forced, believe me. I just…” he sighed, pausing for a moment and trying to modulate his words before saying something he might regret, “there’s nowhere else and no other person I’d rather be with right now.”
You smiled, so faintly it almost went unnoticed.
“Can I?” He whispered, and you nodded, not even knowing what he wanted to do. He let go of one of your hands and placed his palm on your face, while his thumb dried your tears, first one cheek, then the other.
Jay couldn’t stop looking at you; despite your red eyes and your tears, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
A warm feeling took over him as he noticed the way you leaned into his touch. “Can I hold you? Just for a little bit.” He then murmured, almost in a whisper.
“Please,” you responded immediately, without any hesitation.
He let out a small smile and moved next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
You leaned into him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater like it was the only real thing in the room.
Jay exhaled, long and quiet, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I've got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
He stayed like that, unmoving, breathing with you, letting the weight of you settle against him like it belonged there.
His free hand continued to absentmindedly caress your hair, your face as you sat there in the bathroom, the cold floor and the icy wall behind you.
There was a moment of silence, a silence filled, however, by Jay’s racing mind, by his breathing, trying to regulate it, as if he was afraid you’d escape if he breathed wrong.
He hugged you and held you in a way that made it seem like he needed it more than you, and maybe, in a way, he did.
He tried to focus on something else, on anything else unrelated, but he couldn’t, not when your scent was overwhelming his senses, not when the smell of your shampoo filled his nostrils, not when your arms were so tight around him, as if he was your lifeline.
He didn’t want to think too much because if he did, he’d lose the grip he’d fought so hard to maintain.
This, however, wasn’t new; he’d spent years doing it. Because he cared long before all this happened, long before the fear, the panic, the nights spent with you. And, to be precise, it wasn’t your fear or your panic, but his.
He was terrified to lose you, terrified anything might happen to you, terrified to even know you’re hurt. That’s why he was always there, not because he had to, but because he wanted it, he needed it.
He’d always had a strong sense of protection for you, right from the start, and it was obvious to everyone. Whatever happened, whether it was interrogating a suspect, going to shady places, he made sure you came first.
He’d wondered why, so many times, why he was like this with you, but he’d simply buried this question, telling himself it was just partnership, loyalty, friendship. He’d buried it under jokes, quips, his teasing until you went crazy.
It was easier that way. But ever since that night... Damn, Jay couldn’t find peace, he couldn’t forget the terror on your face when he opened his door, when he saw you soaked, hurt. The panic and fear he felt in that moment, God, were something that would scar him forever.
He wanted nothing more than to lock you in a glass bubble, so he’d always know you were safe, and it killed him knowing he couldn’t do that, knowing how much you were suffering and not being unable to protect you.
And now, with you in his arms, so vulnerable, Jay struggled. All of his careful compartments had collapsed into one unbearable truth: he’d been lying to himself.
He hugged you a little tighter, pulling you closer.
Jay swallowed hard.
If things had been different, if Kane had never happened, he would’ve kept pretending, kept the distance, kept the line clean and untouched, as he had always done in all the years since he’d known you.
And he hated that it took this, he hated that your pain had dragged the truth into the light.
Because loving you hadn’t started with Kane, no, he had just made it impossible to ignore.
He shifted slightly, as if this thought prevented him from staying still. He had to do something, he had to distract himself or he’d end up ruining everything, and you didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t right, not with what you were going through.
“If I could carry this for you,” he said, his voice low, controlled but thick with something he didn’t name, “I would. In a heartbeat.” He didn’t expect a response; to be honest, he wasn’t even asking for one.
“I know,” you whispered back, and your arms tightened. “I would do the same for you.”
Jay closed his eyes, his heart beating so hard it almost burst out of his chest. He wanted to scream, cry, break something because he was overwhelmed, overwhelmed by his feelings, by what you were doing to him.
Without even thinking about it, he lowered his head and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your forehead. It was gone almost as soon as it happened, that kind of touch that felt instinctive rather than intentional, but he had to do it, he needed it.
He froze for half a second after realizing his gesture. He held his breath, ready to pull back, to apologize, to pretend it hadn’t happened, but you didn’t pull away, instead, you wrapped your arms a little bit tighter around him.
So, he stayed.
And that scared him more than anything else.
“We should get back,” you said, after a while, breaking away from the embrace. Since when had your absence caused him such an emptiness? Since when not being able to hug you anymore disappointed him so much?
“How are you feeling now?”
“I can’t lie to you, I… I don’t feel good thinking about him being out there somewhere… But I’m better now.”
“We’ll get that son of a bitch, I promise.”
You smiled faintly. “I know.”
Jay stood up and offered you a hand to help you, which you immediately grabbed.
He unlocked the door, and you were about to leave when you grabbed his hand this time.
He looked at you with a confused look on his face, which quickly turned to utter shock when you leaned toward him and pressed your lips on his cheek.
More than astonishment, he almost had a heart attack, and he wasn’t even exaggerating.
“Thank you, Jay… For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, he stared at you blankly for a few moments before realizing he had to speak. “A-anytime,” he stuttered, fucking stuttered.
You nodded once and, after opening the door, went back toward the bullpen.
And Jay stayed where he was for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the door pretending like you didn’t just shift the entire axis of his world.
It wasn’t even a kiss, more like a light touch. Your lips barely brushed his cheek, too fast for even his brain to register, but it was enough to set his skin on fire, it was enough to destroy that entire wall that so hard he had put up to.
His chest tightened painfully, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar since he met you.
He could still feel the ghost of it, the warmth, the softness, right there, just under his cheekbone, like his skin had already memorized it.
Jay swallowed hard.
Don’t read into it, he told himself immediately.
Don’ turn this into something it’s not.
She’s fragile. She’s grateful. That’s all.
His heart was hammering now, loud and reckless, and there was a sharp, familiar ache behind his ribs, something he was terrified to name.
He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral, even if every instinct screamed to reach for you, to pull you back, to hold you so tightly to him, to kiss you until he stole your last breath.
Instead, he grounded himself the only way he knew.
Control.
But God, if he hadn’t already been in too deep, that little kiss would’ve pushed him there.
When you returned to the bullpen, the rest of the team was there discussing the case, Kane. As soon as they saw you—Jay just few steps behind you—they stopped talking and watched you for a moment.
“Everything alright?” Voight asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes, I’m sorry, everything’s fine.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jay approach the whiteboard, positioning himself next to it, his eyes only on you.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, kid,” Voight continued, sighing, and you immediately understood where he was going with this. He knew the whole Kane thing; besides Jay, he was the only person on the team who knew. “But you can understand that you can’t work on this case since you’re personally involved.”
You exchanged a fleeting glance with Jay, as if asking for help, but no help came. Rationally, you understood, you would’ve said the same thing if you were Voight, but on the other hand, you hated being sidelined.
“I can help, boss. It’s clear that whatever he’s up to is against me and…”
“Absolutely not,” Jay intervened, his tone so resolute and authoritative that even you froze, “we won’t use you as bait, forget it. We’ll come up with a plan to find him.”
“He’s right,” Adam continued, “it’s too dangerous, we can’t give him what he wants on a silver platter.”
“Go home,” Voight resumed, “you’ll have protection 24/7, and we’ll keep you updated on anything. Try to get some rest.”
You sighed, resigned, knowing you’d never win this battle. You nodded and, without another word, grabbed your bag.
“I’ll walk you out,” Jay had said, but you didn’t respond, simply walking toward the exit.
The walk to your car was silent, that heavy silence you weren’t used to anymore, especially with Jay.
“I know you don’t like the idea of being off the case,” he spoke first when you reached your car, “and you know how much I hate to say it, but Voight is right.”
“I know he’s right, but it pisses me off anyway.”
“I hate that you have to stay home alone, I wish you’d stay here so I could always know you’re safe…”
“…But I’m not focused enough to stay here, yes, I know, I get it,” you finished the sentence for him.
“Hey,” he pressed again, stepping fully into your space, careful but firm, forcing you to stop. “Look at me.”
You hesitated for a second, jaw tight, then finally lifted your eyes to his.
“I know you’re mad,” Jay said quietly. “And I know it feels like we’re taking something away from you. But this…” he gestured vaguely back toward the building, “It’s about keeping you safe, that’s our number one priority.”
You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “You say it like I’m made of glass.”
“No,” he replied immediately. “I say it like you’ve already been through enough.”
That stopped you, his words landing better than you expected. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, your stomach twisting in pain. “You think I don’t know that?” you asked, voice lower now. “But I feel useless… I’ll just be sitting home while you’re all out there hunting him down… I…”
Jay exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his next words. “You’re not useless,” he spoke. “But Kane is unpredictable, and if there’s even the smallest chance he’d come after you—”
“He already did,” you interrupted, sharp. “And I survived.”
Jay’s jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he said, low. “And I’m not letting him get another chance.”
The finality in his tone sent a chill through you.
You studied his face for a moment, the tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders were held too rigid, the way he never for a second stopped looking at you.
“Jay…” you started, then stopped, unsure of what you were even trying to say.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said.
You frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Humor me,” he replied, almost gently. “If anything feels off, anything, you call me. Doesn’t matter the time or what I’m doing. You call me and I’ll be there.”
“I will.”
“No, you won’t, not when I’m working on this case, so please promise me.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I promise.”
Something in him eased, just a fraction, but it wasn’t enough, it was like he wasn’t believing you.
You reached for your car door, then paused. Your hand hovered there for a second before dropping back to your side.
“Jay,” you said again, softer now. “Thank you again. For earlier. For… Everything.”
He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things and didn't trust himself with any of them. “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied.
“I know,” you said. And then, almost without thinking, you reached for his hand, for the second time that day, with an ease that scared you to death.
Just briefly. Just enough for your fingers to curl around his, warm and grounding.
His breath caught, barely audible.
“Please be careful,” you added quietly. You were about to let go of his hand when his fingers grabbed yours again, squeezing them tighter than you did.
“I will,” he answered, “you too, and if you don’t want to call just text me, please, I can’t focus if I don’t know you’re okay.”
These words managed to further open the chasm that you carried around for too long.
“I will, I promise,” and this time, you truly meant it.
You let go of his hand and you were about to open your car door, when he preceded you and do it for you. You smiled and slid inside before he closed it.
As you drove away, you didn’t look back.
You didn’t see the way Jay stayed there long after you were gone, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t shake, his hand still hot from your touch.
You didn’t know that sending you home hadn’t made him feel better at all; instead, it had only made him scared he was running out of time.
Your apartment was too quiet, too calm, and for some strange reason, you hated it.
Your mind was in complete turmoil, you couldn’t think clearly, you couldn’t concentrate on one thing before the thought ended up on something else.
You carelessly dropped your bag on the ground, taking a deep breath trying to regain your composure. You tried to focus on the background noises, the distant noise of passing cars, the soft hum of the refrigerator, your own breathing which was louder than anything else.
You told yourself you were fine.
You weren’t spiraling. You weren’t panicking. You were just… Tired.
After kicking off your shoes, you moved through the apartment on autopilot, locking the door, checking the windows. Once. Then twice even if the police officers outside your door already did it.
It annoyed you how natural it had become.
You sank onto the couch and pressed your palms into your eyes, breathing out slowly. Your therapist’s voice echoed faintly in your head—Name what you’re feeling. Don’t run from it.
Fear.
Anger.
Frustration.
And something else you didn’t want to unpack.
Jay’s face kept intruding in your thoughts. The way he looked at you in the parking lot, the way his hand felt, solid, steady, like something you could anchor yourself to, the way he hugged you in that cold bathroom when you were falling apart.
Your chest tightened again, breath catching just slightly.
Not again.
You focused, counted your breaths until the pressure eased, focused on the things surrounding you.
You went to your bedroom and pulled a box you kept under the bed that contained several files, all the documents that related to Kane’s case, that box you managed not to open it in weeks.
You stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding.
You returned to the living room, setting the box on the coffee table, fingers trembling only a little as you lifted the lid.
Reports. Photos. Timelines. Notes you’d written years ago when you first worked on his case, in a handwriting that didn’t quite look like yours anymore.
You flipped through them slowly and the phone buzzed on the table. You froze, and for half a second, terror took hold of you, irrational and sharp, before you forced yourself to look.
A message.
From Jay:
You home?
Your breath left you all at once, fear replaced by relief.
To Jay:
Yeah, I’m okay. Just working through some stuff.
Three dots appeared, disappeared and then appeared again.
From Jay:
Don’t push yourself.
To Jay:
I won’t. How are things going over there?
From Jay:
We’re working on it, I’ll let you know if we find anything.
You knew full well this would never happen, and you didn’t know how to feel about it, whether relieved or irritated.
To Jay:
Okay. Be careful.
You set the phone face down and decided to take a quick shower before going back to the files, the papers spread out like a chaotic map of Kane’s crimes.
Every detail, every report, every photo you’d stored a hundred times before, was there in front of you. You weren’t supposed to be working on this case, but you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t just let it go.
Your fingers traced over his old movements, his connections, the patterns of his violence. It should’ve been easier, after all these years, but your stomach twisted every time you read his name. The memories you’d tried so hard to lock away poked at the edges of your mind… The panic, the terror, the knife.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay focused.
Five things you can see… Four you can touch… Three you can hear…
The hours passed in tense quiet, the sun dipped lower outside, shadows creeping across the floor, and still, you worked, because if you didn’t, the panic would’ve left you no escape.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered where Jay was, what was he doing? Did he find something? Was he thinking about you?
He was indeed thinking about you; in fact, you were the only thought that crossed his mind.
That, and finding that son of a bitch, that’s why he was outside a motel, breathing fast and his hand on his gun.
It was now almost 1:00 a.m. Voight had forced everyone to take a break, but Jay refused, continuing to work alone on any clues. He had found a lead, a guy who had reported that a man—who Jay had then immediately identified as Marcus Kane’s brother—had paid cash for a fake passport.
Kane’s face was all over the news and when Jay answered a call from an anonymous caller who was sure they’d seen the fugitive heading to a motel, he couldn’t help but investigate.
The motel looked like it hadn’t seen maintenance since the late nineties. One flickering neon sign buzzed weakly above the entrance, half the letters burned out, the word 'MOTEL' reduced to a 'M—EL'. Paint peeled from the railings, cigarettes littered the ground, and the smell of damp concrete and old smoke hung heavy in the air.
Exactly the kind of place someone like Kane would choose to hide.
Jay stayed in his car for a moment longer, engine off, headlights dark. He scanned the second floor, eyes narrowing when he spotted a faint light bleeding through the curtains of one room at the far end. Room 217.
His jaw clenched.
He should’ve waited, should’ve called for backup, he knew he had to let Voight know he had a possible location. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there alone, that it could’ve been all a setup.
But he wasn’t thinking rationally, all he could see was you, curled up on yourself, shaking, crying, fighting for air. All he could hear was your broken voice asking why.
He didn’t have time, Marcus could escape while waiting for reinforcements and it was an option that Jay would’ve never given up on.
He stepped out of the car quietly, gun drawn, keeping close to the shadows as he crossed the lot. His heart hammered against his ribs, every muscle taut, every sense sharpened. Years of training guided his movements, but beneath it all there was only anger.
There was no one around anymore, just him—-to be honest he didn’t even know if there was a living soul in that place—so he moved as quiet as possible as he took the stairs, slowly, stopping just before the second floor.
He listened.
Muffled footsteps.
Jay’s grip tightened on the gun.
He moved down the walkway, back to the wall, breathing slow and controlled. As he passed each door, his thoughts kept betraying him, slipping back to you.
He already knew you’d kick his ass for ignoring your messages, but he couldn’t tell you where he was, not without putting you in danger. He knew that at the slightest opportunity, Marcus wouldn’t miss a chance to kill you.
And it was a thought Jay didn’t even subconsciously want to formulate.
He stopped in front of the door.
The cheap wood was scuffed, the lock old. No sound now from inside. Maybe Kane was asleep. Maybe he was waiting.
Jay raised his hand, hesitating for just a fraction of a second.
He tried the handle and, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He didn’t give it much thought, the adrenaline coursing through his veins just at the thought of catching that bastard.
But if he’d been concentrated enough, controlled enough, he would’ve known it was too easy to find Kane, that something was undoubtedly wrong.
Every instinct screamed at him, but he pushed the door open anyway, gun leading the way. The room was dim, lit only by the bathroom light left on. Clothes were scattered on the bed, a half-packed duffel bag on the floor.
“Chicago PD,” Jay called out, voice low but firm. “Marcus Kane. It’s over.”
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then out of the corner of his eye, Jay saw movement, fast, too fast.
He barely had time to react before something—or rather, someone—slammed into him from the side, knocking him hard against the dresser. His gun clattered to the floor, skidding under the bed.
Kane had been waiting.
And Jay realized, too late, that this was no longer an arrest, that he was going to fight for his life.
Kane immediately threw himself on him, without even giving Jay time to get up to his feet and react. A fist hit him full in the face, hot and harp, sending him crashing against the wall. For a moment, he was short of breath, but it wasn’t the time to think; he just had to act.
“Not exactly who I was expecting to be honest, but I guess it’ll do,” Kane sneered, his face twisting into something sinister.
Jay froze for half a second, and then it hit him. Why was it so easy to track him down, why was he was found so quickly. He was waiting for YOU.
“She’s always been a stubborn woman, I figured—”
But Jay didn’t let him finish his sentence; he threw himself on Kane, grabbing him by the collar of his filthy, crumpled shirt. He punched him square in the face, then another, before pressing his forearm against Kane’s throat, nearly cutting off his airway.
The latter wheezed, but that wasn’t enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face.
“Talk about her again and I’ll make you suffer like you never did,” Jay spat a millimeter from his face.
“I knew she’d come eventually. Couldn’t help herself. Always trying to be brave.”
Something inside Jay snatched.
He punched Kane once, twice, again, knuckles splitting, blood slicking his fingers, though he was totally oblivious to the pain. Kane collapsed to the floor with a grunt, coughing hard, but still laughing.
“You think sending her home kept her safe?” Kane taunted between gasps. He spat on the ground, a mix of blood and saliva, then wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. “I left traces…” he breathed heavily, “I wanted her to find me… I wanted to see the look on her face when she realized I wasn’t done with her yet.”
Jay tackled him.
They hit the floor hard, the motel bed creaking under the impact. He straddled Kane, fists raining down, every blow driven by a single, horrifying image of you walking in here, alone, what Kane was going to do to you.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed in his face, “you’ll fucking pay for everything you put her through!”
Kane twisted beneath him, suddenly desperate, hand flashing between them.
Jay didn’t see Kane grabbing the knife from his pants pocket, not until it was already sinking into his flash.
Pain exploded through him, blinding and white-hot.
He gasped, hands faltering just long enough for Kane to shove him off. Jay stumbled back, one hand instinctively pressing to his abdomen, coming away soaked in blood.
Kane dragged himself upright, swaying, smiling through bloodied teeth.
“Guess I still win,” he said. “Either way… She loses. Man, I can't wait to see her face when she finds you.”
Jay completely lost his mind, like he never did before.
He lunged again, ignoring the agony tearing through his body, thanks to the adrenaline that flowed in rivers through his veins, slamming Kane into the wall, then the floor.
The knife clattered away somewhere out of reach.
Jay didn’t stop, he couldn’t.
Every punch was fueled by terror, by guilt, by the unbearable thought that it could’ve been you.
He had lost count of the punches he’d landed, ignoring the pain each blow inflicted, the blood seeping from his wound, ignoring the sound of Kane’s skull being smashed against the dirt floor of that motel.
Jay ignored everything until Kane stopped struggling.
He froze, chest heaving, staring down at him, eyes open but now lifeless, his body still.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
I just killed Marcus Kane.
Jay staggered back, vision blurring, blood soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the carpet. He braced himself against the wall, breathing shallow and uneven, his forehead covered in sweat.
She was supposed to come here.
He slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind him, shaking now, not from the pain, but from the horror of how close you’d come.
He reached for his phone from his pocket when—with horror—he realized he’d left it in the car.
He was tired, exhausted, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he had to call for help, or he’d bleed to death there, on that filthy floor, alone.
God, he wanted you, he wanted you there, so bad he couldn’t breathe.
The strength continued to slowly leave his body, but despite this, he didn’t give up. He tried to stand up, leaning against the wall.
He kept pressing on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but his grip was too weak, almost useless. He managed to take a few steps before collapsing again.
This time, however, he couldn’t get up
But suddenly—after an infinite amount of time—he heard footsteps coming from outside the room, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.
He wasn’t used to praying, but in that moment, he did, he prayed to see you. He winced again in pain as he tried to get up again, but to no avail.
“Jay?”.
A voice reached his ears from afar, but he smiled despite this because he would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, even among a million people. He wanted to scream so badly, to tell you he was there, but he couldn’t, only faint whispers escaped his lips.
Staying awake was becoming increasingly hard, every breath felt like another stab, but he fought to keep his eyes open, because if he was to die that night, you were the last person he wanted to see.
You didn’t receive any answer but, on the other hand, you weren’t even sure you’d be able to hear it yourself since the loud pounding of your heart was deafening you.
You continued walking down the silent corridor with your gun pointed forward, terrified of what lay ahead.
But something immediately caught your attention. The hallway was dark, except for one room, whose light illuminated a small section.
You quickly approached it, and when you entered the room, your worst nightmare, your greatest fear, just became real.
Jay was lying on the floor, covered in blood, barely conscious.
You immediately put the gun back in its holster before grabbing your cell phone and dropping to your knees beside him.
“Hey, hey, hey, Jay, stay with me please. I’m calling for help,” you spoke before quickly calling for backup and an ambulance.
Your cell phone landed on the floor, your hands on his face as you slightly shook him. “Please stay awake for me, okay? Don’t fall asleep, the ambulance is on the way, please, Jay…”
He muttered something you couldn’t understand, and your heart broke when you saw that small smile on his lips, as if he’d just realized you were really there.
“It’s going to hurt a little, but I have to do it, okay? I have to stop the bleeding,” you quickly took off your jacket and pressed it firmly against his wound, your insides twisting as you saw his beautiful face contorted in pain.
Your vision was blurred by the tears you hadn’t realized were pouring like a raging river. “I know, I know…” you sniffed. “I’m so sorry, God, I’m so sorry…”
“H-hey…” he murmured.
You smiled at him, through your tears. “Hey baby, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay… I’m not leaving you…” With one hand, you stroked his face and hair, while the other continued to hold the now bloody jacket firmly over his wound.
“You… You’re h-here…” he continued to breathe heavily, as if every word he said was torture.
“Shh, it’s okay… it’s okay… Yeah, I’m here… Please stay with me, okay? Don’t leave me, Jay, I’m beginning you…” you literally sobbed, feeling your heart being ripped out with every second that passed.
“Help!” you screamed, the sound ripping out of your chest, raw and unfiltered. “HELP—PLEASE, SOMEBODY!”
Nothing.
The silence was underpinned only by your sobs and Jay’s heavy breathing.
Your voice echoed down the empty motel walkway, bouncing off cracked concrete and empty rooms. No doors opened. No one came.
“Help us!” you cried again, hysterical, your throat already burning. “Please—he’s bleeding… Someone help me!”
“No… No, no, no…” you blurted out, shaking your head as if refusing to accept it could somehow change the outcome. You pressed both hands harder against his wound, desperate, ignoring the way his blood soaked your palms, your skin. “Stay with me, Jay. Stay with me, please—please…”
Your hands slipped. You couldn’t stop the bleeding. You couldn’t fix this. Panic clawed up your throat, sharp and uncontrollable.
“I can’t do this without you,” you choked. “You don’t get to leave me here alone, you hear me? You promised me.”
His face was so pale, sweat slicking his skin, but his eyes, God, his beautiful eyes, were still on you, or at least, he tried.
“I… I didn’t… I… Want you t-to see this,” he whispered, a faint, crooked ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“I don’t care,” you cried, shaking your head as tears spilled freely, falling onto his chest. “I don’t care about that. I just need you alive. I need you to stay with me, please Jay, don’t do this to me.”
He closed his eyes and the fear and panic no longer made you think.
“No, no, no, please… Hey, open your eyes, you hear me? Eyes on me baby, please stay awake.”
Your chest hurt, your lungs burned like a forest on fire. You couldn’t get enough air, like the panic was trying to drag you under again, only this time it was worse because it wasn’t just your fear anymore.
It was about him.
He shifted weakly beneath you, a pained sound slipping past his lips, his eyelids struggling to stay open. He was struggling, so damn much and you couldn’t do anything to help him.
“I can’t lose you,” you cried, the words spilling out without permission, without thought. “I can’t… I won’t survive.”
You leaned closer, forehead pressed to his, tears dripping down your cheeks, onto his skin, onto the blood you were desperately trying to stop.
“I love you,” you sobbed, the words ripped straight from your chest, so messy and broken. “I love you so much Jay… Please, I need you to stay. Please. Please stay with me.”
The moment the words left your mouth, it felt like the world stopped.
You hadn’t planned to say it, not like that, but it was true, and it had been true long before this moment.
His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched weakly against your sleeve, as if anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him here, his eyes searching your face.
“I wanted to… To… Protect you…” he coughed. “He… He won’t hurt you again…” he whispered again, voice rough, strained. It was only then that you noticed that body in the room, that now lifeless body, belonging to the person who had ruined you the most.
But you didn’t care. You felt nothing about it. You just wanted to save Jay.
“I l—…” he continued but the words died in his throat, his eyes fluttered.
“Jay? Jay!” Panic ripped through you again. “Jay… Oh my god… No, no, no, please… Open your eyes, stay with me.”
But his grip loosened, his head rolled slightly to the side.
“Jay!” you screamed, terror tearing straight through your chest. You pressed harder against the wound, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please… Please wake up… Talk to me…Please I need you.”
You screamed for help again, voice hoarse, desperate, echoing uselessly through the empty motel hallway.
Sirens cut through the night like a lifeline and you were never so relieved to hear that sound.
You barely registered the sound at first, too busy counting his breaths, begging him under your breath not to leave you, but then the flashing red and blue lights painted the motel walls, and you subbed in relief so hard it hurt.
“They’re here,” you whispered frantically, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Jay, baby, they’re here. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallways and suddenly the room was full, paramedics, lights, movement, orders being barked back and forth.
They stabilized him, then lifted him onto the stretcher, and you followed their every move, refusing to leave him alone for even a moment.
“Jay, please, stay with me,” you whispered, your eyes always on him, almost the entire way to the hospital. You wanted to grab his hand so badly, hoping he could hear you, know you were by his side and you’d never leave him. “Don’t leave me…”
“He’ll be okay, right? Will he make it?” You asked louder, not taking your eyes off his unconscious body, terrified of the answer.
“He’ll need a transfusion and surgery right away,” the paramedic replied, without actually giving you an answer, and for some other reason, this hurt even more. “Do you happen to know his blood type, ma’am?”
“A positive,” you replied, without even thinking.
This thought made you freeze for a moment. Damn, you even knew his blood type, how could you deny that you didn’t love him all this time?
His chest rose shallowly beneath the oxygen mask, each breath uneven. The monitor beside him beeped steadily, maybe too fast, his blood pressure too low.
“I love you,” you whispered again. “Don’t leave me please.”
That ambulance ride was the longest of your life, and even though it was traveling above the legal limit, it still felt like it was going too slow for you.
When the ambulance slowed suddenly, then finally stopped, you breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re here.”
The doors flew open and cold night air rushed in. Hands moved everywhere at once, lifting him, pulling, and suddenly he was rolling away from you.
“No, no” you said immediately, panic exploding again in your chest. You stumbled after them as they rushed him through the ER doors. “I’m here, I’m with him… I need to be with him…”
“Miss, you need to stay back,” someone said, firm but not unkind. “Let us do our job.”
You reached for him anyway, fingers brushing his hand just before they pulled the stretcher farther ahead.
They pushed through the doors to the trauma bay and they slammed shut in your face.
And you lost it.
You sobbed, chest heaving as the weight of it all crashed down on you at once.
You looked at your hands, the blood on your hands, on your clothes—damn, it felt unreal, like none of this could possibly be happening. How could this be reality? How had you gone, in the space of a single day, from hugging each other to praying with every fiber of your being that he would survive?
You slid down the wall slowly, knees hitting the floor as another sob tore out of you.
You really couldn’t believe this was really happening. You couldn’t conceive the thought that you might actually never see him again, you couldn’t accept that the one time in your life you’d had the courage to tell him you loved him was because he was hurt.
What if it was the last time you spoke to him?
What if it was the last time you held his hand?
What if it was the last time you hugged him?
You shook your head as if trying to push that thought away. Jay wouldn’t give up, he was strong, he could handle this too.
The noise around you only made you more unsettled, too many footsteps, too many people talking, too many bells and monitors ringing, too much light—God, you couldn’t take it anymore.
The mere thought of him being there, only a few steps away from you, that only a door separated you, but you couldn’t be there for him devastated you.
“Miss.”
A voice in the distance called you.
“Miss.”
They insisted.
It was only when you felt a hand on your shoulder that you jumped, finding a nurse staring at you with a worried look.
“How is he? Is he okay? Is he awake?” You asked immediately, snapping to attention.
“They’re about to take him to surgery,” she replied, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
It was clear she was referring to the blood on you. The blood of the person you loved.
You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek.
“Do you want to call someone?” She continued, looking at you with eyes full of pity and sadness, before handing you a handkerchief, which you immediately accepted.
“Um… No… I…” you sniffed, reaching for your cell phone. Only when you felt your pockets being empty you remembered throwing it on the floor in that damned motel. “Actually, yes, I… I forgot my phone. Thank you.”
She smiled kindly. “I’ll be right back, but first, let’s get on the chair here, okay?”
You nodded and stood up, then immediately sat down on one of the various chairs in the emergency room hallway.
“Can I get you something else?”
You shook your head.
“Okay, I’ll be right back with a phone.”
You called Voight, trying to explain the situation as best you could, trying to be as clear-headed as possible, even though you probably sounded like a robot. He said he’d be right there with the others, and you responded only with a feeble “okay” after telling him which hospital you were in.
You thanked the nurse before handing her back the phone, accepting the bottle of water she had, despite everything, brought you.
A lump rose in your throat, suffocating.
You couldn’t even cry anymore.
You wanted to scream, break something, run into the OR just to catch a glimpse of him. Instead, you remained there, helpless, broken, your heart beating too hard and too slow at the same time.
Time lost meaning.
You didn’t know how long you sat there staring into space, maybe minutes, maybe hours, before you felt a presence beside you.
You looked up with difficulty.
Voight.
He didn’t say anything at first, he just stood there, eyes scanning your face, the blood on your clothes, the way your hands trembled faintly in your lap. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
For a moment, you wondered if he was waiting for you to speak. You tried, but you couldn’t. You just stared at him as if you said the words out loud, they’d become real.
“He’s in surgery,” you finally whispered, voice hoarse, barely more than air. “They took him in a few minutes ago.”
Voight nodded once, slow before sitting down next to you. “I know.”
Your chest caved in.
“I was supposed to stay home,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I know you told me to stay home and I tried, I swear I tried but I just…” Your breath hitched. "I had this feeling. Like something was wrong..."
You broke off, shaking your head. “If I’d gotten there sooner,” you murmured. “If I—”
Voight interrupted you. “Listen to me kid,” he said quietly, but firmly enough that you had no choice but to look at him. “None of this is your fault.”
Your eyes burned. “He went alone.”
“He went alone because he wanted to protect you,” Voight replied. “Because that’s who he is, the only thing he cares about is you.”
That didn’t make it hurt any less.
You pressed your lips together, fighting the sob that threatened to tear you open again. “He was bleeding so much,” you whispered. “He tried to stand t-to talk. I thought…” Your voice cracked. “I thought I was going to lose him right there.”
Voight’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “But you didn’t and you won’t.” He rested his forearms on his knees, mirroring your posture. “The doctors are good. This hospital’s one of the best. If anyone can pull him back from the edge, it’s them.”
You nodded weakly, though hope felt like something dangerous now.
“The rest of the team are on their way,” he added. “You’re not doing this alone, he won’t be alone.”
You swallowed hard. “I told him I love him,” you said suddenly, the confession tumbling out. “I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if…”
Your throat closed but Voight didn’t look surprised, instead, he nodded again, slower this time. “He heard you,” he said simply. “Even if he couldn’t answer. He knows.”
That almost broke you completely.
You buried your face in your hands as silent tears slipped through your fingers.
Minutes and minutes passed and the rest of the team arrived, though you weren’t in the right mind to talk to any of them.
Hours and hours passed.
Hours in which you had done nothing but torment yourself and pray from him. You cleaned your face and your hands, though your clothes still bore the weight of that horrible night.
Then footsteps approached.
A doctor emerged from the double doors, mask pulled down around her neck, eyes searching the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, heart slamming against your ribs.
The doctor’s gaze landed on all of you as you approached. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” you answered, and even if it wasn’t true, the doctor immediately knew from your gaze you’d never let go.
The doctor nodded once. “He’s still in surgery,” she said. “It was a severe abdominal wound. He lost a lot of blood and we had to transfuse two bags of blood.”
Your stomach dropped and you stopped breathing for a second.
“But,” she continued, carefully, “he made it through the first critical phase. The next few hours will be fundamental.”
You exhaled shakily, legs threatening to give out beneath you.
“He’s alive,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
“For now,” the doctor said gently. “But he’s fighting.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He was truly fighting.
For the next two hours, you kept pacing back and forth in that waiting room. The rest of the team was there, but no one spoke. The anxiety was too much, the worry overwhelming.
When the surgeon finally announced that the surgery was over and he’d be taken to intensive care, you literally felt the ground disappear beneath your feet.
You hated hospitals, you hated the smell that hung in the air, you hated the sound of that monitor, you hated knowing that there were people fighting for their lives, you hated knowing that your Jay was there.
You found yourself outside his room, your body shaking, your heart pounding.
You couldn’t find the courage to go in, to see him like that. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You took a deep breath before taking a step, then another. When your eyes landed on Jay, it was like the air had been knocked from your lungs. God, a punch would’ve hurt less.
He was lying on that bed, his eyes closed as if he was simply sleeping, his oxygen on, the monitor echoing with his steady heartbeat. His chest was rising and falling, slowly, too delicately.
You approached his bed, your breath involuntarily held, walking so slowly as if you were afraid of waking him. Your fingers hovered for a few seconds over his hand, barely touching it, before you took it, and, God, what a relief it was to feel his warm skin against yours.
His angelic face was relaxed, but it was surrounded by the purple bruise that marked his fight with Kane.
He’s dead, he can’t hurt anyone anymore.
With your free hand, you slowly caressed his cheek, delicately, scared at the thought of hurting him. Your fingers brushed his hair, hoping somehow, he could feel it.
You leaned in slightly and gently pressed your lips on his forehead, leaving a small, sweet kiss, just like he had done in that bathroom not so many hours before.
“I’m here, I’m not leaving you,” you whispered, “You’ll be fine, everything will be fine.”
You sat next to him, on a chair in the room, and grabbed his hand, kissing it, holding it close to your face.
You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know how to behave and not being able to do anything to help him was destroying you, making you feel more useless than ever before.
You had heard somewhere that talking could help patients, they could hear you even if they were unconscious, and that’s what you did.
“I’m so sorry, Jay,” you began. “It’s all my fault, this…” you sighed, trying to hold back the tears but failing miserably, “This shouldn’t have happened, not to you… I—”
You paused for a second, trying to reconnect your thoughts.
“I really don’t know where to start, I want to tell you so many things…” you kissed his hand again, “First I want to say thank you, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you, truly, for everything you’ve done for me, for being there for me in the worst moments, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Your voice broke at the last words, your hand slightly squeezing his, trying to hold on to him because, if you hadn’t, you would’ve collapsed.
“It’s always been you,” you continued, “always, even when I pretended it wasn’t, even when I tried to convince myself it was just friendship and partnership… All these years, God… I’ve been so stupid, such a coward…” you took a deep breath “I’m so sorry, Jay, you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to hear me say I love you in THAT moment, not in that way, but I just…” a tear rolled down your face, “I love you so much…”
“I tried to convince myself it was just the trauma, but it was a lie because every time I look at you, I know what I feel goes way beyond that, it’s something so deep I can’t even explain it,” you shook your head slightly, “up until now, I’ve lied to myself and preferred living the lie rather than facing the fear of ruining everything, but now… Now I don’t want to hide anymore, I love you so much it terrifies me, I don’t know what to do.”
Your thumb caressed his bruised knuckles, and it was another stab in the stomach.
“I should’ve told you before, I know,” you continued, “I should’ve told you when we were bickering over coffee, when you teased me about my tea collection, when you pulled all those pranks on me, when you smile at me, when you laugh until you lose your breath…” you stopped speaking when another uncontrollable sob escaped your lips.
“But I need you to wake up, baby, please, I need you so much. You always said I was strong, that I had armor, but the truth is, I was because of you, because you were always there beside me no matter what happened, you always helped me get up without saying anything and you always did it without making me feel like a burden and now…” you sniffed, your vision now blurry from the tears, “Now look at you… You’re here because of me…”
You slightly leaned forward, your cheek hovering close to his hand while still keeping your gaze on him.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself, how I’ll ever live with the fact that you got hurt because of me. You always protected me, and when I should’ve protected you, I failed, and I’m so sorry, baby, I hope you’ll forgive me…”
There was another moment of silence.
“Please come back to me… I can’t live without you, Jay, I don’t know how to be in this world without you… Without you making my life impossible, without you forcing me to watch those stupid action movies only you like, without you making me feel so safe with just a hug. I can’t imagine going to work and not finding you sitting at your desk, with a pre-made donut you saved just for me even though you always say it’s not, without you making fun of my handwriting…” You chuckled bitterly as your mind replayed all those moments, moments you would’ve sold your soul to relive. “So, wake up, Halstead, you understand me? You need to wake up.”
You remained silent for an indefinite time, sitting there next to him for all the hours that followed, even after the sun had risen, even when the others tried to convince you to go and rest, but you refused to move.
The hours passed, sometimes you continued talking to him, other times you simply looked at him, in silence, your hand always in his while your thumb drew imaginary circles on his skin.
At some point, your voice gave out completely.
Your head dropped forward, resting against the edge of the bed, forehead brushing his knuckles. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, you didn’t mean to, you just remembered that exhaustion took over at a certain point, quietly, while your fingers were still intertwined with his.
Pain.
This was what Jay felt when his eyelids opened slightly. He blinked once, twice, three times, trying to adjust to the blinding light in that room.
The events of the previous evening flooded his mind like a raging river, so it didn’t take him long to realize he was in a hospital bed.
He tried to move but couldn’t, not even when he tried to convince his body to do it.
He felt heavy, all his muscles ached, his throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper was rubbing against him.
He tried to lift his hand but couldn’t, and it was only when he looked down at the figure next to him that he understood why he couldn’t.
His heart sank when he saw you curled up in the chair, head resting on his hand, fingers intertwined, eyes closed.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes again and opened them again, before looking back at you, and to his great relief, you were still there.
He wasn’t hallucinating, he wasn’t dreaming, you were really there, next to him.
His fingers twitched weakly against yours, and this simple movement was enough to wake you. Your head snapped up, and he wanted to take a picture of your face again when your eyes met his.
“Oh my god… Oh god! Jay you… Oh god you’re awake!”
“Hey,” he smiled weakly when you jumped to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. You carefully grabbed his face, looking at him as if wanting to make sure it was really real.
“You’re awake… Oh fuck… How do you feel? God, you’re really awake.”
He chuckled, every muscle in his body aching. He raised a hand and placed it on yours, caressing it. “I’m fine, a little tired, but I’m fine now.”
And it was true. Even though everything hurt, even though he could barely keep his eyes open, even though even breathing felt like a stab, he truly was fine. Because you were there.
“I thought I lost you… I thought—” you whispered, but you stopped when he grabbed your hand, removing it from his cheek and bringing it to his lips before pressing a kiss.
“It takes more than that to finish me off, baby, you’ll never get rid of me.”
You chuckled through your tears. “Don’t ever do this shit to me ever again, you understand me?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I’m not planning to get stabbed again, that’s enough,” he replied, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Can you hug me now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please. You won’t hurt me,” he whispered, “I need it, I need to hold you.”
You hesitated for a moment, and it was the cutest and, at the same time, the most painful thing he’d ever seen. He understood your hesitation, but he didn’t want to see it, he never wanted to see you hesitate to hug him.
You finally nodded. He felt the mattress shift when you sat on the edge of the bed, and your hands trembled when you hugged him.
He wrapped his arms around you, his hands clutching your shirt in a fist as if you were his lifeline, completely ignoring the pain in his side. God, holding you and smelling your scent was enough for him to make everything else fade into second place.
He exhaled, all the weight shifting off his shoulders, finally feeling at home.
He was so grateful to be able to hold you again, touch you, hear your voice, look at you.
“Fuck, I missed the way you stink,” he muttered, and his heart exploded when you laughed. Man, he loved the sound of your laughter so much he just wanted to record it so he could listen to it over and over again.
“Yeah, well, look who’s talking,” you replied, pulling away from the embrace, a small smile on your lips.
“Well, I’m justified, I’m hurt, I have the right to stink.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad to even hear your insults.”
He chuckled. “I’m just getting started.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The room seemed to fade into the background, the steady beeping of the monitor, the distant footsteps in the hallway, the hum of the machines, none of it mattered.
All Jay could see was you. The way your smile lingered, small and fragile, the way your eyes searched his face, as if you were still afraid he might disappear if you blinked.
He studied you like he had all the time in the world now.
The faint shadows under your eyes told him you hadn’t slept. Your hands were still trembling slightly, even though you were trying to hide it.
Jay lifted his hand, slow and careful, and brushed his thumb just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed falling.
“Did you mean it?” He then found the courage to ask, his voice so low he couldn’t even hear himself.
Your smile grew a little bigger, letting him know you understood what he was referring to. “What? That I love you?”
His stomach twisted and his heart skipped a beat. He nodded feebly, the courage he’d previously found now completely gone. A second passed, the blink of an eye, but to him it seemed like an eternity.
He was terrified of your answer.
What if you’d backtracked? What if you’d only said it out of concern? In the heat of the moment?
“Yes, I meant it,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his again. “I didn’t mean to tell you then, like that, and I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but yes, detective, I really, really love you.”
A treacherous tear fell down his cheek, and in that moment, he realized he’d let himself be stabbed a thousand more times if it meant hearing you say that.
You loved him.
All this time pining away, trying not to ruin your relationship, trying to stay as close to you as possible without letting you know how he truly felt... And you loved him.
God, he felt so stupid.
It was your turn to wipe away his tears this time, your thumb caressing his cheek, looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
“I was terrified…” he finally found his voice. “I was afraid of dying and not being able to tell you how much I love you, so much it fucking hurts…”
He let out a breath, now like a raging river. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I feel so stupid now… All this time I tried to convince myself it was all in my head because I was terrified of losing you,” he reached up, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, memorizing every line, every tiny freckle, every little scar he’d always noticed but never told you how much they meant to him.
“I’ve been bottling it all in… Every look you gave me, every word, every stupid fight I started just to make you laugh or get a reaction. I’ve loved every second of it, even the pain, because it’s you… God, it’s always been you, and it’ll forever be you,” his voice got lower, more desperate, “and now you’re looking at me like this… Fuck… I can’t—”
Jay’s breath caught when you pressed your lips to his. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
It took him a few seconds to process what was happening.
You were kissing him.
You.
Were.
Kissing.
Him.
One second, he was drowning in his own thoughts, terrified of expressing his feelings and the next you were kissing him, your lips so warm and soft against his.
His brain short-circuited.
Your hands were cupping his face, your mouth was on his and you were really kissing him.
Holy shit.
His chest tightened so hard it hurt worse than any stab wound would ever.
A shaky breath left him and his hand came up on instinct, fingers curling gently in your hair, letting himself go completely. He kissed you back slowly, like this was something sacred, something he’d dreamed of for so long he’d convinced himself it’d never be real.
It was desperate, but it wasn't rushed, it was everything he’d ever wanted and never thought he’d be allowed to have.
All the time he was close to you, all the times he imagined what it’d be like to kiss you, what it’d feel like, nothing could compare to the explosion he felt.
He could feel you trembling against him, the way you lingered, like you were memorizing him the same way he was memorizing you, the taste and the feel of you, the fact that this was actually happening.
When you pulled back, just barely, you rested your forehead against his, eyes closed, breath uneven.
His heart was racing and the monitor expressed it.
There was a moment of silence that you broke, as only you knew how to.
“Wow, your breath really smells like shit.”
Jay burst into laughter but winced when a pang shot through his abdomen. “Fuck it hurts, stop making me laugh,” he said. “And yes baby, keep talking dirty to me.”
You laughed and Jay barely had time to recover from the fact that kiss when the door creaked open.
“Alright,” a familiar gravelly voice said, “I think that’s enough romance for one hospital room.”
Jay sighed, eyes still half-closed, forehead resting against yours. Of course.
You pulled back just in time to turn and see Voight standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. Behind him, the rest of Intelligence hovered like old gossips.
Ruzek was the first to step in after Voight. “Damn, man,” he said, eyes flickering between the two of you. “You look like shit.”
Jay smiled. “Good to see you too, Adam.”
Burgess followed, softer, relief written all over her face. “We’re really glad you’re okay, Jay.”
“Yeah,” Atwater added, nodding. “You scared the hell out of us.”
And then there was Antonio, trying, and failing, to hide a grin as his gaze kept going back and fort between you and Jay. His eyes lingered on the way your hand was still tangled in Jay’s, like neither of you had even noticed it.
Jay noticed but he didn’t let go.
“Did we interrupt something lovebirds?” Antonio smirked.
“No.” “Actually yes.” You and Jay answered at the same time.
Voight cleared his throat. “Doctor says you’re going to be fine. Couple weeks of rest, no heroics.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s optional.”
Voight’s mouth twitched, just barely.
There was a beat of silence.
“Now kids,” Voight said, talking to the others, and raised his hands, palms facing up. “You know what to do.”
You and Jay exchanged a confused look as the rest of the team snorted, starting to pull out some money and placing it in Voight’s hands.
Jay stared. “What the hell is happening?”
Voight took the money calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Ruzek rubbed the back of his neck. “So. Uh. We had a bet.”
Jay groaned. “Of course you did.”
“A bet?” you repeated slowly. “About what?”
Kim winced apologetically. “About whether you two were ever going to end up together.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
Antonio shook his head. “Nope,” then added, “I said six months. Ruzek said never. Kim said you’d figure it out on your own.”
Jay narrowed his eyes. “And Voight?”
He met Jay’s gaze evenly and then looked at you. “I said it’d only happen if one of you almost died.”
Silence.
You stared at him. Jay stared at him. The heart monitor filled the space with its steady beeping.
“Oh…” Jay said weakly, “that’s fucked up.”
Voight shrugged. “I know my detectives.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re all unbelievable.”
“Get some rest, Halstead.” Voight said and then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And try not to get stabbed again. I’m not betting on round two.”
Voight walked out of the room and the rest of the team took turns hugging Jay.
You sat next to him, fingers intertwined as your teammates gave both you and Jay shit.
And for the first time in a very long time, he felt like that—despite what happened—everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
• Warnings: mention of trauma, panic attack, blood, use of gun and knife, death, curse words, violence.
• Word count: 16K (yeah I’m sorry about that lmao).
• A/N: that’s part 2 of Scars and Shields. First of all I want to apologize if I didn’t to a great job, I tried my best to write about the trauma, the feelings associated to it etc please bear with me lol, I’m more than happy to learn from my mistakes so please comment if I wrote something wrong. Let me know what you think about this, please comment, like and repost if you want, it’d mean the world. Love you all.❤️
<- Part one
Two months later your injuries had healed.
The bruise faded and when you looked in the mirror, it almost seemed like they’d never been there.
But they were there, you could still feel them. Maybe physically they were gone, but emotionally… God, it was a whole another story.
The fear was still there, strong, intense.
Marcus Kane had devastated you more than you’d ever cared to admit, and you hated it.
You hated that even after two months—even knowing he was behind bars—you still counted the exits in every building you entered, still looked over your shoulder, still jumped at the slightest noise, still startled when someone suddenly touched you.
Some days were better than others, some slower, some faster when you somehow managed to distract yourself, especially with work. Some days you found yourself checking the locks only once instead of three times, while others you flinched even when the wind blew the leaves a little more than usual.
And you couldn’t stand it.
You thought about it a lot: if you’d gone to therapy after your first attack, would you’ve have been stronger now? If you’d talked about it with someone, would you have been forced to face it all alone?
What if you hadn’t locked everything away in a box and thrown it into the depths of your mind, without the presumption that everything would be okay?
You didn’t have an answer for this and now, unfortunately, you were forced to pay the consequences.
Of one thing, however, you were sure: without Jay Halstead, you would’ve ended up in an endless abyss, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back up on your own.
It was hard to admit it to yourself, especially at first, but ever since that night—when you run to his house in tears—he had never left your side. Ever.
His presence hadn’t been overwhelming; on the contrary, it was like that first breath of fresh air you inhaled after spending so much time underwater.
He had never insisted, never told you what to do, how to behave, he was simply there. He was there in the little things, in the moments of difficulty that seemed small but were insurmountable for you.
And this was because he knew you, he knew who you were.
It was true, you had never confided in each other, you weren’t the kind of people to talk to each other about their feelings, but in all that time you had been partners, you had learned to know each other, really know each other, even if in your own way, even without too many words.
It was late at night, and all the team got back home earlier after successfully closing a case. The doorbell rang suddenly, and your heart skipped a beat, not because you were surprised, but because you knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.
When you opened it, you weren’t surprised to find Jay standing there, looking as if he’d stepped out of a modeling magazine.
“Well, you really were waiting for me, huh?” Jay teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, a smug smile on his lips.
You rolled your eyes, amused but trying to hold back a laugh. “I was already up,” you replied, making room for him to come in.
It had become your unspoken ritual. Since you were attacked, there hadn’t been a single evening, not even one, that Jay had left you alone. No matter what happened, after every incident, even if you both had your own commitments, even if you insisted it wasn’t necessary, he made sure you weren’t alone,
The first few times you resisted, feeling guilty and weak, but as the days passed, as you began to process everything—the attack, your undercover past with Kane—you realized how vital Jay’s presence was, how grateful you were for it, and how much he had helped you.
When you felt like it, you talked about it, encouraged by him but without too much insistence. When you had a panic attack, he was there, hugging you and whispering that everything was okay. When you cried because you felt broken, he dried your tears, telling you how you were the strongest person he had ever known.
And then everything went back to the way it was before, teasing you, playfully insulting you, pranking you, leaving you no time to dwell on the rest like you usually would.
“Look what I brought you and tell me if I’m not the best partner in the world,” he began, once you were both in the kitchen. He pulled out a box of special tea from a white bag… Your favorite one.
“Oh my God, Jay!” you exclaimed with joy. “How the hell did you find that?! I’ve been looking for it since forever. Thank you so much!” You almost jumped like a child, your heart fluttering erratically. Well, yes, you were an herbal tea lover, you couldn’t help it.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Grandma.”
You playfully hit him on the arm. “Stop calling me that.”
“Never,” he retorted, laughing. It was a nickname he’d given you since he discovered your endless supply of herbal teas. “Anyway, I found it by chance in a shop nearby, it’s nothing special.”
You picked up the box and looked at it for a moment as you smiled, because you didn’t believe for a second that he’d just found it by chance, and the thought that Jay had been scouring through shops looking for that particular brand of tea for you, made your stomach twist, in a way that happened all too often when you were with him.
“Thank you, seriously, you didn’t have to do it, I really appreciate it,” you looked at him for a moment and noticed how his cheeks had suddenly flushed, like his ears.
God he was so adorable, you wanted to squeeze the shit out of him.
Without thinking too much, you hugged him; you weren’t good with words, and you hoped in that hug, he’d truly understand your gratitude, not just for the tea, but for everything.
He stiffened for a second before returning the hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, his body relaxing.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.
You took a second, just one, to inhale his scent, that perfume that was becoming a sense of security, your lifeline.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, maybe a second, maybe a minute, maybe longer than was appropriate, longer than ideal for just two partners.
But you didn’t move.
Your body reacted before your mind did, the way you melted into his arms, how the tension on your shoulders slowly dissipated. It unsettled you, how normal and natural it was becoming, how easy it was becoming to let go with him.
In that moment, however, you decided not to think about it because it felt good being in his arms.
You focused only on his regular breathing, the warmth of his chest under your cheek, his heartbeat, the rapidity of which you couldn’t help but notice.
For a fleeting moment, a thought brushed the edges of your mind.
Please don’t let this stop.
You pushed it away immediately, guilt curling in your stomach. You shouldn’t have needed this, need him like this.
And yet, when his arms tightened around your body, you held on for a second longer.
When you finally pulled back, there was a moment of silence in which neither of you said anything.
You simply slightly raised your head, enough to look at him, and your eyes met his, so bright, so deep and unreadable. He looked at you intensely, as if he was about to say something, but finally he cleared his throat, breaking the moment as naturally as it had formed.
A small smile graced his lips. “How about a nice cup of tea now?”
“Great idea.”
You moved around each other in the kitchen with ease, as if he’d been there a million times. No hesitation, no need to ask.
Jay filled the kettle while you reached for two mugs, automatically grabbing his favorite without even thinking about it.
You started talking and joking, that hug as if it had never happened.
“You know,” he spoke casually, opening the pantry where you had only herbal teas, of every possible kind, “I wanted to ask you something. Do you even have something to eat in there?”.
You rolled your eyes. “Of course I do.”
“You wouldn’t think so,” he teased you. “One day I’ll turn on the TV and find you on that show ‘Me and My Obsessions’ or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m not obsessed. Can’t a girl like a nice cup of tea?”.
“That’s straight up obsession, darling,” he said as he looked through your immense collection. You tried to not to think about how your heart skipped a bit hearing him say darling. “I really don’t understand how you can like all these weeds.”
“Excuse me? They’re not weeds, they’re actually very healthy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he let out a small laugh.
“But why do I have to sit here and be criticized by someone who only drinks black coffee? Without even sugar, and you even have the nerve to say it’s so good.”
“Because it is good,” he picked up a carton of lemon and ginger tea and took a teabag from it, “still better than whatever medieval potion you have in here.”
You nudged him with your elbow as you passed by, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just uncultured.”
He looked at you, a raised eyebrow. “Wow. Attacked in my own kitchen.”
You paused, then smirked. “Pardon? Your kitchen? Pretty sure this is my apartment.”
“Still, I always end up cooking or making your potions when I come here,” Jay leaned back against the counter.
“And who asked you?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“My kindness, because without me you would’ve died of hunger living only on your herbal teas.”
“And yet,” you shot back, “you keep coming over and you’re making yourself one of my potions.”
For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe—before he recovered, that familiar grin sliding back into place.
“Guess I’m a sucker for punishment,” he said lightly, wiggling his eyebrows.
But the way he looked at you lingered just a beat too long.
The kettle whistled, filling the apartment with a familiar sound. You leaned back against the counter, watching Jay move, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
And maybe that was the problem.
You carried your mug to the couch, curling your fingers around the warmth as you sat down. Jay joined you a moment later, settling beside you with just enough space to be appropriate, and yet close enough you could feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of his shirt.
The film you had chosen played quietly in the background, some mindless film that you weren’t even really watching. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, awkward. It was… comfortable. Safe.
You sipped your tea and let your shoulders relax, your thoughts drifting.
Two months ago, being alone in your apartment felt unbearable. The walls were too thin, the silence too loud. Every sound made your heart racing, every shadow felt like a threat.
Now, with Jay sitting next to you, the fear didn’t disappear completely, but it softened. It dulled at the edges, manageable. You weren’t healed, you knew that. Some days were still hard, some nights still endless.
But you weren’t drowning anymore.
You realized, distantly, that Jay had become part of your balance. Not your crutch, but that steady presence that reminded you how to stand back up when your legs felt weak.
He didn’t fix things, he didn’t pretend to. He just stayed.
And somehow, that was everything.
Your gaze flicked to him briefly, looking at the way his jaw tensed when something on the TV annoyed him, the way his foot bounced slightly against the floor.
You wondered when you’d started noticing these things. When did they start to matter? Or were they always important to you but you were just now realizing it?
The thought made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
You looked back at your mug, suddenly afraid of where your mind was going.
This was safe. This was good. You couldn’t afford to complicate it. You couldn’t afford to name feelings you weren’t ready to face.
What if it was the situation that made you think those things? Because, let’s face it, he wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t for that night. Your relationship would’ve been the same, you wouldn’t have gotten that close.
Still… a quiet, traitorous part of you whispered a question you didn’t dare ask out loud.
What happens when this end?
When he decides I’m okay?
When he stops coming over?
When I have to relearn how to sit in this apartment alone?
Your fingers curled tighter around the mug, as if holding onto the warmth could keep the thought from slipping away.
He was there because he was a good friend helping a friend in a moment of difficulty, nothing more and nothing less, you couldn’t think otherwise.
Jay shifted beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “You okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar concern.
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
You settled deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket to cover your legs, the mug warm between your palms before taking another sip. Jay leaned back beside you as he too pulled the blanket over his legs, stretching his arm along the back of the couch—not touching you, but close enough that you were acutely aware of him.
Too aware.
You tried to focus on the TV, but your mind wandered, drifting backward without your permission.
Your head was exploding from everything that was happening, from all the confusion that was invading it.
This wasn’t new, that was the unsettling part.
Even before everything—before Kane—Jay had always been there. Not like this, not so constant, but present in ways you hadn’t questioned at the time. The lingering looks you’d brushed off as nothing. The way your stomach had flipped whenever he smiled at you, the instinctive trust you’d placed in him long before all of this.
You’d told yourself it was just partnership. Respect. Familiarity.
It had been easier not to look too closely.
But in that moment, sitting beside him in the quiet of your apartment, the truth pressed gently but insistently against your ribs. Something you didn’t want to listen to, however, because you knew it would only bring more pain, pain you weren’t ready to face. Something you’d ignored because acknowledging it would’ve meant risking something you hadn’t been ready to lose.
You swallowed, your grip tightening around the mug.
The fear wasn’t about needing him. It was about wanting him more than just friends and realizing you always had.
Jay shifted again, glancing at you. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, softer this time, like he was afraid of startling you.
You nodded, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
He studied you for a moment longer, like he knew there was more but wouldn’t push.
That was Jay. Always giving you space, even when every instinct in him probably told him to step closer.
And maybe that was why this hurt in a way you hadn’t expected.
Because if things had been different, he wouldn’t even have been there, and you’d never even had the courage to even face these thoughts.
You glanced at him again, just for a second before bringing your eyes back to the film. He was watching the TV now, relaxed, unaware of the quiet war unfolding in your chest.
You wondered if he had ever felt it too.
Or if this had always been yours alone.
Jay took a sip from his cup, and you found yourself glancing at him again, involuntarily. It was only when you realized he was turning his head toward you that you immediately returned your eyes to the screen. Your face was ablaze, your heart pounding, a single realization settling heavy and undeniable in your chest—this wasn’t something that started because he stayed, it was something that stayed because it had always been there.
But you weren’t ready to face it, not at that moment.
“Hey,” he whispered after a while, drawing your attention from that movie you absolutely hadn’t been watching. You looked at him, seeing he’s already looking at you. “If you need to talk, I’m here, you know that, right?”
You smiled faintly, nodding. “Yeah, I know.”
His eyes roamed your face for a moment, sweet and attentive. “I know you know, but I also know I have to remind you every now and then.”
Your heart was beating so erratically you feared an imminent cardiac arrest. “You don’t need to… Really, I’m fine.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, I can see from here how that pretty little brain of yours is working right now.”
“That’s not true, I was just watching the movie.”
“You were watching everything but TV, come on.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I watch you a lot more than you think,” he replied so casually, as if these few, simple words hadn’t just turned your life upside down. “And that’s why I want to remind you that I’m always here if you need me, okay?”
You nodded, unable to form any meaningful sentence, your voice stuck in your throat.
He smiled sweetly at you and shifted a little, adjusting the blanket over your legs that had begun to fall to the floor. He made sure it covered you more. He was protective, thoughtful, and you struggled to remember the last person who had been so thoughtful to you for the simple reason that they wanted to be so without receiving anything in return.
“Thank you... For everything,” you whispered after a while, both of you intent on watching the movie. You didn’t even know if he’d heard you, but when his arm slid from the back of the couch around your shoulders—squeezing you a little closer to him—you had confirmation that he had indeed heard you.
For a moment, you let yourself just be. No fear. No panic. Just tea, the quiet hum of the apartment, and Jay.
You stayed like that, until tiredness took over and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder. You were probably dreaming, because, at a certain point, you even felt his lips touch the top of your head.
You didn’t ask yourself if it really happened or not, you simply let yourself be cradled in his arms, in a deep sleep that you rarely had anymore.
-
You were at work, weeks later, in the middle of a morning that felt deceptively calm.
Those weeks had brought small steps forward. You’d finally found the courage to see a therapist, sat through your first session with your hands clenched in your lap, your voice shaking only once—or twice—when certain words came too close to the surface. Time had passed in a blur of cases, coffee breaks, late nights buried in paperwork, and you hadn’t missed how thoroughly you were drowning yourself in work you didn’t strictly need to do.
Maybe it wasn’t healthy, overworking yourself just to stay afloat. But it kept your mind busy, and busy meant quiet. If that was the price of feeling okay, you were willing to pay it—even if your therapist had gently suggested otherwise.
You were sitting at your desk when a familiar voice caught your attention.
“So…” Kim said, and you looked up at her as she sat on the edge of your desk. “You look… Better.”
“Better?”
She nodded, studying you with an intense, searching gaze. “You seem more present, less… I don’t know, like you’re running on fumes like the first few days.”
The first few days after the attack, she didn’t finish, but that’s what she meant.
You let out a humorless laugh, meaning against the back of your chair, arms crossed over your chest. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little,” she smiled. “But really, how are you doing?”
You sighed. “I’m better. Some days are better than others, but I really feel better.”
“They’re still steps forward, I’m glad to see you like this.”
You spontaneously shifted your gaze to Jay, who was talking about something with Kevin and Adam, one hand wrapped around his disgusting coffee cup and the other tucked into his pants pocket, his posture relaxed. Kim followed your gaze, and in that moment, Jay flicked his eyes on you, mid-sentence.
You blushed and looked away before looking at Kim again.
She looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you pressed.
“You’ve been doing that a lot, you know?”
“Doing what?”
“Staring at him. You really think we wouldn’t notice?”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not staring at him, stop with this nonsense.”
“Did I say it’s a bad thing?”
You inhaled through your nose, your shoulders stiff. “Kim…”
She studied you for a moment. “He’s always been like this with you.”
“Like what?” You frowned.
“Looking at you, seeing where you are and how you are, making sure you’re okay,” she replied, “and before you say it’s the situation, my answer is no, he’s always been like this with you.”
“That’s just a partnership. We’ve been working together since… Hell, forever. Plus, he’s like that with all of us, that’s just how he is.”
“Sure, that’s how he is,” she winked, “but you can’t deny that he’s always been different with you, ever since you became partners.”
“Mmm, of course I can deny it, because it’s not like that. It’s his nature.”
“Babes, stop wearing blinders,” she retorted, “we’ve all seen the way he looks at you, like you hang the moon. Every time something happens, he checks on you before everyone else. He watches you like a guard dog ready to tear apart anyone who might hurt you. It’s just… I don’t know, he’s very protective of you, even with us.”
“With you?”
“Yeah, Kevin once made a joke about you. I don’t even remember what it was, but Jay almost bit his head off, and that’s just one example.”
You glanced back at Jay, who had just finished laughing with Kevin and Adam and was now looking at the room, eyes flicking toward you again. You quickly looked down at your hands, again, pretending you hadn’t noticed.
You could feel his eyes on you and this made a bunch of butterflies explode in your stomach like you were a teenager.
God, I’m so gone.
Kim leaned closer, her tone softer, almost conspiratorial. “I’m not saying it’s anything you have to deal with right now. I’m just saying… Whatever this is, it didn’t start with Kane. He’s always been like that. And I promise, everyone else in the team noticed it too.”
You exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden tightness in your chest. “Kim…”
“Relax,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m not trying to mess with you. Just... Telling how I see it from my point of view."
You let out a short, humorless laugh, and when you looked up again, Jay was talking to Adam, but his eyes were already on you.
You looked at each other for a moment, heart thudding a little too fast, when Voight exited his office, his voice interrupting that little moment of peace.
“Listen up, everybody,” he said, and you all snapped to attention. “I just got a call.”
There was a short pause, and you frowned when his eyes met you. That single look was enough to tell you something was wrong.
“The first hearing in Marcus Kane’s trial was supposed to be held in the next few days,” your boss spoke, and just hearing his name made your insides twist. “This morning they were taking him to court, but there was an accident, and he…” he sighed. “He managed to escape.”
In that precise moment, you felt your entire world fall apart.
Every step forward, every progress you had made, vanished like sand in the wind.
You felt all eyes on you, wary, as if they were waiting for you to collapse at any moment. You also felt his gaze, especially his gaze.
But you remained impassive, as if Voight was talking about any other case.
“How did it happen?” you asked, managing to keep your tone apathetic and flat.
You’re fine.
You’ll be fine.
Voight, like the rest of the team, observed you for a few moments. “Listen…”
“How did it happen?” you asked again, your hands folded in your lap, palms sweaty, fingers trembling.
You counted mentally. You had to stay calm, you were a cop, you had a job to do.
“A head-on collision, a car went the wrong way and collided with the vehicle carrying Kane.”
“How do we know it wasn’t planned?” Kevin asked.
“We know for sure it was. The driver has already been identified: Vincent Kane, his younger brother. The impact was too violent and he died instantly.”
You exhaled a breath but by now your brain had stopped cooperating, listening, thinking.
The words echoed, sharp and invasive, crawling under your skin. Images rushed in without warning, metal restraints, dark spaces, the sound of your own breathing too loud in your ears, the knife stabbing your skin.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral, your posture steady.
I’m okay. I’m here. I’m safe, you told yourself that over and over, like a mantra.
Someone asked another question. Voight answered. The conversation moved on. The world kept spinning like nothing had just shattered inside your chest.
But you could feel it now, that familiar pressure building, tight and suffocating. Your palms were sweaty, your heartbeat loud enough you were convinced everyone could hear it. The walls felt closer, the air thicker.
You stood up abruptly.
“Excuse me,” you muttered, already moving, not caring about your teammate’s voices calling your name.
You just walked, fast, too fast, toward the hallway, your breaths coming shallow and uneven. By the time you reached the bathroom, your vision was starting to blur, your chest burning with the effort of trying to breathe normally.
You barely made it into the bathroom before your back hit the wall and you slid down, knees folding against your chest.
No. No, not here. Not now.
Your hands shook as you pressed them to your face, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear—
But your lungs refused to cooperate.
The panic hit fully then, brutal and overwhelming, a tidal wave you hadn’t seen coming. Your breaths turned into gasps, your body curling inward as if it could somehow make itself smaller.
“Are you okay?” Someone asked you.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Out. Now.” Jay’s voice reached your ears, your arms still wrapped around your legs, head resting on your knees. You didn’t even know who he was talking to.
Jay immediately sat down in front of you, after locking the bathroom. He didn’t dare touch you, knowing that would only make things worse. His insides twisted, in pain from what you were going through.
“Hey,” he whispered, unaware of whether you had heard him or not. You didn’t respond, just stayed there curled up, shaking like a leaf. “Hey, it’s okay, everything is going to be alright, I’m here with you.”
His chest tightened. God, how much he wanted to hold you and cradle you in his arms, protect you from all the things that were tormenting you, to wrap you in a little bubble so that nothing and no one could hurt you again.
But he couldn’t do it, not in that moment.
He knew panic attacks, trauma, well; he’d experienced them firsthand, and he knew more than anyone that pushing you would only make things worse.
He closed his hands into fists and remained in the same position, close enough for you to feel him but far enough away so you wouldn’t be scared.
“You’re not alone in this, you don’t have to face it alone,” he murmured, “he’s not here, he can’t hurt you. You’re here, you’re safe.”
Your breath hitched, uneven, and he leaned a fraction closer to you, careful not to crowd you. “Look at me,” he said gently, his hands hitching to caress you. “Just for a second, please.”
“Leave… Leave me alone, Jay,” you muttered.
“You know damn well I won’t do this, baby,” he answered, “Just look at me.”
You finally raised your head, and his heart sank as he saw your puffy, red eyes. But you weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost in space.
“Do you feel like giving me your hands?” He asked softly, holding out both his hands toward you. You stared at him for a moment before placing your trembling palms on his. Jay squeezed them, his thumbs caressing your skin.
“That’s it. Now look at me and breathe with me.”
You finally looked into his eyes, but you couldn’t speak. Another tear rolled down your cheek, and he squeezed your hands imperceptibly.
“I’m here with you, you’re not alone, okay?” He continued, “Do you trust me?”
You nodded.
“Then trust me when I say, I won’t let anything happen to you. As long as I breathe, that son of a bitch won’t touch a hair on your head.”
“Why does this keep happening to me?” You whispered, your voice broken, hoarse from crying.
Jay’s breath caught at your question, his heart breaking for you. He didn’t know how to respond, because there was no clean answer, no logical explanation for the tricks the brain sometimes played.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Instead, he tightened his grip on your hands just enough to remind you he was still there. “Because trauma doesn’t work on a schedule,” he said quietly. “And it doesn’t care how strong you are.”
Your fingers trembled in his and Jay leaned towards you just a little more. “But this doesn’t mean you’re going backwards,” he continued, his voice steady even though his chest felt tight. “It doesn’t erase the work you’ve done. It just means your body remembers something your mind is still learning how to process.”
You shook your head weakly. “I should be better by now.”
“No,” he said immediately. Not sharp, but firm. “You don’t get to ‘should’ yourself through this. Give yourself some time and, above all, some credit.”
Your eyes flickered up to him at that, unfocused but searching.
“You survived something that shouldn’t have happened to you, what you went through was traumatic, he kidnapped and tortured you and now you’re facing this monster again,” Jay went on, softer now. “And your brain is doing exactly what it was wired to do, trying to keep you alive. Even when it gets it wrong.”
Another tear slipped free. He resisted the urge to wipe it away, staying still, letting you decide how close was safe.
“You’re not weak,” he added. “You’re not broken. Hell, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met in my entire life, you survived that traumatic shit, you got back on your feet and not everyone is capable of doing that.”
Your breathing slowly began to match his, still shaky but no longer spiraling. Jay watched it like it was the most important thing in the world.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good. Just like that. In and out.”
You swallowed. “I hate feeling like this.”
“I know baby, I know,” he whispered softly.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your breaths and the low hum of the building around you.
Then, cautiously, Jay moved one knee closer. “If it’s alright,” he said quietly, “I can stay right here as long as you need. Or I can get you out of here. Your call.”
And he meant it. Every word.
You hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Just… Stay.”
Something in his chest loosened. “I’ve got you,” he said, low and steady. “Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here.”
And he stayed exactly where he was, anchoring, present, unmovable, not as a hero, but as someone who cared too deeply to leave.
You sat there on that cold floor for an indefinite amount of time, him helping you take deep breaths, but not a word was said.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered suddenly, so quietly he almost imagined he’d heard them.
He frowned. “For what?”
“For all of this,” you sighed, your gaze fixed on your fingers still intertwined with his. “For being a burden…”
“Hey, hey, no. Stop,” he interrupted you immediately, his heart contracting painfully. “Don’t do that.”
Your eyes met his, uncertain, guilt-ridden.
“Don’t even finish that sentence. Don’t ever, ever, apologize, not to me, not to anyone else, okay? I never want to hear you say that again.”
You remained silent, your eyes still full of tears. God, he hated seeing you like this, he hated not being able to do anything to make you feel better.
“You’re not a burden, never have been, and never will be, do you hear me?”
“But…”
“No, no buts,” he squeezed your hands even tighter, firmly yet gently. “I choose to be here with you. There hasn’t been a single time I’ve felt forced, believe me. I just…” he sighed, pausing for a moment and trying to modulate his words before saying something he might regret, “there’s nowhere else and no other person I’d rather be with right now.”
You smiled, so faintly it almost went unnoticed.
“Can I?” He whispered, and you nodded, not even knowing what he wanted to do. He let go of one of your hands and placed his palm on your face, while his thumb dried your tears, first one cheek, then the other.
Jay couldn’t stop looking at you; despite your red eyes and your tears, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
A warm feeling took over him as he noticed the way you leaned into his touch. “Can I hold you? Just for a little bit.” He then murmured, almost in a whisper.
“Please,” you responded immediately, without any hesitation.
He let out a small smile and moved next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
You leaned into him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater like it was the only real thing in the room.
Jay exhaled, long and quiet, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I've got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
He stayed like that, unmoving, breathing with you, letting the weight of you settle against him like it belonged there.
His free hand continued to absentmindedly caress your hair, your face as you sat there in the bathroom, the cold floor and the icy wall behind you.
There was a moment of silence, a silence filled, however, by Jay’s racing mind, by his breathing, trying to regulate it, as if he was afraid you’d escape if he breathed wrong.
He hugged you and held you in a way that made it seem like he needed it more than you, and maybe, in a way, he did.
He tried to focus on something else, on anything else unrelated, but he couldn’t, not when your scent was overwhelming his senses, not when the smell of your shampoo filled his nostrils, not when your arms were so tight around him, as if he was your lifeline.
He didn’t want to think too much because if he did, he’d lose the grip he’d fought so hard to maintain.
This, however, wasn’t new; he’d spent years doing it. Because he cared long before all this happened, long before the fear, the panic, the nights spent with you. And, to be precise, it wasn’t your fear or your panic, but his.
He was terrified to lose you, terrified anything might happen to you, terrified to even know you’re hurt. That’s why he was always there, not because he had to, but because he wanted it, he needed it.
He’d always had a strong sense of protection for you, right from the start, and it was obvious to everyone. Whatever happened, whether it was interrogating a suspect, going to shady places, he made sure you came first.
He’d wondered why, so many times, why he was like this with you, but he’d simply buried this question, telling himself it was just partnership, loyalty, friendship. He’d buried it under jokes, quips, his teasing until you went crazy.
It was easier that way. But ever since that night... Damn, Jay couldn’t find peace, he couldn’t forget the terror on your face when he opened his door, when he saw you soaked, hurt. The panic and fear he felt in that moment, God, were something that would scar him forever.
He wanted nothing more than to lock you in a glass bubble, so he’d always know you were safe, and it killed him knowing he couldn’t do that, knowing how much you were suffering and not being unable to protect you.
And now, with you in his arms, so vulnerable, Jay struggled. All of his careful compartments had collapsed into one unbearable truth: he’d been lying to himself.
He hugged you a little tighter, pulling you closer.
Jay swallowed hard.
If things had been different, if Kane had never happened, he would’ve kept pretending, kept the distance, kept the line clean and untouched, as he had always done in all the years since he’d known you.
And he hated that it took this, he hated that your pain had dragged the truth into the light.
Because loving you hadn’t started with Kane, no, he had just made it impossible to ignore.
He shifted slightly, as if this thought prevented him from staying still. He had to do something, he had to distract himself or he’d end up ruining everything, and you didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t right, not with what you were going through.
“If I could carry this for you,” he said, his voice low, controlled but thick with something he didn’t name, “I would. In a heartbeat.” He didn’t expect a response; to be honest, he wasn’t even asking for one.
“I know,” you whispered back, and your arms tightened. “I would do the same for you.”
Jay closed his eyes, his heart beating so hard it almost burst out of his chest. He wanted to scream, cry, break something because he was overwhelmed, overwhelmed by his feelings, by what you were doing to him.
Without even thinking about it, he lowered his head and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your forehead. It was gone almost as soon as it happened, that kind of touch that felt instinctive rather than intentional, but he had to do it, he needed it.
He froze for half a second after realizing his gesture. He held his breath, ready to pull back, to apologize, to pretend it hadn’t happened, but you didn’t pull away, instead, you wrapped your arms a little bit tighter around him.
So, he stayed.
And that scared him more than anything else.
“We should get back,” you said, after a while, breaking away from the embrace. Since when had your absence caused him such an emptiness? Since when not being able to hug you anymore disappointed him so much?
“How are you feeling now?”
“I can’t lie to you, I… I don’t feel good thinking about him being out there somewhere… But I’m better now.”
“We’ll get that son of a bitch, I promise.”
You smiled faintly. “I know.”
Jay stood up and offered you a hand to help you, which you immediately grabbed.
He unlocked the door, and you were about to leave when you grabbed his hand this time.
He looked at you with a confused look on his face, which quickly turned to utter shock when you leaned toward him and pressed your lips on his cheek.
More than astonishment, he almost had a heart attack, and he wasn’t even exaggerating.
“Thank you, Jay… For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, he stared at you blankly for a few moments before realizing he had to speak. “A-anytime,” he stuttered, fucking stuttered.
You nodded once and, after opening the door, went back toward the bullpen.
And Jay stayed where he was for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the door pretending like you didn’t just shift the entire axis of his world.
It wasn’t even a kiss, more like a light touch. Your lips barely brushed his cheek, too fast for even his brain to register, but it was enough to set his skin on fire, it was enough to destroy that entire wall that so hard he had put up to.
His chest tightened painfully, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar since he met you.
He could still feel the ghost of it, the warmth, the softness, right there, just under his cheekbone, like his skin had already memorized it.
Jay swallowed hard.
Don’t read into it, he told himself immediately.
Don’ turn this into something it’s not.
She’s fragile. She’s grateful. That’s all.
His heart was hammering now, loud and reckless, and there was a sharp, familiar ache behind his ribs, something he was terrified to name.
He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral, even if every instinct screamed to reach for you, to pull you back, to hold you so tightly to him, to kiss you until he stole your last breath.
Instead, he grounded himself the only way he knew.
Control.
But God, if he hadn’t already been in too deep, that little kiss would’ve pushed him there.
When you returned to the bullpen, the rest of the team was there discussing the case, Kane. As soon as they saw you—Jay just few steps behind you—they stopped talking and watched you for a moment.
“Everything alright?” Voight asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes, I’m sorry, everything’s fine.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jay approach the whiteboard, positioning himself next to it, his eyes only on you.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, kid,” Voight continued, sighing, and you immediately understood where he was going with this. He knew the whole Kane thing; besides Jay, he was the only person on the team who knew. “But you can understand that you can’t work on this case since you’re personally involved.”
You exchanged a fleeting glance with Jay, as if asking for help, but no help came. Rationally, you understood, you would’ve said the same thing if you were Voight, but on the other hand, you hated being sidelined.
“I can help, boss. It’s clear that whatever he’s up to is against me and…”
“Absolutely not,” Jay intervened, his tone so resolute and authoritative that even you froze, “we won’t use you as bait, forget it. We’ll come up with a plan to find him.”
“He’s right,” Adam continued, “it’s too dangerous, we can’t give him what he wants on a silver platter.”
“Go home,” Voight resumed, “you’ll have protection 24/7, and we’ll keep you updated on anything. Try to get some rest.”
You sighed, resigned, knowing you’d never win this battle. You nodded and, without another word, grabbed your bag.
“I’ll walk you out,” Jay had said, but you didn’t respond, simply walking toward the exit.
The walk to your car was silent, that heavy silence you weren’t used to anymore, especially with Jay.
“I know you don’t like the idea of being off the case,” he spoke first when you reached your car, “and you know how much I hate to say it, but Voight is right.”
“I know he’s right, but it pisses me off anyway.”
“I hate that you have to stay home alone, I wish you’d stay here so I could always know you’re safe…”
“…But I’m not focused enough to stay here, yes, I know, I get it,” you finished the sentence for him.
“Hey,” he pressed again, stepping fully into your space, careful but firm, forcing you to stop. “Look at me.”
You hesitated for a second, jaw tight, then finally lifted your eyes to his.
“I know you’re mad,” Jay said quietly. “And I know it feels like we’re taking something away from you. But this…” he gestured vaguely back toward the building, “It’s about keeping you safe, that’s our number one priority.”
You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “You say it like I’m made of glass.”
“No,” he replied immediately. “I say it like you’ve already been through enough.”
That stopped you, his words landing better than you expected. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, your stomach twisting in pain. “You think I don’t know that?” you asked, voice lower now. “But I feel useless… I’ll just be sitting home while you’re all out there hunting him down… I…”
Jay exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his next words. “You’re not useless,” he spoke. “But Kane is unpredictable, and if there’s even the smallest chance he’d come after you—”
“He already did,” you interrupted, sharp. “And I survived.”
Jay’s jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he said, low. “And I’m not letting him get another chance.”
The finality in his tone sent a chill through you.
You studied his face for a moment, the tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders were held too rigid, the way he never for a second stopped looking at you.
“Jay…” you started, then stopped, unsure of what you were even trying to say.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said.
You frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Humor me,” he replied, almost gently. “If anything feels off, anything, you call me. Doesn’t matter the time or what I’m doing. You call me and I’ll be there.”
“I will.”
“No, you won’t, not when I’m working on this case, so please promise me.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I promise.”
Something in him eased, just a fraction, but it wasn’t enough, it was like he wasn’t believing you.
You reached for your car door, then paused. Your hand hovered there for a second before dropping back to your side.
“Jay,” you said again, softer now. “Thank you again. For earlier. For… Everything.”
He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things and didn't trust himself with any of them. “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied.
“I know,” you said. And then, almost without thinking, you reached for his hand, for the second time that day, with an ease that scared you to death.
Just briefly. Just enough for your fingers to curl around his, warm and grounding.
His breath caught, barely audible.
“Please be careful,” you added quietly. You were about to let go of his hand when his fingers grabbed yours again, squeezing them tighter than you did.
“I will,” he answered, “you too, and if you don’t want to call just text me, please, I can’t focus if I don’t know you’re okay.”
These words managed to further open the chasm that you carried around for too long.
“I will, I promise,” and this time, you truly meant it.
You let go of his hand and you were about to open your car door, when he preceded you and do it for you. You smiled and slid inside before he closed it.
As you drove away, you didn’t look back.
You didn’t see the way Jay stayed there long after you were gone, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t shake, his hand still hot from your touch.
You didn’t know that sending you home hadn’t made him feel better at all; instead, it had only made him scared he was running out of time.
Your apartment was too quiet, too calm, and for some strange reason, you hated it.
Your mind was in complete turmoil, you couldn’t think clearly, you couldn’t concentrate on one thing before the thought ended up on something else.
You carelessly dropped your bag on the ground, taking a deep breath trying to regain your composure. You tried to focus on the background noises, the distant noise of passing cars, the soft hum of the refrigerator, your own breathing which was louder than anything else.
You told yourself you were fine.
You weren’t spiraling. You weren’t panicking. You were just… Tired.
After kicking off your shoes, you moved through the apartment on autopilot, locking the door, checking the windows. Once. Then twice even if the police officers outside your door already did it.
It annoyed you how natural it had become.
You sank onto the couch and pressed your palms into your eyes, breathing out slowly. Your therapist’s voice echoed faintly in your head—Name what you’re feeling. Don’t run from it.
Fear.
Anger.
Frustration.
And something else you didn’t want to unpack.
Jay’s face kept intruding in your thoughts. The way he looked at you in the parking lot, the way his hand felt, solid, steady, like something you could anchor yourself to, the way he hugged you in that cold bathroom when you were falling apart.
Your chest tightened again, breath catching just slightly.
Not again.
You focused, counted your breaths until the pressure eased, focused on the things surrounding you.
You went to your bedroom and pulled a box you kept under the bed that contained several files, all the documents that related to Kane’s case, that box you managed not to open it in weeks.
You stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding.
You returned to the living room, setting the box on the coffee table, fingers trembling only a little as you lifted the lid.
Reports. Photos. Timelines. Notes you’d written years ago when you first worked on his case, in a handwriting that didn’t quite look like yours anymore.
You flipped through them slowly and the phone buzzed on the table. You froze, and for half a second, terror took hold of you, irrational and sharp, before you forced yourself to look.
A message.
From Jay:
You home?
Your breath left you all at once, fear replaced by relief.
To Jay:
Yeah, I’m okay. Just working through some stuff.
Three dots appeared, disappeared and then appeared again.
From Jay:
Don’t push yourself.
To Jay:
I won’t. How are things going over there?
From Jay:
We’re working on it, I’ll let you know if we find anything.
You knew full well this would never happen, and you didn’t know how to feel about it, whether relieved or irritated.
To Jay:
Okay. Be careful.
You set the phone face down and decided to take a quick shower before going back to the files, the papers spread out like a chaotic map of Kane’s crimes.
Every detail, every report, every photo you’d stored a hundred times before, was there in front of you. You weren’t supposed to be working on this case, but you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t just let it go.
Your fingers traced over his old movements, his connections, the patterns of his violence. It should’ve been easier, after all these years, but your stomach twisted every time you read his name. The memories you’d tried so hard to lock away poked at the edges of your mind… The panic, the terror, the knife.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay focused.
Five things you can see… Four you can touch… Three you can hear…
The hours passed in tense quiet, the sun dipped lower outside, shadows creeping across the floor, and still, you worked, because if you didn’t, the panic would’ve left you no escape.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered where Jay was, what was he doing? Did he find something? Was he thinking about you?
He was indeed thinking about you; in fact, you were the only thought that crossed his mind.
That, and finding that son of a bitch, that’s why he was outside a motel, breathing fast and his hand on his gun.
It was now almost 1:00 a.m. Voight had forced everyone to take a break, but Jay refused, continuing to work alone on any clues. He had found a lead, a guy who had reported that a man—who Jay had then immediately identified as Marcus Kane’s brother—had paid cash for a fake passport.
Kane’s face was all over the news and when Jay answered a call from an anonymous caller who was sure they’d seen the fugitive heading to a motel, he couldn’t help but investigate.
The motel looked like it hadn’t seen maintenance since the late nineties. One flickering neon sign buzzed weakly above the entrance, half the letters burned out, the word 'MOTEL' reduced to a 'M—EL'. Paint peeled from the railings, cigarettes littered the ground, and the smell of damp concrete and old smoke hung heavy in the air.
Exactly the kind of place someone like Kane would choose to hide.
Jay stayed in his car for a moment longer, engine off, headlights dark. He scanned the second floor, eyes narrowing when he spotted a faint light bleeding through the curtains of one room at the far end. Room 217.
His jaw clenched.
He should’ve waited, should’ve called for backup, he knew he had to let Voight know he had a possible location. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there alone, that it could’ve been all a setup.
But he wasn’t thinking rationally, all he could see was you, curled up on yourself, shaking, crying, fighting for air. All he could hear was your broken voice asking why.
He didn’t have time, Marcus could escape while waiting for reinforcements and it was an option that Jay would’ve never given up on.
He stepped out of the car quietly, gun drawn, keeping close to the shadows as he crossed the lot. His heart hammered against his ribs, every muscle taut, every sense sharpened. Years of training guided his movements, but beneath it all there was only anger.
There was no one around anymore, just him—-to be honest he didn’t even know if there was a living soul in that place—so he moved as quiet as possible as he took the stairs, slowly, stopping just before the second floor.
He listened.
Muffled footsteps.
Jay’s grip tightened on the gun.
He moved down the walkway, back to the wall, breathing slow and controlled. As he passed each door, his thoughts kept betraying him, slipping back to you.
He already knew you’d kick his ass for ignoring your messages, but he couldn’t tell you where he was, not without putting you in danger. He knew that at the slightest opportunity, Marcus wouldn’t miss a chance to kill you.
And it was a thought Jay didn’t even subconsciously want to formulate.
He stopped in front of the door.
The cheap wood was scuffed, the lock old. No sound now from inside. Maybe Kane was asleep. Maybe he was waiting.
Jay raised his hand, hesitating for just a fraction of a second.
He tried the handle and, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He didn’t give it much thought, the adrenaline coursing through his veins just at the thought of catching that bastard.
But if he’d been concentrated enough, controlled enough, he would’ve known it was too easy to find Kane, that something was undoubtedly wrong.
Every instinct screamed at him, but he pushed the door open anyway, gun leading the way. The room was dim, lit only by the bathroom light left on. Clothes were scattered on the bed, a half-packed duffel bag on the floor.
“Chicago PD,” Jay called out, voice low but firm. “Marcus Kane. It’s over.”
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then out of the corner of his eye, Jay saw movement, fast, too fast.
He barely had time to react before something—or rather, someone—slammed into him from the side, knocking him hard against the dresser. His gun clattered to the floor, skidding under the bed.
Kane had been waiting.
And Jay realized, too late, that this was no longer an arrest, that he was going to fight for his life.
Kane immediately threw himself on him, without even giving Jay time to get up to his feet and react. A fist hit him full in the face, hot and harp, sending him crashing against the wall. For a moment, he was short of breath, but it wasn’t the time to think; he just had to act.
“Not exactly who I was expecting to be honest, but I guess it’ll do,” Kane sneered, his face twisting into something sinister.
Jay froze for half a second, and then it hit him. Why was it so easy to track him down, why was he was found so quickly. He was waiting for YOU.
“She’s always been a stubborn woman, I figured—”
But Jay didn’t let him finish his sentence; he threw himself on Kane, grabbing him by the collar of his filthy, crumpled shirt. He punched him square in the face, then another, before pressing his forearm against Kane’s throat, nearly cutting off his airway.
The latter wheezed, but that wasn’t enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face.
“Talk about her again and I’ll make you suffer like you never did,” Jay spat a millimeter from his face.
“I knew she’d come eventually. Couldn’t help herself. Always trying to be brave.”
Something inside Jay snatched.
He punched Kane once, twice, again, knuckles splitting, blood slicking his fingers, though he was totally oblivious to the pain. Kane collapsed to the floor with a grunt, coughing hard, but still laughing.
“You think sending her home kept her safe?” Kane taunted between gasps. He spat on the ground, a mix of blood and saliva, then wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. “I left traces…” he breathed heavily, “I wanted her to find me… I wanted to see the look on her face when she realized I wasn’t done with her yet.”
Jay tackled him.
They hit the floor hard, the motel bed creaking under the impact. He straddled Kane, fists raining down, every blow driven by a single, horrifying image of you walking in here, alone, what Kane was going to do to you.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed in his face, “you’ll fucking pay for everything you put her through!”
Kane twisted beneath him, suddenly desperate, hand flashing between them.
Jay didn’t see Kane grabbing the knife from his pants pocket, not until it was already sinking into his flash.
Pain exploded through him, blinding and white-hot.
He gasped, hands faltering just long enough for Kane to shove him off. Jay stumbled back, one hand instinctively pressing to his abdomen, coming away soaked in blood.
Kane dragged himself upright, swaying, smiling through bloodied teeth.
“Guess I still win,” he said. “Either way… She loses. Man, I can't wait to see her face when she finds you.”
Jay completely lost his mind, like he never did before.
He lunged again, ignoring the agony tearing through his body, thanks to the adrenaline that flowed in rivers through his veins, slamming Kane into the wall, then the floor.
The knife clattered away somewhere out of reach.
Jay didn’t stop, he couldn’t.
Every punch was fueled by terror, by guilt, by the unbearable thought that it could’ve been you.
He had lost count of the punches he’d landed, ignoring the pain each blow inflicted, the blood seeping from his wound, ignoring the sound of Kane’s skull being smashed against the dirt floor of that motel.
Jay ignored everything until Kane stopped struggling.
He froze, chest heaving, staring down at him, eyes open but now lifeless, his body still.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
I just killed Marcus Kane.
Jay staggered back, vision blurring, blood soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the carpet. He braced himself against the wall, breathing shallow and uneven, his forehead covered in sweat.
She was supposed to come here.
He slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind him, shaking now, not from the pain, but from the horror of how close you’d come.
He reached for his phone from his pocket when—with horror—he realized he’d left it in the car.
He was tired, exhausted, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he had to call for help, or he’d bleed to death there, on that filthy floor, alone.
God, he wanted you, he wanted you there, so bad he couldn’t breathe.
The strength continued to slowly leave his body, but despite this, he didn’t give up. He tried to stand up, leaning against the wall.
He kept pressing on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but his grip was too weak, almost useless. He managed to take a few steps before collapsing again.
This time, however, he couldn’t get up
But suddenly—after an infinite amount of time—he heard footsteps coming from outside the room, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.
He wasn’t used to praying, but in that moment, he did, he prayed to see you. He winced again in pain as he tried to get up again, but to no avail.
“Jay?”.
A voice reached his ears from afar, but he smiled despite this because he would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, even among a million people. He wanted to scream so badly, to tell you he was there, but he couldn’t, only faint whispers escaped his lips.
Staying awake was becoming increasingly hard, every breath felt like another stab, but he fought to keep his eyes open, because if he was to die that night, you were the last person he wanted to see.
You didn’t receive any answer but, on the other hand, you weren’t even sure you’d be able to hear it yourself since the loud pounding of your heart was deafening you.
You continued walking down the silent corridor with your gun pointed forward, terrified of what lay ahead.
But something immediately caught your attention. The hallway was dark, except for one room, whose light illuminated a small section.
You quickly approached it, and when you entered the room, your worst nightmare, your greatest fear, just became real.
Jay was lying on the floor, covered in blood, barely conscious.
You immediately put the gun back in its holster before grabbing your cell phone and dropping to your knees beside him.
“Hey, hey, hey, Jay, stay with me please. I’m calling for help,” you spoke before quickly calling for backup and an ambulance.
Your cell phone landed on the floor, your hands on his face as you slightly shook him. “Please stay awake for me, okay? Don’t fall asleep, the ambulance is on the way, please, Jay…”
He muttered something you couldn’t understand, and your heart broke when you saw that small smile on his lips, as if he’d just realized you were really there.
“It’s going to hurt a little, but I have to do it, okay? I have to stop the bleeding,” you quickly took off your jacket and pressed it firmly against his wound, your insides twisting as you saw his beautiful face contorted in pain.
Your vision was blurred by the tears you hadn’t realized were pouring like a raging river. “I know, I know…” you sniffed. “I’m so sorry, God, I’m so sorry…”
“H-hey…” he murmured.
You smiled at him, through your tears. “Hey baby, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay… I’m not leaving you…” With one hand, you stroked his face and hair, while the other continued to hold the now bloody jacket firmly over his wound.
“You… You’re h-here…” he continued to breathe heavily, as if every word he said was torture.
“Shh, it’s okay… it’s okay… Yeah, I’m here… Please stay with me, okay? Don’t leave me, Jay, I’m beginning you…” you literally sobbed, feeling your heart being ripped out with every second that passed.
“Help!” you screamed, the sound ripping out of your chest, raw and unfiltered. “HELP—PLEASE, SOMEBODY!”
Nothing.
The silence was underpinned only by your sobs and Jay’s heavy breathing.
Your voice echoed down the empty motel walkway, bouncing off cracked concrete and empty rooms. No doors opened. No one came.
“Help us!” you cried again, hysterical, your throat already burning. “Please—he’s bleeding… Someone help me!”
“No… No, no, no…” you blurted out, shaking your head as if refusing to accept it could somehow change the outcome. You pressed both hands harder against his wound, desperate, ignoring the way his blood soaked your palms, your skin. “Stay with me, Jay. Stay with me, please—please…”
Your hands slipped. You couldn’t stop the bleeding. You couldn’t fix this. Panic clawed up your throat, sharp and uncontrollable.
“I can’t do this without you,” you choked. “You don’t get to leave me here alone, you hear me? You promised me.”
His face was so pale, sweat slicking his skin, but his eyes, God, his beautiful eyes, were still on you, or at least, he tried.
“I… I didn’t… I… Want you t-to see this,” he whispered, a faint, crooked ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“I don’t care,” you cried, shaking your head as tears spilled freely, falling onto his chest. “I don’t care about that. I just need you alive. I need you to stay with me, please Jay, don’t do this to me.”
He closed his eyes and the fear and panic no longer made you think.
“No, no, no, please… Hey, open your eyes, you hear me? Eyes on me baby, please stay awake.”
Your chest hurt, your lungs burned like a forest on fire. You couldn’t get enough air, like the panic was trying to drag you under again, only this time it was worse because it wasn’t just your fear anymore.
It was about him.
He shifted weakly beneath you, a pained sound slipping past his lips, his eyelids struggling to stay open. He was struggling, so damn much and you couldn’t do anything to help him.
“I can’t lose you,” you cried, the words spilling out without permission, without thought. “I can’t… I won’t survive.”
You leaned closer, forehead pressed to his, tears dripping down your cheeks, onto his skin, onto the blood you were desperately trying to stop.
“I love you,” you sobbed, the words ripped straight from your chest, so messy and broken. “I love you so much Jay… Please, I need you to stay. Please. Please stay with me.”
The moment the words left your mouth, it felt like the world stopped.
You hadn’t planned to say it, not like that, but it was true, and it had been true long before this moment.
His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched weakly against your sleeve, as if anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him here, his eyes searching your face.
“I wanted to… To… Protect you…” he coughed. “He… He won’t hurt you again…” he whispered again, voice rough, strained. It was only then that you noticed that body in the room, that now lifeless body, belonging to the person who had ruined you the most.
But you didn’t care. You felt nothing about it. You just wanted to save Jay.
“I l—…” he continued but the words died in his throat, his eyes fluttered.
“Jay? Jay!” Panic ripped through you again. “Jay… Oh my god… No, no, no, please… Open your eyes, stay with me.”
But his grip loosened, his head rolled slightly to the side.
“Jay!” you screamed, terror tearing straight through your chest. You pressed harder against the wound, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please… Please wake up… Talk to me…Please I need you.”
You screamed for help again, voice hoarse, desperate, echoing uselessly through the empty motel hallway.
Sirens cut through the night like a lifeline and you were never so relieved to hear that sound.
You barely registered the sound at first, too busy counting his breaths, begging him under your breath not to leave you, but then the flashing red and blue lights painted the motel walls, and you subbed in relief so hard it hurt.
“They’re here,” you whispered frantically, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Jay, baby, they’re here. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallways and suddenly the room was full, paramedics, lights, movement, orders being barked back and forth.
They stabilized him, then lifted him onto the stretcher, and you followed their every move, refusing to leave him alone for even a moment.
“Jay, please, stay with me,” you whispered, your eyes always on him, almost the entire way to the hospital. You wanted to grab his hand so badly, hoping he could hear you, know you were by his side and you’d never leave him. “Don’t leave me…”
“He’ll be okay, right? Will he make it?” You asked louder, not taking your eyes off his unconscious body, terrified of the answer.
“He’ll need a transfusion and surgery right away,” the paramedic replied, without actually giving you an answer, and for some other reason, this hurt even more. “Do you happen to know his blood type, ma’am?”
“A positive,” you replied, without even thinking.
This thought made you freeze for a moment. Damn, you even knew his blood type, how could you deny that you didn’t love him all this time?
His chest rose shallowly beneath the oxygen mask, each breath uneven. The monitor beside him beeped steadily, maybe too fast, his blood pressure too low.
“I love you,” you whispered again. “Don’t leave me please.”
That ambulance ride was the longest of your life, and even though it was traveling above the legal limit, it still felt like it was going too slow for you.
When the ambulance slowed suddenly, then finally stopped, you breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re here.”
The doors flew open and cold night air rushed in. Hands moved everywhere at once, lifting him, pulling, and suddenly he was rolling away from you.
“No, no” you said immediately, panic exploding again in your chest. You stumbled after them as they rushed him through the ER doors. “I’m here, I’m with him… I need to be with him…”
“Miss, you need to stay back,” someone said, firm but not unkind. “Let us do our job.”
You reached for him anyway, fingers brushing his hand just before they pulled the stretcher farther ahead.
They pushed through the doors to the trauma bay and they slammed shut in your face.
And you lost it.
You sobbed, chest heaving as the weight of it all crashed down on you at once.
You looked at your hands, the blood on your hands, on your clothes—damn, it felt unreal, like none of this could possibly be happening. How could this be reality? How had you gone, in the space of a single day, from hugging each other to praying with every fiber of your being that he would survive?
You slid down the wall slowly, knees hitting the floor as another sob tore out of you.
You really couldn’t believe this was really happening. You couldn’t conceive the thought that you might actually never see him again, you couldn’t accept that the one time in your life you’d had the courage to tell him you loved him was because he was hurt.
What if it was the last time you spoke to him?
What if it was the last time you held his hand?
What if it was the last time you hugged him?
You shook your head as if trying to push that thought away. Jay wouldn’t give up, he was strong, he could handle this too.
The noise around you only made you more unsettled, too many footsteps, too many people talking, too many bells and monitors ringing, too much light—God, you couldn’t take it anymore.
The mere thought of him being there, only a few steps away from you, that only a door separated you, but you couldn’t be there for him devastated you.
“Miss.”
A voice in the distance called you.
“Miss.”
They insisted.
It was only when you felt a hand on your shoulder that you jumped, finding a nurse staring at you with a worried look.
“How is he? Is he okay? Is he awake?” You asked immediately, snapping to attention.
“They’re about to take him to surgery,” she replied, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
It was clear she was referring to the blood on you. The blood of the person you loved.
You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek.
“Do you want to call someone?” She continued, looking at you with eyes full of pity and sadness, before handing you a handkerchief, which you immediately accepted.
“Um… No… I…” you sniffed, reaching for your cell phone. Only when you felt your pockets being empty you remembered throwing it on the floor in that damned motel. “Actually, yes, I… I forgot my phone. Thank you.”
She smiled kindly. “I’ll be right back, but first, let’s get on the chair here, okay?”
You nodded and stood up, then immediately sat down on one of the various chairs in the emergency room hallway.
“Can I get you something else?”
You shook your head.
“Okay, I’ll be right back with a phone.”
You called Voight, trying to explain the situation as best you could, trying to be as clear-headed as possible, even though you probably sounded like a robot. He said he’d be right there with the others, and you responded only with a feeble “okay” after telling him which hospital you were in.
You thanked the nurse before handing her back the phone, accepting the bottle of water she had, despite everything, brought you.
A lump rose in your throat, suffocating.
You couldn’t even cry anymore.
You wanted to scream, break something, run into the OR just to catch a glimpse of him. Instead, you remained there, helpless, broken, your heart beating too hard and too slow at the same time.
Time lost meaning.
You didn’t know how long you sat there staring into space, maybe minutes, maybe hours, before you felt a presence beside you.
You looked up with difficulty.
Voight.
He didn’t say anything at first, he just stood there, eyes scanning your face, the blood on your clothes, the way your hands trembled faintly in your lap. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
For a moment, you wondered if he was waiting for you to speak. You tried, but you couldn’t. You just stared at him as if you said the words out loud, they’d become real.
“He’s in surgery,” you finally whispered, voice hoarse, barely more than air. “They took him in a few minutes ago.”
Voight nodded once, slow before sitting down next to you. “I know.”
Your chest caved in.
“I was supposed to stay home,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I know you told me to stay home and I tried, I swear I tried but I just…” Your breath hitched. "I had this feeling. Like something was wrong..."
You broke off, shaking your head. “If I’d gotten there sooner,” you murmured. “If I—”
Voight interrupted you. “Listen to me kid,” he said quietly, but firmly enough that you had no choice but to look at him. “None of this is your fault.”
Your eyes burned. “He went alone.”
“He went alone because he wanted to protect you,” Voight replied. “Because that’s who he is, the only thing he cares about is you.”
That didn’t make it hurt any less.
You pressed your lips together, fighting the sob that threatened to tear you open again. “He was bleeding so much,” you whispered. “He tried to stand t-to talk. I thought…” Your voice cracked. “I thought I was going to lose him right there.”
Voight’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “But you didn’t and you won’t.” He rested his forearms on his knees, mirroring your posture. “The doctors are good. This hospital’s one of the best. If anyone can pull him back from the edge, it’s them.”
You nodded weakly, though hope felt like something dangerous now.
“The rest of the team are on their way,” he added. “You’re not doing this alone, he won’t be alone.”
You swallowed hard. “I told him I love him,” you said suddenly, the confession tumbling out. “I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if…”
Your throat closed but Voight didn’t look surprised, instead, he nodded again, slower this time. “He heard you,” he said simply. “Even if he couldn’t answer. He knows.”
That almost broke you completely.
You buried your face in your hands as silent tears slipped through your fingers.
Minutes and minutes passed and the rest of the team arrived, though you weren’t in the right mind to talk to any of them.
Hours and hours passed.
Hours in which you had done nothing but torment yourself and pray from him. You cleaned your face and your hands, though your clothes still bore the weight of that horrible night.
Then footsteps approached.
A doctor emerged from the double doors, mask pulled down around her neck, eyes searching the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, heart slamming against your ribs.
The doctor’s gaze landed on all of you as you approached. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” you answered, and even if it wasn’t true, the doctor immediately knew from your gaze you’d never let go.
The doctor nodded once. “He’s still in surgery,” she said. “It was a severe abdominal wound. He lost a lot of blood and we had to transfuse two bags of blood.”
Your stomach dropped and you stopped breathing for a second.
“But,” she continued, carefully, “he made it through the first critical phase. The next few hours will be fundamental.”
You exhaled shakily, legs threatening to give out beneath you.
“He’s alive,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
“For now,” the doctor said gently. “But he’s fighting.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He was truly fighting.
For the next two hours, you kept pacing back and forth in that waiting room. The rest of the team was there, but no one spoke. The anxiety was too much, the worry overwhelming.
When the surgeon finally announced that the surgery was over and he’d be taken to intensive care, you literally felt the ground disappear beneath your feet.
You hated hospitals, you hated the smell that hung in the air, you hated the sound of that monitor, you hated knowing that there were people fighting for their lives, you hated knowing that your Jay was there.
You found yourself outside his room, your body shaking, your heart pounding.
You couldn’t find the courage to go in, to see him like that. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You took a deep breath before taking a step, then another. When your eyes landed on Jay, it was like the air had been knocked from your lungs. God, a punch would’ve hurt less.
He was lying on that bed, his eyes closed as if he was simply sleeping, his oxygen on, the monitor echoing with his steady heartbeat. His chest was rising and falling, slowly, too delicately.
You approached his bed, your breath involuntarily held, walking so slowly as if you were afraid of waking him. Your fingers hovered for a few seconds over his hand, barely touching it, before you took it, and, God, what a relief it was to feel his warm skin against yours.
His angelic face was relaxed, but it was surrounded by the purple bruise that marked his fight with Kane.
He’s dead, he can’t hurt anyone anymore.
With your free hand, you slowly caressed his cheek, delicately, scared at the thought of hurting him. Your fingers brushed his hair, hoping somehow, he could feel it.
You leaned in slightly and gently pressed your lips on his forehead, leaving a small, sweet kiss, just like he had done in that bathroom not so many hours before.
“I’m here, I’m not leaving you,” you whispered, “You’ll be fine, everything will be fine.”
You sat next to him, on a chair in the room, and grabbed his hand, kissing it, holding it close to your face.
You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know how to behave and not being able to do anything to help him was destroying you, making you feel more useless than ever before.
You had heard somewhere that talking could help patients, they could hear you even if they were unconscious, and that’s what you did.
“I’m so sorry, Jay,” you began. “It’s all my fault, this…” you sighed, trying to hold back the tears but failing miserably, “This shouldn’t have happened, not to you… I—”
You paused for a second, trying to reconnect your thoughts.
“I really don’t know where to start, I want to tell you so many things…” you kissed his hand again, “First I want to say thank you, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you, truly, for everything you’ve done for me, for being there for me in the worst moments, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Your voice broke at the last words, your hand slightly squeezing his, trying to hold on to him because, if you hadn’t, you would’ve collapsed.
“It’s always been you,” you continued, “always, even when I pretended it wasn’t, even when I tried to convince myself it was just friendship and partnership… All these years, God… I’ve been so stupid, such a coward…” you took a deep breath “I’m so sorry, Jay, you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to hear me say I love you in THAT moment, not in that way, but I just…” a tear rolled down your face, “I love you so much…”
“I tried to convince myself it was just the trauma, but it was a lie because every time I look at you, I know what I feel goes way beyond that, it’s something so deep I can’t even explain it,” you shook your head slightly, “up until now, I’ve lied to myself and preferred living the lie rather than facing the fear of ruining everything, but now… Now I don’t want to hide anymore, I love you so much it terrifies me, I don’t know what to do.”
Your thumb caressed his bruised knuckles, and it was another stab in the stomach.
“I should’ve told you before, I know,” you continued, “I should’ve told you when we were bickering over coffee, when you teased me about my tea collection, when you pulled all those pranks on me, when you smile at me, when you laugh until you lose your breath…” you stopped speaking when another uncontrollable sob escaped your lips.
“But I need you to wake up, baby, please, I need you so much. You always said I was strong, that I had armor, but the truth is, I was because of you, because you were always there beside me no matter what happened, you always helped me get up without saying anything and you always did it without making me feel like a burden and now…” you sniffed, your vision now blurry from the tears, “Now look at you… You’re here because of me…”
You slightly leaned forward, your cheek hovering close to his hand while still keeping your gaze on him.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself, how I’ll ever live with the fact that you got hurt because of me. You always protected me, and when I should’ve protected you, I failed, and I’m so sorry, baby, I hope you’ll forgive me…”
There was another moment of silence.
“Please come back to me… I can’t live without you, Jay, I don’t know how to be in this world without you… Without you making my life impossible, without you forcing me to watch those stupid action movies only you like, without you making me feel so safe with just a hug. I can’t imagine going to work and not finding you sitting at your desk, with a pre-made donut you saved just for me even though you always say it’s not, without you making fun of my handwriting…” You chuckled bitterly as your mind replayed all those moments, moments you would’ve sold your soul to relive. “So, wake up, Halstead, you understand me? You need to wake up.”
You remained silent for an indefinite time, sitting there next to him for all the hours that followed, even after the sun had risen, even when the others tried to convince you to go and rest, but you refused to move.
The hours passed, sometimes you continued talking to him, other times you simply looked at him, in silence, your hand always in his while your thumb drew imaginary circles on his skin.
At some point, your voice gave out completely.
Your head dropped forward, resting against the edge of the bed, forehead brushing his knuckles. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, you didn’t mean to, you just remembered that exhaustion took over at a certain point, quietly, while your fingers were still intertwined with his.
Pain.
This was what Jay felt when his eyelids opened slightly. He blinked once, twice, three times, trying to adjust to the blinding light in that room.
The events of the previous evening flooded his mind like a raging river, so it didn’t take him long to realize he was in a hospital bed.
He tried to move but couldn’t, not even when he tried to convince his body to do it.
He felt heavy, all his muscles ached, his throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper was rubbing against him.
He tried to lift his hand but couldn’t, and it was only when he looked down at the figure next to him that he understood why he couldn’t.
His heart sank when he saw you curled up in the chair, head resting on his hand, fingers intertwined, eyes closed.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes again and opened them again, before looking back at you, and to his great relief, you were still there.
He wasn’t hallucinating, he wasn’t dreaming, you were really there, next to him.
His fingers twitched weakly against yours, and this simple movement was enough to wake you. Your head snapped up, and he wanted to take a picture of your face again when your eyes met his.
“Oh my god… Oh god! Jay you… Oh god you’re awake!”
“Hey,” he smiled weakly when you jumped to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. You carefully grabbed his face, looking at him as if wanting to make sure it was really real.
“You’re awake… Oh fuck… How do you feel? God, you’re really awake.”
He chuckled, every muscle in his body aching. He raised a hand and placed it on yours, caressing it. “I’m fine, a little tired, but I’m fine now.”
And it was true. Even though everything hurt, even though he could barely keep his eyes open, even though even breathing felt like a stab, he truly was fine. Because you were there.
“I thought I lost you… I thought—” you whispered, but you stopped when he grabbed your hand, removing it from his cheek and bringing it to his lips before pressing a kiss.
“It takes more than that to finish me off, baby, you’ll never get rid of me.”
You chuckled through your tears. “Don’t ever do this shit to me ever again, you understand me?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I’m not planning to get stabbed again, that’s enough,” he replied, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Can you hug me now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please. You won’t hurt me,” he whispered, “I need it, I need to hold you.”
You hesitated for a moment, and it was the cutest and, at the same time, the most painful thing he’d ever seen. He understood your hesitation, but he didn’t want to see it, he never wanted to see you hesitate to hug him.
You finally nodded. He felt the mattress shift when you sat on the edge of the bed, and your hands trembled when you hugged him.
He wrapped his arms around you, his hands clutching your shirt in a fist as if you were his lifeline, completely ignoring the pain in his side. God, holding you and smelling your scent was enough for him to make everything else fade into second place.
He exhaled, all the weight shifting off his shoulders, finally feeling at home.
He was so grateful to be able to hold you again, touch you, hear your voice, look at you.
“Fuck, I missed the way you stink,” he muttered, and his heart exploded when you laughed. Man, he loved the sound of your laughter so much he just wanted to record it so he could listen to it over and over again.
“Yeah, well, look who’s talking,” you replied, pulling away from the embrace, a small smile on your lips.
“Well, I’m justified, I’m hurt, I have the right to stink.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad to even hear your insults.”
He chuckled. “I’m just getting started.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The room seemed to fade into the background, the steady beeping of the monitor, the distant footsteps in the hallway, the hum of the machines, none of it mattered.
All Jay could see was you. The way your smile lingered, small and fragile, the way your eyes searched his face, as if you were still afraid he might disappear if you blinked.
He studied you like he had all the time in the world now.
The faint shadows under your eyes told him you hadn’t slept. Your hands were still trembling slightly, even though you were trying to hide it.
Jay lifted his hand, slow and careful, and brushed his thumb just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed falling.
“Did you mean it?” He then found the courage to ask, his voice so low he couldn’t even hear himself.
Your smile grew a little bigger, letting him know you understood what he was referring to. “What? That I love you?”
His stomach twisted and his heart skipped a beat. He nodded feebly, the courage he’d previously found now completely gone. A second passed, the blink of an eye, but to him it seemed like an eternity.
He was terrified of your answer.
What if you’d backtracked? What if you’d only said it out of concern? In the heat of the moment?
“Yes, I meant it,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his again. “I didn’t mean to tell you then, like that, and I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but yes, detective, I really, really love you.”
A treacherous tear fell down his cheek, and in that moment, he realized he’d let himself be stabbed a thousand more times if it meant hearing you say that.
You loved him.
All this time pining away, trying not to ruin your relationship, trying to stay as close to you as possible without letting you know how he truly felt... And you loved him.
God, he felt so stupid.
It was your turn to wipe away his tears this time, your thumb caressing his cheek, looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
“I was terrified…” he finally found his voice. “I was afraid of dying and not being able to tell you how much I love you, so much it fucking hurts…”
He let out a breath, now like a raging river. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I feel so stupid now… All this time I tried to convince myself it was all in my head because I was terrified of losing you,” he reached up, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, memorizing every line, every tiny freckle, every little scar he’d always noticed but never told you how much they meant to him.
“I’ve been bottling it all in… Every look you gave me, every word, every stupid fight I started just to make you laugh or get a reaction. I’ve loved every second of it, even the pain, because it’s you… God, it’s always been you, and it’ll forever be you,” his voice got lower, more desperate, “and now you’re looking at me like this… Fuck… I can’t—”
Jay’s breath caught when you pressed your lips to his. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
It took him a few seconds to process what was happening.
You were kissing him.
You.
Were.
Kissing.
Him.
One second, he was drowning in his own thoughts, terrified of expressing his feelings and the next you were kissing him, your lips so warm and soft against his.
His brain short-circuited.
Your hands were cupping his face, your mouth was on his and you were really kissing him.
Holy shit.
His chest tightened so hard it hurt worse than any stab wound would ever.
A shaky breath left him and his hand came up on instinct, fingers curling gently in your hair, letting himself go completely. He kissed you back slowly, like this was something sacred, something he’d dreamed of for so long he’d convinced himself it’d never be real.
It was desperate, but it wasn't rushed, it was everything he’d ever wanted and never thought he’d be allowed to have.
All the time he was close to you, all the times he imagined what it’d be like to kiss you, what it’d feel like, nothing could compare to the explosion he felt.
He could feel you trembling against him, the way you lingered, like you were memorizing him the same way he was memorizing you, the taste and the feel of you, the fact that this was actually happening.
When you pulled back, just barely, you rested your forehead against his, eyes closed, breath uneven.
His heart was racing and the monitor expressed it.
There was a moment of silence that you broke, as only you knew how to.
“Wow, your breath really smells like shit.”
Jay burst into laughter but winced when a pang shot through his abdomen. “Fuck it hurts, stop making me laugh,” he said. “And yes baby, keep talking dirty to me.”
You laughed and Jay barely had time to recover from the fact that kiss when the door creaked open.
“Alright,” a familiar gravelly voice said, “I think that’s enough romance for one hospital room.”
Jay sighed, eyes still half-closed, forehead resting against yours. Of course.
You pulled back just in time to turn and see Voight standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. Behind him, the rest of Intelligence hovered like old gossips.
Ruzek was the first to step in after Voight. “Damn, man,” he said, eyes flickering between the two of you. “You look like shit.”
Jay smiled. “Good to see you too, Adam.”
Burgess followed, softer, relief written all over her face. “We’re really glad you’re okay, Jay.”
“Yeah,” Atwater added, nodding. “You scared the hell out of us.”
And then there was Antonio, trying, and failing, to hide a grin as his gaze kept going back and fort between you and Jay. His eyes lingered on the way your hand was still tangled in Jay’s, like neither of you had even noticed it.
Jay noticed but he didn’t let go.
“Did we interrupt something lovebirds?” Antonio smirked.
“No.” “Actually yes.” You and Jay answered at the same time.
Voight cleared his throat. “Doctor says you’re going to be fine. Couple weeks of rest, no heroics.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s optional.”
Voight’s mouth twitched, just barely.
There was a beat of silence.
“Now kids,” Voight said, talking to the others, and raised his hands, palms facing up. “You know what to do.”
You and Jay exchanged a confused look as the rest of the team snorted, starting to pull out some money and placing it in Voight’s hands.
Jay stared. “What the hell is happening?”
Voight took the money calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Ruzek rubbed the back of his neck. “So. Uh. We had a bet.”
Jay groaned. “Of course you did.”
“A bet?” you repeated slowly. “About what?”
Kim winced apologetically. “About whether you two were ever going to end up together.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
Antonio shook his head. “Nope,” then added, “I said six months. Ruzek said never. Kim said you’d figure it out on your own.”
Jay narrowed his eyes. “And Voight?”
He met Jay’s gaze evenly and then looked at you. “I said it’d only happen if one of you almost died.”
Silence.
You stared at him. Jay stared at him. The heart monitor filled the space with its steady beeping.
“Oh…” Jay said weakly, “that’s fucked up.”
Voight shrugged. “I know my detectives.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re all unbelievable.”
“Get some rest, Halstead.” Voight said and then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And try not to get stabbed again. I’m not betting on round two.”
Voight walked out of the room and the rest of the team took turns hugging Jay.
You sat next to him, fingers intertwined as your teammates gave both you and Jay shit.
And for the first time in a very long time, he felt like that—despite what happened—everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
• Warnings: mention of trauma, panic attack, blood, use of gun and knife, death, curse words, violence.
• Word count: 16K (yeah I’m sorry about that lmao).
• A/N: that’s part 2 of Scars and Shields. First of all I want to apologize if I didn’t to a great job, I tried my best to write about the trauma, the feelings associated to it etc please bear with me lol, I’m more than happy to learn from my mistakes so please comment if I wrote something wrong. Let me know what you think about this, please comment, like and repost if you want, it’d mean the world. Love you all.❤️
<- Part one
Two months later your injuries had healed.
The bruise faded and when you looked in the mirror, it almost seemed like they’d never been there.
But they were there, you could still feel them. Maybe physically they were gone, but emotionally… God, it was a whole another story.
The fear was still there, strong, intense.
Marcus Kane had devastated you more than you’d ever cared to admit, and you hated it.
You hated that even after two months—even knowing he was behind bars—you still counted the exits in every building you entered, still looked over your shoulder, still jumped at the slightest noise, still startled when someone suddenly touched you.
Some days were better than others, some slower, some faster when you somehow managed to distract yourself, especially with work. Some days you found yourself checking the locks only once instead of three times, while others you flinched even when the wind blew the leaves a little more than usual.
And you couldn’t stand it.
You thought about it a lot: if you’d gone to therapy after your first attack, would you’ve have been stronger now? If you’d talked about it with someone, would you have been forced to face it all alone?
What if you hadn’t locked everything away in a box and thrown it into the depths of your mind, without the presumption that everything would be okay?
You didn’t have an answer for this and now, unfortunately, you were forced to pay the consequences.
Of one thing, however, you were sure: without Jay Halstead, you would’ve ended up in an endless abyss, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back up on your own.
It was hard to admit it to yourself, especially at first, but ever since that night—when you run to his house in tears—he had never left your side. Ever.
His presence hadn’t been overwhelming; on the contrary, it was like that first breath of fresh air you inhaled after spending so much time underwater.
He had never insisted, never told you what to do, how to behave, he was simply there. He was there in the little things, in the moments of difficulty that seemed small but were insurmountable for you.
And this was because he knew you, he knew who you were.
It was true, you had never confided in each other, you weren’t the kind of people to talk to each other about their feelings, but in all that time you had been partners, you had learned to know each other, really know each other, even if in your own way, even without too many words.
It was late at night, and all the team got back home earlier after successfully closing a case. The doorbell rang suddenly, and your heart skipped a beat, not because you were surprised, but because you knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.
When you opened it, you weren’t surprised to find Jay standing there, looking as if he’d stepped out of a modeling magazine.
“Well, you really were waiting for me, huh?” Jay teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, a smug smile on his lips.
You rolled your eyes, amused but trying to hold back a laugh. “I was already up,” you replied, making room for him to come in.
It had become your unspoken ritual. Since you were attacked, there hadn’t been a single evening, not even one, that Jay had left you alone. No matter what happened, after every incident, even if you both had your own commitments, even if you insisted it wasn’t necessary, he made sure you weren’t alone,
The first few times you resisted, feeling guilty and weak, but as the days passed, as you began to process everything—the attack, your undercover past with Kane—you realized how vital Jay’s presence was, how grateful you were for it, and how much he had helped you.
When you felt like it, you talked about it, encouraged by him but without too much insistence. When you had a panic attack, he was there, hugging you and whispering that everything was okay. When you cried because you felt broken, he dried your tears, telling you how you were the strongest person he had ever known.
And then everything went back to the way it was before, teasing you, playfully insulting you, pranking you, leaving you no time to dwell on the rest like you usually would.
“Look what I brought you and tell me if I’m not the best partner in the world,” he began, once you were both in the kitchen. He pulled out a box of special tea from a white bag… Your favorite one.
“Oh my God, Jay!” you exclaimed with joy. “How the hell did you find that?! I’ve been looking for it since forever. Thank you so much!” You almost jumped like a child, your heart fluttering erratically. Well, yes, you were an herbal tea lover, you couldn’t help it.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Grandma.”
You playfully hit him on the arm. “Stop calling me that.”
“Never,” he retorted, laughing. It was a nickname he’d given you since he discovered your endless supply of herbal teas. “Anyway, I found it by chance in a shop nearby, it’s nothing special.”
You picked up the box and looked at it for a moment as you smiled, because you didn’t believe for a second that he’d just found it by chance, and the thought that Jay had been scouring through shops looking for that particular brand of tea for you, made your stomach twist, in a way that happened all too often when you were with him.
“Thank you, seriously, you didn’t have to do it, I really appreciate it,” you looked at him for a moment and noticed how his cheeks had suddenly flushed, like his ears.
God he was so adorable, you wanted to squeeze the shit out of him.
Without thinking too much, you hugged him; you weren’t good with words, and you hoped in that hug, he’d truly understand your gratitude, not just for the tea, but for everything.
He stiffened for a second before returning the hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, his body relaxing.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.
You took a second, just one, to inhale his scent, that perfume that was becoming a sense of security, your lifeline.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, maybe a second, maybe a minute, maybe longer than was appropriate, longer than ideal for just two partners.
But you didn’t move.
Your body reacted before your mind did, the way you melted into his arms, how the tension on your shoulders slowly dissipated. It unsettled you, how normal and natural it was becoming, how easy it was becoming to let go with him.
In that moment, however, you decided not to think about it because it felt good being in his arms.
You focused only on his regular breathing, the warmth of his chest under your cheek, his heartbeat, the rapidity of which you couldn’t help but notice.
For a fleeting moment, a thought brushed the edges of your mind.
Please don’t let this stop.
You pushed it away immediately, guilt curling in your stomach. You shouldn’t have needed this, need him like this.
And yet, when his arms tightened around your body, you held on for a second longer.
When you finally pulled back, there was a moment of silence in which neither of you said anything.
You simply slightly raised your head, enough to look at him, and your eyes met his, so bright, so deep and unreadable. He looked at you intensely, as if he was about to say something, but finally he cleared his throat, breaking the moment as naturally as it had formed.
A small smile graced his lips. “How about a nice cup of tea now?”
“Great idea.”
You moved around each other in the kitchen with ease, as if he’d been there a million times. No hesitation, no need to ask.
Jay filled the kettle while you reached for two mugs, automatically grabbing his favorite without even thinking about it.
You started talking and joking, that hug as if it had never happened.
“You know,” he spoke casually, opening the pantry where you had only herbal teas, of every possible kind, “I wanted to ask you something. Do you even have something to eat in there?”.
You rolled your eyes. “Of course I do.”
“You wouldn’t think so,” he teased you. “One day I’ll turn on the TV and find you on that show ‘Me and My Obsessions’ or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m not obsessed. Can’t a girl like a nice cup of tea?”.
“That’s straight up obsession, darling,” he said as he looked through your immense collection. You tried to not to think about how your heart skipped a bit hearing him say darling. “I really don’t understand how you can like all these weeds.”
“Excuse me? They’re not weeds, they’re actually very healthy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he let out a small laugh.
“But why do I have to sit here and be criticized by someone who only drinks black coffee? Without even sugar, and you even have the nerve to say it’s so good.”
“Because it is good,” he picked up a carton of lemon and ginger tea and took a teabag from it, “still better than whatever medieval potion you have in here.”
You nudged him with your elbow as you passed by, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just uncultured.”
He looked at you, a raised eyebrow. “Wow. Attacked in my own kitchen.”
You paused, then smirked. “Pardon? Your kitchen? Pretty sure this is my apartment.”
“Still, I always end up cooking or making your potions when I come here,” Jay leaned back against the counter.
“And who asked you?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“My kindness, because without me you would’ve died of hunger living only on your herbal teas.”
“And yet,” you shot back, “you keep coming over and you’re making yourself one of my potions.”
For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe—before he recovered, that familiar grin sliding back into place.
“Guess I’m a sucker for punishment,” he said lightly, wiggling his eyebrows.
But the way he looked at you lingered just a beat too long.
The kettle whistled, filling the apartment with a familiar sound. You leaned back against the counter, watching Jay move, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
And maybe that was the problem.
You carried your mug to the couch, curling your fingers around the warmth as you sat down. Jay joined you a moment later, settling beside you with just enough space to be appropriate, and yet close enough you could feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of his shirt.
The film you had chosen played quietly in the background, some mindless film that you weren’t even really watching. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, awkward. It was… comfortable. Safe.
You sipped your tea and let your shoulders relax, your thoughts drifting.
Two months ago, being alone in your apartment felt unbearable. The walls were too thin, the silence too loud. Every sound made your heart racing, every shadow felt like a threat.
Now, with Jay sitting next to you, the fear didn’t disappear completely, but it softened. It dulled at the edges, manageable. You weren’t healed, you knew that. Some days were still hard, some nights still endless.
But you weren’t drowning anymore.
You realized, distantly, that Jay had become part of your balance. Not your crutch, but that steady presence that reminded you how to stand back up when your legs felt weak.
He didn’t fix things, he didn’t pretend to. He just stayed.
And somehow, that was everything.
Your gaze flicked to him briefly, looking at the way his jaw tensed when something on the TV annoyed him, the way his foot bounced slightly against the floor.
You wondered when you’d started noticing these things. When did they start to matter? Or were they always important to you but you were just now realizing it?
The thought made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
You looked back at your mug, suddenly afraid of where your mind was going.
This was safe. This was good. You couldn’t afford to complicate it. You couldn’t afford to name feelings you weren’t ready to face.
What if it was the situation that made you think those things? Because, let’s face it, he wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t for that night. Your relationship would’ve been the same, you wouldn’t have gotten that close.
Still… a quiet, traitorous part of you whispered a question you didn’t dare ask out loud.
What happens when this end?
When he decides I’m okay?
When he stops coming over?
When I have to relearn how to sit in this apartment alone?
Your fingers curled tighter around the mug, as if holding onto the warmth could keep the thought from slipping away.
He was there because he was a good friend helping a friend in a moment of difficulty, nothing more and nothing less, you couldn’t think otherwise.
Jay shifted beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “You okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar concern.
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
You settled deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket to cover your legs, the mug warm between your palms before taking another sip. Jay leaned back beside you as he too pulled the blanket over his legs, stretching his arm along the back of the couch—not touching you, but close enough that you were acutely aware of him.
Too aware.
You tried to focus on the TV, but your mind wandered, drifting backward without your permission.
Your head was exploding from everything that was happening, from all the confusion that was invading it.
This wasn’t new, that was the unsettling part.
Even before everything—before Kane—Jay had always been there. Not like this, not so constant, but present in ways you hadn’t questioned at the time. The lingering looks you’d brushed off as nothing. The way your stomach had flipped whenever he smiled at you, the instinctive trust you’d placed in him long before all of this.
You’d told yourself it was just partnership. Respect. Familiarity.
It had been easier not to look too closely.
But in that moment, sitting beside him in the quiet of your apartment, the truth pressed gently but insistently against your ribs. Something you didn’t want to listen to, however, because you knew it would only bring more pain, pain you weren’t ready to face. Something you’d ignored because acknowledging it would’ve meant risking something you hadn’t been ready to lose.
You swallowed, your grip tightening around the mug.
The fear wasn’t about needing him. It was about wanting him more than just friends and realizing you always had.
Jay shifted again, glancing at you. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, softer this time, like he was afraid of startling you.
You nodded, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
He studied you for a moment longer, like he knew there was more but wouldn’t push.
That was Jay. Always giving you space, even when every instinct in him probably told him to step closer.
And maybe that was why this hurt in a way you hadn’t expected.
Because if things had been different, he wouldn’t even have been there, and you’d never even had the courage to even face these thoughts.
You glanced at him again, just for a second before bringing your eyes back to the film. He was watching the TV now, relaxed, unaware of the quiet war unfolding in your chest.
You wondered if he had ever felt it too.
Or if this had always been yours alone.
Jay took a sip from his cup, and you found yourself glancing at him again, involuntarily. It was only when you realized he was turning his head toward you that you immediately returned your eyes to the screen. Your face was ablaze, your heart pounding, a single realization settling heavy and undeniable in your chest—this wasn’t something that started because he stayed, it was something that stayed because it had always been there.
But you weren’t ready to face it, not at that moment.
“Hey,” he whispered after a while, drawing your attention from that movie you absolutely hadn’t been watching. You looked at him, seeing he’s already looking at you. “If you need to talk, I’m here, you know that, right?”
You smiled faintly, nodding. “Yeah, I know.”
His eyes roamed your face for a moment, sweet and attentive. “I know you know, but I also know I have to remind you every now and then.”
Your heart was beating so erratically you feared an imminent cardiac arrest. “You don’t need to… Really, I’m fine.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, I can see from here how that pretty little brain of yours is working right now.”
“That’s not true, I was just watching the movie.”
“You were watching everything but TV, come on.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I watch you a lot more than you think,” he replied so casually, as if these few, simple words hadn’t just turned your life upside down. “And that’s why I want to remind you that I’m always here if you need me, okay?”
You nodded, unable to form any meaningful sentence, your voice stuck in your throat.
He smiled sweetly at you and shifted a little, adjusting the blanket over your legs that had begun to fall to the floor. He made sure it covered you more. He was protective, thoughtful, and you struggled to remember the last person who had been so thoughtful to you for the simple reason that they wanted to be so without receiving anything in return.
“Thank you... For everything,” you whispered after a while, both of you intent on watching the movie. You didn’t even know if he’d heard you, but when his arm slid from the back of the couch around your shoulders—squeezing you a little closer to him—you had confirmation that he had indeed heard you.
For a moment, you let yourself just be. No fear. No panic. Just tea, the quiet hum of the apartment, and Jay.
You stayed like that, until tiredness took over and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder. You were probably dreaming, because, at a certain point, you even felt his lips touch the top of your head.
You didn’t ask yourself if it really happened or not, you simply let yourself be cradled in his arms, in a deep sleep that you rarely had anymore.
-
You were at work, weeks later, in the middle of a morning that felt deceptively calm.
Those weeks had brought small steps forward. You’d finally found the courage to see a therapist, sat through your first session with your hands clenched in your lap, your voice shaking only once—or twice—when certain words came too close to the surface. Time had passed in a blur of cases, coffee breaks, late nights buried in paperwork, and you hadn’t missed how thoroughly you were drowning yourself in work you didn’t strictly need to do.
Maybe it wasn’t healthy, overworking yourself just to stay afloat. But it kept your mind busy, and busy meant quiet. If that was the price of feeling okay, you were willing to pay it—even if your therapist had gently suggested otherwise.
You were sitting at your desk when a familiar voice caught your attention.
“So…” Kim said, and you looked up at her as she sat on the edge of your desk. “You look… Better.”
“Better?”
She nodded, studying you with an intense, searching gaze. “You seem more present, less… I don’t know, like you’re running on fumes like the first few days.”
The first few days after the attack, she didn’t finish, but that’s what she meant.
You let out a humorless laugh, meaning against the back of your chair, arms crossed over your chest. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little,” she smiled. “But really, how are you doing?”
You sighed. “I’m better. Some days are better than others, but I really feel better.”
“They’re still steps forward, I’m glad to see you like this.”
You spontaneously shifted your gaze to Jay, who was talking about something with Kevin and Adam, one hand wrapped around his disgusting coffee cup and the other tucked into his pants pocket, his posture relaxed. Kim followed your gaze, and in that moment, Jay flicked his eyes on you, mid-sentence.
You blushed and looked away before looking at Kim again.
She looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you pressed.
“You’ve been doing that a lot, you know?”
“Doing what?”
“Staring at him. You really think we wouldn’t notice?”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not staring at him, stop with this nonsense.”
“Did I say it’s a bad thing?”
You inhaled through your nose, your shoulders stiff. “Kim…”
She studied you for a moment. “He’s always been like this with you.”
“Like what?” You frowned.
“Looking at you, seeing where you are and how you are, making sure you’re okay,” she replied, “and before you say it’s the situation, my answer is no, he’s always been like this with you.”
“That’s just a partnership. We’ve been working together since… Hell, forever. Plus, he’s like that with all of us, that’s just how he is.”
“Sure, that’s how he is,” she winked, “but you can’t deny that he’s always been different with you, ever since you became partners.”
“Mmm, of course I can deny it, because it’s not like that. It’s his nature.”
“Babes, stop wearing blinders,” she retorted, “we’ve all seen the way he looks at you, like you hang the moon. Every time something happens, he checks on you before everyone else. He watches you like a guard dog ready to tear apart anyone who might hurt you. It’s just… I don’t know, he’s very protective of you, even with us.”
“With you?”
“Yeah, Kevin once made a joke about you. I don’t even remember what it was, but Jay almost bit his head off, and that’s just one example.”
You glanced back at Jay, who had just finished laughing with Kevin and Adam and was now looking at the room, eyes flicking toward you again. You quickly looked down at your hands, again, pretending you hadn’t noticed.
You could feel his eyes on you and this made a bunch of butterflies explode in your stomach like you were a teenager.
God, I’m so gone.
Kim leaned closer, her tone softer, almost conspiratorial. “I’m not saying it’s anything you have to deal with right now. I’m just saying… Whatever this is, it didn’t start with Kane. He’s always been like that. And I promise, everyone else in the team noticed it too.”
You exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden tightness in your chest. “Kim…”
“Relax,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m not trying to mess with you. Just... Telling how I see it from my point of view."
You let out a short, humorless laugh, and when you looked up again, Jay was talking to Adam, but his eyes were already on you.
You looked at each other for a moment, heart thudding a little too fast, when Voight exited his office, his voice interrupting that little moment of peace.
“Listen up, everybody,” he said, and you all snapped to attention. “I just got a call.”
There was a short pause, and you frowned when his eyes met you. That single look was enough to tell you something was wrong.
“The first hearing in Marcus Kane’s trial was supposed to be held in the next few days,” your boss spoke, and just hearing his name made your insides twist. “This morning they were taking him to court, but there was an accident, and he…” he sighed. “He managed to escape.”
In that precise moment, you felt your entire world fall apart.
Every step forward, every progress you had made, vanished like sand in the wind.
You felt all eyes on you, wary, as if they were waiting for you to collapse at any moment. You also felt his gaze, especially his gaze.
But you remained impassive, as if Voight was talking about any other case.
“How did it happen?” you asked, managing to keep your tone apathetic and flat.
You’re fine.
You’ll be fine.
Voight, like the rest of the team, observed you for a few moments. “Listen…”
“How did it happen?” you asked again, your hands folded in your lap, palms sweaty, fingers trembling.
You counted mentally. You had to stay calm, you were a cop, you had a job to do.
“A head-on collision, a car went the wrong way and collided with the vehicle carrying Kane.”
“How do we know it wasn’t planned?” Kevin asked.
“We know for sure it was. The driver has already been identified: Vincent Kane, his younger brother. The impact was too violent and he died instantly.”
You exhaled a breath but by now your brain had stopped cooperating, listening, thinking.
The words echoed, sharp and invasive, crawling under your skin. Images rushed in without warning, metal restraints, dark spaces, the sound of your own breathing too loud in your ears, the knife stabbing your skin.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral, your posture steady.
I’m okay. I’m here. I’m safe, you told yourself that over and over, like a mantra.
Someone asked another question. Voight answered. The conversation moved on. The world kept spinning like nothing had just shattered inside your chest.
But you could feel it now, that familiar pressure building, tight and suffocating. Your palms were sweaty, your heartbeat loud enough you were convinced everyone could hear it. The walls felt closer, the air thicker.
You stood up abruptly.
“Excuse me,” you muttered, already moving, not caring about your teammate’s voices calling your name.
You just walked, fast, too fast, toward the hallway, your breaths coming shallow and uneven. By the time you reached the bathroom, your vision was starting to blur, your chest burning with the effort of trying to breathe normally.
You barely made it into the bathroom before your back hit the wall and you slid down, knees folding against your chest.
No. No, not here. Not now.
Your hands shook as you pressed them to your face, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear—
But your lungs refused to cooperate.
The panic hit fully then, brutal and overwhelming, a tidal wave you hadn’t seen coming. Your breaths turned into gasps, your body curling inward as if it could somehow make itself smaller.
“Are you okay?” Someone asked you.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Out. Now.” Jay’s voice reached your ears, your arms still wrapped around your legs, head resting on your knees. You didn’t even know who he was talking to.
Jay immediately sat down in front of you, after locking the bathroom. He didn’t dare touch you, knowing that would only make things worse. His insides twisted, in pain from what you were going through.
“Hey,” he whispered, unaware of whether you had heard him or not. You didn’t respond, just stayed there curled up, shaking like a leaf. “Hey, it’s okay, everything is going to be alright, I’m here with you.”
His chest tightened. God, how much he wanted to hold you and cradle you in his arms, protect you from all the things that were tormenting you, to wrap you in a little bubble so that nothing and no one could hurt you again.
But he couldn’t do it, not in that moment.
He knew panic attacks, trauma, well; he’d experienced them firsthand, and he knew more than anyone that pushing you would only make things worse.
He closed his hands into fists and remained in the same position, close enough for you to feel him but far enough away so you wouldn’t be scared.
“You’re not alone in this, you don’t have to face it alone,” he murmured, “he’s not here, he can’t hurt you. You’re here, you’re safe.”
Your breath hitched, uneven, and he leaned a fraction closer to you, careful not to crowd you. “Look at me,” he said gently, his hands hitching to caress you. “Just for a second, please.”
“Leave… Leave me alone, Jay,” you muttered.
“You know damn well I won’t do this, baby,” he answered, “Just look at me.”
You finally raised your head, and his heart sank as he saw your puffy, red eyes. But you weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost in space.
“Do you feel like giving me your hands?” He asked softly, holding out both his hands toward you. You stared at him for a moment before placing your trembling palms on his. Jay squeezed them, his thumbs caressing your skin.
“That’s it. Now look at me and breathe with me.”
You finally looked into his eyes, but you couldn’t speak. Another tear rolled down your cheek, and he squeezed your hands imperceptibly.
“I’m here with you, you’re not alone, okay?” He continued, “Do you trust me?”
You nodded.
“Then trust me when I say, I won’t let anything happen to you. As long as I breathe, that son of a bitch won’t touch a hair on your head.”
“Why does this keep happening to me?” You whispered, your voice broken, hoarse from crying.
Jay’s breath caught at your question, his heart breaking for you. He didn’t know how to respond, because there was no clean answer, no logical explanation for the tricks the brain sometimes played.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Instead, he tightened his grip on your hands just enough to remind you he was still there. “Because trauma doesn’t work on a schedule,” he said quietly. “And it doesn’t care how strong you are.”
Your fingers trembled in his and Jay leaned towards you just a little more. “But this doesn’t mean you’re going backwards,” he continued, his voice steady even though his chest felt tight. “It doesn’t erase the work you’ve done. It just means your body remembers something your mind is still learning how to process.”
You shook your head weakly. “I should be better by now.”
“No,” he said immediately. Not sharp, but firm. “You don’t get to ‘should’ yourself through this. Give yourself some time and, above all, some credit.”
Your eyes flickered up to him at that, unfocused but searching.
“You survived something that shouldn’t have happened to you, what you went through was traumatic, he kidnapped and tortured you and now you’re facing this monster again,” Jay went on, softer now. “And your brain is doing exactly what it was wired to do, trying to keep you alive. Even when it gets it wrong.”
Another tear slipped free. He resisted the urge to wipe it away, staying still, letting you decide how close was safe.
“You’re not weak,” he added. “You’re not broken. Hell, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met in my entire life, you survived that traumatic shit, you got back on your feet and not everyone is capable of doing that.”
Your breathing slowly began to match his, still shaky but no longer spiraling. Jay watched it like it was the most important thing in the world.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good. Just like that. In and out.”
You swallowed. “I hate feeling like this.”
“I know baby, I know,” he whispered softly.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your breaths and the low hum of the building around you.
Then, cautiously, Jay moved one knee closer. “If it’s alright,” he said quietly, “I can stay right here as long as you need. Or I can get you out of here. Your call.”
And he meant it. Every word.
You hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Just… Stay.”
Something in his chest loosened. “I’ve got you,” he said, low and steady. “Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here.”
And he stayed exactly where he was, anchoring, present, unmovable, not as a hero, but as someone who cared too deeply to leave.
You sat there on that cold floor for an indefinite amount of time, him helping you take deep breaths, but not a word was said.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered suddenly, so quietly he almost imagined he’d heard them.
He frowned. “For what?”
“For all of this,” you sighed, your gaze fixed on your fingers still intertwined with his. “For being a burden…”
“Hey, hey, no. Stop,” he interrupted you immediately, his heart contracting painfully. “Don’t do that.”
Your eyes met his, uncertain, guilt-ridden.
“Don’t even finish that sentence. Don’t ever, ever, apologize, not to me, not to anyone else, okay? I never want to hear you say that again.”
You remained silent, your eyes still full of tears. God, he hated seeing you like this, he hated not being able to do anything to make you feel better.
“You’re not a burden, never have been, and never will be, do you hear me?”
“But…”
“No, no buts,” he squeezed your hands even tighter, firmly yet gently. “I choose to be here with you. There hasn’t been a single time I’ve felt forced, believe me. I just…” he sighed, pausing for a moment and trying to modulate his words before saying something he might regret, “there’s nowhere else and no other person I’d rather be with right now.”
You smiled, so faintly it almost went unnoticed.
“Can I?” He whispered, and you nodded, not even knowing what he wanted to do. He let go of one of your hands and placed his palm on your face, while his thumb dried your tears, first one cheek, then the other.
Jay couldn’t stop looking at you; despite your red eyes and your tears, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
A warm feeling took over him as he noticed the way you leaned into his touch. “Can I hold you? Just for a little bit.” He then murmured, almost in a whisper.
“Please,” you responded immediately, without any hesitation.
He let out a small smile and moved next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
You leaned into him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater like it was the only real thing in the room.
Jay exhaled, long and quiet, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I've got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
He stayed like that, unmoving, breathing with you, letting the weight of you settle against him like it belonged there.
His free hand continued to absentmindedly caress your hair, your face as you sat there in the bathroom, the cold floor and the icy wall behind you.
There was a moment of silence, a silence filled, however, by Jay’s racing mind, by his breathing, trying to regulate it, as if he was afraid you’d escape if he breathed wrong.
He hugged you and held you in a way that made it seem like he needed it more than you, and maybe, in a way, he did.
He tried to focus on something else, on anything else unrelated, but he couldn’t, not when your scent was overwhelming his senses, not when the smell of your shampoo filled his nostrils, not when your arms were so tight around him, as if he was your lifeline.
He didn’t want to think too much because if he did, he’d lose the grip he’d fought so hard to maintain.
This, however, wasn’t new; he’d spent years doing it. Because he cared long before all this happened, long before the fear, the panic, the nights spent with you. And, to be precise, it wasn’t your fear or your panic, but his.
He was terrified to lose you, terrified anything might happen to you, terrified to even know you’re hurt. That’s why he was always there, not because he had to, but because he wanted it, he needed it.
He’d always had a strong sense of protection for you, right from the start, and it was obvious to everyone. Whatever happened, whether it was interrogating a suspect, going to shady places, he made sure you came first.
He’d wondered why, so many times, why he was like this with you, but he’d simply buried this question, telling himself it was just partnership, loyalty, friendship. He’d buried it under jokes, quips, his teasing until you went crazy.
It was easier that way. But ever since that night... Damn, Jay couldn’t find peace, he couldn’t forget the terror on your face when he opened his door, when he saw you soaked, hurt. The panic and fear he felt in that moment, God, were something that would scar him forever.
He wanted nothing more than to lock you in a glass bubble, so he’d always know you were safe, and it killed him knowing he couldn’t do that, knowing how much you were suffering and not being unable to protect you.
And now, with you in his arms, so vulnerable, Jay struggled. All of his careful compartments had collapsed into one unbearable truth: he’d been lying to himself.
He hugged you a little tighter, pulling you closer.
Jay swallowed hard.
If things had been different, if Kane had never happened, he would’ve kept pretending, kept the distance, kept the line clean and untouched, as he had always done in all the years since he’d known you.
And he hated that it took this, he hated that your pain had dragged the truth into the light.
Because loving you hadn’t started with Kane, no, he had just made it impossible to ignore.
He shifted slightly, as if this thought prevented him from staying still. He had to do something, he had to distract himself or he’d end up ruining everything, and you didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t right, not with what you were going through.
“If I could carry this for you,” he said, his voice low, controlled but thick with something he didn’t name, “I would. In a heartbeat.” He didn’t expect a response; to be honest, he wasn’t even asking for one.
“I know,” you whispered back, and your arms tightened. “I would do the same for you.”
Jay closed his eyes, his heart beating so hard it almost burst out of his chest. He wanted to scream, cry, break something because he was overwhelmed, overwhelmed by his feelings, by what you were doing to him.
Without even thinking about it, he lowered his head and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your forehead. It was gone almost as soon as it happened, that kind of touch that felt instinctive rather than intentional, but he had to do it, he needed it.
He froze for half a second after realizing his gesture. He held his breath, ready to pull back, to apologize, to pretend it hadn’t happened, but you didn’t pull away, instead, you wrapped your arms a little bit tighter around him.
So, he stayed.
And that scared him more than anything else.
“We should get back,” you said, after a while, breaking away from the embrace. Since when had your absence caused him such an emptiness? Since when not being able to hug you anymore disappointed him so much?
“How are you feeling now?”
“I can’t lie to you, I… I don’t feel good thinking about him being out there somewhere… But I’m better now.”
“We’ll get that son of a bitch, I promise.”
You smiled faintly. “I know.”
Jay stood up and offered you a hand to help you, which you immediately grabbed.
He unlocked the door, and you were about to leave when you grabbed his hand this time.
He looked at you with a confused look on his face, which quickly turned to utter shock when you leaned toward him and pressed your lips on his cheek.
More than astonishment, he almost had a heart attack, and he wasn’t even exaggerating.
“Thank you, Jay… For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, he stared at you blankly for a few moments before realizing he had to speak. “A-anytime,” he stuttered, fucking stuttered.
You nodded once and, after opening the door, went back toward the bullpen.
And Jay stayed where he was for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the door pretending like you didn’t just shift the entire axis of his world.
It wasn’t even a kiss, more like a light touch. Your lips barely brushed his cheek, too fast for even his brain to register, but it was enough to set his skin on fire, it was enough to destroy that entire wall that so hard he had put up to.
His chest tightened painfully, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar since he met you.
He could still feel the ghost of it, the warmth, the softness, right there, just under his cheekbone, like his skin had already memorized it.
Jay swallowed hard.
Don’t read into it, he told himself immediately.
Don’ turn this into something it’s not.
She’s fragile. She’s grateful. That’s all.
His heart was hammering now, loud and reckless, and there was a sharp, familiar ache behind his ribs, something he was terrified to name.
He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral, even if every instinct screamed to reach for you, to pull you back, to hold you so tightly to him, to kiss you until he stole your last breath.
Instead, he grounded himself the only way he knew.
Control.
But God, if he hadn’t already been in too deep, that little kiss would’ve pushed him there.
When you returned to the bullpen, the rest of the team was there discussing the case, Kane. As soon as they saw you—Jay just few steps behind you—they stopped talking and watched you for a moment.
“Everything alright?” Voight asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes, I’m sorry, everything’s fine.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jay approach the whiteboard, positioning himself next to it, his eyes only on you.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, kid,” Voight continued, sighing, and you immediately understood where he was going with this. He knew the whole Kane thing; besides Jay, he was the only person on the team who knew. “But you can understand that you can’t work on this case since you’re personally involved.”
You exchanged a fleeting glance with Jay, as if asking for help, but no help came. Rationally, you understood, you would’ve said the same thing if you were Voight, but on the other hand, you hated being sidelined.
“I can help, boss. It’s clear that whatever he’s up to is against me and…”
“Absolutely not,” Jay intervened, his tone so resolute and authoritative that even you froze, “we won’t use you as bait, forget it. We’ll come up with a plan to find him.”
“He’s right,” Adam continued, “it’s too dangerous, we can’t give him what he wants on a silver platter.”
“Go home,” Voight resumed, “you’ll have protection 24/7, and we’ll keep you updated on anything. Try to get some rest.”
You sighed, resigned, knowing you’d never win this battle. You nodded and, without another word, grabbed your bag.
“I’ll walk you out,” Jay had said, but you didn’t respond, simply walking toward the exit.
The walk to your car was silent, that heavy silence you weren’t used to anymore, especially with Jay.
“I know you don’t like the idea of being off the case,” he spoke first when you reached your car, “and you know how much I hate to say it, but Voight is right.”
“I know he’s right, but it pisses me off anyway.”
“I hate that you have to stay home alone, I wish you’d stay here so I could always know you’re safe…”
“…But I’m not focused enough to stay here, yes, I know, I get it,” you finished the sentence for him.
“Hey,” he pressed again, stepping fully into your space, careful but firm, forcing you to stop. “Look at me.”
You hesitated for a second, jaw tight, then finally lifted your eyes to his.
“I know you’re mad,” Jay said quietly. “And I know it feels like we’re taking something away from you. But this…” he gestured vaguely back toward the building, “It’s about keeping you safe, that’s our number one priority.”
You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “You say it like I’m made of glass.”
“No,” he replied immediately. “I say it like you’ve already been through enough.”
That stopped you, his words landing better than you expected. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, your stomach twisting in pain. “You think I don’t know that?” you asked, voice lower now. “But I feel useless… I’ll just be sitting home while you’re all out there hunting him down… I…”
Jay exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his next words. “You’re not useless,” he spoke. “But Kane is unpredictable, and if there’s even the smallest chance he’d come after you—”
“He already did,” you interrupted, sharp. “And I survived.”
Jay’s jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he said, low. “And I’m not letting him get another chance.”
The finality in his tone sent a chill through you.
You studied his face for a moment, the tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders were held too rigid, the way he never for a second stopped looking at you.
“Jay…” you started, then stopped, unsure of what you were even trying to say.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said.
You frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Humor me,” he replied, almost gently. “If anything feels off, anything, you call me. Doesn’t matter the time or what I’m doing. You call me and I’ll be there.”
“I will.”
“No, you won’t, not when I’m working on this case, so please promise me.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I promise.”
Something in him eased, just a fraction, but it wasn’t enough, it was like he wasn’t believing you.
You reached for your car door, then paused. Your hand hovered there for a second before dropping back to your side.
“Jay,” you said again, softer now. “Thank you again. For earlier. For… Everything.”
He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things and didn't trust himself with any of them. “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied.
“I know,” you said. And then, almost without thinking, you reached for his hand, for the second time that day, with an ease that scared you to death.
Just briefly. Just enough for your fingers to curl around his, warm and grounding.
His breath caught, barely audible.
“Please be careful,” you added quietly. You were about to let go of his hand when his fingers grabbed yours again, squeezing them tighter than you did.
“I will,” he answered, “you too, and if you don’t want to call just text me, please, I can’t focus if I don’t know you’re okay.”
These words managed to further open the chasm that you carried around for too long.
“I will, I promise,” and this time, you truly meant it.
You let go of his hand and you were about to open your car door, when he preceded you and do it for you. You smiled and slid inside before he closed it.
As you drove away, you didn’t look back.
You didn’t see the way Jay stayed there long after you were gone, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t shake, his hand still hot from your touch.
You didn’t know that sending you home hadn’t made him feel better at all; instead, it had only made him scared he was running out of time.
Your apartment was too quiet, too calm, and for some strange reason, you hated it.
Your mind was in complete turmoil, you couldn’t think clearly, you couldn’t concentrate on one thing before the thought ended up on something else.
You carelessly dropped your bag on the ground, taking a deep breath trying to regain your composure. You tried to focus on the background noises, the distant noise of passing cars, the soft hum of the refrigerator, your own breathing which was louder than anything else.
You told yourself you were fine.
You weren’t spiraling. You weren’t panicking. You were just… Tired.
After kicking off your shoes, you moved through the apartment on autopilot, locking the door, checking the windows. Once. Then twice even if the police officers outside your door already did it.
It annoyed you how natural it had become.
You sank onto the couch and pressed your palms into your eyes, breathing out slowly. Your therapist’s voice echoed faintly in your head—Name what you’re feeling. Don’t run from it.
Fear.
Anger.
Frustration.
And something else you didn’t want to unpack.
Jay’s face kept intruding in your thoughts. The way he looked at you in the parking lot, the way his hand felt, solid, steady, like something you could anchor yourself to, the way he hugged you in that cold bathroom when you were falling apart.
Your chest tightened again, breath catching just slightly.
Not again.
You focused, counted your breaths until the pressure eased, focused on the things surrounding you.
You went to your bedroom and pulled a box you kept under the bed that contained several files, all the documents that related to Kane’s case, that box you managed not to open it in weeks.
You stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding.
You returned to the living room, setting the box on the coffee table, fingers trembling only a little as you lifted the lid.
Reports. Photos. Timelines. Notes you’d written years ago when you first worked on his case, in a handwriting that didn’t quite look like yours anymore.
You flipped through them slowly and the phone buzzed on the table. You froze, and for half a second, terror took hold of you, irrational and sharp, before you forced yourself to look.
A message.
From Jay:
You home?
Your breath left you all at once, fear replaced by relief.
To Jay:
Yeah, I’m okay. Just working through some stuff.
Three dots appeared, disappeared and then appeared again.
From Jay:
Don’t push yourself.
To Jay:
I won’t. How are things going over there?
From Jay:
We’re working on it, I’ll let you know if we find anything.
You knew full well this would never happen, and you didn’t know how to feel about it, whether relieved or irritated.
To Jay:
Okay. Be careful.
You set the phone face down and decided to take a quick shower before going back to the files, the papers spread out like a chaotic map of Kane’s crimes.
Every detail, every report, every photo you’d stored a hundred times before, was there in front of you. You weren’t supposed to be working on this case, but you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t just let it go.
Your fingers traced over his old movements, his connections, the patterns of his violence. It should’ve been easier, after all these years, but your stomach twisted every time you read his name. The memories you’d tried so hard to lock away poked at the edges of your mind… The panic, the terror, the knife.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay focused.
Five things you can see… Four you can touch… Three you can hear…
The hours passed in tense quiet, the sun dipped lower outside, shadows creeping across the floor, and still, you worked, because if you didn’t, the panic would’ve left you no escape.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered where Jay was, what was he doing? Did he find something? Was he thinking about you?
He was indeed thinking about you; in fact, you were the only thought that crossed his mind.
That, and finding that son of a bitch, that’s why he was outside a motel, breathing fast and his hand on his gun.
It was now almost 1:00 a.m. Voight had forced everyone to take a break, but Jay refused, continuing to work alone on any clues. He had found a lead, a guy who had reported that a man—who Jay had then immediately identified as Marcus Kane’s brother—had paid cash for a fake passport.
Kane’s face was all over the news and when Jay answered a call from an anonymous caller who was sure they’d seen the fugitive heading to a motel, he couldn’t help but investigate.
The motel looked like it hadn’t seen maintenance since the late nineties. One flickering neon sign buzzed weakly above the entrance, half the letters burned out, the word 'MOTEL' reduced to a 'M—EL'. Paint peeled from the railings, cigarettes littered the ground, and the smell of damp concrete and old smoke hung heavy in the air.
Exactly the kind of place someone like Kane would choose to hide.
Jay stayed in his car for a moment longer, engine off, headlights dark. He scanned the second floor, eyes narrowing when he spotted a faint light bleeding through the curtains of one room at the far end. Room 217.
His jaw clenched.
He should’ve waited, should’ve called for backup, he knew he had to let Voight know he had a possible location. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there alone, that it could’ve been all a setup.
But he wasn’t thinking rationally, all he could see was you, curled up on yourself, shaking, crying, fighting for air. All he could hear was your broken voice asking why.
He didn’t have time, Marcus could escape while waiting for reinforcements and it was an option that Jay would’ve never given up on.
He stepped out of the car quietly, gun drawn, keeping close to the shadows as he crossed the lot. His heart hammered against his ribs, every muscle taut, every sense sharpened. Years of training guided his movements, but beneath it all there was only anger.
There was no one around anymore, just him—-to be honest he didn’t even know if there was a living soul in that place—so he moved as quiet as possible as he took the stairs, slowly, stopping just before the second floor.
He listened.
Muffled footsteps.
Jay’s grip tightened on the gun.
He moved down the walkway, back to the wall, breathing slow and controlled. As he passed each door, his thoughts kept betraying him, slipping back to you.
He already knew you’d kick his ass for ignoring your messages, but he couldn’t tell you where he was, not without putting you in danger. He knew that at the slightest opportunity, Marcus wouldn’t miss a chance to kill you.
And it was a thought Jay didn’t even subconsciously want to formulate.
He stopped in front of the door.
The cheap wood was scuffed, the lock old. No sound now from inside. Maybe Kane was asleep. Maybe he was waiting.
Jay raised his hand, hesitating for just a fraction of a second.
He tried the handle and, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He didn’t give it much thought, the adrenaline coursing through his veins just at the thought of catching that bastard.
But if he’d been concentrated enough, controlled enough, he would’ve known it was too easy to find Kane, that something was undoubtedly wrong.
Every instinct screamed at him, but he pushed the door open anyway, gun leading the way. The room was dim, lit only by the bathroom light left on. Clothes were scattered on the bed, a half-packed duffel bag on the floor.
“Chicago PD,” Jay called out, voice low but firm. “Marcus Kane. It’s over.”
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then out of the corner of his eye, Jay saw movement, fast, too fast.
He barely had time to react before something—or rather, someone—slammed into him from the side, knocking him hard against the dresser. His gun clattered to the floor, skidding under the bed.
Kane had been waiting.
And Jay realized, too late, that this was no longer an arrest, that he was going to fight for his life.
Kane immediately threw himself on him, without even giving Jay time to get up to his feet and react. A fist hit him full in the face, hot and harp, sending him crashing against the wall. For a moment, he was short of breath, but it wasn’t the time to think; he just had to act.
“Not exactly who I was expecting to be honest, but I guess it’ll do,” Kane sneered, his face twisting into something sinister.
Jay froze for half a second, and then it hit him. Why was it so easy to track him down, why was he was found so quickly. He was waiting for YOU.
“She’s always been a stubborn woman, I figured—”
But Jay didn’t let him finish his sentence; he threw himself on Kane, grabbing him by the collar of his filthy, crumpled shirt. He punched him square in the face, then another, before pressing his forearm against Kane’s throat, nearly cutting off his airway.
The latter wheezed, but that wasn’t enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face.
“Talk about her again and I’ll make you suffer like you never did,” Jay spat a millimeter from his face.
“I knew she’d come eventually. Couldn’t help herself. Always trying to be brave.”
Something inside Jay snatched.
He punched Kane once, twice, again, knuckles splitting, blood slicking his fingers, though he was totally oblivious to the pain. Kane collapsed to the floor with a grunt, coughing hard, but still laughing.
“You think sending her home kept her safe?” Kane taunted between gasps. He spat on the ground, a mix of blood and saliva, then wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. “I left traces…” he breathed heavily, “I wanted her to find me… I wanted to see the look on her face when she realized I wasn’t done with her yet.”
Jay tackled him.
They hit the floor hard, the motel bed creaking under the impact. He straddled Kane, fists raining down, every blow driven by a single, horrifying image of you walking in here, alone, what Kane was going to do to you.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed in his face, “you’ll fucking pay for everything you put her through!”
Kane twisted beneath him, suddenly desperate, hand flashing between them.
Jay didn’t see Kane grabbing the knife from his pants pocket, not until it was already sinking into his flash.
Pain exploded through him, blinding and white-hot.
He gasped, hands faltering just long enough for Kane to shove him off. Jay stumbled back, one hand instinctively pressing to his abdomen, coming away soaked in blood.
Kane dragged himself upright, swaying, smiling through bloodied teeth.
“Guess I still win,” he said. “Either way… She loses. Man, I can't wait to see her face when she finds you.”
Jay completely lost his mind, like he never did before.
He lunged again, ignoring the agony tearing through his body, thanks to the adrenaline that flowed in rivers through his veins, slamming Kane into the wall, then the floor.
The knife clattered away somewhere out of reach.
Jay didn’t stop, he couldn’t.
Every punch was fueled by terror, by guilt, by the unbearable thought that it could’ve been you.
He had lost count of the punches he’d landed, ignoring the pain each blow inflicted, the blood seeping from his wound, ignoring the sound of Kane’s skull being smashed against the dirt floor of that motel.
Jay ignored everything until Kane stopped struggling.
He froze, chest heaving, staring down at him, eyes open but now lifeless, his body still.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
I just killed Marcus Kane.
Jay staggered back, vision blurring, blood soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the carpet. He braced himself against the wall, breathing shallow and uneven, his forehead covered in sweat.
She was supposed to come here.
He slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind him, shaking now, not from the pain, but from the horror of how close you’d come.
He reached for his phone from his pocket when—with horror—he realized he’d left it in the car.
He was tired, exhausted, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he had to call for help, or he’d bleed to death there, on that filthy floor, alone.
God, he wanted you, he wanted you there, so bad he couldn’t breathe.
The strength continued to slowly leave his body, but despite this, he didn’t give up. He tried to stand up, leaning against the wall.
He kept pressing on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but his grip was too weak, almost useless. He managed to take a few steps before collapsing again.
This time, however, he couldn’t get up
But suddenly—after an infinite amount of time—he heard footsteps coming from outside the room, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.
He wasn’t used to praying, but in that moment, he did, he prayed to see you. He winced again in pain as he tried to get up again, but to no avail.
“Jay?”.
A voice reached his ears from afar, but he smiled despite this because he would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, even among a million people. He wanted to scream so badly, to tell you he was there, but he couldn’t, only faint whispers escaped his lips.
Staying awake was becoming increasingly hard, every breath felt like another stab, but he fought to keep his eyes open, because if he was to die that night, you were the last person he wanted to see.
You didn’t receive any answer but, on the other hand, you weren’t even sure you’d be able to hear it yourself since the loud pounding of your heart was deafening you.
You continued walking down the silent corridor with your gun pointed forward, terrified of what lay ahead.
But something immediately caught your attention. The hallway was dark, except for one room, whose light illuminated a small section.
You quickly approached it, and when you entered the room, your worst nightmare, your greatest fear, just became real.
Jay was lying on the floor, covered in blood, barely conscious.
You immediately put the gun back in its holster before grabbing your cell phone and dropping to your knees beside him.
“Hey, hey, hey, Jay, stay with me please. I’m calling for help,” you spoke before quickly calling for backup and an ambulance.
Your cell phone landed on the floor, your hands on his face as you slightly shook him. “Please stay awake for me, okay? Don’t fall asleep, the ambulance is on the way, please, Jay…”
He muttered something you couldn’t understand, and your heart broke when you saw that small smile on his lips, as if he’d just realized you were really there.
“It’s going to hurt a little, but I have to do it, okay? I have to stop the bleeding,” you quickly took off your jacket and pressed it firmly against his wound, your insides twisting as you saw his beautiful face contorted in pain.
Your vision was blurred by the tears you hadn’t realized were pouring like a raging river. “I know, I know…” you sniffed. “I’m so sorry, God, I’m so sorry…”
“H-hey…” he murmured.
You smiled at him, through your tears. “Hey baby, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay… I’m not leaving you…” With one hand, you stroked his face and hair, while the other continued to hold the now bloody jacket firmly over his wound.
“You… You’re h-here…” he continued to breathe heavily, as if every word he said was torture.
“Shh, it’s okay… it’s okay… Yeah, I’m here… Please stay with me, okay? Don’t leave me, Jay, I’m beginning you…” you literally sobbed, feeling your heart being ripped out with every second that passed.
“Help!” you screamed, the sound ripping out of your chest, raw and unfiltered. “HELP—PLEASE, SOMEBODY!”
Nothing.
The silence was underpinned only by your sobs and Jay’s heavy breathing.
Your voice echoed down the empty motel walkway, bouncing off cracked concrete and empty rooms. No doors opened. No one came.
“Help us!” you cried again, hysterical, your throat already burning. “Please—he’s bleeding… Someone help me!”
“No… No, no, no…” you blurted out, shaking your head as if refusing to accept it could somehow change the outcome. You pressed both hands harder against his wound, desperate, ignoring the way his blood soaked your palms, your skin. “Stay with me, Jay. Stay with me, please—please…”
Your hands slipped. You couldn’t stop the bleeding. You couldn’t fix this. Panic clawed up your throat, sharp and uncontrollable.
“I can’t do this without you,” you choked. “You don’t get to leave me here alone, you hear me? You promised me.”
His face was so pale, sweat slicking his skin, but his eyes, God, his beautiful eyes, were still on you, or at least, he tried.
“I… I didn’t… I… Want you t-to see this,” he whispered, a faint, crooked ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“I don’t care,” you cried, shaking your head as tears spilled freely, falling onto his chest. “I don’t care about that. I just need you alive. I need you to stay with me, please Jay, don’t do this to me.”
He closed his eyes and the fear and panic no longer made you think.
“No, no, no, please… Hey, open your eyes, you hear me? Eyes on me baby, please stay awake.”
Your chest hurt, your lungs burned like a forest on fire. You couldn’t get enough air, like the panic was trying to drag you under again, only this time it was worse because it wasn’t just your fear anymore.
It was about him.
He shifted weakly beneath you, a pained sound slipping past his lips, his eyelids struggling to stay open. He was struggling, so damn much and you couldn’t do anything to help him.
“I can’t lose you,” you cried, the words spilling out without permission, without thought. “I can’t… I won’t survive.”
You leaned closer, forehead pressed to his, tears dripping down your cheeks, onto his skin, onto the blood you were desperately trying to stop.
“I love you,” you sobbed, the words ripped straight from your chest, so messy and broken. “I love you so much Jay… Please, I need you to stay. Please. Please stay with me.”
The moment the words left your mouth, it felt like the world stopped.
You hadn’t planned to say it, not like that, but it was true, and it had been true long before this moment.
His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched weakly against your sleeve, as if anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him here, his eyes searching your face.
“I wanted to… To… Protect you…” he coughed. “He… He won’t hurt you again…” he whispered again, voice rough, strained. It was only then that you noticed that body in the room, that now lifeless body, belonging to the person who had ruined you the most.
But you didn’t care. You felt nothing about it. You just wanted to save Jay.
“I l—…” he continued but the words died in his throat, his eyes fluttered.
“Jay? Jay!” Panic ripped through you again. “Jay… Oh my god… No, no, no, please… Open your eyes, stay with me.”
But his grip loosened, his head rolled slightly to the side.
“Jay!” you screamed, terror tearing straight through your chest. You pressed harder against the wound, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please… Please wake up… Talk to me…Please I need you.”
You screamed for help again, voice hoarse, desperate, echoing uselessly through the empty motel hallway.
Sirens cut through the night like a lifeline and you were never so relieved to hear that sound.
You barely registered the sound at first, too busy counting his breaths, begging him under your breath not to leave you, but then the flashing red and blue lights painted the motel walls, and you subbed in relief so hard it hurt.
“They’re here,” you whispered frantically, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Jay, baby, they’re here. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallways and suddenly the room was full, paramedics, lights, movement, orders being barked back and forth.
They stabilized him, then lifted him onto the stretcher, and you followed their every move, refusing to leave him alone for even a moment.
“Jay, please, stay with me,” you whispered, your eyes always on him, almost the entire way to the hospital. You wanted to grab his hand so badly, hoping he could hear you, know you were by his side and you’d never leave him. “Don’t leave me…”
“He’ll be okay, right? Will he make it?” You asked louder, not taking your eyes off his unconscious body, terrified of the answer.
“He’ll need a transfusion and surgery right away,” the paramedic replied, without actually giving you an answer, and for some other reason, this hurt even more. “Do you happen to know his blood type, ma’am?”
“A positive,” you replied, without even thinking.
This thought made you freeze for a moment. Damn, you even knew his blood type, how could you deny that you didn’t love him all this time?
His chest rose shallowly beneath the oxygen mask, each breath uneven. The monitor beside him beeped steadily, maybe too fast, his blood pressure too low.
“I love you,” you whispered again. “Don’t leave me please.”
That ambulance ride was the longest of your life, and even though it was traveling above the legal limit, it still felt like it was going too slow for you.
When the ambulance slowed suddenly, then finally stopped, you breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re here.”
The doors flew open and cold night air rushed in. Hands moved everywhere at once, lifting him, pulling, and suddenly he was rolling away from you.
“No, no” you said immediately, panic exploding again in your chest. You stumbled after them as they rushed him through the ER doors. “I’m here, I’m with him… I need to be with him…”
“Miss, you need to stay back,” someone said, firm but not unkind. “Let us do our job.”
You reached for him anyway, fingers brushing his hand just before they pulled the stretcher farther ahead.
They pushed through the doors to the trauma bay and they slammed shut in your face.
And you lost it.
You sobbed, chest heaving as the weight of it all crashed down on you at once.
You looked at your hands, the blood on your hands, on your clothes—damn, it felt unreal, like none of this could possibly be happening. How could this be reality? How had you gone, in the space of a single day, from hugging each other to praying with every fiber of your being that he would survive?
You slid down the wall slowly, knees hitting the floor as another sob tore out of you.
You really couldn’t believe this was really happening. You couldn’t conceive the thought that you might actually never see him again, you couldn’t accept that the one time in your life you’d had the courage to tell him you loved him was because he was hurt.
What if it was the last time you spoke to him?
What if it was the last time you held his hand?
What if it was the last time you hugged him?
You shook your head as if trying to push that thought away. Jay wouldn’t give up, he was strong, he could handle this too.
The noise around you only made you more unsettled, too many footsteps, too many people talking, too many bells and monitors ringing, too much light—God, you couldn’t take it anymore.
The mere thought of him being there, only a few steps away from you, that only a door separated you, but you couldn’t be there for him devastated you.
“Miss.”
A voice in the distance called you.
“Miss.”
They insisted.
It was only when you felt a hand on your shoulder that you jumped, finding a nurse staring at you with a worried look.
“How is he? Is he okay? Is he awake?” You asked immediately, snapping to attention.
“They’re about to take him to surgery,” she replied, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
It was clear she was referring to the blood on you. The blood of the person you loved.
You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek.
“Do you want to call someone?” She continued, looking at you with eyes full of pity and sadness, before handing you a handkerchief, which you immediately accepted.
“Um… No… I…” you sniffed, reaching for your cell phone. Only when you felt your pockets being empty you remembered throwing it on the floor in that damned motel. “Actually, yes, I… I forgot my phone. Thank you.”
She smiled kindly. “I’ll be right back, but first, let’s get on the chair here, okay?”
You nodded and stood up, then immediately sat down on one of the various chairs in the emergency room hallway.
“Can I get you something else?”
You shook your head.
“Okay, I’ll be right back with a phone.”
You called Voight, trying to explain the situation as best you could, trying to be as clear-headed as possible, even though you probably sounded like a robot. He said he’d be right there with the others, and you responded only with a feeble “okay” after telling him which hospital you were in.
You thanked the nurse before handing her back the phone, accepting the bottle of water she had, despite everything, brought you.
A lump rose in your throat, suffocating.
You couldn’t even cry anymore.
You wanted to scream, break something, run into the OR just to catch a glimpse of him. Instead, you remained there, helpless, broken, your heart beating too hard and too slow at the same time.
Time lost meaning.
You didn’t know how long you sat there staring into space, maybe minutes, maybe hours, before you felt a presence beside you.
You looked up with difficulty.
Voight.
He didn’t say anything at first, he just stood there, eyes scanning your face, the blood on your clothes, the way your hands trembled faintly in your lap. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
For a moment, you wondered if he was waiting for you to speak. You tried, but you couldn’t. You just stared at him as if you said the words out loud, they’d become real.
“He’s in surgery,” you finally whispered, voice hoarse, barely more than air. “They took him in a few minutes ago.”
Voight nodded once, slow before sitting down next to you. “I know.”
Your chest caved in.
“I was supposed to stay home,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I know you told me to stay home and I tried, I swear I tried but I just…” Your breath hitched. "I had this feeling. Like something was wrong..."
You broke off, shaking your head. “If I’d gotten there sooner,” you murmured. “If I—”
Voight interrupted you. “Listen to me kid,” he said quietly, but firmly enough that you had no choice but to look at him. “None of this is your fault.”
Your eyes burned. “He went alone.”
“He went alone because he wanted to protect you,” Voight replied. “Because that’s who he is, the only thing he cares about is you.”
That didn’t make it hurt any less.
You pressed your lips together, fighting the sob that threatened to tear you open again. “He was bleeding so much,” you whispered. “He tried to stand t-to talk. I thought…” Your voice cracked. “I thought I was going to lose him right there.”
Voight’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “But you didn’t and you won’t.” He rested his forearms on his knees, mirroring your posture. “The doctors are good. This hospital’s one of the best. If anyone can pull him back from the edge, it’s them.”
You nodded weakly, though hope felt like something dangerous now.
“The rest of the team are on their way,” he added. “You’re not doing this alone, he won’t be alone.”
You swallowed hard. “I told him I love him,” you said suddenly, the confession tumbling out. “I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if…”
Your throat closed but Voight didn’t look surprised, instead, he nodded again, slower this time. “He heard you,” he said simply. “Even if he couldn’t answer. He knows.”
That almost broke you completely.
You buried your face in your hands as silent tears slipped through your fingers.
Minutes and minutes passed and the rest of the team arrived, though you weren’t in the right mind to talk to any of them.
Hours and hours passed.
Hours in which you had done nothing but torment yourself and pray from him. You cleaned your face and your hands, though your clothes still bore the weight of that horrible night.
Then footsteps approached.
A doctor emerged from the double doors, mask pulled down around her neck, eyes searching the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, heart slamming against your ribs.
The doctor’s gaze landed on all of you as you approached. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” you answered, and even if it wasn’t true, the doctor immediately knew from your gaze you’d never let go.
The doctor nodded once. “He’s still in surgery,” she said. “It was a severe abdominal wound. He lost a lot of blood and we had to transfuse two bags of blood.”
Your stomach dropped and you stopped breathing for a second.
“But,” she continued, carefully, “he made it through the first critical phase. The next few hours will be fundamental.”
You exhaled shakily, legs threatening to give out beneath you.
“He’s alive,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
“For now,” the doctor said gently. “But he’s fighting.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He was truly fighting.
For the next two hours, you kept pacing back and forth in that waiting room. The rest of the team was there, but no one spoke. The anxiety was too much, the worry overwhelming.
When the surgeon finally announced that the surgery was over and he’d be taken to intensive care, you literally felt the ground disappear beneath your feet.
You hated hospitals, you hated the smell that hung in the air, you hated the sound of that monitor, you hated knowing that there were people fighting for their lives, you hated knowing that your Jay was there.
You found yourself outside his room, your body shaking, your heart pounding.
You couldn’t find the courage to go in, to see him like that. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You took a deep breath before taking a step, then another. When your eyes landed on Jay, it was like the air had been knocked from your lungs. God, a punch would’ve hurt less.
He was lying on that bed, his eyes closed as if he was simply sleeping, his oxygen on, the monitor echoing with his steady heartbeat. His chest was rising and falling, slowly, too delicately.
You approached his bed, your breath involuntarily held, walking so slowly as if you were afraid of waking him. Your fingers hovered for a few seconds over his hand, barely touching it, before you took it, and, God, what a relief it was to feel his warm skin against yours.
His angelic face was relaxed, but it was surrounded by the purple bruise that marked his fight with Kane.
He’s dead, he can’t hurt anyone anymore.
With your free hand, you slowly caressed his cheek, delicately, scared at the thought of hurting him. Your fingers brushed his hair, hoping somehow, he could feel it.
You leaned in slightly and gently pressed your lips on his forehead, leaving a small, sweet kiss, just like he had done in that bathroom not so many hours before.
“I’m here, I’m not leaving you,” you whispered, “You’ll be fine, everything will be fine.”
You sat next to him, on a chair in the room, and grabbed his hand, kissing it, holding it close to your face.
You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know how to behave and not being able to do anything to help him was destroying you, making you feel more useless than ever before.
You had heard somewhere that talking could help patients, they could hear you even if they were unconscious, and that’s what you did.
“I’m so sorry, Jay,” you began. “It’s all my fault, this…” you sighed, trying to hold back the tears but failing miserably, “This shouldn’t have happened, not to you… I—”
You paused for a second, trying to reconnect your thoughts.
“I really don’t know where to start, I want to tell you so many things…” you kissed his hand again, “First I want to say thank you, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you, truly, for everything you’ve done for me, for being there for me in the worst moments, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Your voice broke at the last words, your hand slightly squeezing his, trying to hold on to him because, if you hadn’t, you would’ve collapsed.
“It’s always been you,” you continued, “always, even when I pretended it wasn’t, even when I tried to convince myself it was just friendship and partnership… All these years, God… I’ve been so stupid, such a coward…” you took a deep breath “I’m so sorry, Jay, you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to hear me say I love you in THAT moment, not in that way, but I just…” a tear rolled down your face, “I love you so much…”
“I tried to convince myself it was just the trauma, but it was a lie because every time I look at you, I know what I feel goes way beyond that, it’s something so deep I can’t even explain it,” you shook your head slightly, “up until now, I’ve lied to myself and preferred living the lie rather than facing the fear of ruining everything, but now… Now I don’t want to hide anymore, I love you so much it terrifies me, I don’t know what to do.”
Your thumb caressed his bruised knuckles, and it was another stab in the stomach.
“I should’ve told you before, I know,” you continued, “I should’ve told you when we were bickering over coffee, when you teased me about my tea collection, when you pulled all those pranks on me, when you smile at me, when you laugh until you lose your breath…” you stopped speaking when another uncontrollable sob escaped your lips.
“But I need you to wake up, baby, please, I need you so much. You always said I was strong, that I had armor, but the truth is, I was because of you, because you were always there beside me no matter what happened, you always helped me get up without saying anything and you always did it without making me feel like a burden and now…” you sniffed, your vision now blurry from the tears, “Now look at you… You’re here because of me…”
You slightly leaned forward, your cheek hovering close to his hand while still keeping your gaze on him.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself, how I’ll ever live with the fact that you got hurt because of me. You always protected me, and when I should’ve protected you, I failed, and I’m so sorry, baby, I hope you’ll forgive me…”
There was another moment of silence.
“Please come back to me… I can’t live without you, Jay, I don’t know how to be in this world without you… Without you making my life impossible, without you forcing me to watch those stupid action movies only you like, without you making me feel so safe with just a hug. I can’t imagine going to work and not finding you sitting at your desk, with a pre-made donut you saved just for me even though you always say it’s not, without you making fun of my handwriting…” You chuckled bitterly as your mind replayed all those moments, moments you would’ve sold your soul to relive. “So, wake up, Halstead, you understand me? You need to wake up.”
You remained silent for an indefinite time, sitting there next to him for all the hours that followed, even after the sun had risen, even when the others tried to convince you to go and rest, but you refused to move.
The hours passed, sometimes you continued talking to him, other times you simply looked at him, in silence, your hand always in his while your thumb drew imaginary circles on his skin.
At some point, your voice gave out completely.
Your head dropped forward, resting against the edge of the bed, forehead brushing his knuckles. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, you didn’t mean to, you just remembered that exhaustion took over at a certain point, quietly, while your fingers were still intertwined with his.
Pain.
This was what Jay felt when his eyelids opened slightly. He blinked once, twice, three times, trying to adjust to the blinding light in that room.
The events of the previous evening flooded his mind like a raging river, so it didn’t take him long to realize he was in a hospital bed.
He tried to move but couldn’t, not even when he tried to convince his body to do it.
He felt heavy, all his muscles ached, his throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper was rubbing against him.
He tried to lift his hand but couldn’t, and it was only when he looked down at the figure next to him that he understood why he couldn’t.
His heart sank when he saw you curled up in the chair, head resting on his hand, fingers intertwined, eyes closed.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes again and opened them again, before looking back at you, and to his great relief, you were still there.
He wasn’t hallucinating, he wasn’t dreaming, you were really there, next to him.
His fingers twitched weakly against yours, and this simple movement was enough to wake you. Your head snapped up, and he wanted to take a picture of your face again when your eyes met his.
“Oh my god… Oh god! Jay you… Oh god you’re awake!”
“Hey,” he smiled weakly when you jumped to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. You carefully grabbed his face, looking at him as if wanting to make sure it was really real.
“You’re awake… Oh fuck… How do you feel? God, you’re really awake.”
He chuckled, every muscle in his body aching. He raised a hand and placed it on yours, caressing it. “I’m fine, a little tired, but I’m fine now.”
And it was true. Even though everything hurt, even though he could barely keep his eyes open, even though even breathing felt like a stab, he truly was fine. Because you were there.
“I thought I lost you… I thought—” you whispered, but you stopped when he grabbed your hand, removing it from his cheek and bringing it to his lips before pressing a kiss.
“It takes more than that to finish me off, baby, you’ll never get rid of me.”
You chuckled through your tears. “Don’t ever do this shit to me ever again, you understand me?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I’m not planning to get stabbed again, that’s enough,” he replied, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Can you hug me now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please. You won’t hurt me,” he whispered, “I need it, I need to hold you.”
You hesitated for a moment, and it was the cutest and, at the same time, the most painful thing he’d ever seen. He understood your hesitation, but he didn’t want to see it, he never wanted to see you hesitate to hug him.
You finally nodded. He felt the mattress shift when you sat on the edge of the bed, and your hands trembled when you hugged him.
He wrapped his arms around you, his hands clutching your shirt in a fist as if you were his lifeline, completely ignoring the pain in his side. God, holding you and smelling your scent was enough for him to make everything else fade into second place.
He exhaled, all the weight shifting off his shoulders, finally feeling at home.
He was so grateful to be able to hold you again, touch you, hear your voice, look at you.
“Fuck, I missed the way you stink,” he muttered, and his heart exploded when you laughed. Man, he loved the sound of your laughter so much he just wanted to record it so he could listen to it over and over again.
“Yeah, well, look who’s talking,” you replied, pulling away from the embrace, a small smile on your lips.
“Well, I’m justified, I’m hurt, I have the right to stink.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad to even hear your insults.”
He chuckled. “I’m just getting started.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The room seemed to fade into the background, the steady beeping of the monitor, the distant footsteps in the hallway, the hum of the machines, none of it mattered.
All Jay could see was you. The way your smile lingered, small and fragile, the way your eyes searched his face, as if you were still afraid he might disappear if you blinked.
He studied you like he had all the time in the world now.
The faint shadows under your eyes told him you hadn’t slept. Your hands were still trembling slightly, even though you were trying to hide it.
Jay lifted his hand, slow and careful, and brushed his thumb just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed falling.
“Did you mean it?” He then found the courage to ask, his voice so low he couldn’t even hear himself.
Your smile grew a little bigger, letting him know you understood what he was referring to. “What? That I love you?”
His stomach twisted and his heart skipped a beat. He nodded feebly, the courage he’d previously found now completely gone. A second passed, the blink of an eye, but to him it seemed like an eternity.
He was terrified of your answer.
What if you’d backtracked? What if you’d only said it out of concern? In the heat of the moment?
“Yes, I meant it,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his again. “I didn’t mean to tell you then, like that, and I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but yes, detective, I really, really love you.”
A treacherous tear fell down his cheek, and in that moment, he realized he’d let himself be stabbed a thousand more times if it meant hearing you say that.
You loved him.
All this time pining away, trying not to ruin your relationship, trying to stay as close to you as possible without letting you know how he truly felt... And you loved him.
God, he felt so stupid.
It was your turn to wipe away his tears this time, your thumb caressing his cheek, looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
“I was terrified…” he finally found his voice. “I was afraid of dying and not being able to tell you how much I love you, so much it fucking hurts…”
He let out a breath, now like a raging river. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I feel so stupid now… All this time I tried to convince myself it was all in my head because I was terrified of losing you,” he reached up, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, memorizing every line, every tiny freckle, every little scar he’d always noticed but never told you how much they meant to him.
“I’ve been bottling it all in… Every look you gave me, every word, every stupid fight I started just to make you laugh or get a reaction. I’ve loved every second of it, even the pain, because it’s you… God, it’s always been you, and it’ll forever be you,” his voice got lower, more desperate, “and now you’re looking at me like this… Fuck… I can’t—”
Jay’s breath caught when you pressed your lips to his. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
It took him a few seconds to process what was happening.
You were kissing him.
You.
Were.
Kissing.
Him.
One second, he was drowning in his own thoughts, terrified of expressing his feelings and the next you were kissing him, your lips so warm and soft against his.
His brain short-circuited.
Your hands were cupping his face, your mouth was on his and you were really kissing him.
Holy shit.
His chest tightened so hard it hurt worse than any stab wound would ever.
A shaky breath left him and his hand came up on instinct, fingers curling gently in your hair, letting himself go completely. He kissed you back slowly, like this was something sacred, something he’d dreamed of for so long he’d convinced himself it’d never be real.
It was desperate, but it wasn't rushed, it was everything he’d ever wanted and never thought he’d be allowed to have.
All the time he was close to you, all the times he imagined what it’d be like to kiss you, what it’d feel like, nothing could compare to the explosion he felt.
He could feel you trembling against him, the way you lingered, like you were memorizing him the same way he was memorizing you, the taste and the feel of you, the fact that this was actually happening.
When you pulled back, just barely, you rested your forehead against his, eyes closed, breath uneven.
His heart was racing and the monitor expressed it.
There was a moment of silence that you broke, as only you knew how to.
“Wow, your breath really smells like shit.”
Jay burst into laughter but winced when a pang shot through his abdomen. “Fuck it hurts, stop making me laugh,” he said. “And yes baby, keep talking dirty to me.”
You laughed and Jay barely had time to recover from the fact that kiss when the door creaked open.
“Alright,” a familiar gravelly voice said, “I think that’s enough romance for one hospital room.”
Jay sighed, eyes still half-closed, forehead resting against yours. Of course.
You pulled back just in time to turn and see Voight standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. Behind him, the rest of Intelligence hovered like old gossips.
Ruzek was the first to step in after Voight. “Damn, man,” he said, eyes flickering between the two of you. “You look like shit.”
Jay smiled. “Good to see you too, Adam.”
Burgess followed, softer, relief written all over her face. “We’re really glad you’re okay, Jay.”
“Yeah,” Atwater added, nodding. “You scared the hell out of us.”
And then there was Antonio, trying, and failing, to hide a grin as his gaze kept going back and fort between you and Jay. His eyes lingered on the way your hand was still tangled in Jay’s, like neither of you had even noticed it.
Jay noticed but he didn’t let go.
“Did we interrupt something lovebirds?” Antonio smirked.
“No.” “Actually yes.” You and Jay answered at the same time.
Voight cleared his throat. “Doctor says you’re going to be fine. Couple weeks of rest, no heroics.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s optional.”
Voight’s mouth twitched, just barely.
There was a beat of silence.
“Now kids,” Voight said, talking to the others, and raised his hands, palms facing up. “You know what to do.”
You and Jay exchanged a confused look as the rest of the team snorted, starting to pull out some money and placing it in Voight’s hands.
Jay stared. “What the hell is happening?”
Voight took the money calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Ruzek rubbed the back of his neck. “So. Uh. We had a bet.”
Jay groaned. “Of course you did.”
“A bet?” you repeated slowly. “About what?”
Kim winced apologetically. “About whether you two were ever going to end up together.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
Antonio shook his head. “Nope,” then added, “I said six months. Ruzek said never. Kim said you’d figure it out on your own.”
Jay narrowed his eyes. “And Voight?”
He met Jay’s gaze evenly and then looked at you. “I said it’d only happen if one of you almost died.”
Silence.
You stared at him. Jay stared at him. The heart monitor filled the space with its steady beeping.
“Oh…” Jay said weakly, “that’s fucked up.”
Voight shrugged. “I know my detectives.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re all unbelievable.”
“Get some rest, Halstead.” Voight said and then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And try not to get stabbed again. I’m not betting on round two.”
Voight walked out of the room and the rest of the team took turns hugging Jay.
You sat next to him, fingers intertwined as your teammates gave both you and Jay shit.
And for the first time in a very long time, he felt like that—despite what happened—everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
• Warnings: mention of trauma, panic attack, blood, use of gun and knife, death, curse words, violence.
• Word count: 16K (yeah I’m sorry about that lmao).
• A/N: that’s part 2 of Scars and Shields. First of all I want to apologize if I didn’t to a great job, I tried my best to write about the trauma, the feelings associated to it etc please bear with me lol, I’m more than happy to learn from my mistakes so please comment if I wrote something wrong. Let me know what you think about this, please comment, like and repost if you want, it’d mean the world. Love you all.❤️
<- Part one
Two months later your injuries had healed.
The bruise faded and when you looked in the mirror, it almost seemed like they’d never been there.
But they were there, you could still feel them. Maybe physically they were gone, but emotionally… God, it was a whole another story.
The fear was still there, strong, intense.
Marcus Kane had devastated you more than you’d ever cared to admit, and you hated it.
You hated that even after two months—even knowing he was behind bars—you still counted the exits in every building you entered, still looked over your shoulder, still jumped at the slightest noise, still startled when someone suddenly touched you.
Some days were better than others, some slower, some faster when you somehow managed to distract yourself, especially with work. Some days you found yourself checking the locks only once instead of three times, while others you flinched even when the wind blew the leaves a little more than usual.
And you couldn’t stand it.
You thought about it a lot: if you’d gone to therapy after your first attack, would you’ve have been stronger now? If you’d talked about it with someone, would you have been forced to face it all alone?
What if you hadn’t locked everything away in a box and thrown it into the depths of your mind, without the presumption that everything would be okay?
You didn’t have an answer for this and now, unfortunately, you were forced to pay the consequences.
Of one thing, however, you were sure: without Jay Halstead, you would’ve ended up in an endless abyss, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back up on your own.
It was hard to admit it to yourself, especially at first, but ever since that night—when you run to his house in tears—he had never left your side. Ever.
His presence hadn’t been overwhelming; on the contrary, it was like that first breath of fresh air you inhaled after spending so much time underwater.
He had never insisted, never told you what to do, how to behave, he was simply there. He was there in the little things, in the moments of difficulty that seemed small but were insurmountable for you.
And this was because he knew you, he knew who you were.
It was true, you had never confided in each other, you weren’t the kind of people to talk to each other about their feelings, but in all that time you had been partners, you had learned to know each other, really know each other, even if in your own way, even without too many words.
It was late at night, and all the team got back home earlier after successfully closing a case. The doorbell rang suddenly, and your heart skipped a beat, not because you were surprised, but because you knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.
When you opened it, you weren’t surprised to find Jay standing there, looking as if he’d stepped out of a modeling magazine.
“Well, you really were waiting for me, huh?” Jay teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, a smug smile on his lips.
You rolled your eyes, amused but trying to hold back a laugh. “I was already up,” you replied, making room for him to come in.
It had become your unspoken ritual. Since you were attacked, there hadn’t been a single evening, not even one, that Jay had left you alone. No matter what happened, after every incident, even if you both had your own commitments, even if you insisted it wasn’t necessary, he made sure you weren’t alone,
The first few times you resisted, feeling guilty and weak, but as the days passed, as you began to process everything—the attack, your undercover past with Kane—you realized how vital Jay’s presence was, how grateful you were for it, and how much he had helped you.
When you felt like it, you talked about it, encouraged by him but without too much insistence. When you had a panic attack, he was there, hugging you and whispering that everything was okay. When you cried because you felt broken, he dried your tears, telling you how you were the strongest person he had ever known.
And then everything went back to the way it was before, teasing you, playfully insulting you, pranking you, leaving you no time to dwell on the rest like you usually would.
“Look what I brought you and tell me if I’m not the best partner in the world,” he began, once you were both in the kitchen. He pulled out a box of special tea from a white bag… Your favorite one.
“Oh my God, Jay!” you exclaimed with joy. “How the hell did you find that?! I’ve been looking for it since forever. Thank you so much!” You almost jumped like a child, your heart fluttering erratically. Well, yes, you were an herbal tea lover, you couldn’t help it.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Grandma.”
You playfully hit him on the arm. “Stop calling me that.”
“Never,” he retorted, laughing. It was a nickname he’d given you since he discovered your endless supply of herbal teas. “Anyway, I found it by chance in a shop nearby, it’s nothing special.”
You picked up the box and looked at it for a moment as you smiled, because you didn’t believe for a second that he’d just found it by chance, and the thought that Jay had been scouring through shops looking for that particular brand of tea for you, made your stomach twist, in a way that happened all too often when you were with him.
“Thank you, seriously, you didn’t have to do it, I really appreciate it,” you looked at him for a moment and noticed how his cheeks had suddenly flushed, like his ears.
God he was so adorable, you wanted to squeeze the shit out of him.
Without thinking too much, you hugged him; you weren’t good with words, and you hoped in that hug, he’d truly understand your gratitude, not just for the tea, but for everything.
He stiffened for a second before returning the hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, his body relaxing.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.
You took a second, just one, to inhale his scent, that perfume that was becoming a sense of security, your lifeline.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, maybe a second, maybe a minute, maybe longer than was appropriate, longer than ideal for just two partners.
But you didn’t move.
Your body reacted before your mind did, the way you melted into his arms, how the tension on your shoulders slowly dissipated. It unsettled you, how normal and natural it was becoming, how easy it was becoming to let go with him.
In that moment, however, you decided not to think about it because it felt good being in his arms.
You focused only on his regular breathing, the warmth of his chest under your cheek, his heartbeat, the rapidity of which you couldn’t help but notice.
For a fleeting moment, a thought brushed the edges of your mind.
Please don’t let this stop.
You pushed it away immediately, guilt curling in your stomach. You shouldn’t have needed this, need him like this.
And yet, when his arms tightened around your body, you held on for a second longer.
When you finally pulled back, there was a moment of silence in which neither of you said anything.
You simply slightly raised your head, enough to look at him, and your eyes met his, so bright, so deep and unreadable. He looked at you intensely, as if he was about to say something, but finally he cleared his throat, breaking the moment as naturally as it had formed.
A small smile graced his lips. “How about a nice cup of tea now?”
“Great idea.”
You moved around each other in the kitchen with ease, as if he’d been there a million times. No hesitation, no need to ask.
Jay filled the kettle while you reached for two mugs, automatically grabbing his favorite without even thinking about it.
You started talking and joking, that hug as if it had never happened.
“You know,” he spoke casually, opening the pantry where you had only herbal teas, of every possible kind, “I wanted to ask you something. Do you even have something to eat in there?”.
You rolled your eyes. “Of course I do.”
“You wouldn’t think so,” he teased you. “One day I’ll turn on the TV and find you on that show ‘Me and My Obsessions’ or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m not obsessed. Can’t a girl like a nice cup of tea?”.
“That’s straight up obsession, darling,” he said as he looked through your immense collection. You tried to not to think about how your heart skipped a bit hearing him say darling. “I really don’t understand how you can like all these weeds.”
“Excuse me? They’re not weeds, they’re actually very healthy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he let out a small laugh.
“But why do I have to sit here and be criticized by someone who only drinks black coffee? Without even sugar, and you even have the nerve to say it’s so good.”
“Because it is good,” he picked up a carton of lemon and ginger tea and took a teabag from it, “still better than whatever medieval potion you have in here.”
You nudged him with your elbow as you passed by, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just uncultured.”
He looked at you, a raised eyebrow. “Wow. Attacked in my own kitchen.”
You paused, then smirked. “Pardon? Your kitchen? Pretty sure this is my apartment.”
“Still, I always end up cooking or making your potions when I come here,” Jay leaned back against the counter.
“And who asked you?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“My kindness, because without me you would’ve died of hunger living only on your herbal teas.”
“And yet,” you shot back, “you keep coming over and you’re making yourself one of my potions.”
For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe—before he recovered, that familiar grin sliding back into place.
“Guess I’m a sucker for punishment,” he said lightly, wiggling his eyebrows.
But the way he looked at you lingered just a beat too long.
The kettle whistled, filling the apartment with a familiar sound. You leaned back against the counter, watching Jay move, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
And maybe that was the problem.
You carried your mug to the couch, curling your fingers around the warmth as you sat down. Jay joined you a moment later, settling beside you with just enough space to be appropriate, and yet close enough you could feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of his shirt.
The film you had chosen played quietly in the background, some mindless film that you weren’t even really watching. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, awkward. It was… comfortable. Safe.
You sipped your tea and let your shoulders relax, your thoughts drifting.
Two months ago, being alone in your apartment felt unbearable. The walls were too thin, the silence too loud. Every sound made your heart racing, every shadow felt like a threat.
Now, with Jay sitting next to you, the fear didn’t disappear completely, but it softened. It dulled at the edges, manageable. You weren’t healed, you knew that. Some days were still hard, some nights still endless.
But you weren’t drowning anymore.
You realized, distantly, that Jay had become part of your balance. Not your crutch, but that steady presence that reminded you how to stand back up when your legs felt weak.
He didn’t fix things, he didn’t pretend to. He just stayed.
And somehow, that was everything.
Your gaze flicked to him briefly, looking at the way his jaw tensed when something on the TV annoyed him, the way his foot bounced slightly against the floor.
You wondered when you’d started noticing these things. When did they start to matter? Or were they always important to you but you were just now realizing it?
The thought made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
You looked back at your mug, suddenly afraid of where your mind was going.
This was safe. This was good. You couldn’t afford to complicate it. You couldn’t afford to name feelings you weren’t ready to face.
What if it was the situation that made you think those things? Because, let’s face it, he wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t for that night. Your relationship would’ve been the same, you wouldn’t have gotten that close.
Still… a quiet, traitorous part of you whispered a question you didn’t dare ask out loud.
What happens when this end?
When he decides I’m okay?
When he stops coming over?
When I have to relearn how to sit in this apartment alone?
Your fingers curled tighter around the mug, as if holding onto the warmth could keep the thought from slipping away.
He was there because he was a good friend helping a friend in a moment of difficulty, nothing more and nothing less, you couldn’t think otherwise.
Jay shifted beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “You okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar concern.
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
You settled deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket to cover your legs, the mug warm between your palms before taking another sip. Jay leaned back beside you as he too pulled the blanket over his legs, stretching his arm along the back of the couch—not touching you, but close enough that you were acutely aware of him.
Too aware.
You tried to focus on the TV, but your mind wandered, drifting backward without your permission.
Your head was exploding from everything that was happening, from all the confusion that was invading it.
This wasn’t new, that was the unsettling part.
Even before everything—before Kane—Jay had always been there. Not like this, not so constant, but present in ways you hadn’t questioned at the time. The lingering looks you’d brushed off as nothing. The way your stomach had flipped whenever he smiled at you, the instinctive trust you’d placed in him long before all of this.
You’d told yourself it was just partnership. Respect. Familiarity.
It had been easier not to look too closely.
But in that moment, sitting beside him in the quiet of your apartment, the truth pressed gently but insistently against your ribs. Something you didn’t want to listen to, however, because you knew it would only bring more pain, pain you weren’t ready to face. Something you’d ignored because acknowledging it would’ve meant risking something you hadn’t been ready to lose.
You swallowed, your grip tightening around the mug.
The fear wasn’t about needing him. It was about wanting him more than just friends and realizing you always had.
Jay shifted again, glancing at you. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, softer this time, like he was afraid of startling you.
You nodded, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
He studied you for a moment longer, like he knew there was more but wouldn’t push.
That was Jay. Always giving you space, even when every instinct in him probably told him to step closer.
And maybe that was why this hurt in a way you hadn’t expected.
Because if things had been different, he wouldn’t even have been there, and you’d never even had the courage to even face these thoughts.
You glanced at him again, just for a second before bringing your eyes back to the film. He was watching the TV now, relaxed, unaware of the quiet war unfolding in your chest.
You wondered if he had ever felt it too.
Or if this had always been yours alone.
Jay took a sip from his cup, and you found yourself glancing at him again, involuntarily. It was only when you realized he was turning his head toward you that you immediately returned your eyes to the screen. Your face was ablaze, your heart pounding, a single realization settling heavy and undeniable in your chest—this wasn’t something that started because he stayed, it was something that stayed because it had always been there.
But you weren’t ready to face it, not at that moment.
“Hey,” he whispered after a while, drawing your attention from that movie you absolutely hadn’t been watching. You looked at him, seeing he’s already looking at you. “If you need to talk, I’m here, you know that, right?”
You smiled faintly, nodding. “Yeah, I know.”
His eyes roamed your face for a moment, sweet and attentive. “I know you know, but I also know I have to remind you every now and then.”
Your heart was beating so erratically you feared an imminent cardiac arrest. “You don’t need to… Really, I’m fine.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, I can see from here how that pretty little brain of yours is working right now.”
“That’s not true, I was just watching the movie.”
“You were watching everything but TV, come on.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I watch you a lot more than you think,” he replied so casually, as if these few, simple words hadn’t just turned your life upside down. “And that’s why I want to remind you that I’m always here if you need me, okay?”
You nodded, unable to form any meaningful sentence, your voice stuck in your throat.
He smiled sweetly at you and shifted a little, adjusting the blanket over your legs that had begun to fall to the floor. He made sure it covered you more. He was protective, thoughtful, and you struggled to remember the last person who had been so thoughtful to you for the simple reason that they wanted to be so without receiving anything in return.
“Thank you... For everything,” you whispered after a while, both of you intent on watching the movie. You didn’t even know if he’d heard you, but when his arm slid from the back of the couch around your shoulders—squeezing you a little closer to him—you had confirmation that he had indeed heard you.
For a moment, you let yourself just be. No fear. No panic. Just tea, the quiet hum of the apartment, and Jay.
You stayed like that, until tiredness took over and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder. You were probably dreaming, because, at a certain point, you even felt his lips touch the top of your head.
You didn’t ask yourself if it really happened or not, you simply let yourself be cradled in his arms, in a deep sleep that you rarely had anymore.
-
You were at work, weeks later, in the middle of a morning that felt deceptively calm.
Those weeks had brought small steps forward. You’d finally found the courage to see a therapist, sat through your first session with your hands clenched in your lap, your voice shaking only once—or twice—when certain words came too close to the surface. Time had passed in a blur of cases, coffee breaks, late nights buried in paperwork, and you hadn’t missed how thoroughly you were drowning yourself in work you didn’t strictly need to do.
Maybe it wasn’t healthy, overworking yourself just to stay afloat. But it kept your mind busy, and busy meant quiet. If that was the price of feeling okay, you were willing to pay it—even if your therapist had gently suggested otherwise.
You were sitting at your desk when a familiar voice caught your attention.
“So…” Kim said, and you looked up at her as she sat on the edge of your desk. “You look… Better.”
“Better?”
She nodded, studying you with an intense, searching gaze. “You seem more present, less… I don’t know, like you’re running on fumes like the first few days.”
The first few days after the attack, she didn’t finish, but that’s what she meant.
You let out a humorless laugh, meaning against the back of your chair, arms crossed over your chest. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little,” she smiled. “But really, how are you doing?”
You sighed. “I’m better. Some days are better than others, but I really feel better.”
“They’re still steps forward, I’m glad to see you like this.”
You spontaneously shifted your gaze to Jay, who was talking about something with Kevin and Adam, one hand wrapped around his disgusting coffee cup and the other tucked into his pants pocket, his posture relaxed. Kim followed your gaze, and in that moment, Jay flicked his eyes on you, mid-sentence.
You blushed and looked away before looking at Kim again.
She looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you pressed.
“You’ve been doing that a lot, you know?”
“Doing what?”
“Staring at him. You really think we wouldn’t notice?”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not staring at him, stop with this nonsense.”
“Did I say it’s a bad thing?”
You inhaled through your nose, your shoulders stiff. “Kim…”
She studied you for a moment. “He’s always been like this with you.”
“Like what?” You frowned.
“Looking at you, seeing where you are and how you are, making sure you’re okay,” she replied, “and before you say it’s the situation, my answer is no, he’s always been like this with you.”
“That’s just a partnership. We’ve been working together since… Hell, forever. Plus, he’s like that with all of us, that’s just how he is.”
“Sure, that’s how he is,” she winked, “but you can’t deny that he’s always been different with you, ever since you became partners.”
“Mmm, of course I can deny it, because it’s not like that. It’s his nature.”
“Babes, stop wearing blinders,” she retorted, “we’ve all seen the way he looks at you, like you hang the moon. Every time something happens, he checks on you before everyone else. He watches you like a guard dog ready to tear apart anyone who might hurt you. It’s just… I don’t know, he’s very protective of you, even with us.”
“With you?”
“Yeah, Kevin once made a joke about you. I don’t even remember what it was, but Jay almost bit his head off, and that’s just one example.”
You glanced back at Jay, who had just finished laughing with Kevin and Adam and was now looking at the room, eyes flicking toward you again. You quickly looked down at your hands, again, pretending you hadn’t noticed.
You could feel his eyes on you and this made a bunch of butterflies explode in your stomach like you were a teenager.
God, I’m so gone.
Kim leaned closer, her tone softer, almost conspiratorial. “I’m not saying it’s anything you have to deal with right now. I’m just saying… Whatever this is, it didn’t start with Kane. He’s always been like that. And I promise, everyone else in the team noticed it too.”
You exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden tightness in your chest. “Kim…”
“Relax,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m not trying to mess with you. Just... Telling how I see it from my point of view."
You let out a short, humorless laugh, and when you looked up again, Jay was talking to Adam, but his eyes were already on you.
You looked at each other for a moment, heart thudding a little too fast, when Voight exited his office, his voice interrupting that little moment of peace.
“Listen up, everybody,” he said, and you all snapped to attention. “I just got a call.”
There was a short pause, and you frowned when his eyes met you. That single look was enough to tell you something was wrong.
“The first hearing in Marcus Kane’s trial was supposed to be held in the next few days,” your boss spoke, and just hearing his name made your insides twist. “This morning they were taking him to court, but there was an accident, and he…” he sighed. “He managed to escape.”
In that precise moment, you felt your entire world fall apart.
Every step forward, every progress you had made, vanished like sand in the wind.
You felt all eyes on you, wary, as if they were waiting for you to collapse at any moment. You also felt his gaze, especially his gaze.
But you remained impassive, as if Voight was talking about any other case.
“How did it happen?” you asked, managing to keep your tone apathetic and flat.
You’re fine.
You’ll be fine.
Voight, like the rest of the team, observed you for a few moments. “Listen…”
“How did it happen?” you asked again, your hands folded in your lap, palms sweaty, fingers trembling.
You counted mentally. You had to stay calm, you were a cop, you had a job to do.
“A head-on collision, a car went the wrong way and collided with the vehicle carrying Kane.”
“How do we know it wasn’t planned?” Kevin asked.
“We know for sure it was. The driver has already been identified: Vincent Kane, his younger brother. The impact was too violent and he died instantly.”
You exhaled a breath but by now your brain had stopped cooperating, listening, thinking.
The words echoed, sharp and invasive, crawling under your skin. Images rushed in without warning, metal restraints, dark spaces, the sound of your own breathing too loud in your ears, the knife stabbing your skin.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral, your posture steady.
I’m okay. I’m here. I’m safe, you told yourself that over and over, like a mantra.
Someone asked another question. Voight answered. The conversation moved on. The world kept spinning like nothing had just shattered inside your chest.
But you could feel it now, that familiar pressure building, tight and suffocating. Your palms were sweaty, your heartbeat loud enough you were convinced everyone could hear it. The walls felt closer, the air thicker.
You stood up abruptly.
“Excuse me,” you muttered, already moving, not caring about your teammate’s voices calling your name.
You just walked, fast, too fast, toward the hallway, your breaths coming shallow and uneven. By the time you reached the bathroom, your vision was starting to blur, your chest burning with the effort of trying to breathe normally.
You barely made it into the bathroom before your back hit the wall and you slid down, knees folding against your chest.
No. No, not here. Not now.
Your hands shook as you pressed them to your face, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear—
But your lungs refused to cooperate.
The panic hit fully then, brutal and overwhelming, a tidal wave you hadn’t seen coming. Your breaths turned into gasps, your body curling inward as if it could somehow make itself smaller.
“Are you okay?” Someone asked you.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Out. Now.” Jay’s voice reached your ears, your arms still wrapped around your legs, head resting on your knees. You didn’t even know who he was talking to.
Jay immediately sat down in front of you, after locking the bathroom. He didn’t dare touch you, knowing that would only make things worse. His insides twisted, in pain from what you were going through.
“Hey,” he whispered, unaware of whether you had heard him or not. You didn’t respond, just stayed there curled up, shaking like a leaf. “Hey, it’s okay, everything is going to be alright, I’m here with you.”
His chest tightened. God, how much he wanted to hold you and cradle you in his arms, protect you from all the things that were tormenting you, to wrap you in a little bubble so that nothing and no one could hurt you again.
But he couldn’t do it, not in that moment.
He knew panic attacks, trauma, well; he’d experienced them firsthand, and he knew more than anyone that pushing you would only make things worse.
He closed his hands into fists and remained in the same position, close enough for you to feel him but far enough away so you wouldn’t be scared.
“You’re not alone in this, you don’t have to face it alone,” he murmured, “he’s not here, he can’t hurt you. You’re here, you’re safe.”
Your breath hitched, uneven, and he leaned a fraction closer to you, careful not to crowd you. “Look at me,” he said gently, his hands hitching to caress you. “Just for a second, please.”
“Leave… Leave me alone, Jay,” you muttered.
“You know damn well I won’t do this, baby,” he answered, “Just look at me.”
You finally raised your head, and his heart sank as he saw your puffy, red eyes. But you weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost in space.
“Do you feel like giving me your hands?” He asked softly, holding out both his hands toward you. You stared at him for a moment before placing your trembling palms on his. Jay squeezed them, his thumbs caressing your skin.
“That’s it. Now look at me and breathe with me.”
You finally looked into his eyes, but you couldn’t speak. Another tear rolled down your cheek, and he squeezed your hands imperceptibly.
“I’m here with you, you’re not alone, okay?” He continued, “Do you trust me?”
You nodded.
“Then trust me when I say, I won’t let anything happen to you. As long as I breathe, that son of a bitch won’t touch a hair on your head.”
“Why does this keep happening to me?” You whispered, your voice broken, hoarse from crying.
Jay’s breath caught at your question, his heart breaking for you. He didn’t know how to respond, because there was no clean answer, no logical explanation for the tricks the brain sometimes played.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Instead, he tightened his grip on your hands just enough to remind you he was still there. “Because trauma doesn’t work on a schedule,” he said quietly. “And it doesn’t care how strong you are.”
Your fingers trembled in his and Jay leaned towards you just a little more. “But this doesn’t mean you’re going backwards,” he continued, his voice steady even though his chest felt tight. “It doesn’t erase the work you’ve done. It just means your body remembers something your mind is still learning how to process.”
You shook your head weakly. “I should be better by now.”
“No,” he said immediately. Not sharp, but firm. “You don’t get to ‘should’ yourself through this. Give yourself some time and, above all, some credit.”
Your eyes flickered up to him at that, unfocused but searching.
“You survived something that shouldn’t have happened to you, what you went through was traumatic, he kidnapped and tortured you and now you’re facing this monster again,” Jay went on, softer now. “And your brain is doing exactly what it was wired to do, trying to keep you alive. Even when it gets it wrong.”
Another tear slipped free. He resisted the urge to wipe it away, staying still, letting you decide how close was safe.
“You’re not weak,” he added. “You’re not broken. Hell, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met in my entire life, you survived that traumatic shit, you got back on your feet and not everyone is capable of doing that.”
Your breathing slowly began to match his, still shaky but no longer spiraling. Jay watched it like it was the most important thing in the world.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good. Just like that. In and out.”
You swallowed. “I hate feeling like this.”
“I know baby, I know,” he whispered softly.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your breaths and the low hum of the building around you.
Then, cautiously, Jay moved one knee closer. “If it’s alright,” he said quietly, “I can stay right here as long as you need. Or I can get you out of here. Your call.”
And he meant it. Every word.
You hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Just… Stay.”
Something in his chest loosened. “I’ve got you,” he said, low and steady. “Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here.”
And he stayed exactly where he was, anchoring, present, unmovable, not as a hero, but as someone who cared too deeply to leave.
You sat there on that cold floor for an indefinite amount of time, him helping you take deep breaths, but not a word was said.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered suddenly, so quietly he almost imagined he’d heard them.
He frowned. “For what?”
“For all of this,” you sighed, your gaze fixed on your fingers still intertwined with his. “For being a burden…”
“Hey, hey, no. Stop,” he interrupted you immediately, his heart contracting painfully. “Don’t do that.”
Your eyes met his, uncertain, guilt-ridden.
“Don’t even finish that sentence. Don’t ever, ever, apologize, not to me, not to anyone else, okay? I never want to hear you say that again.”
You remained silent, your eyes still full of tears. God, he hated seeing you like this, he hated not being able to do anything to make you feel better.
“You’re not a burden, never have been, and never will be, do you hear me?”
“But…”
“No, no buts,” he squeezed your hands even tighter, firmly yet gently. “I choose to be here with you. There hasn’t been a single time I’ve felt forced, believe me. I just…” he sighed, pausing for a moment and trying to modulate his words before saying something he might regret, “there’s nowhere else and no other person I’d rather be with right now.”
You smiled, so faintly it almost went unnoticed.
“Can I?” He whispered, and you nodded, not even knowing what he wanted to do. He let go of one of your hands and placed his palm on your face, while his thumb dried your tears, first one cheek, then the other.
Jay couldn’t stop looking at you; despite your red eyes and your tears, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
A warm feeling took over him as he noticed the way you leaned into his touch. “Can I hold you? Just for a little bit.” He then murmured, almost in a whisper.
“Please,” you responded immediately, without any hesitation.
He let out a small smile and moved next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
You leaned into him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater like it was the only real thing in the room.
Jay exhaled, long and quiet, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I've got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
He stayed like that, unmoving, breathing with you, letting the weight of you settle against him like it belonged there.
His free hand continued to absentmindedly caress your hair, your face as you sat there in the bathroom, the cold floor and the icy wall behind you.
There was a moment of silence, a silence filled, however, by Jay’s racing mind, by his breathing, trying to regulate it, as if he was afraid you’d escape if he breathed wrong.
He hugged you and held you in a way that made it seem like he needed it more than you, and maybe, in a way, he did.
He tried to focus on something else, on anything else unrelated, but he couldn’t, not when your scent was overwhelming his senses, not when the smell of your shampoo filled his nostrils, not when your arms were so tight around him, as if he was your lifeline.
He didn’t want to think too much because if he did, he’d lose the grip he’d fought so hard to maintain.
This, however, wasn’t new; he’d spent years doing it. Because he cared long before all this happened, long before the fear, the panic, the nights spent with you. And, to be precise, it wasn’t your fear or your panic, but his.
He was terrified to lose you, terrified anything might happen to you, terrified to even know you’re hurt. That’s why he was always there, not because he had to, but because he wanted it, he needed it.
He’d always had a strong sense of protection for you, right from the start, and it was obvious to everyone. Whatever happened, whether it was interrogating a suspect, going to shady places, he made sure you came first.
He’d wondered why, so many times, why he was like this with you, but he’d simply buried this question, telling himself it was just partnership, loyalty, friendship. He’d buried it under jokes, quips, his teasing until you went crazy.
It was easier that way. But ever since that night... Damn, Jay couldn’t find peace, he couldn’t forget the terror on your face when he opened his door, when he saw you soaked, hurt. The panic and fear he felt in that moment, God, were something that would scar him forever.
He wanted nothing more than to lock you in a glass bubble, so he’d always know you were safe, and it killed him knowing he couldn’t do that, knowing how much you were suffering and not being unable to protect you.
And now, with you in his arms, so vulnerable, Jay struggled. All of his careful compartments had collapsed into one unbearable truth: he’d been lying to himself.
He hugged you a little tighter, pulling you closer.
Jay swallowed hard.
If things had been different, if Kane had never happened, he would’ve kept pretending, kept the distance, kept the line clean and untouched, as he had always done in all the years since he’d known you.
And he hated that it took this, he hated that your pain had dragged the truth into the light.
Because loving you hadn’t started with Kane, no, he had just made it impossible to ignore.
He shifted slightly, as if this thought prevented him from staying still. He had to do something, he had to distract himself or he’d end up ruining everything, and you didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t right, not with what you were going through.
“If I could carry this for you,” he said, his voice low, controlled but thick with something he didn’t name, “I would. In a heartbeat.” He didn’t expect a response; to be honest, he wasn’t even asking for one.
“I know,” you whispered back, and your arms tightened. “I would do the same for you.”
Jay closed his eyes, his heart beating so hard it almost burst out of his chest. He wanted to scream, cry, break something because he was overwhelmed, overwhelmed by his feelings, by what you were doing to him.
Without even thinking about it, he lowered his head and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your forehead. It was gone almost as soon as it happened, that kind of touch that felt instinctive rather than intentional, but he had to do it, he needed it.
He froze for half a second after realizing his gesture. He held his breath, ready to pull back, to apologize, to pretend it hadn’t happened, but you didn’t pull away, instead, you wrapped your arms a little bit tighter around him.
So, he stayed.
And that scared him more than anything else.
“We should get back,” you said, after a while, breaking away from the embrace. Since when had your absence caused him such an emptiness? Since when not being able to hug you anymore disappointed him so much?
“How are you feeling now?”
“I can’t lie to you, I… I don’t feel good thinking about him being out there somewhere… But I’m better now.”
“We’ll get that son of a bitch, I promise.”
You smiled faintly. “I know.”
Jay stood up and offered you a hand to help you, which you immediately grabbed.
He unlocked the door, and you were about to leave when you grabbed his hand this time.
He looked at you with a confused look on his face, which quickly turned to utter shock when you leaned toward him and pressed your lips on his cheek.
More than astonishment, he almost had a heart attack, and he wasn’t even exaggerating.
“Thank you, Jay… For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, he stared at you blankly for a few moments before realizing he had to speak. “A-anytime,” he stuttered, fucking stuttered.
You nodded once and, after opening the door, went back toward the bullpen.
And Jay stayed where he was for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the door pretending like you didn’t just shift the entire axis of his world.
It wasn’t even a kiss, more like a light touch. Your lips barely brushed his cheek, too fast for even his brain to register, but it was enough to set his skin on fire, it was enough to destroy that entire wall that so hard he had put up to.
His chest tightened painfully, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar since he met you.
He could still feel the ghost of it, the warmth, the softness, right there, just under his cheekbone, like his skin had already memorized it.
Jay swallowed hard.
Don’t read into it, he told himself immediately.
Don’ turn this into something it’s not.
She’s fragile. She’s grateful. That’s all.
His heart was hammering now, loud and reckless, and there was a sharp, familiar ache behind his ribs, something he was terrified to name.
He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral, even if every instinct screamed to reach for you, to pull you back, to hold you so tightly to him, to kiss you until he stole your last breath.
Instead, he grounded himself the only way he knew.
Control.
But God, if he hadn’t already been in too deep, that little kiss would’ve pushed him there.
When you returned to the bullpen, the rest of the team was there discussing the case, Kane. As soon as they saw you—Jay just few steps behind you—they stopped talking and watched you for a moment.
“Everything alright?” Voight asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes, I’m sorry, everything’s fine.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jay approach the whiteboard, positioning himself next to it, his eyes only on you.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, kid,” Voight continued, sighing, and you immediately understood where he was going with this. He knew the whole Kane thing; besides Jay, he was the only person on the team who knew. “But you can understand that you can’t work on this case since you’re personally involved.”
You exchanged a fleeting glance with Jay, as if asking for help, but no help came. Rationally, you understood, you would’ve said the same thing if you were Voight, but on the other hand, you hated being sidelined.
“I can help, boss. It’s clear that whatever he’s up to is against me and…”
“Absolutely not,” Jay intervened, his tone so resolute and authoritative that even you froze, “we won’t use you as bait, forget it. We’ll come up with a plan to find him.”
“He’s right,” Adam continued, “it’s too dangerous, we can’t give him what he wants on a silver platter.”
“Go home,” Voight resumed, “you’ll have protection 24/7, and we’ll keep you updated on anything. Try to get some rest.”
You sighed, resigned, knowing you’d never win this battle. You nodded and, without another word, grabbed your bag.
“I’ll walk you out,” Jay had said, but you didn’t respond, simply walking toward the exit.
The walk to your car was silent, that heavy silence you weren’t used to anymore, especially with Jay.
“I know you don’t like the idea of being off the case,” he spoke first when you reached your car, “and you know how much I hate to say it, but Voight is right.”
“I know he’s right, but it pisses me off anyway.”
“I hate that you have to stay home alone, I wish you’d stay here so I could always know you’re safe…”
“…But I’m not focused enough to stay here, yes, I know, I get it,” you finished the sentence for him.
“Hey,” he pressed again, stepping fully into your space, careful but firm, forcing you to stop. “Look at me.”
You hesitated for a second, jaw tight, then finally lifted your eyes to his.
“I know you’re mad,” Jay said quietly. “And I know it feels like we’re taking something away from you. But this…” he gestured vaguely back toward the building, “It’s about keeping you safe, that’s our number one priority.”
You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “You say it like I’m made of glass.”
“No,” he replied immediately. “I say it like you’ve already been through enough.”
That stopped you, his words landing better than you expected. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, your stomach twisting in pain. “You think I don’t know that?” you asked, voice lower now. “But I feel useless… I’ll just be sitting home while you’re all out there hunting him down… I…”
Jay exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his next words. “You’re not useless,” he spoke. “But Kane is unpredictable, and if there’s even the smallest chance he’d come after you—”
“He already did,” you interrupted, sharp. “And I survived.”
Jay’s jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he said, low. “And I’m not letting him get another chance.”
The finality in his tone sent a chill through you.
You studied his face for a moment, the tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders were held too rigid, the way he never for a second stopped looking at you.
“Jay…” you started, then stopped, unsure of what you were even trying to say.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said.
You frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Humor me,” he replied, almost gently. “If anything feels off, anything, you call me. Doesn’t matter the time or what I’m doing. You call me and I’ll be there.”
“I will.”
“No, you won’t, not when I’m working on this case, so please promise me.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I promise.”
Something in him eased, just a fraction, but it wasn’t enough, it was like he wasn’t believing you.
You reached for your car door, then paused. Your hand hovered there for a second before dropping back to your side.
“Jay,” you said again, softer now. “Thank you again. For earlier. For… Everything.”
He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things and didn't trust himself with any of them. “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied.
“I know,” you said. And then, almost without thinking, you reached for his hand, for the second time that day, with an ease that scared you to death.
Just briefly. Just enough for your fingers to curl around his, warm and grounding.
His breath caught, barely audible.
“Please be careful,” you added quietly. You were about to let go of his hand when his fingers grabbed yours again, squeezing them tighter than you did.
“I will,” he answered, “you too, and if you don’t want to call just text me, please, I can’t focus if I don’t know you’re okay.”
These words managed to further open the chasm that you carried around for too long.
“I will, I promise,” and this time, you truly meant it.
You let go of his hand and you were about to open your car door, when he preceded you and do it for you. You smiled and slid inside before he closed it.
As you drove away, you didn’t look back.
You didn’t see the way Jay stayed there long after you were gone, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t shake, his hand still hot from your touch.
You didn’t know that sending you home hadn’t made him feel better at all; instead, it had only made him scared he was running out of time.
Your apartment was too quiet, too calm, and for some strange reason, you hated it.
Your mind was in complete turmoil, you couldn’t think clearly, you couldn’t concentrate on one thing before the thought ended up on something else.
You carelessly dropped your bag on the ground, taking a deep breath trying to regain your composure. You tried to focus on the background noises, the distant noise of passing cars, the soft hum of the refrigerator, your own breathing which was louder than anything else.
You told yourself you were fine.
You weren’t spiraling. You weren’t panicking. You were just… Tired.
After kicking off your shoes, you moved through the apartment on autopilot, locking the door, checking the windows. Once. Then twice even if the police officers outside your door already did it.
It annoyed you how natural it had become.
You sank onto the couch and pressed your palms into your eyes, breathing out slowly. Your therapist’s voice echoed faintly in your head—Name what you’re feeling. Don’t run from it.
Fear.
Anger.
Frustration.
And something else you didn’t want to unpack.
Jay’s face kept intruding in your thoughts. The way he looked at you in the parking lot, the way his hand felt, solid, steady, like something you could anchor yourself to, the way he hugged you in that cold bathroom when you were falling apart.
Your chest tightened again, breath catching just slightly.
Not again.
You focused, counted your breaths until the pressure eased, focused on the things surrounding you.
You went to your bedroom and pulled a box you kept under the bed that contained several files, all the documents that related to Kane’s case, that box you managed not to open it in weeks.
You stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding.
You returned to the living room, setting the box on the coffee table, fingers trembling only a little as you lifted the lid.
Reports. Photos. Timelines. Notes you’d written years ago when you first worked on his case, in a handwriting that didn’t quite look like yours anymore.
You flipped through them slowly and the phone buzzed on the table. You froze, and for half a second, terror took hold of you, irrational and sharp, before you forced yourself to look.
A message.
From Jay:
You home?
Your breath left you all at once, fear replaced by relief.
To Jay:
Yeah, I’m okay. Just working through some stuff.
Three dots appeared, disappeared and then appeared again.
From Jay:
Don’t push yourself.
To Jay:
I won’t. How are things going over there?
From Jay:
We’re working on it, I’ll let you know if we find anything.
You knew full well this would never happen, and you didn’t know how to feel about it, whether relieved or irritated.
To Jay:
Okay. Be careful.
You set the phone face down and decided to take a quick shower before going back to the files, the papers spread out like a chaotic map of Kane’s crimes.
Every detail, every report, every photo you’d stored a hundred times before, was there in front of you. You weren’t supposed to be working on this case, but you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t just let it go.
Your fingers traced over his old movements, his connections, the patterns of his violence. It should’ve been easier, after all these years, but your stomach twisted every time you read his name. The memories you’d tried so hard to lock away poked at the edges of your mind… The panic, the terror, the knife.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay focused.
Five things you can see… Four you can touch… Three you can hear…
The hours passed in tense quiet, the sun dipped lower outside, shadows creeping across the floor, and still, you worked, because if you didn’t, the panic would’ve left you no escape.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered where Jay was, what was he doing? Did he find something? Was he thinking about you?
He was indeed thinking about you; in fact, you were the only thought that crossed his mind.
That, and finding that son of a bitch, that’s why he was outside a motel, breathing fast and his hand on his gun.
It was now almost 1:00 a.m. Voight had forced everyone to take a break, but Jay refused, continuing to work alone on any clues. He had found a lead, a guy who had reported that a man—who Jay had then immediately identified as Marcus Kane’s brother—had paid cash for a fake passport.
Kane’s face was all over the news and when Jay answered a call from an anonymous caller who was sure they’d seen the fugitive heading to a motel, he couldn’t help but investigate.
The motel looked like it hadn’t seen maintenance since the late nineties. One flickering neon sign buzzed weakly above the entrance, half the letters burned out, the word 'MOTEL' reduced to a 'M—EL'. Paint peeled from the railings, cigarettes littered the ground, and the smell of damp concrete and old smoke hung heavy in the air.
Exactly the kind of place someone like Kane would choose to hide.
Jay stayed in his car for a moment longer, engine off, headlights dark. He scanned the second floor, eyes narrowing when he spotted a faint light bleeding through the curtains of one room at the far end. Room 217.
His jaw clenched.
He should’ve waited, should’ve called for backup, he knew he had to let Voight know he had a possible location. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there alone, that it could’ve been all a setup.
But he wasn’t thinking rationally, all he could see was you, curled up on yourself, shaking, crying, fighting for air. All he could hear was your broken voice asking why.
He didn’t have time, Marcus could escape while waiting for reinforcements and it was an option that Jay would’ve never given up on.
He stepped out of the car quietly, gun drawn, keeping close to the shadows as he crossed the lot. His heart hammered against his ribs, every muscle taut, every sense sharpened. Years of training guided his movements, but beneath it all there was only anger.
There was no one around anymore, just him—-to be honest he didn’t even know if there was a living soul in that place—so he moved as quiet as possible as he took the stairs, slowly, stopping just before the second floor.
He listened.
Muffled footsteps.
Jay’s grip tightened on the gun.
He moved down the walkway, back to the wall, breathing slow and controlled. As he passed each door, his thoughts kept betraying him, slipping back to you.
He already knew you’d kick his ass for ignoring your messages, but he couldn’t tell you where he was, not without putting you in danger. He knew that at the slightest opportunity, Marcus wouldn’t miss a chance to kill you.
And it was a thought Jay didn’t even subconsciously want to formulate.
He stopped in front of the door.
The cheap wood was scuffed, the lock old. No sound now from inside. Maybe Kane was asleep. Maybe he was waiting.
Jay raised his hand, hesitating for just a fraction of a second.
He tried the handle and, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He didn’t give it much thought, the adrenaline coursing through his veins just at the thought of catching that bastard.
But if he’d been concentrated enough, controlled enough, he would’ve known it was too easy to find Kane, that something was undoubtedly wrong.
Every instinct screamed at him, but he pushed the door open anyway, gun leading the way. The room was dim, lit only by the bathroom light left on. Clothes were scattered on the bed, a half-packed duffel bag on the floor.
“Chicago PD,” Jay called out, voice low but firm. “Marcus Kane. It’s over.”
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then out of the corner of his eye, Jay saw movement, fast, too fast.
He barely had time to react before something—or rather, someone—slammed into him from the side, knocking him hard against the dresser. His gun clattered to the floor, skidding under the bed.
Kane had been waiting.
And Jay realized, too late, that this was no longer an arrest, that he was going to fight for his life.
Kane immediately threw himself on him, without even giving Jay time to get up to his feet and react. A fist hit him full in the face, hot and harp, sending him crashing against the wall. For a moment, he was short of breath, but it wasn’t the time to think; he just had to act.
“Not exactly who I was expecting to be honest, but I guess it’ll do,” Kane sneered, his face twisting into something sinister.
Jay froze for half a second, and then it hit him. Why was it so easy to track him down, why was he was found so quickly. He was waiting for YOU.
“She’s always been a stubborn woman, I figured—”
But Jay didn’t let him finish his sentence; he threw himself on Kane, grabbing him by the collar of his filthy, crumpled shirt. He punched him square in the face, then another, before pressing his forearm against Kane’s throat, nearly cutting off his airway.
The latter wheezed, but that wasn’t enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face.
“Talk about her again and I’ll make you suffer like you never did,” Jay spat a millimeter from his face.
“I knew she’d come eventually. Couldn’t help herself. Always trying to be brave.”
Something inside Jay snatched.
He punched Kane once, twice, again, knuckles splitting, blood slicking his fingers, though he was totally oblivious to the pain. Kane collapsed to the floor with a grunt, coughing hard, but still laughing.
“You think sending her home kept her safe?” Kane taunted between gasps. He spat on the ground, a mix of blood and saliva, then wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. “I left traces…” he breathed heavily, “I wanted her to find me… I wanted to see the look on her face when she realized I wasn’t done with her yet.”
Jay tackled him.
They hit the floor hard, the motel bed creaking under the impact. He straddled Kane, fists raining down, every blow driven by a single, horrifying image of you walking in here, alone, what Kane was going to do to you.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed in his face, “you’ll fucking pay for everything you put her through!”
Kane twisted beneath him, suddenly desperate, hand flashing between them.
Jay didn’t see Kane grabbing the knife from his pants pocket, not until it was already sinking into his flash.
Pain exploded through him, blinding and white-hot.
He gasped, hands faltering just long enough for Kane to shove him off. Jay stumbled back, one hand instinctively pressing to his abdomen, coming away soaked in blood.
Kane dragged himself upright, swaying, smiling through bloodied teeth.
“Guess I still win,” he said. “Either way… She loses. Man, I can't wait to see her face when she finds you.”
Jay completely lost his mind, like he never did before.
He lunged again, ignoring the agony tearing through his body, thanks to the adrenaline that flowed in rivers through his veins, slamming Kane into the wall, then the floor.
The knife clattered away somewhere out of reach.
Jay didn’t stop, he couldn’t.
Every punch was fueled by terror, by guilt, by the unbearable thought that it could’ve been you.
He had lost count of the punches he’d landed, ignoring the pain each blow inflicted, the blood seeping from his wound, ignoring the sound of Kane’s skull being smashed against the dirt floor of that motel.
Jay ignored everything until Kane stopped struggling.
He froze, chest heaving, staring down at him, eyes open but now lifeless, his body still.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
I just killed Marcus Kane.
Jay staggered back, vision blurring, blood soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the carpet. He braced himself against the wall, breathing shallow and uneven, his forehead covered in sweat.
She was supposed to come here.
He slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind him, shaking now, not from the pain, but from the horror of how close you’d come.
He reached for his phone from his pocket when—with horror—he realized he’d left it in the car.
He was tired, exhausted, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he had to call for help, or he’d bleed to death there, on that filthy floor, alone.
God, he wanted you, he wanted you there, so bad he couldn’t breathe.
The strength continued to slowly leave his body, but despite this, he didn’t give up. He tried to stand up, leaning against the wall.
He kept pressing on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but his grip was too weak, almost useless. He managed to take a few steps before collapsing again.
This time, however, he couldn’t get up
But suddenly—after an infinite amount of time—he heard footsteps coming from outside the room, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.
He wasn’t used to praying, but in that moment, he did, he prayed to see you. He winced again in pain as he tried to get up again, but to no avail.
“Jay?”.
A voice reached his ears from afar, but he smiled despite this because he would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, even among a million people. He wanted to scream so badly, to tell you he was there, but he couldn’t, only faint whispers escaped his lips.
Staying awake was becoming increasingly hard, every breath felt like another stab, but he fought to keep his eyes open, because if he was to die that night, you were the last person he wanted to see.
You didn’t receive any answer but, on the other hand, you weren’t even sure you’d be able to hear it yourself since the loud pounding of your heart was deafening you.
You continued walking down the silent corridor with your gun pointed forward, terrified of what lay ahead.
But something immediately caught your attention. The hallway was dark, except for one room, whose light illuminated a small section.
You quickly approached it, and when you entered the room, your worst nightmare, your greatest fear, just became real.
Jay was lying on the floor, covered in blood, barely conscious.
You immediately put the gun back in its holster before grabbing your cell phone and dropping to your knees beside him.
“Hey, hey, hey, Jay, stay with me please. I’m calling for help,” you spoke before quickly calling for backup and an ambulance.
Your cell phone landed on the floor, your hands on his face as you slightly shook him. “Please stay awake for me, okay? Don’t fall asleep, the ambulance is on the way, please, Jay…”
He muttered something you couldn’t understand, and your heart broke when you saw that small smile on his lips, as if he’d just realized you were really there.
“It’s going to hurt a little, but I have to do it, okay? I have to stop the bleeding,” you quickly took off your jacket and pressed it firmly against his wound, your insides twisting as you saw his beautiful face contorted in pain.
Your vision was blurred by the tears you hadn’t realized were pouring like a raging river. “I know, I know…” you sniffed. “I’m so sorry, God, I’m so sorry…”
“H-hey…” he murmured.
You smiled at him, through your tears. “Hey baby, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay… I’m not leaving you…” With one hand, you stroked his face and hair, while the other continued to hold the now bloody jacket firmly over his wound.
“You… You’re h-here…” he continued to breathe heavily, as if every word he said was torture.
“Shh, it’s okay… it’s okay… Yeah, I’m here… Please stay with me, okay? Don’t leave me, Jay, I’m beginning you…” you literally sobbed, feeling your heart being ripped out with every second that passed.
“Help!” you screamed, the sound ripping out of your chest, raw and unfiltered. “HELP—PLEASE, SOMEBODY!”
Nothing.
The silence was underpinned only by your sobs and Jay’s heavy breathing.
Your voice echoed down the empty motel walkway, bouncing off cracked concrete and empty rooms. No doors opened. No one came.
“Help us!” you cried again, hysterical, your throat already burning. “Please—he’s bleeding… Someone help me!”
“No… No, no, no…” you blurted out, shaking your head as if refusing to accept it could somehow change the outcome. You pressed both hands harder against his wound, desperate, ignoring the way his blood soaked your palms, your skin. “Stay with me, Jay. Stay with me, please—please…”
Your hands slipped. You couldn’t stop the bleeding. You couldn’t fix this. Panic clawed up your throat, sharp and uncontrollable.
“I can’t do this without you,” you choked. “You don’t get to leave me here alone, you hear me? You promised me.”
His face was so pale, sweat slicking his skin, but his eyes, God, his beautiful eyes, were still on you, or at least, he tried.
“I… I didn’t… I… Want you t-to see this,” he whispered, a faint, crooked ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“I don’t care,” you cried, shaking your head as tears spilled freely, falling onto his chest. “I don’t care about that. I just need you alive. I need you to stay with me, please Jay, don’t do this to me.”
He closed his eyes and the fear and panic no longer made you think.
“No, no, no, please… Hey, open your eyes, you hear me? Eyes on me baby, please stay awake.”
Your chest hurt, your lungs burned like a forest on fire. You couldn’t get enough air, like the panic was trying to drag you under again, only this time it was worse because it wasn’t just your fear anymore.
It was about him.
He shifted weakly beneath you, a pained sound slipping past his lips, his eyelids struggling to stay open. He was struggling, so damn much and you couldn’t do anything to help him.
“I can’t lose you,” you cried, the words spilling out without permission, without thought. “I can’t… I won’t survive.”
You leaned closer, forehead pressed to his, tears dripping down your cheeks, onto his skin, onto the blood you were desperately trying to stop.
“I love you,” you sobbed, the words ripped straight from your chest, so messy and broken. “I love you so much Jay… Please, I need you to stay. Please. Please stay with me.”
The moment the words left your mouth, it felt like the world stopped.
You hadn’t planned to say it, not like that, but it was true, and it had been true long before this moment.
His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched weakly against your sleeve, as if anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him here, his eyes searching your face.
“I wanted to… To… Protect you…” he coughed. “He… He won’t hurt you again…” he whispered again, voice rough, strained. It was only then that you noticed that body in the room, that now lifeless body, belonging to the person who had ruined you the most.
But you didn’t care. You felt nothing about it. You just wanted to save Jay.
“I l—…” he continued but the words died in his throat, his eyes fluttered.
“Jay? Jay!” Panic ripped through you again. “Jay… Oh my god… No, no, no, please… Open your eyes, stay with me.”
But his grip loosened, his head rolled slightly to the side.
“Jay!” you screamed, terror tearing straight through your chest. You pressed harder against the wound, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please… Please wake up… Talk to me…Please I need you.”
You screamed for help again, voice hoarse, desperate, echoing uselessly through the empty motel hallway.
Sirens cut through the night like a lifeline and you were never so relieved to hear that sound.
You barely registered the sound at first, too busy counting his breaths, begging him under your breath not to leave you, but then the flashing red and blue lights painted the motel walls, and you subbed in relief so hard it hurt.
“They’re here,” you whispered frantically, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Jay, baby, they’re here. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallways and suddenly the room was full, paramedics, lights, movement, orders being barked back and forth.
They stabilized him, then lifted him onto the stretcher, and you followed their every move, refusing to leave him alone for even a moment.
“Jay, please, stay with me,” you whispered, your eyes always on him, almost the entire way to the hospital. You wanted to grab his hand so badly, hoping he could hear you, know you were by his side and you’d never leave him. “Don’t leave me…”
“He’ll be okay, right? Will he make it?” You asked louder, not taking your eyes off his unconscious body, terrified of the answer.
“He’ll need a transfusion and surgery right away,” the paramedic replied, without actually giving you an answer, and for some other reason, this hurt even more. “Do you happen to know his blood type, ma’am?”
“A positive,” you replied, without even thinking.
This thought made you freeze for a moment. Damn, you even knew his blood type, how could you deny that you didn’t love him all this time?
His chest rose shallowly beneath the oxygen mask, each breath uneven. The monitor beside him beeped steadily, maybe too fast, his blood pressure too low.
“I love you,” you whispered again. “Don’t leave me please.”
That ambulance ride was the longest of your life, and even though it was traveling above the legal limit, it still felt like it was going too slow for you.
When the ambulance slowed suddenly, then finally stopped, you breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re here.”
The doors flew open and cold night air rushed in. Hands moved everywhere at once, lifting him, pulling, and suddenly he was rolling away from you.
“No, no” you said immediately, panic exploding again in your chest. You stumbled after them as they rushed him through the ER doors. “I’m here, I’m with him… I need to be with him…”
“Miss, you need to stay back,” someone said, firm but not unkind. “Let us do our job.”
You reached for him anyway, fingers brushing his hand just before they pulled the stretcher farther ahead.
They pushed through the doors to the trauma bay and they slammed shut in your face.
And you lost it.
You sobbed, chest heaving as the weight of it all crashed down on you at once.
You looked at your hands, the blood on your hands, on your clothes—damn, it felt unreal, like none of this could possibly be happening. How could this be reality? How had you gone, in the space of a single day, from hugging each other to praying with every fiber of your being that he would survive?
You slid down the wall slowly, knees hitting the floor as another sob tore out of you.
You really couldn’t believe this was really happening. You couldn’t conceive the thought that you might actually never see him again, you couldn’t accept that the one time in your life you’d had the courage to tell him you loved him was because he was hurt.
What if it was the last time you spoke to him?
What if it was the last time you held his hand?
What if it was the last time you hugged him?
You shook your head as if trying to push that thought away. Jay wouldn’t give up, he was strong, he could handle this too.
The noise around you only made you more unsettled, too many footsteps, too many people talking, too many bells and monitors ringing, too much light—God, you couldn’t take it anymore.
The mere thought of him being there, only a few steps away from you, that only a door separated you, but you couldn’t be there for him devastated you.
“Miss.”
A voice in the distance called you.
“Miss.”
They insisted.
It was only when you felt a hand on your shoulder that you jumped, finding a nurse staring at you with a worried look.
“How is he? Is he okay? Is he awake?” You asked immediately, snapping to attention.
“They’re about to take him to surgery,” she replied, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
It was clear she was referring to the blood on you. The blood of the person you loved.
You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek.
“Do you want to call someone?” She continued, looking at you with eyes full of pity and sadness, before handing you a handkerchief, which you immediately accepted.
“Um… No… I…” you sniffed, reaching for your cell phone. Only when you felt your pockets being empty you remembered throwing it on the floor in that damned motel. “Actually, yes, I… I forgot my phone. Thank you.”
She smiled kindly. “I’ll be right back, but first, let’s get on the chair here, okay?”
You nodded and stood up, then immediately sat down on one of the various chairs in the emergency room hallway.
“Can I get you something else?”
You shook your head.
“Okay, I’ll be right back with a phone.”
You called Voight, trying to explain the situation as best you could, trying to be as clear-headed as possible, even though you probably sounded like a robot. He said he’d be right there with the others, and you responded only with a feeble “okay” after telling him which hospital you were in.
You thanked the nurse before handing her back the phone, accepting the bottle of water she had, despite everything, brought you.
A lump rose in your throat, suffocating.
You couldn’t even cry anymore.
You wanted to scream, break something, run into the OR just to catch a glimpse of him. Instead, you remained there, helpless, broken, your heart beating too hard and too slow at the same time.
Time lost meaning.
You didn’t know how long you sat there staring into space, maybe minutes, maybe hours, before you felt a presence beside you.
You looked up with difficulty.
Voight.
He didn’t say anything at first, he just stood there, eyes scanning your face, the blood on your clothes, the way your hands trembled faintly in your lap. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
For a moment, you wondered if he was waiting for you to speak. You tried, but you couldn’t. You just stared at him as if you said the words out loud, they’d become real.
“He’s in surgery,” you finally whispered, voice hoarse, barely more than air. “They took him in a few minutes ago.”
Voight nodded once, slow before sitting down next to you. “I know.”
Your chest caved in.
“I was supposed to stay home,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I know you told me to stay home and I tried, I swear I tried but I just…” Your breath hitched. "I had this feeling. Like something was wrong..."
You broke off, shaking your head. “If I’d gotten there sooner,” you murmured. “If I—”
Voight interrupted you. “Listen to me kid,” he said quietly, but firmly enough that you had no choice but to look at him. “None of this is your fault.”
Your eyes burned. “He went alone.”
“He went alone because he wanted to protect you,” Voight replied. “Because that’s who he is, the only thing he cares about is you.”
That didn’t make it hurt any less.
You pressed your lips together, fighting the sob that threatened to tear you open again. “He was bleeding so much,” you whispered. “He tried to stand t-to talk. I thought…” Your voice cracked. “I thought I was going to lose him right there.”
Voight’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “But you didn’t and you won’t.” He rested his forearms on his knees, mirroring your posture. “The doctors are good. This hospital’s one of the best. If anyone can pull him back from the edge, it’s them.”
You nodded weakly, though hope felt like something dangerous now.
“The rest of the team are on their way,” he added. “You’re not doing this alone, he won’t be alone.”
You swallowed hard. “I told him I love him,” you said suddenly, the confession tumbling out. “I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if…”
Your throat closed but Voight didn’t look surprised, instead, he nodded again, slower this time. “He heard you,” he said simply. “Even if he couldn’t answer. He knows.”
That almost broke you completely.
You buried your face in your hands as silent tears slipped through your fingers.
Minutes and minutes passed and the rest of the team arrived, though you weren’t in the right mind to talk to any of them.
Hours and hours passed.
Hours in which you had done nothing but torment yourself and pray from him. You cleaned your face and your hands, though your clothes still bore the weight of that horrible night.
Then footsteps approached.
A doctor emerged from the double doors, mask pulled down around her neck, eyes searching the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, heart slamming against your ribs.
The doctor’s gaze landed on all of you as you approached. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” you answered, and even if it wasn’t true, the doctor immediately knew from your gaze you’d never let go.
The doctor nodded once. “He’s still in surgery,” she said. “It was a severe abdominal wound. He lost a lot of blood and we had to transfuse two bags of blood.”
Your stomach dropped and you stopped breathing for a second.
“But,” she continued, carefully, “he made it through the first critical phase. The next few hours will be fundamental.”
You exhaled shakily, legs threatening to give out beneath you.
“He’s alive,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
“For now,” the doctor said gently. “But he’s fighting.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He was truly fighting.
For the next two hours, you kept pacing back and forth in that waiting room. The rest of the team was there, but no one spoke. The anxiety was too much, the worry overwhelming.
When the surgeon finally announced that the surgery was over and he’d be taken to intensive care, you literally felt the ground disappear beneath your feet.
You hated hospitals, you hated the smell that hung in the air, you hated the sound of that monitor, you hated knowing that there were people fighting for their lives, you hated knowing that your Jay was there.
You found yourself outside his room, your body shaking, your heart pounding.
You couldn’t find the courage to go in, to see him like that. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You took a deep breath before taking a step, then another. When your eyes landed on Jay, it was like the air had been knocked from your lungs. God, a punch would’ve hurt less.
He was lying on that bed, his eyes closed as if he was simply sleeping, his oxygen on, the monitor echoing with his steady heartbeat. His chest was rising and falling, slowly, too delicately.
You approached his bed, your breath involuntarily held, walking so slowly as if you were afraid of waking him. Your fingers hovered for a few seconds over his hand, barely touching it, before you took it, and, God, what a relief it was to feel his warm skin against yours.
His angelic face was relaxed, but it was surrounded by the purple bruise that marked his fight with Kane.
He’s dead, he can’t hurt anyone anymore.
With your free hand, you slowly caressed his cheek, delicately, scared at the thought of hurting him. Your fingers brushed his hair, hoping somehow, he could feel it.
You leaned in slightly and gently pressed your lips on his forehead, leaving a small, sweet kiss, just like he had done in that bathroom not so many hours before.
“I’m here, I’m not leaving you,” you whispered, “You’ll be fine, everything will be fine.”
You sat next to him, on a chair in the room, and grabbed his hand, kissing it, holding it close to your face.
You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know how to behave and not being able to do anything to help him was destroying you, making you feel more useless than ever before.
You had heard somewhere that talking could help patients, they could hear you even if they were unconscious, and that’s what you did.
“I’m so sorry, Jay,” you began. “It’s all my fault, this…” you sighed, trying to hold back the tears but failing miserably, “This shouldn’t have happened, not to you… I—”
You paused for a second, trying to reconnect your thoughts.
“I really don’t know where to start, I want to tell you so many things…” you kissed his hand again, “First I want to say thank you, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you, truly, for everything you’ve done for me, for being there for me in the worst moments, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Your voice broke at the last words, your hand slightly squeezing his, trying to hold on to him because, if you hadn’t, you would’ve collapsed.
“It’s always been you,” you continued, “always, even when I pretended it wasn’t, even when I tried to convince myself it was just friendship and partnership… All these years, God… I’ve been so stupid, such a coward…” you took a deep breath “I’m so sorry, Jay, you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to hear me say I love you in THAT moment, not in that way, but I just…” a tear rolled down your face, “I love you so much…”
“I tried to convince myself it was just the trauma, but it was a lie because every time I look at you, I know what I feel goes way beyond that, it’s something so deep I can’t even explain it,” you shook your head slightly, “up until now, I’ve lied to myself and preferred living the lie rather than facing the fear of ruining everything, but now… Now I don’t want to hide anymore, I love you so much it terrifies me, I don’t know what to do.”
Your thumb caressed his bruised knuckles, and it was another stab in the stomach.
“I should’ve told you before, I know,” you continued, “I should’ve told you when we were bickering over coffee, when you teased me about my tea collection, when you pulled all those pranks on me, when you smile at me, when you laugh until you lose your breath…” you stopped speaking when another uncontrollable sob escaped your lips.
“But I need you to wake up, baby, please, I need you so much. You always said I was strong, that I had armor, but the truth is, I was because of you, because you were always there beside me no matter what happened, you always helped me get up without saying anything and you always did it without making me feel like a burden and now…” you sniffed, your vision now blurry from the tears, “Now look at you… You’re here because of me…”
You slightly leaned forward, your cheek hovering close to his hand while still keeping your gaze on him.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself, how I’ll ever live with the fact that you got hurt because of me. You always protected me, and when I should’ve protected you, I failed, and I’m so sorry, baby, I hope you’ll forgive me…”
There was another moment of silence.
“Please come back to me… I can’t live without you, Jay, I don’t know how to be in this world without you… Without you making my life impossible, without you forcing me to watch those stupid action movies only you like, without you making me feel so safe with just a hug. I can’t imagine going to work and not finding you sitting at your desk, with a pre-made donut you saved just for me even though you always say it’s not, without you making fun of my handwriting…” You chuckled bitterly as your mind replayed all those moments, moments you would’ve sold your soul to relive. “So, wake up, Halstead, you understand me? You need to wake up.”
You remained silent for an indefinite time, sitting there next to him for all the hours that followed, even after the sun had risen, even when the others tried to convince you to go and rest, but you refused to move.
The hours passed, sometimes you continued talking to him, other times you simply looked at him, in silence, your hand always in his while your thumb drew imaginary circles on his skin.
At some point, your voice gave out completely.
Your head dropped forward, resting against the edge of the bed, forehead brushing his knuckles. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, you didn’t mean to, you just remembered that exhaustion took over at a certain point, quietly, while your fingers were still intertwined with his.
Pain.
This was what Jay felt when his eyelids opened slightly. He blinked once, twice, three times, trying to adjust to the blinding light in that room.
The events of the previous evening flooded his mind like a raging river, so it didn’t take him long to realize he was in a hospital bed.
He tried to move but couldn’t, not even when he tried to convince his body to do it.
He felt heavy, all his muscles ached, his throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper was rubbing against him.
He tried to lift his hand but couldn’t, and it was only when he looked down at the figure next to him that he understood why he couldn’t.
His heart sank when he saw you curled up in the chair, head resting on his hand, fingers intertwined, eyes closed.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes again and opened them again, before looking back at you, and to his great relief, you were still there.
He wasn’t hallucinating, he wasn’t dreaming, you were really there, next to him.
His fingers twitched weakly against yours, and this simple movement was enough to wake you. Your head snapped up, and he wanted to take a picture of your face again when your eyes met his.
“Oh my god… Oh god! Jay you… Oh god you’re awake!”
“Hey,” he smiled weakly when you jumped to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. You carefully grabbed his face, looking at him as if wanting to make sure it was really real.
“You’re awake… Oh fuck… How do you feel? God, you’re really awake.”
He chuckled, every muscle in his body aching. He raised a hand and placed it on yours, caressing it. “I’m fine, a little tired, but I’m fine now.”
And it was true. Even though everything hurt, even though he could barely keep his eyes open, even though even breathing felt like a stab, he truly was fine. Because you were there.
“I thought I lost you… I thought—” you whispered, but you stopped when he grabbed your hand, removing it from his cheek and bringing it to his lips before pressing a kiss.
“It takes more than that to finish me off, baby, you’ll never get rid of me.”
You chuckled through your tears. “Don’t ever do this shit to me ever again, you understand me?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I’m not planning to get stabbed again, that’s enough,” he replied, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Can you hug me now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please. You won’t hurt me,” he whispered, “I need it, I need to hold you.”
You hesitated for a moment, and it was the cutest and, at the same time, the most painful thing he’d ever seen. He understood your hesitation, but he didn’t want to see it, he never wanted to see you hesitate to hug him.
You finally nodded. He felt the mattress shift when you sat on the edge of the bed, and your hands trembled when you hugged him.
He wrapped his arms around you, his hands clutching your shirt in a fist as if you were his lifeline, completely ignoring the pain in his side. God, holding you and smelling your scent was enough for him to make everything else fade into second place.
He exhaled, all the weight shifting off his shoulders, finally feeling at home.
He was so grateful to be able to hold you again, touch you, hear your voice, look at you.
“Fuck, I missed the way you stink,” he muttered, and his heart exploded when you laughed. Man, he loved the sound of your laughter so much he just wanted to record it so he could listen to it over and over again.
“Yeah, well, look who’s talking,” you replied, pulling away from the embrace, a small smile on your lips.
“Well, I’m justified, I’m hurt, I have the right to stink.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad to even hear your insults.”
He chuckled. “I’m just getting started.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The room seemed to fade into the background, the steady beeping of the monitor, the distant footsteps in the hallway, the hum of the machines, none of it mattered.
All Jay could see was you. The way your smile lingered, small and fragile, the way your eyes searched his face, as if you were still afraid he might disappear if you blinked.
He studied you like he had all the time in the world now.
The faint shadows under your eyes told him you hadn’t slept. Your hands were still trembling slightly, even though you were trying to hide it.
Jay lifted his hand, slow and careful, and brushed his thumb just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed falling.
“Did you mean it?” He then found the courage to ask, his voice so low he couldn’t even hear himself.
Your smile grew a little bigger, letting him know you understood what he was referring to. “What? That I love you?”
His stomach twisted and his heart skipped a beat. He nodded feebly, the courage he’d previously found now completely gone. A second passed, the blink of an eye, but to him it seemed like an eternity.
He was terrified of your answer.
What if you’d backtracked? What if you’d only said it out of concern? In the heat of the moment?
“Yes, I meant it,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his again. “I didn’t mean to tell you then, like that, and I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but yes, detective, I really, really love you.”
A treacherous tear fell down his cheek, and in that moment, he realized he’d let himself be stabbed a thousand more times if it meant hearing you say that.
You loved him.
All this time pining away, trying not to ruin your relationship, trying to stay as close to you as possible without letting you know how he truly felt... And you loved him.
God, he felt so stupid.
It was your turn to wipe away his tears this time, your thumb caressing his cheek, looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
“I was terrified…” he finally found his voice. “I was afraid of dying and not being able to tell you how much I love you, so much it fucking hurts…”
He let out a breath, now like a raging river. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I feel so stupid now… All this time I tried to convince myself it was all in my head because I was terrified of losing you,” he reached up, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, memorizing every line, every tiny freckle, every little scar he’d always noticed but never told you how much they meant to him.
“I’ve been bottling it all in… Every look you gave me, every word, every stupid fight I started just to make you laugh or get a reaction. I’ve loved every second of it, even the pain, because it’s you… God, it’s always been you, and it’ll forever be you,” his voice got lower, more desperate, “and now you’re looking at me like this… Fuck… I can’t—”
Jay’s breath caught when you pressed your lips to his. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
It took him a few seconds to process what was happening.
You were kissing him.
You.
Were.
Kissing.
Him.
One second, he was drowning in his own thoughts, terrified of expressing his feelings and the next you were kissing him, your lips so warm and soft against his.
His brain short-circuited.
Your hands were cupping his face, your mouth was on his and you were really kissing him.
Holy shit.
His chest tightened so hard it hurt worse than any stab wound would ever.
A shaky breath left him and his hand came up on instinct, fingers curling gently in your hair, letting himself go completely. He kissed you back slowly, like this was something sacred, something he’d dreamed of for so long he’d convinced himself it’d never be real.
It was desperate, but it wasn't rushed, it was everything he’d ever wanted and never thought he’d be allowed to have.
All the time he was close to you, all the times he imagined what it’d be like to kiss you, what it’d feel like, nothing could compare to the explosion he felt.
He could feel you trembling against him, the way you lingered, like you were memorizing him the same way he was memorizing you, the taste and the feel of you, the fact that this was actually happening.
When you pulled back, just barely, you rested your forehead against his, eyes closed, breath uneven.
His heart was racing and the monitor expressed it.
There was a moment of silence that you broke, as only you knew how to.
“Wow, your breath really smells like shit.”
Jay burst into laughter but winced when a pang shot through his abdomen. “Fuck it hurts, stop making me laugh,” he said. “And yes baby, keep talking dirty to me.”
You laughed and Jay barely had time to recover from the fact that kiss when the door creaked open.
“Alright,” a familiar gravelly voice said, “I think that’s enough romance for one hospital room.”
Jay sighed, eyes still half-closed, forehead resting against yours. Of course.
You pulled back just in time to turn and see Voight standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. Behind him, the rest of Intelligence hovered like old gossips.
Ruzek was the first to step in after Voight. “Damn, man,” he said, eyes flickering between the two of you. “You look like shit.”
Jay smiled. “Good to see you too, Adam.”
Burgess followed, softer, relief written all over her face. “We’re really glad you’re okay, Jay.”
“Yeah,” Atwater added, nodding. “You scared the hell out of us.”
And then there was Antonio, trying, and failing, to hide a grin as his gaze kept going back and fort between you and Jay. His eyes lingered on the way your hand was still tangled in Jay’s, like neither of you had even noticed it.
Jay noticed but he didn’t let go.
“Did we interrupt something lovebirds?” Antonio smirked.
“No.” “Actually yes.” You and Jay answered at the same time.
Voight cleared his throat. “Doctor says you’re going to be fine. Couple weeks of rest, no heroics.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s optional.”
Voight’s mouth twitched, just barely.
There was a beat of silence.
“Now kids,” Voight said, talking to the others, and raised his hands, palms facing up. “You know what to do.”
You and Jay exchanged a confused look as the rest of the team snorted, starting to pull out some money and placing it in Voight’s hands.
Jay stared. “What the hell is happening?”
Voight took the money calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Ruzek rubbed the back of his neck. “So. Uh. We had a bet.”
Jay groaned. “Of course you did.”
“A bet?” you repeated slowly. “About what?”
Kim winced apologetically. “About whether you two were ever going to end up together.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
Antonio shook his head. “Nope,” then added, “I said six months. Ruzek said never. Kim said you’d figure it out on your own.”
Jay narrowed his eyes. “And Voight?”
He met Jay’s gaze evenly and then looked at you. “I said it’d only happen if one of you almost died.”
Silence.
You stared at him. Jay stared at him. The heart monitor filled the space with its steady beeping.
“Oh…” Jay said weakly, “that’s fucked up.”
Voight shrugged. “I know my detectives.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re all unbelievable.”
“Get some rest, Halstead.” Voight said and then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And try not to get stabbed again. I’m not betting on round two.”
Voight walked out of the room and the rest of the team took turns hugging Jay.
You sat next to him, fingers intertwined as your teammates gave both you and Jay shit.
And for the first time in a very long time, he felt like that—despite what happened—everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
• Warnings: mention of trauma, panic attack, blood, use of gun and knife, death, curse words, violence.
• Word count: 16K (yeah I’m sorry about that lmao).
• A/N: that’s part 2 of Scars and Shields. First of all I want to apologize if I didn’t to a great job, I tried my best to write about the trauma, the feelings associated to it etc please bear with me lol, I’m more than happy to learn from my mistakes so please comment if I wrote something wrong. Let me know what you think about this, please comment, like and repost if you want, it’d mean the world. Love you all.❤️
<- Part one
Two months later your injuries had healed.
The bruise faded and when you looked in the mirror, it almost seemed like they’d never been there.
But they were there, you could still feel them. Maybe physically they were gone, but emotionally… God, it was a whole another story.
The fear was still there, strong, intense.
Marcus Kane had devastated you more than you’d ever cared to admit, and you hated it.
You hated that even after two months—even knowing he was behind bars—you still counted the exits in every building you entered, still looked over your shoulder, still jumped at the slightest noise, still startled when someone suddenly touched you.
Some days were better than others, some slower, some faster when you somehow managed to distract yourself, especially with work. Some days you found yourself checking the locks only once instead of three times, while others you flinched even when the wind blew the leaves a little more than usual.
And you couldn’t stand it.
You thought about it a lot: if you’d gone to therapy after your first attack, would you’ve have been stronger now? If you’d talked about it with someone, would you have been forced to face it all alone?
What if you hadn’t locked everything away in a box and thrown it into the depths of your mind, without the presumption that everything would be okay?
You didn’t have an answer for this and now, unfortunately, you were forced to pay the consequences.
Of one thing, however, you were sure: without Jay Halstead, you would’ve ended up in an endless abyss, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back up on your own.
It was hard to admit it to yourself, especially at first, but ever since that night—when you run to his house in tears—he had never left your side. Ever.
His presence hadn’t been overwhelming; on the contrary, it was like that first breath of fresh air you inhaled after spending so much time underwater.
He had never insisted, never told you what to do, how to behave, he was simply there. He was there in the little things, in the moments of difficulty that seemed small but were insurmountable for you.
And this was because he knew you, he knew who you were.
It was true, you had never confided in each other, you weren’t the kind of people to talk to each other about their feelings, but in all that time you had been partners, you had learned to know each other, really know each other, even if in your own way, even without too many words.
It was late at night, and all the team got back home earlier after successfully closing a case. The doorbell rang suddenly, and your heart skipped a beat, not because you were surprised, but because you knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.
When you opened it, you weren’t surprised to find Jay standing there, looking as if he’d stepped out of a modeling magazine.
“Well, you really were waiting for me, huh?” Jay teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, a smug smile on his lips.
You rolled your eyes, amused but trying to hold back a laugh. “I was already up,” you replied, making room for him to come in.
It had become your unspoken ritual. Since you were attacked, there hadn’t been a single evening, not even one, that Jay had left you alone. No matter what happened, after every incident, even if you both had your own commitments, even if you insisted it wasn’t necessary, he made sure you weren’t alone,
The first few times you resisted, feeling guilty and weak, but as the days passed, as you began to process everything—the attack, your undercover past with Kane—you realized how vital Jay’s presence was, how grateful you were for it, and how much he had helped you.
When you felt like it, you talked about it, encouraged by him but without too much insistence. When you had a panic attack, he was there, hugging you and whispering that everything was okay. When you cried because you felt broken, he dried your tears, telling you how you were the strongest person he had ever known.
And then everything went back to the way it was before, teasing you, playfully insulting you, pranking you, leaving you no time to dwell on the rest like you usually would.
“Look what I brought you and tell me if I’m not the best partner in the world,” he began, once you were both in the kitchen. He pulled out a box of special tea from a white bag… Your favorite one.
“Oh my God, Jay!” you exclaimed with joy. “How the hell did you find that?! I’ve been looking for it since forever. Thank you so much!” You almost jumped like a child, your heart fluttering erratically. Well, yes, you were an herbal tea lover, you couldn’t help it.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Grandma.”
You playfully hit him on the arm. “Stop calling me that.”
“Never,” he retorted, laughing. It was a nickname he’d given you since he discovered your endless supply of herbal teas. “Anyway, I found it by chance in a shop nearby, it’s nothing special.”
You picked up the box and looked at it for a moment as you smiled, because you didn’t believe for a second that he’d just found it by chance, and the thought that Jay had been scouring through shops looking for that particular brand of tea for you, made your stomach twist, in a way that happened all too often when you were with him.
“Thank you, seriously, you didn’t have to do it, I really appreciate it,” you looked at him for a moment and noticed how his cheeks had suddenly flushed, like his ears.
God he was so adorable, you wanted to squeeze the shit out of him.
Without thinking too much, you hugged him; you weren’t good with words, and you hoped in that hug, he’d truly understand your gratitude, not just for the tea, but for everything.
He stiffened for a second before returning the hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, his body relaxing.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.
You took a second, just one, to inhale his scent, that perfume that was becoming a sense of security, your lifeline.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, maybe a second, maybe a minute, maybe longer than was appropriate, longer than ideal for just two partners.
But you didn’t move.
Your body reacted before your mind did, the way you melted into his arms, how the tension on your shoulders slowly dissipated. It unsettled you, how normal and natural it was becoming, how easy it was becoming to let go with him.
In that moment, however, you decided not to think about it because it felt good being in his arms.
You focused only on his regular breathing, the warmth of his chest under your cheek, his heartbeat, the rapidity of which you couldn’t help but notice.
For a fleeting moment, a thought brushed the edges of your mind.
Please don’t let this stop.
You pushed it away immediately, guilt curling in your stomach. You shouldn’t have needed this, need him like this.
And yet, when his arms tightened around your body, you held on for a second longer.
When you finally pulled back, there was a moment of silence in which neither of you said anything.
You simply slightly raised your head, enough to look at him, and your eyes met his, so bright, so deep and unreadable. He looked at you intensely, as if he was about to say something, but finally he cleared his throat, breaking the moment as naturally as it had formed.
A small smile graced his lips. “How about a nice cup of tea now?”
“Great idea.”
You moved around each other in the kitchen with ease, as if he’d been there a million times. No hesitation, no need to ask.
Jay filled the kettle while you reached for two mugs, automatically grabbing his favorite without even thinking about it.
You started talking and joking, that hug as if it had never happened.
“You know,” he spoke casually, opening the pantry where you had only herbal teas, of every possible kind, “I wanted to ask you something. Do you even have something to eat in there?”.
You rolled your eyes. “Of course I do.”
“You wouldn’t think so,” he teased you. “One day I’ll turn on the TV and find you on that show ‘Me and My Obsessions’ or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m not obsessed. Can’t a girl like a nice cup of tea?”.
“That’s straight up obsession, darling,” he said as he looked through your immense collection. You tried to not to think about how your heart skipped a bit hearing him say darling. “I really don’t understand how you can like all these weeds.”
“Excuse me? They’re not weeds, they’re actually very healthy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he let out a small laugh.
“But why do I have to sit here and be criticized by someone who only drinks black coffee? Without even sugar, and you even have the nerve to say it’s so good.”
“Because it is good,” he picked up a carton of lemon and ginger tea and took a teabag from it, “still better than whatever medieval potion you have in here.”
You nudged him with your elbow as you passed by, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just uncultured.”
He looked at you, a raised eyebrow. “Wow. Attacked in my own kitchen.”
You paused, then smirked. “Pardon? Your kitchen? Pretty sure this is my apartment.”
“Still, I always end up cooking or making your potions when I come here,” Jay leaned back against the counter.
“And who asked you?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“My kindness, because without me you would’ve died of hunger living only on your herbal teas.”
“And yet,” you shot back, “you keep coming over and you’re making yourself one of my potions.”
For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe—before he recovered, that familiar grin sliding back into place.
“Guess I’m a sucker for punishment,” he said lightly, wiggling his eyebrows.
But the way he looked at you lingered just a beat too long.
The kettle whistled, filling the apartment with a familiar sound. You leaned back against the counter, watching Jay move, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
And maybe that was the problem.
You carried your mug to the couch, curling your fingers around the warmth as you sat down. Jay joined you a moment later, settling beside you with just enough space to be appropriate, and yet close enough you could feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of his shirt.
The film you had chosen played quietly in the background, some mindless film that you weren’t even really watching. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, awkward. It was… comfortable. Safe.
You sipped your tea and let your shoulders relax, your thoughts drifting.
Two months ago, being alone in your apartment felt unbearable. The walls were too thin, the silence too loud. Every sound made your heart racing, every shadow felt like a threat.
Now, with Jay sitting next to you, the fear didn’t disappear completely, but it softened. It dulled at the edges, manageable. You weren’t healed, you knew that. Some days were still hard, some nights still endless.
But you weren’t drowning anymore.
You realized, distantly, that Jay had become part of your balance. Not your crutch, but that steady presence that reminded you how to stand back up when your legs felt weak.
He didn’t fix things, he didn’t pretend to. He just stayed.
And somehow, that was everything.
Your gaze flicked to him briefly, looking at the way his jaw tensed when something on the TV annoyed him, the way his foot bounced slightly against the floor.
You wondered when you’d started noticing these things. When did they start to matter? Or were they always important to you but you were just now realizing it?
The thought made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
You looked back at your mug, suddenly afraid of where your mind was going.
This was safe. This was good. You couldn’t afford to complicate it. You couldn’t afford to name feelings you weren’t ready to face.
What if it was the situation that made you think those things? Because, let’s face it, he wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t for that night. Your relationship would’ve been the same, you wouldn’t have gotten that close.
Still… a quiet, traitorous part of you whispered a question you didn’t dare ask out loud.
What happens when this end?
When he decides I’m okay?
When he stops coming over?
When I have to relearn how to sit in this apartment alone?
Your fingers curled tighter around the mug, as if holding onto the warmth could keep the thought from slipping away.
He was there because he was a good friend helping a friend in a moment of difficulty, nothing more and nothing less, you couldn’t think otherwise.
Jay shifted beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “You okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar concern.
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
You settled deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket to cover your legs, the mug warm between your palms before taking another sip. Jay leaned back beside you as he too pulled the blanket over his legs, stretching his arm along the back of the couch—not touching you, but close enough that you were acutely aware of him.
Too aware.
You tried to focus on the TV, but your mind wandered, drifting backward without your permission.
Your head was exploding from everything that was happening, from all the confusion that was invading it.
This wasn’t new, that was the unsettling part.
Even before everything—before Kane—Jay had always been there. Not like this, not so constant, but present in ways you hadn’t questioned at the time. The lingering looks you’d brushed off as nothing. The way your stomach had flipped whenever he smiled at you, the instinctive trust you’d placed in him long before all of this.
You’d told yourself it was just partnership. Respect. Familiarity.
It had been easier not to look too closely.
But in that moment, sitting beside him in the quiet of your apartment, the truth pressed gently but insistently against your ribs. Something you didn’t want to listen to, however, because you knew it would only bring more pain, pain you weren’t ready to face. Something you’d ignored because acknowledging it would’ve meant risking something you hadn’t been ready to lose.
You swallowed, your grip tightening around the mug.
The fear wasn’t about needing him. It was about wanting him more than just friends and realizing you always had.
Jay shifted again, glancing at you. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, softer this time, like he was afraid of startling you.
You nodded, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
He studied you for a moment longer, like he knew there was more but wouldn’t push.
That was Jay. Always giving you space, even when every instinct in him probably told him to step closer.
And maybe that was why this hurt in a way you hadn’t expected.
Because if things had been different, he wouldn’t even have been there, and you’d never even had the courage to even face these thoughts.
You glanced at him again, just for a second before bringing your eyes back to the film. He was watching the TV now, relaxed, unaware of the quiet war unfolding in your chest.
You wondered if he had ever felt it too.
Or if this had always been yours alone.
Jay took a sip from his cup, and you found yourself glancing at him again, involuntarily. It was only when you realized he was turning his head toward you that you immediately returned your eyes to the screen. Your face was ablaze, your heart pounding, a single realization settling heavy and undeniable in your chest—this wasn’t something that started because he stayed, it was something that stayed because it had always been there.
But you weren’t ready to face it, not at that moment.
“Hey,” he whispered after a while, drawing your attention from that movie you absolutely hadn’t been watching. You looked at him, seeing he’s already looking at you. “If you need to talk, I’m here, you know that, right?”
You smiled faintly, nodding. “Yeah, I know.”
His eyes roamed your face for a moment, sweet and attentive. “I know you know, but I also know I have to remind you every now and then.”
Your heart was beating so erratically you feared an imminent cardiac arrest. “You don’t need to… Really, I’m fine.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, I can see from here how that pretty little brain of yours is working right now.”
“That’s not true, I was just watching the movie.”
“You were watching everything but TV, come on.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I watch you a lot more than you think,” he replied so casually, as if these few, simple words hadn’t just turned your life upside down. “And that’s why I want to remind you that I’m always here if you need me, okay?”
You nodded, unable to form any meaningful sentence, your voice stuck in your throat.
He smiled sweetly at you and shifted a little, adjusting the blanket over your legs that had begun to fall to the floor. He made sure it covered you more. He was protective, thoughtful, and you struggled to remember the last person who had been so thoughtful to you for the simple reason that they wanted to be so without receiving anything in return.
“Thank you... For everything,” you whispered after a while, both of you intent on watching the movie. You didn’t even know if he’d heard you, but when his arm slid from the back of the couch around your shoulders—squeezing you a little closer to him—you had confirmation that he had indeed heard you.
For a moment, you let yourself just be. No fear. No panic. Just tea, the quiet hum of the apartment, and Jay.
You stayed like that, until tiredness took over and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder. You were probably dreaming, because, at a certain point, you even felt his lips touch the top of your head.
You didn’t ask yourself if it really happened or not, you simply let yourself be cradled in his arms, in a deep sleep that you rarely had anymore.
-
You were at work, weeks later, in the middle of a morning that felt deceptively calm.
Those weeks had brought small steps forward. You’d finally found the courage to see a therapist, sat through your first session with your hands clenched in your lap, your voice shaking only once—or twice—when certain words came too close to the surface. Time had passed in a blur of cases, coffee breaks, late nights buried in paperwork, and you hadn’t missed how thoroughly you were drowning yourself in work you didn’t strictly need to do.
Maybe it wasn’t healthy, overworking yourself just to stay afloat. But it kept your mind busy, and busy meant quiet. If that was the price of feeling okay, you were willing to pay it—even if your therapist had gently suggested otherwise.
You were sitting at your desk when a familiar voice caught your attention.
“So…” Kim said, and you looked up at her as she sat on the edge of your desk. “You look… Better.”
“Better?”
She nodded, studying you with an intense, searching gaze. “You seem more present, less… I don’t know, like you’re running on fumes like the first few days.”
The first few days after the attack, she didn’t finish, but that’s what she meant.
You let out a humorless laugh, meaning against the back of your chair, arms crossed over your chest. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little,” she smiled. “But really, how are you doing?”
You sighed. “I’m better. Some days are better than others, but I really feel better.”
“They’re still steps forward, I’m glad to see you like this.”
You spontaneously shifted your gaze to Jay, who was talking about something with Kevin and Adam, one hand wrapped around his disgusting coffee cup and the other tucked into his pants pocket, his posture relaxed. Kim followed your gaze, and in that moment, Jay flicked his eyes on you, mid-sentence.
You blushed and looked away before looking at Kim again.
She looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you pressed.
“You’ve been doing that a lot, you know?”
“Doing what?”
“Staring at him. You really think we wouldn’t notice?”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not staring at him, stop with this nonsense.”
“Did I say it’s a bad thing?”
You inhaled through your nose, your shoulders stiff. “Kim…”
She studied you for a moment. “He’s always been like this with you.”
“Like what?” You frowned.
“Looking at you, seeing where you are and how you are, making sure you’re okay,” she replied, “and before you say it’s the situation, my answer is no, he’s always been like this with you.”
“That’s just a partnership. We’ve been working together since… Hell, forever. Plus, he’s like that with all of us, that’s just how he is.”
“Sure, that’s how he is,” she winked, “but you can’t deny that he’s always been different with you, ever since you became partners.”
“Mmm, of course I can deny it, because it’s not like that. It’s his nature.”
“Babes, stop wearing blinders,” she retorted, “we’ve all seen the way he looks at you, like you hang the moon. Every time something happens, he checks on you before everyone else. He watches you like a guard dog ready to tear apart anyone who might hurt you. It’s just… I don’t know, he’s very protective of you, even with us.”
“With you?”
“Yeah, Kevin once made a joke about you. I don’t even remember what it was, but Jay almost bit his head off, and that’s just one example.”
You glanced back at Jay, who had just finished laughing with Kevin and Adam and was now looking at the room, eyes flicking toward you again. You quickly looked down at your hands, again, pretending you hadn’t noticed.
You could feel his eyes on you and this made a bunch of butterflies explode in your stomach like you were a teenager.
God, I’m so gone.
Kim leaned closer, her tone softer, almost conspiratorial. “I’m not saying it’s anything you have to deal with right now. I’m just saying… Whatever this is, it didn’t start with Kane. He’s always been like that. And I promise, everyone else in the team noticed it too.”
You exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden tightness in your chest. “Kim…”
“Relax,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m not trying to mess with you. Just... Telling how I see it from my point of view."
You let out a short, humorless laugh, and when you looked up again, Jay was talking to Adam, but his eyes were already on you.
You looked at each other for a moment, heart thudding a little too fast, when Voight exited his office, his voice interrupting that little moment of peace.
“Listen up, everybody,” he said, and you all snapped to attention. “I just got a call.”
There was a short pause, and you frowned when his eyes met you. That single look was enough to tell you something was wrong.
“The first hearing in Marcus Kane’s trial was supposed to be held in the next few days,” your boss spoke, and just hearing his name made your insides twist. “This morning they were taking him to court, but there was an accident, and he…” he sighed. “He managed to escape.”
In that precise moment, you felt your entire world fall apart.
Every step forward, every progress you had made, vanished like sand in the wind.
You felt all eyes on you, wary, as if they were waiting for you to collapse at any moment. You also felt his gaze, especially his gaze.
But you remained impassive, as if Voight was talking about any other case.
“How did it happen?” you asked, managing to keep your tone apathetic and flat.
You’re fine.
You’ll be fine.
Voight, like the rest of the team, observed you for a few moments. “Listen…”
“How did it happen?” you asked again, your hands folded in your lap, palms sweaty, fingers trembling.
You counted mentally. You had to stay calm, you were a cop, you had a job to do.
“A head-on collision, a car went the wrong way and collided with the vehicle carrying Kane.”
“How do we know it wasn’t planned?” Kevin asked.
“We know for sure it was. The driver has already been identified: Vincent Kane, his younger brother. The impact was too violent and he died instantly.”
You exhaled a breath but by now your brain had stopped cooperating, listening, thinking.
The words echoed, sharp and invasive, crawling under your skin. Images rushed in without warning, metal restraints, dark spaces, the sound of your own breathing too loud in your ears, the knife stabbing your skin.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral, your posture steady.
I’m okay. I’m here. I’m safe, you told yourself that over and over, like a mantra.
Someone asked another question. Voight answered. The conversation moved on. The world kept spinning like nothing had just shattered inside your chest.
But you could feel it now, that familiar pressure building, tight and suffocating. Your palms were sweaty, your heartbeat loud enough you were convinced everyone could hear it. The walls felt closer, the air thicker.
You stood up abruptly.
“Excuse me,” you muttered, already moving, not caring about your teammate’s voices calling your name.
You just walked, fast, too fast, toward the hallway, your breaths coming shallow and uneven. By the time you reached the bathroom, your vision was starting to blur, your chest burning with the effort of trying to breathe normally.
You barely made it into the bathroom before your back hit the wall and you slid down, knees folding against your chest.
No. No, not here. Not now.
Your hands shook as you pressed them to your face, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear—
But your lungs refused to cooperate.
The panic hit fully then, brutal and overwhelming, a tidal wave you hadn’t seen coming. Your breaths turned into gasps, your body curling inward as if it could somehow make itself smaller.
“Are you okay?” Someone asked you.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Out. Now.” Jay’s voice reached your ears, your arms still wrapped around your legs, head resting on your knees. You didn’t even know who he was talking to.
Jay immediately sat down in front of you, after locking the bathroom. He didn’t dare touch you, knowing that would only make things worse. His insides twisted, in pain from what you were going through.
“Hey,” he whispered, unaware of whether you had heard him or not. You didn’t respond, just stayed there curled up, shaking like a leaf. “Hey, it’s okay, everything is going to be alright, I’m here with you.”
His chest tightened. God, how much he wanted to hold you and cradle you in his arms, protect you from all the things that were tormenting you, to wrap you in a little bubble so that nothing and no one could hurt you again.
But he couldn’t do it, not in that moment.
He knew panic attacks, trauma, well; he’d experienced them firsthand, and he knew more than anyone that pushing you would only make things worse.
He closed his hands into fists and remained in the same position, close enough for you to feel him but far enough away so you wouldn’t be scared.
“You’re not alone in this, you don’t have to face it alone,” he murmured, “he’s not here, he can’t hurt you. You’re here, you’re safe.”
Your breath hitched, uneven, and he leaned a fraction closer to you, careful not to crowd you. “Look at me,” he said gently, his hands hitching to caress you. “Just for a second, please.”
“Leave… Leave me alone, Jay,” you muttered.
“You know damn well I won’t do this, baby,” he answered, “Just look at me.”
You finally raised your head, and his heart sank as he saw your puffy, red eyes. But you weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost in space.
“Do you feel like giving me your hands?” He asked softly, holding out both his hands toward you. You stared at him for a moment before placing your trembling palms on his. Jay squeezed them, his thumbs caressing your skin.
“That’s it. Now look at me and breathe with me.”
You finally looked into his eyes, but you couldn’t speak. Another tear rolled down your cheek, and he squeezed your hands imperceptibly.
“I’m here with you, you’re not alone, okay?” He continued, “Do you trust me?”
You nodded.
“Then trust me when I say, I won’t let anything happen to you. As long as I breathe, that son of a bitch won’t touch a hair on your head.”
“Why does this keep happening to me?” You whispered, your voice broken, hoarse from crying.
Jay’s breath caught at your question, his heart breaking for you. He didn’t know how to respond, because there was no clean answer, no logical explanation for the tricks the brain sometimes played.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Instead, he tightened his grip on your hands just enough to remind you he was still there. “Because trauma doesn’t work on a schedule,” he said quietly. “And it doesn’t care how strong you are.”
Your fingers trembled in his and Jay leaned towards you just a little more. “But this doesn’t mean you’re going backwards,” he continued, his voice steady even though his chest felt tight. “It doesn’t erase the work you’ve done. It just means your body remembers something your mind is still learning how to process.”
You shook your head weakly. “I should be better by now.”
“No,” he said immediately. Not sharp, but firm. “You don’t get to ‘should’ yourself through this. Give yourself some time and, above all, some credit.”
Your eyes flickered up to him at that, unfocused but searching.
“You survived something that shouldn’t have happened to you, what you went through was traumatic, he kidnapped and tortured you and now you’re facing this monster again,” Jay went on, softer now. “And your brain is doing exactly what it was wired to do, trying to keep you alive. Even when it gets it wrong.”
Another tear slipped free. He resisted the urge to wipe it away, staying still, letting you decide how close was safe.
“You’re not weak,” he added. “You’re not broken. Hell, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met in my entire life, you survived that traumatic shit, you got back on your feet and not everyone is capable of doing that.”
Your breathing slowly began to match his, still shaky but no longer spiraling. Jay watched it like it was the most important thing in the world.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good. Just like that. In and out.”
You swallowed. “I hate feeling like this.”
“I know baby, I know,” he whispered softly.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your breaths and the low hum of the building around you.
Then, cautiously, Jay moved one knee closer. “If it’s alright,” he said quietly, “I can stay right here as long as you need. Or I can get you out of here. Your call.”
And he meant it. Every word.
You hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Just… Stay.”
Something in his chest loosened. “I’ve got you,” he said, low and steady. “Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here.”
And he stayed exactly where he was, anchoring, present, unmovable, not as a hero, but as someone who cared too deeply to leave.
You sat there on that cold floor for an indefinite amount of time, him helping you take deep breaths, but not a word was said.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered suddenly, so quietly he almost imagined he’d heard them.
He frowned. “For what?”
“For all of this,” you sighed, your gaze fixed on your fingers still intertwined with his. “For being a burden…”
“Hey, hey, no. Stop,” he interrupted you immediately, his heart contracting painfully. “Don’t do that.”
Your eyes met his, uncertain, guilt-ridden.
“Don’t even finish that sentence. Don’t ever, ever, apologize, not to me, not to anyone else, okay? I never want to hear you say that again.”
You remained silent, your eyes still full of tears. God, he hated seeing you like this, he hated not being able to do anything to make you feel better.
“You’re not a burden, never have been, and never will be, do you hear me?”
“But…”
“No, no buts,” he squeezed your hands even tighter, firmly yet gently. “I choose to be here with you. There hasn’t been a single time I’ve felt forced, believe me. I just…” he sighed, pausing for a moment and trying to modulate his words before saying something he might regret, “there’s nowhere else and no other person I’d rather be with right now.”
You smiled, so faintly it almost went unnoticed.
“Can I?” He whispered, and you nodded, not even knowing what he wanted to do. He let go of one of your hands and placed his palm on your face, while his thumb dried your tears, first one cheek, then the other.
Jay couldn’t stop looking at you; despite your red eyes and your tears, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
A warm feeling took over him as he noticed the way you leaned into his touch. “Can I hold you? Just for a little bit.” He then murmured, almost in a whisper.
“Please,” you responded immediately, without any hesitation.
He let out a small smile and moved next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
You leaned into him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater like it was the only real thing in the room.
Jay exhaled, long and quiet, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I've got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
He stayed like that, unmoving, breathing with you, letting the weight of you settle against him like it belonged there.
His free hand continued to absentmindedly caress your hair, your face as you sat there in the bathroom, the cold floor and the icy wall behind you.
There was a moment of silence, a silence filled, however, by Jay’s racing mind, by his breathing, trying to regulate it, as if he was afraid you’d escape if he breathed wrong.
He hugged you and held you in a way that made it seem like he needed it more than you, and maybe, in a way, he did.
He tried to focus on something else, on anything else unrelated, but he couldn’t, not when your scent was overwhelming his senses, not when the smell of your shampoo filled his nostrils, not when your arms were so tight around him, as if he was your lifeline.
He didn’t want to think too much because if he did, he’d lose the grip he’d fought so hard to maintain.
This, however, wasn’t new; he’d spent years doing it. Because he cared long before all this happened, long before the fear, the panic, the nights spent with you. And, to be precise, it wasn’t your fear or your panic, but his.
He was terrified to lose you, terrified anything might happen to you, terrified to even know you’re hurt. That’s why he was always there, not because he had to, but because he wanted it, he needed it.
He’d always had a strong sense of protection for you, right from the start, and it was obvious to everyone. Whatever happened, whether it was interrogating a suspect, going to shady places, he made sure you came first.
He’d wondered why, so many times, why he was like this with you, but he’d simply buried this question, telling himself it was just partnership, loyalty, friendship. He’d buried it under jokes, quips, his teasing until you went crazy.
It was easier that way. But ever since that night... Damn, Jay couldn’t find peace, he couldn’t forget the terror on your face when he opened his door, when he saw you soaked, hurt. The panic and fear he felt in that moment, God, were something that would scar him forever.
He wanted nothing more than to lock you in a glass bubble, so he’d always know you were safe, and it killed him knowing he couldn’t do that, knowing how much you were suffering and not being unable to protect you.
And now, with you in his arms, so vulnerable, Jay struggled. All of his careful compartments had collapsed into one unbearable truth: he’d been lying to himself.
He hugged you a little tighter, pulling you closer.
Jay swallowed hard.
If things had been different, if Kane had never happened, he would’ve kept pretending, kept the distance, kept the line clean and untouched, as he had always done in all the years since he’d known you.
And he hated that it took this, he hated that your pain had dragged the truth into the light.
Because loving you hadn’t started with Kane, no, he had just made it impossible to ignore.
He shifted slightly, as if this thought prevented him from staying still. He had to do something, he had to distract himself or he’d end up ruining everything, and you didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t right, not with what you were going through.
“If I could carry this for you,” he said, his voice low, controlled but thick with something he didn’t name, “I would. In a heartbeat.” He didn’t expect a response; to be honest, he wasn’t even asking for one.
“I know,” you whispered back, and your arms tightened. “I would do the same for you.”
Jay closed his eyes, his heart beating so hard it almost burst out of his chest. He wanted to scream, cry, break something because he was overwhelmed, overwhelmed by his feelings, by what you were doing to him.
Without even thinking about it, he lowered his head and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your forehead. It was gone almost as soon as it happened, that kind of touch that felt instinctive rather than intentional, but he had to do it, he needed it.
He froze for half a second after realizing his gesture. He held his breath, ready to pull back, to apologize, to pretend it hadn’t happened, but you didn’t pull away, instead, you wrapped your arms a little bit tighter around him.
So, he stayed.
And that scared him more than anything else.
“We should get back,” you said, after a while, breaking away from the embrace. Since when had your absence caused him such an emptiness? Since when not being able to hug you anymore disappointed him so much?
“How are you feeling now?”
“I can’t lie to you, I… I don’t feel good thinking about him being out there somewhere… But I’m better now.”
“We’ll get that son of a bitch, I promise.”
You smiled faintly. “I know.”
Jay stood up and offered you a hand to help you, which you immediately grabbed.
He unlocked the door, and you were about to leave when you grabbed his hand this time.
He looked at you with a confused look on his face, which quickly turned to utter shock when you leaned toward him and pressed your lips on his cheek.
More than astonishment, he almost had a heart attack, and he wasn’t even exaggerating.
“Thank you, Jay… For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, he stared at you blankly for a few moments before realizing he had to speak. “A-anytime,” he stuttered, fucking stuttered.
You nodded once and, after opening the door, went back toward the bullpen.
And Jay stayed where he was for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the door pretending like you didn’t just shift the entire axis of his world.
It wasn’t even a kiss, more like a light touch. Your lips barely brushed his cheek, too fast for even his brain to register, but it was enough to set his skin on fire, it was enough to destroy that entire wall that so hard he had put up to.
His chest tightened painfully, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar since he met you.
He could still feel the ghost of it, the warmth, the softness, right there, just under his cheekbone, like his skin had already memorized it.
Jay swallowed hard.
Don’t read into it, he told himself immediately.
Don’ turn this into something it’s not.
She’s fragile. She’s grateful. That’s all.
His heart was hammering now, loud and reckless, and there was a sharp, familiar ache behind his ribs, something he was terrified to name.
He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral, even if every instinct screamed to reach for you, to pull you back, to hold you so tightly to him, to kiss you until he stole your last breath.
Instead, he grounded himself the only way he knew.
Control.
But God, if he hadn’t already been in too deep, that little kiss would’ve pushed him there.
When you returned to the bullpen, the rest of the team was there discussing the case, Kane. As soon as they saw you—Jay just few steps behind you—they stopped talking and watched you for a moment.
“Everything alright?” Voight asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes, I’m sorry, everything’s fine.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jay approach the whiteboard, positioning himself next to it, his eyes only on you.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, kid,” Voight continued, sighing, and you immediately understood where he was going with this. He knew the whole Kane thing; besides Jay, he was the only person on the team who knew. “But you can understand that you can’t work on this case since you’re personally involved.”
You exchanged a fleeting glance with Jay, as if asking for help, but no help came. Rationally, you understood, you would’ve said the same thing if you were Voight, but on the other hand, you hated being sidelined.
“I can help, boss. It’s clear that whatever he’s up to is against me and…”
“Absolutely not,” Jay intervened, his tone so resolute and authoritative that even you froze, “we won’t use you as bait, forget it. We’ll come up with a plan to find him.”
“He’s right,” Adam continued, “it’s too dangerous, we can’t give him what he wants on a silver platter.”
“Go home,” Voight resumed, “you’ll have protection 24/7, and we’ll keep you updated on anything. Try to get some rest.”
You sighed, resigned, knowing you’d never win this battle. You nodded and, without another word, grabbed your bag.
“I’ll walk you out,” Jay had said, but you didn’t respond, simply walking toward the exit.
The walk to your car was silent, that heavy silence you weren’t used to anymore, especially with Jay.
“I know you don’t like the idea of being off the case,” he spoke first when you reached your car, “and you know how much I hate to say it, but Voight is right.”
“I know he’s right, but it pisses me off anyway.”
“I hate that you have to stay home alone, I wish you’d stay here so I could always know you’re safe…”
“…But I’m not focused enough to stay here, yes, I know, I get it,” you finished the sentence for him.
“Hey,” he pressed again, stepping fully into your space, careful but firm, forcing you to stop. “Look at me.”
You hesitated for a second, jaw tight, then finally lifted your eyes to his.
“I know you’re mad,” Jay said quietly. “And I know it feels like we’re taking something away from you. But this…” he gestured vaguely back toward the building, “It’s about keeping you safe, that’s our number one priority.”
You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “You say it like I’m made of glass.”
“No,” he replied immediately. “I say it like you’ve already been through enough.”
That stopped you, his words landing better than you expected. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, your stomach twisting in pain. “You think I don’t know that?” you asked, voice lower now. “But I feel useless… I’ll just be sitting home while you’re all out there hunting him down… I…”
Jay exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his next words. “You’re not useless,” he spoke. “But Kane is unpredictable, and if there’s even the smallest chance he’d come after you—”
“He already did,” you interrupted, sharp. “And I survived.”
Jay’s jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he said, low. “And I’m not letting him get another chance.”
The finality in his tone sent a chill through you.
You studied his face for a moment, the tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders were held too rigid, the way he never for a second stopped looking at you.
“Jay…” you started, then stopped, unsure of what you were even trying to say.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said.
You frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Humor me,” he replied, almost gently. “If anything feels off, anything, you call me. Doesn’t matter the time or what I’m doing. You call me and I’ll be there.”
“I will.”
“No, you won’t, not when I’m working on this case, so please promise me.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I promise.”
Something in him eased, just a fraction, but it wasn’t enough, it was like he wasn’t believing you.
You reached for your car door, then paused. Your hand hovered there for a second before dropping back to your side.
“Jay,” you said again, softer now. “Thank you again. For earlier. For… Everything.”
He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things and didn't trust himself with any of them. “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied.
“I know,” you said. And then, almost without thinking, you reached for his hand, for the second time that day, with an ease that scared you to death.
Just briefly. Just enough for your fingers to curl around his, warm and grounding.
His breath caught, barely audible.
“Please be careful,” you added quietly. You were about to let go of his hand when his fingers grabbed yours again, squeezing them tighter than you did.
“I will,” he answered, “you too, and if you don’t want to call just text me, please, I can’t focus if I don’t know you’re okay.”
These words managed to further open the chasm that you carried around for too long.
“I will, I promise,” and this time, you truly meant it.
You let go of his hand and you were about to open your car door, when he preceded you and do it for you. You smiled and slid inside before he closed it.
As you drove away, you didn’t look back.
You didn’t see the way Jay stayed there long after you were gone, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t shake, his hand still hot from your touch.
You didn’t know that sending you home hadn’t made him feel better at all; instead, it had only made him scared he was running out of time.
Your apartment was too quiet, too calm, and for some strange reason, you hated it.
Your mind was in complete turmoil, you couldn’t think clearly, you couldn’t concentrate on one thing before the thought ended up on something else.
You carelessly dropped your bag on the ground, taking a deep breath trying to regain your composure. You tried to focus on the background noises, the distant noise of passing cars, the soft hum of the refrigerator, your own breathing which was louder than anything else.
You told yourself you were fine.
You weren’t spiraling. You weren’t panicking. You were just… Tired.
After kicking off your shoes, you moved through the apartment on autopilot, locking the door, checking the windows. Once. Then twice even if the police officers outside your door already did it.
It annoyed you how natural it had become.
You sank onto the couch and pressed your palms into your eyes, breathing out slowly. Your therapist’s voice echoed faintly in your head—Name what you’re feeling. Don’t run from it.
Fear.
Anger.
Frustration.
And something else you didn’t want to unpack.
Jay’s face kept intruding in your thoughts. The way he looked at you in the parking lot, the way his hand felt, solid, steady, like something you could anchor yourself to, the way he hugged you in that cold bathroom when you were falling apart.
Your chest tightened again, breath catching just slightly.
Not again.
You focused, counted your breaths until the pressure eased, focused on the things surrounding you.
You went to your bedroom and pulled a box you kept under the bed that contained several files, all the documents that related to Kane’s case, that box you managed not to open it in weeks.
You stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding.
You returned to the living room, setting the box on the coffee table, fingers trembling only a little as you lifted the lid.
Reports. Photos. Timelines. Notes you’d written years ago when you first worked on his case, in a handwriting that didn’t quite look like yours anymore.
You flipped through them slowly and the phone buzzed on the table. You froze, and for half a second, terror took hold of you, irrational and sharp, before you forced yourself to look.
A message.
From Jay:
You home?
Your breath left you all at once, fear replaced by relief.
To Jay:
Yeah, I’m okay. Just working through some stuff.
Three dots appeared, disappeared and then appeared again.
From Jay:
Don’t push yourself.
To Jay:
I won’t. How are things going over there?
From Jay:
We’re working on it, I’ll let you know if we find anything.
You knew full well this would never happen, and you didn’t know how to feel about it, whether relieved or irritated.
To Jay:
Okay. Be careful.
You set the phone face down and decided to take a quick shower before going back to the files, the papers spread out like a chaotic map of Kane’s crimes.
Every detail, every report, every photo you’d stored a hundred times before, was there in front of you. You weren’t supposed to be working on this case, but you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t just let it go.
Your fingers traced over his old movements, his connections, the patterns of his violence. It should’ve been easier, after all these years, but your stomach twisted every time you read his name. The memories you’d tried so hard to lock away poked at the edges of your mind… The panic, the terror, the knife.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay focused.
Five things you can see… Four you can touch… Three you can hear…
The hours passed in tense quiet, the sun dipped lower outside, shadows creeping across the floor, and still, you worked, because if you didn’t, the panic would’ve left you no escape.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered where Jay was, what was he doing? Did he find something? Was he thinking about you?
He was indeed thinking about you; in fact, you were the only thought that crossed his mind.
That, and finding that son of a bitch, that’s why he was outside a motel, breathing fast and his hand on his gun.
It was now almost 1:00 a.m. Voight had forced everyone to take a break, but Jay refused, continuing to work alone on any clues. He had found a lead, a guy who had reported that a man—who Jay had then immediately identified as Marcus Kane’s brother—had paid cash for a fake passport.
Kane’s face was all over the news and when Jay answered a call from an anonymous caller who was sure they’d seen the fugitive heading to a motel, he couldn’t help but investigate.
The motel looked like it hadn’t seen maintenance since the late nineties. One flickering neon sign buzzed weakly above the entrance, half the letters burned out, the word 'MOTEL' reduced to a 'M—EL'. Paint peeled from the railings, cigarettes littered the ground, and the smell of damp concrete and old smoke hung heavy in the air.
Exactly the kind of place someone like Kane would choose to hide.
Jay stayed in his car for a moment longer, engine off, headlights dark. He scanned the second floor, eyes narrowing when he spotted a faint light bleeding through the curtains of one room at the far end. Room 217.
His jaw clenched.
He should’ve waited, should’ve called for backup, he knew he had to let Voight know he had a possible location. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there alone, that it could’ve been all a setup.
But he wasn’t thinking rationally, all he could see was you, curled up on yourself, shaking, crying, fighting for air. All he could hear was your broken voice asking why.
He didn’t have time, Marcus could escape while waiting for reinforcements and it was an option that Jay would’ve never given up on.
He stepped out of the car quietly, gun drawn, keeping close to the shadows as he crossed the lot. His heart hammered against his ribs, every muscle taut, every sense sharpened. Years of training guided his movements, but beneath it all there was only anger.
There was no one around anymore, just him—-to be honest he didn’t even know if there was a living soul in that place—so he moved as quiet as possible as he took the stairs, slowly, stopping just before the second floor.
He listened.
Muffled footsteps.
Jay’s grip tightened on the gun.
He moved down the walkway, back to the wall, breathing slow and controlled. As he passed each door, his thoughts kept betraying him, slipping back to you.
He already knew you’d kick his ass for ignoring your messages, but he couldn’t tell you where he was, not without putting you in danger. He knew that at the slightest opportunity, Marcus wouldn’t miss a chance to kill you.
And it was a thought Jay didn’t even subconsciously want to formulate.
He stopped in front of the door.
The cheap wood was scuffed, the lock old. No sound now from inside. Maybe Kane was asleep. Maybe he was waiting.
Jay raised his hand, hesitating for just a fraction of a second.
He tried the handle and, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He didn’t give it much thought, the adrenaline coursing through his veins just at the thought of catching that bastard.
But if he’d been concentrated enough, controlled enough, he would’ve known it was too easy to find Kane, that something was undoubtedly wrong.
Every instinct screamed at him, but he pushed the door open anyway, gun leading the way. The room was dim, lit only by the bathroom light left on. Clothes were scattered on the bed, a half-packed duffel bag on the floor.
“Chicago PD,” Jay called out, voice low but firm. “Marcus Kane. It’s over.”
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then out of the corner of his eye, Jay saw movement, fast, too fast.
He barely had time to react before something—or rather, someone—slammed into him from the side, knocking him hard against the dresser. His gun clattered to the floor, skidding under the bed.
Kane had been waiting.
And Jay realized, too late, that this was no longer an arrest, that he was going to fight for his life.
Kane immediately threw himself on him, without even giving Jay time to get up to his feet and react. A fist hit him full in the face, hot and harp, sending him crashing against the wall. For a moment, he was short of breath, but it wasn’t the time to think; he just had to act.
“Not exactly who I was expecting to be honest, but I guess it’ll do,” Kane sneered, his face twisting into something sinister.
Jay froze for half a second, and then it hit him. Why was it so easy to track him down, why was he was found so quickly. He was waiting for YOU.
“She’s always been a stubborn woman, I figured—”
But Jay didn’t let him finish his sentence; he threw himself on Kane, grabbing him by the collar of his filthy, crumpled shirt. He punched him square in the face, then another, before pressing his forearm against Kane’s throat, nearly cutting off his airway.
The latter wheezed, but that wasn’t enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face.
“Talk about her again and I’ll make you suffer like you never did,” Jay spat a millimeter from his face.
“I knew she’d come eventually. Couldn’t help herself. Always trying to be brave.”
Something inside Jay snatched.
He punched Kane once, twice, again, knuckles splitting, blood slicking his fingers, though he was totally oblivious to the pain. Kane collapsed to the floor with a grunt, coughing hard, but still laughing.
“You think sending her home kept her safe?” Kane taunted between gasps. He spat on the ground, a mix of blood and saliva, then wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. “I left traces…” he breathed heavily, “I wanted her to find me… I wanted to see the look on her face when she realized I wasn’t done with her yet.”
Jay tackled him.
They hit the floor hard, the motel bed creaking under the impact. He straddled Kane, fists raining down, every blow driven by a single, horrifying image of you walking in here, alone, what Kane was going to do to you.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed in his face, “you’ll fucking pay for everything you put her through!”
Kane twisted beneath him, suddenly desperate, hand flashing between them.
Jay didn’t see Kane grabbing the knife from his pants pocket, not until it was already sinking into his flash.
Pain exploded through him, blinding and white-hot.
He gasped, hands faltering just long enough for Kane to shove him off. Jay stumbled back, one hand instinctively pressing to his abdomen, coming away soaked in blood.
Kane dragged himself upright, swaying, smiling through bloodied teeth.
“Guess I still win,” he said. “Either way… She loses. Man, I can't wait to see her face when she finds you.”
Jay completely lost his mind, like he never did before.
He lunged again, ignoring the agony tearing through his body, thanks to the adrenaline that flowed in rivers through his veins, slamming Kane into the wall, then the floor.
The knife clattered away somewhere out of reach.
Jay didn’t stop, he couldn’t.
Every punch was fueled by terror, by guilt, by the unbearable thought that it could’ve been you.
He had lost count of the punches he’d landed, ignoring the pain each blow inflicted, the blood seeping from his wound, ignoring the sound of Kane’s skull being smashed against the dirt floor of that motel.
Jay ignored everything until Kane stopped struggling.
He froze, chest heaving, staring down at him, eyes open but now lifeless, his body still.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
I just killed Marcus Kane.
Jay staggered back, vision blurring, blood soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the carpet. He braced himself against the wall, breathing shallow and uneven, his forehead covered in sweat.
She was supposed to come here.
He slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind him, shaking now, not from the pain, but from the horror of how close you’d come.
He reached for his phone from his pocket when—with horror—he realized he’d left it in the car.
He was tired, exhausted, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he had to call for help, or he’d bleed to death there, on that filthy floor, alone.
God, he wanted you, he wanted you there, so bad he couldn’t breathe.
The strength continued to slowly leave his body, but despite this, he didn’t give up. He tried to stand up, leaning against the wall.
He kept pressing on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but his grip was too weak, almost useless. He managed to take a few steps before collapsing again.
This time, however, he couldn’t get up
But suddenly—after an infinite amount of time—he heard footsteps coming from outside the room, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.
He wasn’t used to praying, but in that moment, he did, he prayed to see you. He winced again in pain as he tried to get up again, but to no avail.
“Jay?”.
A voice reached his ears from afar, but he smiled despite this because he would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, even among a million people. He wanted to scream so badly, to tell you he was there, but he couldn’t, only faint whispers escaped his lips.
Staying awake was becoming increasingly hard, every breath felt like another stab, but he fought to keep his eyes open, because if he was to die that night, you were the last person he wanted to see.
You didn’t receive any answer but, on the other hand, you weren’t even sure you’d be able to hear it yourself since the loud pounding of your heart was deafening you.
You continued walking down the silent corridor with your gun pointed forward, terrified of what lay ahead.
But something immediately caught your attention. The hallway was dark, except for one room, whose light illuminated a small section.
You quickly approached it, and when you entered the room, your worst nightmare, your greatest fear, just became real.
Jay was lying on the floor, covered in blood, barely conscious.
You immediately put the gun back in its holster before grabbing your cell phone and dropping to your knees beside him.
“Hey, hey, hey, Jay, stay with me please. I’m calling for help,” you spoke before quickly calling for backup and an ambulance.
Your cell phone landed on the floor, your hands on his face as you slightly shook him. “Please stay awake for me, okay? Don’t fall asleep, the ambulance is on the way, please, Jay…”
He muttered something you couldn’t understand, and your heart broke when you saw that small smile on his lips, as if he’d just realized you were really there.
“It’s going to hurt a little, but I have to do it, okay? I have to stop the bleeding,” you quickly took off your jacket and pressed it firmly against his wound, your insides twisting as you saw his beautiful face contorted in pain.
Your vision was blurred by the tears you hadn’t realized were pouring like a raging river. “I know, I know…” you sniffed. “I’m so sorry, God, I’m so sorry…”
“H-hey…” he murmured.
You smiled at him, through your tears. “Hey baby, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay… I’m not leaving you…” With one hand, you stroked his face and hair, while the other continued to hold the now bloody jacket firmly over his wound.
“You… You’re h-here…” he continued to breathe heavily, as if every word he said was torture.
“Shh, it’s okay… it’s okay… Yeah, I’m here… Please stay with me, okay? Don’t leave me, Jay, I’m beginning you…” you literally sobbed, feeling your heart being ripped out with every second that passed.
“Help!” you screamed, the sound ripping out of your chest, raw and unfiltered. “HELP—PLEASE, SOMEBODY!”
Nothing.
The silence was underpinned only by your sobs and Jay’s heavy breathing.
Your voice echoed down the empty motel walkway, bouncing off cracked concrete and empty rooms. No doors opened. No one came.
“Help us!” you cried again, hysterical, your throat already burning. “Please—he’s bleeding… Someone help me!”
“No… No, no, no…” you blurted out, shaking your head as if refusing to accept it could somehow change the outcome. You pressed both hands harder against his wound, desperate, ignoring the way his blood soaked your palms, your skin. “Stay with me, Jay. Stay with me, please—please…”
Your hands slipped. You couldn’t stop the bleeding. You couldn’t fix this. Panic clawed up your throat, sharp and uncontrollable.
“I can’t do this without you,” you choked. “You don’t get to leave me here alone, you hear me? You promised me.”
His face was so pale, sweat slicking his skin, but his eyes, God, his beautiful eyes, were still on you, or at least, he tried.
“I… I didn’t… I… Want you t-to see this,” he whispered, a faint, crooked ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“I don’t care,” you cried, shaking your head as tears spilled freely, falling onto his chest. “I don’t care about that. I just need you alive. I need you to stay with me, please Jay, don’t do this to me.”
He closed his eyes and the fear and panic no longer made you think.
“No, no, no, please… Hey, open your eyes, you hear me? Eyes on me baby, please stay awake.”
Your chest hurt, your lungs burned like a forest on fire. You couldn’t get enough air, like the panic was trying to drag you under again, only this time it was worse because it wasn’t just your fear anymore.
It was about him.
He shifted weakly beneath you, a pained sound slipping past his lips, his eyelids struggling to stay open. He was struggling, so damn much and you couldn’t do anything to help him.
“I can’t lose you,” you cried, the words spilling out without permission, without thought. “I can’t… I won’t survive.”
You leaned closer, forehead pressed to his, tears dripping down your cheeks, onto his skin, onto the blood you were desperately trying to stop.
“I love you,” you sobbed, the words ripped straight from your chest, so messy and broken. “I love you so much Jay… Please, I need you to stay. Please. Please stay with me.”
The moment the words left your mouth, it felt like the world stopped.
You hadn’t planned to say it, not like that, but it was true, and it had been true long before this moment.
His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched weakly against your sleeve, as if anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him here, his eyes searching your face.
“I wanted to… To… Protect you…” he coughed. “He… He won’t hurt you again…” he whispered again, voice rough, strained. It was only then that you noticed that body in the room, that now lifeless body, belonging to the person who had ruined you the most.
But you didn’t care. You felt nothing about it. You just wanted to save Jay.
“I l—…” he continued but the words died in his throat, his eyes fluttered.
“Jay? Jay!” Panic ripped through you again. “Jay… Oh my god… No, no, no, please… Open your eyes, stay with me.”
But his grip loosened, his head rolled slightly to the side.
“Jay!” you screamed, terror tearing straight through your chest. You pressed harder against the wound, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please… Please wake up… Talk to me…Please I need you.”
You screamed for help again, voice hoarse, desperate, echoing uselessly through the empty motel hallway.
Sirens cut through the night like a lifeline and you were never so relieved to hear that sound.
You barely registered the sound at first, too busy counting his breaths, begging him under your breath not to leave you, but then the flashing red and blue lights painted the motel walls, and you subbed in relief so hard it hurt.
“They’re here,” you whispered frantically, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Jay, baby, they’re here. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallways and suddenly the room was full, paramedics, lights, movement, orders being barked back and forth.
They stabilized him, then lifted him onto the stretcher, and you followed their every move, refusing to leave him alone for even a moment.
“Jay, please, stay with me,” you whispered, your eyes always on him, almost the entire way to the hospital. You wanted to grab his hand so badly, hoping he could hear you, know you were by his side and you’d never leave him. “Don’t leave me…”
“He’ll be okay, right? Will he make it?” You asked louder, not taking your eyes off his unconscious body, terrified of the answer.
“He’ll need a transfusion and surgery right away,” the paramedic replied, without actually giving you an answer, and for some other reason, this hurt even more. “Do you happen to know his blood type, ma’am?”
“A positive,” you replied, without even thinking.
This thought made you freeze for a moment. Damn, you even knew his blood type, how could you deny that you didn’t love him all this time?
His chest rose shallowly beneath the oxygen mask, each breath uneven. The monitor beside him beeped steadily, maybe too fast, his blood pressure too low.
“I love you,” you whispered again. “Don’t leave me please.”
That ambulance ride was the longest of your life, and even though it was traveling above the legal limit, it still felt like it was going too slow for you.
When the ambulance slowed suddenly, then finally stopped, you breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re here.”
The doors flew open and cold night air rushed in. Hands moved everywhere at once, lifting him, pulling, and suddenly he was rolling away from you.
“No, no” you said immediately, panic exploding again in your chest. You stumbled after them as they rushed him through the ER doors. “I’m here, I’m with him… I need to be with him…”
“Miss, you need to stay back,” someone said, firm but not unkind. “Let us do our job.”
You reached for him anyway, fingers brushing his hand just before they pulled the stretcher farther ahead.
They pushed through the doors to the trauma bay and they slammed shut in your face.
And you lost it.
You sobbed, chest heaving as the weight of it all crashed down on you at once.
You looked at your hands, the blood on your hands, on your clothes—damn, it felt unreal, like none of this could possibly be happening. How could this be reality? How had you gone, in the space of a single day, from hugging each other to praying with every fiber of your being that he would survive?
You slid down the wall slowly, knees hitting the floor as another sob tore out of you.
You really couldn’t believe this was really happening. You couldn’t conceive the thought that you might actually never see him again, you couldn’t accept that the one time in your life you’d had the courage to tell him you loved him was because he was hurt.
What if it was the last time you spoke to him?
What if it was the last time you held his hand?
What if it was the last time you hugged him?
You shook your head as if trying to push that thought away. Jay wouldn’t give up, he was strong, he could handle this too.
The noise around you only made you more unsettled, too many footsteps, too many people talking, too many bells and monitors ringing, too much light—God, you couldn’t take it anymore.
The mere thought of him being there, only a few steps away from you, that only a door separated you, but you couldn’t be there for him devastated you.
“Miss.”
A voice in the distance called you.
“Miss.”
They insisted.
It was only when you felt a hand on your shoulder that you jumped, finding a nurse staring at you with a worried look.
“How is he? Is he okay? Is he awake?” You asked immediately, snapping to attention.
“They’re about to take him to surgery,” she replied, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
It was clear she was referring to the blood on you. The blood of the person you loved.
You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek.
“Do you want to call someone?” She continued, looking at you with eyes full of pity and sadness, before handing you a handkerchief, which you immediately accepted.
“Um… No… I…” you sniffed, reaching for your cell phone. Only when you felt your pockets being empty you remembered throwing it on the floor in that damned motel. “Actually, yes, I… I forgot my phone. Thank you.”
She smiled kindly. “I’ll be right back, but first, let’s get on the chair here, okay?”
You nodded and stood up, then immediately sat down on one of the various chairs in the emergency room hallway.
“Can I get you something else?”
You shook your head.
“Okay, I’ll be right back with a phone.”
You called Voight, trying to explain the situation as best you could, trying to be as clear-headed as possible, even though you probably sounded like a robot. He said he’d be right there with the others, and you responded only with a feeble “okay” after telling him which hospital you were in.
You thanked the nurse before handing her back the phone, accepting the bottle of water she had, despite everything, brought you.
A lump rose in your throat, suffocating.
You couldn’t even cry anymore.
You wanted to scream, break something, run into the OR just to catch a glimpse of him. Instead, you remained there, helpless, broken, your heart beating too hard and too slow at the same time.
Time lost meaning.
You didn’t know how long you sat there staring into space, maybe minutes, maybe hours, before you felt a presence beside you.
You looked up with difficulty.
Voight.
He didn’t say anything at first, he just stood there, eyes scanning your face, the blood on your clothes, the way your hands trembled faintly in your lap. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
For a moment, you wondered if he was waiting for you to speak. You tried, but you couldn’t. You just stared at him as if you said the words out loud, they’d become real.
“He’s in surgery,” you finally whispered, voice hoarse, barely more than air. “They took him in a few minutes ago.”
Voight nodded once, slow before sitting down next to you. “I know.”
Your chest caved in.
“I was supposed to stay home,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I know you told me to stay home and I tried, I swear I tried but I just…” Your breath hitched. "I had this feeling. Like something was wrong..."
You broke off, shaking your head. “If I’d gotten there sooner,” you murmured. “If I—”
Voight interrupted you. “Listen to me kid,” he said quietly, but firmly enough that you had no choice but to look at him. “None of this is your fault.”
Your eyes burned. “He went alone.”
“He went alone because he wanted to protect you,” Voight replied. “Because that’s who he is, the only thing he cares about is you.”
That didn’t make it hurt any less.
You pressed your lips together, fighting the sob that threatened to tear you open again. “He was bleeding so much,” you whispered. “He tried to stand t-to talk. I thought…” Your voice cracked. “I thought I was going to lose him right there.”
Voight’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “But you didn’t and you won’t.” He rested his forearms on his knees, mirroring your posture. “The doctors are good. This hospital’s one of the best. If anyone can pull him back from the edge, it’s them.”
You nodded weakly, though hope felt like something dangerous now.
“The rest of the team are on their way,” he added. “You’re not doing this alone, he won’t be alone.”
You swallowed hard. “I told him I love him,” you said suddenly, the confession tumbling out. “I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if…”
Your throat closed but Voight didn’t look surprised, instead, he nodded again, slower this time. “He heard you,” he said simply. “Even if he couldn’t answer. He knows.”
That almost broke you completely.
You buried your face in your hands as silent tears slipped through your fingers.
Minutes and minutes passed and the rest of the team arrived, though you weren’t in the right mind to talk to any of them.
Hours and hours passed.
Hours in which you had done nothing but torment yourself and pray from him. You cleaned your face and your hands, though your clothes still bore the weight of that horrible night.
Then footsteps approached.
A doctor emerged from the double doors, mask pulled down around her neck, eyes searching the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, heart slamming against your ribs.
The doctor’s gaze landed on all of you as you approached. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” you answered, and even if it wasn’t true, the doctor immediately knew from your gaze you’d never let go.
The doctor nodded once. “He’s still in surgery,” she said. “It was a severe abdominal wound. He lost a lot of blood and we had to transfuse two bags of blood.”
Your stomach dropped and you stopped breathing for a second.
“But,” she continued, carefully, “he made it through the first critical phase. The next few hours will be fundamental.”
You exhaled shakily, legs threatening to give out beneath you.
“He’s alive,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
“For now,” the doctor said gently. “But he’s fighting.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He was truly fighting.
For the next two hours, you kept pacing back and forth in that waiting room. The rest of the team was there, but no one spoke. The anxiety was too much, the worry overwhelming.
When the surgeon finally announced that the surgery was over and he’d be taken to intensive care, you literally felt the ground disappear beneath your feet.
You hated hospitals, you hated the smell that hung in the air, you hated the sound of that monitor, you hated knowing that there were people fighting for their lives, you hated knowing that your Jay was there.
You found yourself outside his room, your body shaking, your heart pounding.
You couldn’t find the courage to go in, to see him like that. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You took a deep breath before taking a step, then another. When your eyes landed on Jay, it was like the air had been knocked from your lungs. God, a punch would’ve hurt less.
He was lying on that bed, his eyes closed as if he was simply sleeping, his oxygen on, the monitor echoing with his steady heartbeat. His chest was rising and falling, slowly, too delicately.
You approached his bed, your breath involuntarily held, walking so slowly as if you were afraid of waking him. Your fingers hovered for a few seconds over his hand, barely touching it, before you took it, and, God, what a relief it was to feel his warm skin against yours.
His angelic face was relaxed, but it was surrounded by the purple bruise that marked his fight with Kane.
He’s dead, he can’t hurt anyone anymore.
With your free hand, you slowly caressed his cheek, delicately, scared at the thought of hurting him. Your fingers brushed his hair, hoping somehow, he could feel it.
You leaned in slightly and gently pressed your lips on his forehead, leaving a small, sweet kiss, just like he had done in that bathroom not so many hours before.
“I’m here, I’m not leaving you,” you whispered, “You’ll be fine, everything will be fine.”
You sat next to him, on a chair in the room, and grabbed his hand, kissing it, holding it close to your face.
You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know how to behave and not being able to do anything to help him was destroying you, making you feel more useless than ever before.
You had heard somewhere that talking could help patients, they could hear you even if they were unconscious, and that’s what you did.
“I’m so sorry, Jay,” you began. “It’s all my fault, this…” you sighed, trying to hold back the tears but failing miserably, “This shouldn’t have happened, not to you… I—”
You paused for a second, trying to reconnect your thoughts.
“I really don’t know where to start, I want to tell you so many things…” you kissed his hand again, “First I want to say thank you, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you, truly, for everything you’ve done for me, for being there for me in the worst moments, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Your voice broke at the last words, your hand slightly squeezing his, trying to hold on to him because, if you hadn’t, you would’ve collapsed.
“It’s always been you,” you continued, “always, even when I pretended it wasn’t, even when I tried to convince myself it was just friendship and partnership… All these years, God… I’ve been so stupid, such a coward…” you took a deep breath “I’m so sorry, Jay, you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to hear me say I love you in THAT moment, not in that way, but I just…” a tear rolled down your face, “I love you so much…”
“I tried to convince myself it was just the trauma, but it was a lie because every time I look at you, I know what I feel goes way beyond that, it’s something so deep I can’t even explain it,” you shook your head slightly, “up until now, I’ve lied to myself and preferred living the lie rather than facing the fear of ruining everything, but now… Now I don’t want to hide anymore, I love you so much it terrifies me, I don’t know what to do.”
Your thumb caressed his bruised knuckles, and it was another stab in the stomach.
“I should’ve told you before, I know,” you continued, “I should’ve told you when we were bickering over coffee, when you teased me about my tea collection, when you pulled all those pranks on me, when you smile at me, when you laugh until you lose your breath…” you stopped speaking when another uncontrollable sob escaped your lips.
“But I need you to wake up, baby, please, I need you so much. You always said I was strong, that I had armor, but the truth is, I was because of you, because you were always there beside me no matter what happened, you always helped me get up without saying anything and you always did it without making me feel like a burden and now…” you sniffed, your vision now blurry from the tears, “Now look at you… You’re here because of me…”
You slightly leaned forward, your cheek hovering close to his hand while still keeping your gaze on him.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself, how I’ll ever live with the fact that you got hurt because of me. You always protected me, and when I should’ve protected you, I failed, and I’m so sorry, baby, I hope you’ll forgive me…”
There was another moment of silence.
“Please come back to me… I can’t live without you, Jay, I don’t know how to be in this world without you… Without you making my life impossible, without you forcing me to watch those stupid action movies only you like, without you making me feel so safe with just a hug. I can’t imagine going to work and not finding you sitting at your desk, with a pre-made donut you saved just for me even though you always say it’s not, without you making fun of my handwriting…” You chuckled bitterly as your mind replayed all those moments, moments you would’ve sold your soul to relive. “So, wake up, Halstead, you understand me? You need to wake up.”
You remained silent for an indefinite time, sitting there next to him for all the hours that followed, even after the sun had risen, even when the others tried to convince you to go and rest, but you refused to move.
The hours passed, sometimes you continued talking to him, other times you simply looked at him, in silence, your hand always in his while your thumb drew imaginary circles on his skin.
At some point, your voice gave out completely.
Your head dropped forward, resting against the edge of the bed, forehead brushing his knuckles. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, you didn’t mean to, you just remembered that exhaustion took over at a certain point, quietly, while your fingers were still intertwined with his.
Pain.
This was what Jay felt when his eyelids opened slightly. He blinked once, twice, three times, trying to adjust to the blinding light in that room.
The events of the previous evening flooded his mind like a raging river, so it didn’t take him long to realize he was in a hospital bed.
He tried to move but couldn’t, not even when he tried to convince his body to do it.
He felt heavy, all his muscles ached, his throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper was rubbing against him.
He tried to lift his hand but couldn’t, and it was only when he looked down at the figure next to him that he understood why he couldn’t.
His heart sank when he saw you curled up in the chair, head resting on his hand, fingers intertwined, eyes closed.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes again and opened them again, before looking back at you, and to his great relief, you were still there.
He wasn’t hallucinating, he wasn’t dreaming, you were really there, next to him.
His fingers twitched weakly against yours, and this simple movement was enough to wake you. Your head snapped up, and he wanted to take a picture of your face again when your eyes met his.
“Oh my god… Oh god! Jay you… Oh god you’re awake!”
“Hey,” he smiled weakly when you jumped to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. You carefully grabbed his face, looking at him as if wanting to make sure it was really real.
“You’re awake… Oh fuck… How do you feel? God, you’re really awake.”
He chuckled, every muscle in his body aching. He raised a hand and placed it on yours, caressing it. “I’m fine, a little tired, but I’m fine now.”
And it was true. Even though everything hurt, even though he could barely keep his eyes open, even though even breathing felt like a stab, he truly was fine. Because you were there.
“I thought I lost you… I thought—” you whispered, but you stopped when he grabbed your hand, removing it from his cheek and bringing it to his lips before pressing a kiss.
“It takes more than that to finish me off, baby, you’ll never get rid of me.”
You chuckled through your tears. “Don’t ever do this shit to me ever again, you understand me?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I’m not planning to get stabbed again, that’s enough,” he replied, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Can you hug me now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please. You won’t hurt me,” he whispered, “I need it, I need to hold you.”
You hesitated for a moment, and it was the cutest and, at the same time, the most painful thing he’d ever seen. He understood your hesitation, but he didn’t want to see it, he never wanted to see you hesitate to hug him.
You finally nodded. He felt the mattress shift when you sat on the edge of the bed, and your hands trembled when you hugged him.
He wrapped his arms around you, his hands clutching your shirt in a fist as if you were his lifeline, completely ignoring the pain in his side. God, holding you and smelling your scent was enough for him to make everything else fade into second place.
He exhaled, all the weight shifting off his shoulders, finally feeling at home.
He was so grateful to be able to hold you again, touch you, hear your voice, look at you.
“Fuck, I missed the way you stink,” he muttered, and his heart exploded when you laughed. Man, he loved the sound of your laughter so much he just wanted to record it so he could listen to it over and over again.
“Yeah, well, look who’s talking,” you replied, pulling away from the embrace, a small smile on your lips.
“Well, I’m justified, I’m hurt, I have the right to stink.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad to even hear your insults.”
He chuckled. “I’m just getting started.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The room seemed to fade into the background, the steady beeping of the monitor, the distant footsteps in the hallway, the hum of the machines, none of it mattered.
All Jay could see was you. The way your smile lingered, small and fragile, the way your eyes searched his face, as if you were still afraid he might disappear if you blinked.
He studied you like he had all the time in the world now.
The faint shadows under your eyes told him you hadn’t slept. Your hands were still trembling slightly, even though you were trying to hide it.
Jay lifted his hand, slow and careful, and brushed his thumb just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed falling.
“Did you mean it?” He then found the courage to ask, his voice so low he couldn’t even hear himself.
Your smile grew a little bigger, letting him know you understood what he was referring to. “What? That I love you?”
His stomach twisted and his heart skipped a beat. He nodded feebly, the courage he’d previously found now completely gone. A second passed, the blink of an eye, but to him it seemed like an eternity.
He was terrified of your answer.
What if you’d backtracked? What if you’d only said it out of concern? In the heat of the moment?
“Yes, I meant it,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his again. “I didn’t mean to tell you then, like that, and I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but yes, detective, I really, really love you.”
A treacherous tear fell down his cheek, and in that moment, he realized he’d let himself be stabbed a thousand more times if it meant hearing you say that.
You loved him.
All this time pining away, trying not to ruin your relationship, trying to stay as close to you as possible without letting you know how he truly felt... And you loved him.
God, he felt so stupid.
It was your turn to wipe away his tears this time, your thumb caressing his cheek, looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
“I was terrified…” he finally found his voice. “I was afraid of dying and not being able to tell you how much I love you, so much it fucking hurts…”
He let out a breath, now like a raging river. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I feel so stupid now… All this time I tried to convince myself it was all in my head because I was terrified of losing you,” he reached up, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, memorizing every line, every tiny freckle, every little scar he’d always noticed but never told you how much they meant to him.
“I’ve been bottling it all in… Every look you gave me, every word, every stupid fight I started just to make you laugh or get a reaction. I’ve loved every second of it, even the pain, because it’s you… God, it’s always been you, and it’ll forever be you,” his voice got lower, more desperate, “and now you’re looking at me like this… Fuck… I can’t—”
Jay’s breath caught when you pressed your lips to his. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
It took him a few seconds to process what was happening.
You were kissing him.
You.
Were.
Kissing.
Him.
One second, he was drowning in his own thoughts, terrified of expressing his feelings and the next you were kissing him, your lips so warm and soft against his.
His brain short-circuited.
Your hands were cupping his face, your mouth was on his and you were really kissing him.
Holy shit.
His chest tightened so hard it hurt worse than any stab wound would ever.
A shaky breath left him and his hand came up on instinct, fingers curling gently in your hair, letting himself go completely. He kissed you back slowly, like this was something sacred, something he’d dreamed of for so long he’d convinced himself it’d never be real.
It was desperate, but it wasn't rushed, it was everything he’d ever wanted and never thought he’d be allowed to have.
All the time he was close to you, all the times he imagined what it’d be like to kiss you, what it’d feel like, nothing could compare to the explosion he felt.
He could feel you trembling against him, the way you lingered, like you were memorizing him the same way he was memorizing you, the taste and the feel of you, the fact that this was actually happening.
When you pulled back, just barely, you rested your forehead against his, eyes closed, breath uneven.
His heart was racing and the monitor expressed it.
There was a moment of silence that you broke, as only you knew how to.
“Wow, your breath really smells like shit.”
Jay burst into laughter but winced when a pang shot through his abdomen. “Fuck it hurts, stop making me laugh,” he said. “And yes baby, keep talking dirty to me.”
You laughed and Jay barely had time to recover from the fact that kiss when the door creaked open.
“Alright,” a familiar gravelly voice said, “I think that’s enough romance for one hospital room.”
Jay sighed, eyes still half-closed, forehead resting against yours. Of course.
You pulled back just in time to turn and see Voight standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. Behind him, the rest of Intelligence hovered like old gossips.
Ruzek was the first to step in after Voight. “Damn, man,” he said, eyes flickering between the two of you. “You look like shit.”
Jay smiled. “Good to see you too, Adam.”
Burgess followed, softer, relief written all over her face. “We’re really glad you’re okay, Jay.”
“Yeah,” Atwater added, nodding. “You scared the hell out of us.”
And then there was Antonio, trying, and failing, to hide a grin as his gaze kept going back and fort between you and Jay. His eyes lingered on the way your hand was still tangled in Jay’s, like neither of you had even noticed it.
Jay noticed but he didn’t let go.
“Did we interrupt something lovebirds?” Antonio smirked.
“No.” “Actually yes.” You and Jay answered at the same time.
Voight cleared his throat. “Doctor says you’re going to be fine. Couple weeks of rest, no heroics.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s optional.”
Voight’s mouth twitched, just barely.
There was a beat of silence.
“Now kids,” Voight said, talking to the others, and raised his hands, palms facing up. “You know what to do.”
You and Jay exchanged a confused look as the rest of the team snorted, starting to pull out some money and placing it in Voight’s hands.
Jay stared. “What the hell is happening?”
Voight took the money calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Ruzek rubbed the back of his neck. “So. Uh. We had a bet.”
Jay groaned. “Of course you did.”
“A bet?” you repeated slowly. “About what?”
Kim winced apologetically. “About whether you two were ever going to end up together.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
Antonio shook his head. “Nope,” then added, “I said six months. Ruzek said never. Kim said you’d figure it out on your own.”
Jay narrowed his eyes. “And Voight?”
He met Jay’s gaze evenly and then looked at you. “I said it’d only happen if one of you almost died.”
Silence.
You stared at him. Jay stared at him. The heart monitor filled the space with its steady beeping.
“Oh…” Jay said weakly, “that’s fucked up.”
Voight shrugged. “I know my detectives.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re all unbelievable.”
“Get some rest, Halstead.” Voight said and then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And try not to get stabbed again. I’m not betting on round two.”
Voight walked out of the room and the rest of the team took turns hugging Jay.
You sat next to him, fingers intertwined as your teammates gave both you and Jay shit.
And for the first time in a very long time, he felt like that—despite what happened—everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
• Warnings: mention of gun shots, prostitution, drugs, blood, violence, curse words. Let me know if there’s something else lol.
• Word count: 10k.
• A/N: guess who’s backkkk. Sorry for this I know it’s a long one lmao but I hope you like it, let me know in the comments what you think guys! I missed you so much, I’m trying to get back to writing even if it’s harder than I thought 😭 thank you always for your support, and thank you especially to everyone who stayed. I love you all ❤️
“Hey Halstead, you could finish filling out this case report instead of decorating the office,” you began, throwing him a paper ball from your desk, which was directly across from his. He almost jumped, then pretended like it hadn’t caught him off guard, but you didn’t miss it, and that was enough to make you laugh shamelessly.
He shot you a dirty look before picking up the paper ball that had fallen onto his laptop and throwing it back at you. You, however, weren’t taken aback and managed to catch it.
“Sorry, Miss Detective, but I haven’t gotten a master’s degree in hieroglyphics yet, so next time please write in English.”
You pressed your lips together because — you hated to admit it — that joke almost made you laugh. Almost.
You and Jay had been working together in Intelligence for years, having joined the team a year after him. You couldn’t exactly call your relationship with Jay idyllic, not the kind of relationship you had between friends. In fact, you bickered more often than you were ‘at peace.’
You didn’t mind, though. It’d be an exaggeration to say you hated Jay, he wasn’t the most pleasant company sometimes either, but he was a solid partner, and for some strange and absurd reason, your partnership worked and it worked very well.
Whether in the field, during interrogations, or on undercover missions, you and Jay had a connection that would’ve had a hard time believing.
It was true, you bickered often, you almost never agreed, there wasn’t a moment when one of you didn’t say something the other didn’t respond to with a stinging, sarcastic retort. You were both stubborn as mules, your personalities clashed like lightning and thunder, but outside the unit, you knew you could count on him, and he on you. And that would never change.
Before you could respond to his answer—and by respond, you meant throwing him the paper ball again—Voight’s gravelly voice urged you to stop wasting time and get to work right away.
You returned to the files on your desk, but not before glaring at Jay, who winked back at you, a mischievous smile plastered across his lips before he, too, resumed reading the report.
A wink. A damn wink.
Did you mention that one of the reasons you found Jay Halstead so damn annoying was that he was so handsome and attractive that it made your blood boil? Well, now you know.
It wasn't something you struggled to hide—you were the kind of person who managed to stay in control—but you hated the way that man seemed to make every cell in your body ignite with excitement, and how damnably drawn you were to him like a moth to a flame, despite him being unbearable most of the time.
The calm of the morning was suddenly interrupted when a case came in. Intelligence had been called following the kidnapping of the mayor’s son. Since it was a high-profit case, all the city’s attention was focused on it, and the entire police force was working on it.
The team worked day and night to bring Nate home, turning the boy’s and his father’s lives upside down. There were many suspects; there were many people who hated the mayor and who might have targeted the boy to get revenge on his father.
“It’s personal, of course. They made no calls, no ransom demands or money, no ‘don’t involve the police or your son is dead,’ whoever kidnapped Nate knew what they were getting into; they kidnapped him to directly attack the mayor,” Jay had said while the team was in the unit discussing the case. You glanced at Jay as he spoke, you sitting at your desk and he sitting on the edge of his, arms crossed over his chest. Voight nodded, agreeing with Halstead.
“And it’s a team effort. No one could kidnap the mayor’s son alone and go unnoticed,” Kim continued.
“We need to divide the tasks and we need to hurry, the boy’s life is hanging in the balance. Like Halstead said, it’s personal, so whoever kidnapped him won’t kill him until they get something from the mayor. This gives us some time to investigate possible suspects,” Voight intervened. “Atwater and Burgess interview all his friends and any possible witnesses. Ruzek and Upton locate nearby cameras and analyze the footage. Halstead and Y/Ln investigate the mayor’s background, threatening calls or letters, anything that might indicate a threat.”
You and Jay exchanged a look, and he wiggled his eyebrows, making you roll your eyes in annoyance before you stood up from your desk.
“I’ll drive,” Jay said as you headed to the car to talk to the mayor himself. The tension between you was palpable, but as usual, you suppressed it, trying to convince yourself it was just the tension from the case you were investigating.
Before you could respond, you saw him heading for the driver’s seat and huffed loudly, getting in the car yourself a few seconds later. “I’m perfectly capable of driving too, you know?”
Jay glanced at you, unconsciously taking a few extra nanoseconds to look at you as you put on your seatbelt. “I want to get to the destination alive, nothing personal.”
His gaze lingered for a moment on your profile, the line of your nose and jaw, the outline of your lips. It lasted almost literally a millisecond, and as soon as he saw you turning toward him, he immediately looked away, taking the car keys from his pants pocket and inserting them into the ignition.
“You didn’t just say that after I saved your life in that car chase last week.”
He laughed softly as he started the car, unable to resist looking at you again. “You’re never going to let it go, are you?”
A triumphant smile spread across your face, and Jay sucked in a breath. “No. Never.”
He remained still for a moment, one hand resting on the steering wheel. There was only a few moments of silence, during which the only sound echoing was that of the engine having just started. Every trace of your teasing smiles had vanished from your faces as your eyes met, his deep, searching ones staring at you, studying you with such intensity you almost looked away.
But you didn’t.
And neither did he, not in that moment.
If Jay had looked down, he would’ve seen the way your fingers were gripping the edges of your jacket tightly, how your breathing had slowed, heavier, as if every breath of air was struggling to reach your lungs.
Jay wanted to say something, he knew exactly what, and he knew that if he did, nothing would be the same again, so he was the first to look away. He couldn’t look you in the eyes anymore, not when those irises seemed to want to suck him alive.
The silence hung heavy inside that cabin, filled with unspoken words and unexpressed thoughts.
As Jay drove, he tried to keep his focus on the road, on the case, and not on the woman sitting next to him, whose presence seemed to fill every space of his being.
But he couldn’t help but think about the fact that he didn’t always have the chance to look at you that closely, that often, if not from afar. He’d almost forgotten all those details of your face that he couldn’t admire from afar, every little imperfection and detail of your skin that made you unique.
Because from afar, he couldn’t notice those details. He could only look at you when you were talking to Kim, for example, while you were all together in the kitchen drinking that awful coffee, when you gesticulated with your hands while discussing something, looking at you furrow your brows when you were perplexed, highlighting the little wrinkles in the middle of your forehead.
He could only see how you tied your hair with a pencil when you didn’t have a ponytail, how strangely you held your pen while filling out case reports, how you threw your head back when you laughed heartily and had the habit of hitting the arm of anyone nearby. But he also saw when he occasionally caught you looking at him and how you blushed when he did, then pretended nothing was wrong or just gave him the middle finger out of spite.
“Planet Earth calling Halstead, are you still here among us mere mortals?” Your voice caught his attention, not even realizing how lost he was in his thoughts.
“Sorry, you’re so annoying my brain tuned out your voice for a moment,” he couldn’t help but retort, because if there was one thing he loved to do and looked forward to every day, it was to piss you off.
He couldn’t help but chuckle when you hit him on the arm. “Piece of shit.”
“Oh c’mon, I was just kidding. I was just thinking about the case. What were you saying?”
What a load of bullshit, buddy.
You started discussing the case, and that brief moment, that dangerous exchange of glances that had taken place only minutes before, seemed to have already faded into oblivion, and he tried to convince himself, trying to forget how much it had made his heart skip a beat.
A notification on your phone interrupted the conversation for a few seconds. about the case, and when you unlocked it, you saw a message and a missed call.
From Mr. Sanders:
Y/n, I tried calling you, but I assume you‘re at work. Call me as soon as you can, it’s important.
A feeling of anxiety made your stomach twist. Mr. David Sanders was a man in his fifties, elegant and refined in appearance, and he was your lawyer.
Jay glanced at you, noticing your momentary silence, frowning for a moment as he saw you quickly typing on your phone.
“Everything okay over there?” Jay began, breaking the silence.
You quickly locked the phone before putting it back in your jacket, immediately adopting your usual cheeky and provocative expression. “What’s up, Halstead? You afraid I’m cheating on you?”
But Jay knew you well. Too well, even though you’d never admit it and he knew something was bothering you.
He also knew you’d never tell him willingly, always wanting to put on the superhero mask that could solve everything on her own, no matter what the problem.
“Have any of you noticed anything strange? A suspicious car, any unusual behavior?” Jay asked, addressing the mayor directly once you reached his house.
“What the hell do you care about this? My boy is God knows where, and you’re wasting your time with these stupid questions?!”
"We understand your frustration and assure you that our team and the entire police force are working tirelessly to find your son, and we won’t stop until he comes home,” you replied, your voice calm, understanding a father's frustration and concern for his son. “But we have reason to believe this attack is personal, so anything you can tell us can help us find the man who did this and your son’s whereabouts.”
The mayor ran his hands over his face in frustration, getting up from the couch and pacing around the living room.
“I get threatening letters practically every week. It’s hard to keep track of them and separate the serious ones from the fake ones.”
“Were any of these letters particularly violent or specific? Anything that might indicate a premeditated plan?” Jay asked, his hands in his pockets as his eyes followed the mayor as he paced nervously around the living room.
He hesitated for a moment, as if considering it, then nodded. “There was a letter a couple of months ago. It was about revenge. It said I would pay with ‘what I love most.’ It was disturbing, but there was nothing concrete.” The mayor gasped, starting to cry desperately. “It’s my fault… I… My boy, my baby…”
You and Jay exchanged a meaningful look before he approached the mayor, placing a hand on his shoulder and steadying him. Your heart broke for that poor, broken family, unable to begin to imagine what they were going through. “It’s not your fault, okay? Look at me, Mr. King. Your son is fine. Whoever did this wants to make you suffer. They haven’t gotten what they really want yet, and if they still haven’t reached out, it means Nate is still alive; they won’t do anything to him without your knowledge. That’s the point of his kidnapping.”
The mayor wiped away his tears, nodding feebly. “I’ll give you the letter.”
Scanning it, you noticed that the language was indeed violent and specific, but the signature was only an initial: “R.”
Jay tilted his head, thoughtful, before turning to the mayor. “It seems personal, like we said before. Do you recognize that initial?”
“I-I don’t… I don’t know… It could be anyone. Like I said, I have a lot of enemies,” he replied.
“We’ll have our technicians analyze it right away. We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” you said. “We’ll find Nate.”
During the rest of the day, you worked tirelessly, but your mind was racing, and you hated yourself for realizing that none of it was directed at the case.
Your attention was focused solely on that message from Sanders, on what he had to tell you. When you called him, you were in the locker room. It was already seven in the evening, and with each ring, your heart was beating faster and faster.
“Hello dear, it’s nice to hear you, how are you?” Mr. Sanders answered.
“Good evening, Dave. I’m fine thank you. I’m sorry to bother you now, but I’m busy with work. There’s a case…”
“Oh yeah, that boy’s kidnapping, I suppose. Bad story.”
“Yeah,” you sighed. “What did you want to talk about? It doesn’t take a detective to figure out it’s not something good.”
Sanders chuckled, but it was a bitter laugh, there was no humor behind it. “It’s about Marcus.”
Your breath caught for a moment. “What about him?”
“I’m so sorry, Y/n, I did everything in my power, but…” he sighed this time. “He got parole, he’s out of prison.”
“What?” You said, but it came out moreIt was like a whisper, and for a moment you prayed you’d misheard, that your brain hadn't processed those words correctly. “How is this possible? After everything he did... To those girls, those people... To me!”
You were furious, not at Sanders, but at the system that was supposed to protect you.
“I’m so sorry. He got a deal after leaking the names of several big people, and we’re not talking about just any people, but political figures, senators, doctors, lawyers, CEOs...”
“And obviously, some people’s names are worth more than justice.”
“I wish I could say you’re not right, but you know I’m on your side darling. I did everything I could,” he spoke. “But you’ll be safe, he’ll be monitored closely and the first mistake he makes he’ll be back in prison...”
You let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “And you think that’ll stop him?” you snapped. “I have to go, Dave, thanks for letting me know.”
“Y/n, wait, how are you now?”
“I’ll be fine,” you muttered. You were brought back to Earth when the locker room door opened, revealing Jay with a tired, worn-out expression. “I have to go, bye.”
You ended the call and then casually tossed your phone into your bag, trying to act as if nothing had happened.
You’d be fine. Whatever happened, you’d be able to get through it, like you always did.
“I thought you’d left,” he spoke first as he looked while he approached his locker. He watched you pretend to search for something in your locker and immediately noticed how you constantly avoided his gaze.
“Apparently not yet,” you replied in a cold, distant tone.
Jay didn’t respond, but as he opened his locker, he continued to steal glances at you. Even a blind man could’ve noticed your tense posture, your frown, your heavy breathing, the way you avoided his gaze.
He’d noticed something had shifted since you’d gotten that call, but he tried to mind his own business, knowing that if he asked you anything, you’d probably just shoot him in the face.
“Well, see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, goodnight.”
Jay left, but not before giving you one last look. You weren’t looking at him; your eyes seemed to be focused on something undefined.
You sat in the locker room for an eternity as your mind replayed your last encounter with Marcus Kane, his angry shouts, the threats he’d scream at you.
“I’ll come back, you bitch! You’ll pay for what you did to me! If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll kill you!” He screamed as they handcuffed him and led him into the police car, and those were the last words you heard before you lost consciousness, submerged in a pool of your own blood.
Your hand instinctively went to the scar on your side as those words continued to echo in your own, as if they had been spoken only moments before, as if you could still feel the knife piercing your skin.
You left, closing the door behind you, hoping that all of this was just a nightmare.
Three days had passed since that call, and you continued working.
Nothing happened, you didn’t receive any threatening calls but you always watched your back, your gun always within reach even when you slept, or at least when you tried.
In three days, you’d probably slept five hours, and the fatigue was starting to set in. You were stressed, constantly on edge, you had the constant feeling that someone was following you, and you knew Marcus Kane was out there waiting for you; you could sense him waiting for the right moment to attack you.
For three days, you worked nonstop on the case, day and night, to bring Nate home. He was still alive; there was video evidence of the kidnapper forcing him to demand his own ransom, after beating him almost to death.
“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack with all that caffeine,” Jay said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t expect to see you jump in fright, and he didn’t know whether to suppress a laugh or worry, because you weren’t the type of person who scared easily.
“You bastard,” you muttered in a not-so-low voice, not even looking at him, making him chuckle. “Thanks, but I didn’t ask for your medical advice, Halstead.”
“It was just an observation,” he commented, seeing the almost obsessive way you were stirring the sugar in your coffee.
“Well, go make observations somewhere else,” you replied, your back still turned toward him.
There was a brief moment of silence, as he continued to observe you, your stiff posture, the way you avoided looking him in the eye. Jay wasn’t stupid; he’d noticed this sort of change since you’d received that call. But he didn’t want to push you, he knew you’d withdraw even further.
You then turned to leave, but he pushed himself from the doorframe, preventing you from leaving. He noticed the slight tremor in your hand holding the cup and he couldn’t just act like nothing was happening. “Hey, are you okay?”
You sighed, your eyes still fixed on your cup before finally looking up at him. “I’m fine.”
A curt, mechanical reply, devoid of any emotion.
He looked at you for a few moments, his eyes fixed on yours almost as if he wanted to study you, as if he was searching for some way to extract the answers he knew he’d never voluntarily receive from you.
“Y/n. You’ve been fine for three days,” he replied, his voice tightening. “You’re not sleeping, you jump at the slightest noise. Whenever we’re out, all you do is look around.”
“You like me that much, huh?”
“I’m being serious, this isn’t you. What’s going on?”
Your jaw clenched. “You don’t know me well enough to decide what’s me and what’s not, do you?”
He let out a sigh, trying to keep his voice calm. “We’ve been working together for a while now, and I know fear when I see it.”
The silence that followed was heavy. You felt your throat tighten but swallowed hard, refusing to show it. “Drop it, Jay.”
He sighed again, realizing it’d be completely pointless to push any further. “Fine, do whatever you want.”
“Good.” And with that, you walked past him back to your desk.
-
The night air smelled of rain and tension, cold against your skin. The sound of water hitting the rusty metal of the warehouse provided a soft background, even soothing at times.
Through the earpiece, the team’s voices alternated with the crackling radio.
“Unit one in position.”
“Copy that.”
“Unit two.”
“Copy that.” Jay replied, ducking behind a stack of crates, his rifle ready. You were a little further ahead, your eyes fixed on the road, your fingers on your weapon, ready.
The money would be exchanged between the kidnapper and the mayor, and Intelligence was there, ready to capture the man and save the boy.
You kept looking around, nervous, impatient. Jay had noticed it, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t worry him.
“Breathe, Y/n,” Jay murmured, noticing the way you were trembling.
“I’m fine. I’m just cold, Halstead,” you replied, quickly glancing at him. Your clothes were now stuck on your skin, that much was true, and at other times you might’ve even been able to convince him, but not now, not with what had been happening to you lately.
“Let me know when you’ll believe it.”
You didn’t reply, but he knew you’d heard him.
“Target incoming,” Ruzek’s voice broke the silence.
A black van approached, its headlights now off, and stopped a few meters from the entrance to the old warehouse. Everyone was silent, their breath held, the rain being the only sound.
A man climbed out of the driver’s seat. He walked around the van and, instead of opening the door, remained standing there, his furious gaze fixed on the mayor standing a few meters away, the bag containing the money in his hands.
A mask covered his face so you couldn’t see him. But it didn’t matter, the plan was simple. Get eyes on the kid. Make the exchange. Take the man down.
But it wasn’t simple. It never was.
“Here’s your money, where’s my son?” The mayor’s voice was shaky.
“Give me my money first.”
“That wasn’t the deal. Give me my son and I’ll give you the money.”
The man pointed his gun at the mayor, and everyone stiffened, their weapons raised, ready for an order.
“Wait.” Voight ordered.
“You’ll pay for what you did to me,” the man retorted, and then the back doors of the van opened, but instead of the boy, two other masked men stepped out, both armed and their weapons ready to shoot.
“Gun!” Jay shouted, grabbing your arm and shoving you behind cover as the team spread out.
Your heart pounded in your ears.
Your eyes landed on the van and you saw a figure lying down in the back, you didn’t even know who it was. You didn’t think. You just moved.
Ignoring Jay’s warning, you broke from behind the crate, sprinting toward the van while bullets snapped past your head. The sound was deafening, every step a gamble. You almost reached it—
“Y/n!”
Jay’s voice cuts through everything. A second later, something hit you hard, him. He slammed into you, taking you down just as a bullet grazed the concrete where you’d been standing.
You hit the ground with a grunt, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. Jay’s body covered yours, solid and heavy, his hand pressed against the back of your head to shield you as he returned fire.
For a moment, just a heartbeat, everything stilled.
The world narrowed to the smell of gunpowder and the sound of your ragged breaths tangled together. His eyes found yours, only inches away, fierce, terrified, and something else you couldn’t name.
Then his expression hardened.
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” he snappep, still half-hovering over you. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”
“I—I saw him—”
“I don’t care!” he barked, voice sharp, chest rising and falling fast. “You move like that again, and you’re dead, do you hear me?!”
You swallowed hard, your pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with adrenaline. “Get off me.”
He hesitated — just for a second — before pushing himself up, still glaring at you as he scanned the perimeter.
The team closed in, the gunfire fading, suspects down, the boy saved, crying in his father’s arms. But Jay didn’t look away from you.
You brushed dirt off your vest, trying to ignore the sting in your arm where you’d hit the ground. “I had it under control.”
He lets out a low, humorless laugh, trying to keep his voice steady even if he was about to lose his mind. “Yeah. Sure you did.”
He walked off before you could answer, leaving you standing, breathing still shaking, and for some reason, the only thing you could think about was the look in his eyes when he’d covered you.
It wasn’t anger. It was fear.
The ride back was suffocatingly quiet and for the first time in your life you hated that Jay didn’t say anything, you hated he didn’t make his usual jokes just to piss you off, you hated he didn’t even look at you.
Streetlights flickered through the windshield, washing the inside of the car in flashes of yellow and shadow. The sirens had gone silent, replaced only by the steady hum of the tires on the asphalt.
You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, your hands still faintly trembling. Every time you blinked, you could see it again, the van doors bursting open, the muzzle flashes, the moment Jay threw himself over you.
He still hadn’t said a single word since you got in the car.
Not one.
And somehow, that was worse than him yelling.
Finally, his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. “What the hell were you thinking out there?”
You didn’t turn. “I was just thinking about Nate, I saw him there…”
“You almost got yourself killed.”
“I had it under control.”
His jaw clenched. “No, you didn’t. For fucks sake stop lying to me and yourself, you did something stupid and for once in your fucking life admit it.”
Silence again thick and heavy. You swallowed hard, your voice lowering. “You don’t need to babysit me, Halstead. I can take care of myself.”
“What’s happening to you? Why are you acting like this?”
You turned at that, glaring at him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve—” You stopped, realizing your voice had cracked. You looked away quickly, blinking hard.
You felt his eyes on you but you refused to look back, you weren’t able to look at him without breaking down.
Jay’s voice softened slightly, though frustration still edged it. “You’re right. I don’t know. But I know what I saw and... And it scared the hell out of me.”
That caught you off guard. You looked at him, but this time it was him who didn’t look back. He continued, his voice lower now, almost speaking to himself. “You can hate me all you want, but I’m not gonna stand there and watch you get yourself shot.”
You didn’t know what to say. The words tangled in your throat.
You wanted to be angry, to snap something back… But all you felt was exhaustion.
“You didn’t have to save me.”
He was glancing at you and for the first time he didn’t know what to say.
The rest of the drive passed in silence.
When he pulled up in front of your building, you reached for the handle, but his hand landed gently on your arm. “You should call someone to stay with you tonight. After what happened...”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Stop saying…”
“I said I’ll be fine,” you repeated, already opening the door. You stepped out before he could say anything else, the cold air biting at your skin, already frozen due to the soaked clothes.
Jay watched you until you disappeared inside, that same gnawing unease twisting in his gut for days.
Your mind had managed to not think about what was happening to you for a few hours, but in your home, alone, those thoughts hit you again like a raging river.
You just wanted to sleep, you wanted so badly to close your eyes and rest just for a little bit, but Marcus Kane was still out there, hiding in the shadows, ready to attack you. How could you rest?
It had been almost four days since that call, and you hadn’t known peace since. You knew he’d look for you, that it wouldn’t take him long to find you, and you hated it all. You hated this wait, you hated the fear, you hated being scared to death in your own home, the place where you should feel most safe, you hated even having to shower with your gun beside you.
The apartment was quiet, too quiet.
You’d just stepped out of the shower, towel-drying your hair as you walked into the living room. The air still smelled faintly of shampoo and coffee.
For once, you thought maybe you could finally breathe.
But then the lights flickered.
And you froze, a prickle crawled up your neck.
You turned slowly toward the window, your heart almost stopped when you realized the lock was undone.
You remembered locking it. You knew you had because you checked it as soon as you got home.
How the hell was that possible?
Your pulse started pounding, sharp and shallow. You set the towel down, reaching for your gun that you now carried everywhere.
And then a voice, that voice.
“I always told you that your pride would be your downfall, sweetheart.”
You spun around and there he was.
Marcus Kane.
He was older, meaner, eyes burning with the same kind of hate you’d seen the day he was dragged into custody.
He took a step toward you, smirking. “Didn’t think you’d actually make it easy for me,” he muttered, glancing around. “Nice place, by the way. Better than the dump where I found you playing the perfect girlfriend.”
“Stay back,” you warned, gun raised, while trying to keep your hands as still as possible. “Don’t take another step,” your voice steady, not wanting to show fear. That was what he enjoyed most, seeing his victims scared to death, but you didn’t want to show him, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Oh, come on,” he said, voice dripping with mock affection. “After everything we’ve been through, you don’t even want to say hello?”
He didn’t even give you time to react.
The gun went flying as he slammed into you, both of you crashing into the coffee table but not before a shot landed in the void. Pain shot through your ribs as the wood cracked beneath you. He tried to pin you down, his forearm crushing against your throat, but you drove your knee into his side, hard.
He grunted, stumbled, and you scrambled to your feet, gasping. “You ruined my life!” he snarled, grabbing your wrist before punching you square in the face, making you step back. “Did you have fun pretending to fall in love with me? Making me trust you? You fucking bitch!”
You didn’t think, you just reacted.
It was your turn to punch him across the jaw, and you did it with all your strength, enough to make him stagger back.
He roared and swung again, but this time you were ready and dodged it. You shoved him back, grabbed the lamp from the side table, and smashed it against his head. He shouted, stumbled into the wall, enough for you to bolt toward the door. Or at least try.
He grabbed your hoodie, yanking you backward, and you felt the fabric tear, his breath hot against your ear. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart? We have unfinished business, you and I. You won’t get away that easily.”
You elbowed him in the side, and that was enough to make him loosen his grip around your neck, making it easy for you to turn toward him and punch him in the nose again. The crack was sickening, blood spraying as he cursed and fell to one knee.
You hit him in the face with your knee, with such force that he fell to the ground.
A kick to the stomach.
And another.
And another one.
And then you ran.
Down the hallway, out the door, barefoot, your heart thundering as his shouts echoed behind you.
You didn’t stop running, not when your feet hit the pavement, not when your shoulder screamed in pain, not when you realized you’d left everything behind except fear.
The TV was on, but Jay’s mind was focused on everything except the movie playing. He sipped occasionally from his beer bottle and couldn’t help but relive what had happened that day, the shooting, and you.
To be honest, he’d always had a hard time not thinking about you, even though he tried to convince himself otherwise.
What woke him from his reverie were loud knocks on the door, sharp, urgent.
He jumped and glanced at the clock: 12:47 AM.
Who the hell was that at that time?
He approached the door, and his heart almost stopped as he looked through the peephole.
He threw the door open, and there you were.
“Y/n...” he whispered, almost breathless, as his eyes scanned your body. You were soaked from head to toe, barefoot, your eyes wide open, tears mixing with the drops of water running down your cheeks, your body trembling. “What the hell—? Oh my god. What... What happened?”
A sob left your lips. “I… I don’t know where else to go…”
“Jesus Christ… Come here,” he without even thinking once pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your body. He didn’t care you were soaked from head to toe, he just wanted to hold you. “Shh, it’s okay… It’s all right, you’re safe now.”
To his surprise, you returned the hug, as you continued to sob, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it was your lifeline.
In all the years he’d known you, he’d never seen you like this, ever.
“It’s okay, everything’s okay, I’m here, I won’t let you go,” he kept whispering as he stroked your hair and held you tightly against his chest.
His stomach twisted with a feeling he’d never experienced before, with a rage so strong he’d raze the entire city if he could.
“Hey, look at me,” he whispered softly, pulling away from that embrace just enough to look at you. You avoided his gaze, as you had been doing for the past couple of days. “Look at me.”
The first thing he noticed when you slightly lifted your head was the purple bruise forming on your cheek. He wanted so badly to caress you, to wipe away those tears he hated to see, but he didn’t, he didn’t want to scare you away, make you feel uncomfortable.
“Talk to me, please. Who did this to you?” His voice was soft, sweet—a tone he’d never used with you—even as he tried to mask the anger and fear he was feeling in that moment.
You shook your head, not saying a word.
“Okay, okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me now, okay? Come inside.”
You didn’t say anything, simply letting him lead you into his house, his hand on the small of your back as if he feared you might disappear at any moment.
It was ironic that this was the first time you’d seen his apartment and it was because something horrible had happened to you.
“Do you want anything? Some water? I can get you some clean clothes. You can take a shower if you want.”
You nodded, though you didn’t answer any of his questions. Jay stepped away for a moment, his heart still pounding as he went to his room and grabbed a pair of clean pants and a shirt from the drawer, then a pair of clean slippers before joining you in the living room. He’d found you in the same position, standing, arms crossed over your chest, staring into space.
“Here you go, take all the time you need. The bathroom is down the hall on the right; you’ll find clean towels and robes there.”
You grabbed your clothes, the trembling in your hands still there. He noticed the swelling of your hand, the cuts on your nuckles. You looked at him for a moment, and Jay felt as if he’d been hit in the gut, before whispering a faint, “Thank you.”
Jay ran his hands over his face in frustration, feeling more helpless than ever. What the hell had happened?
At that moment, his cell phone rang, and Voight's name lit up the screen.
Turns out, a patrol unit had reached your apartment after a neighbor called about what sounded like a gunshot. Upon arrival, an unknown man was found injured, confused, and still semi-conscious on your floor. The cops had called Voight after realizing the address belonged to one of the Intelligence members, but you weren’t there.
Jay reassured Voight you were with him, and you were fine, or at least seemingly so. Voight was investigating the man’s identity, and it didn’t take long to pinpoint his name: Markus Kane, a convicted felon who’d been released only a few days earlier after serving time for drug trafficking, prostitution, and murder.
It didn’t take Jay long to realize that the change in your behavior over the past few days was due precisely to Kane’s release.
“Keep an eye on her Halstead,” Voight said before ending the call.
“Of course, don’t even mention it.” The call ended, and Jay let out a sigh before placing his phone on the coffee table.
He went into the kitchen and started heating up some water so he could make you some hot tea. He didn’t know what he was doing, because since it was you and he didn’t really know how to act around you most of the time.
“I didn’t know you were the tea kind of guy, Halstead,” your voice startled him, so lost in thought he hadn’t heard you arrive. His heart probably didn’t skip a beat, not until he saw you in his clothes, even though they were a few sizes too big.
This isn’t the time Jay, stop it.
“Figured it out you wanted something hot.”
You nodded. “Thanks.” You sighed, running a hand through your now-dry hair. “Listen, Jay, I... I’m sorry to bother you...”
“Hey, no stop,” he interrupted you before letting you continue what you were saying, “If you think for even a second I’m going to let you go, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m not leaving you alone.”
You looked at him for a moment, your gaze unreadable, before lowering it to your feet.
“C’mon, let’s get comfortable on the couch.”
Jay sat down next to you, leaving a little space between you two, a space he only wanted to fill.
The silence was tense, almost suffocating; he didn’t know what to say. After all, he knew you, he knew it’d be useless to push you to tell him what had happened because that would only make you shut down even more.
But God, he was trembling, he just wanted to tear the son of a bitch who had done this to you to pieces.
You were still shaking, though not like when you’d arrived, and Jay hoped it was just the cold. He took the blanket he always had on the couch and draped it around your shoulders. “You’re shivering,” he almost whispered.
Your eyes were on his face, scared, curious, but you didn’t say a word. Jay’s heart was pounding, so fast that for a moment he feared you could hear it.
He passed the cup of tea between your hands. Your fingers barely touched, but this tiny contact made his throat tighten.
The room fell into an almost deafening silence again, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of the rain still hitting the windows.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. You brought the cup to your lips, taking a small sip.
“No.”
M
“Of course not,” he muttered, running his hands over his face in frustration. “Why would you ever…” He stopped.
“What?”
“Make things easy, you always have to complicate everything. You always have to put on this tough facade, pretend everything is fine, I don’t know why you do this… Seriously, you’re driving me crazy… Why can’t you just accept that someone wants to help you? Why do you think you have to deal with everything alone?”
“It’s not your job…”
“Of course it’s my job. For fucks sake we work together, you’re my partner, of course I want to help you, I care about you.”
You looked down at the cup, but Jay had noticed your shiny eyes, your trembling lip.
“Why did you come here?”
“I told you, I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Yes, you did, you could have gone to anyone else—Kim, Adam—but you came here, to me. We don’t get along most of the time. Why?”
“Jay… Enough…”
“Look at me,” he said, and you did. He tried to ignore the way seeing your tears again made him feel. He tried not to think about it, not to be distracted by the trembling of your lips, by the way you were trying to stay composed, to still feign strength when it was clear you had none left.
“Because I trust you,” you breathed out, in a whisper, “You… You’re the only person who won’t judge me, who won’t look at me like I’m a victim.”
The words hung in the air, as if they, too, were afraid of breaking. Jay stared at you, unable to say anything, incredulous that you could actually say it. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if simply breathing had become difficult.
“Really? Please say it again, I have to record it.”
“Never, you bastard.” You both chuckled. “You’re not going to let me live this down, aren’t you?”
“Oh never, princess.”
“Don’t call me princess.”
“Alright, alright. I won’t call you princess anymore, princess.”
“God, you’re unbearable. Forget what I said.”
Jay smiled, happy to have managed to ease the tension a little, because he knew you, he knew how much you hate being vulnerable, how you used sarcasm to avoid talking about your feelings.
But he was especially happy because he finally got to see you smile. Man, he hated seeing those teary eyes of yours, and in that precise moment, he vowed to do everything in his power to never see you cry again.
There was a moment of silence.
“That’s also why I’m here,” you whispered, your eyes now fixed on the cup.
“What do you mean?”
“Because you manage to make things a little bit better.”
Jay was taken aback; he never in his life would’ve expected to hear those words from you.
But then again, that was your relationship. You bickered. It wasn’t true to say you hated each other, because you didn’t, but at the end, you were always there for each other. Not explicitly—neither of you had ever said “I’m here”—but with your jokes and arguments, with an offered beer, even just with your presence, with silence.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that now,” you continued.
“I think I’m hallucinating.”
You giggled, playfully hitting him on the arm.
You took another long sip of tea, which was now cooling. You tucked the blanket around your body, then pulled your legs up to your chest before placing the cup on the coffee table.
“Before I started in Intelligence, I worked in the Major Crimes Unit in Washington. We were investigating a large drug ring, prostitution, and a series of related murders,” you began, your gaze lost in space. Jay listened intently, his breath held almost as if he feared that if you heard him, you’d stop talking. “There was a man in charge, Marcus Kane, and there was no way to frame him. We knew he was behind all those crimes, but there was no concrete evidence. Whoever had anything to do with him, they were terrified enough not to testify...”
“So we decided to go undercover. I volunteered. Catching Marcus Kane was the perfect opportunity to make myself known. I’d just become a detective, and I wanted to prove my worth.”
Jay smiled to himself. It was just like you.
“I went undercover for about a year, pretending to be a big shot in the prostitution ring and looking for new girls to buy. He was a shrewd, paranoid guy, suspicious even of his own shadow, so it wasn’t easy. But eventually, slowly, I managed to gain his trust.”
“He fell in love...”
You nodded. “And I took advantage of this opportunity. I never did anything with him; I always managed to slip away without arousing his suspicions, playing with his feelings. Long story short, I managed to gather enough evidence to frame him, to get the victims he raped to talk… But something went wrong, and to this day I still don’t know how he got the word that there was an undercover cop,” you sighed, huddling tighter. “We fought, he managed to stab me, but before he could finish the job, backup arrived and arrested him, but not before yelling at me that he’d get revenge.”
His heart broke for you, he couldn’t even imagine how you felt in that moment, fighting for your life, fearing you were about to die.
“What happened?” Jay whispered.
“A few days ago, I got a call from my lawyer. Kane made a deal, revealed the names of some big shots he dealt with, and got of jail…” you replied.
There was another moment of silence.
“I checked every single door and window, and everything was locked… I don’t know how he got in,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “We fought, he managed to disarm me, but believe it or not, he got the worst of it… I ran away, and here I am.”
“Oh yes, I absolutely believe you, Detective. I saw you angry,” Jay joked, trying to hide the turmoil he felt inside. He was there, he had left you at home and left. If he had insisted on staying, none of this would’ve happened.
“We caught him. Voight called me. One of your neighbors heard a gunshot and called 911. The patrol called him.”
You looked at him for a moment and let out a breath, though Jay noticed the news didn’t completely reassure you.
“He’ll find a way out this time too.”
“He attacked a cop. He won’t get away with it.”
You sighed. “I hope so, Jay.”
And there was that silence again, heavy, suffocating.
Jay’s body was tense, unable to relax. He’d never even seen that man’s face, but he hated him with every fiber of his being. Now your behavior became clear, the way you flinched, the way you constantly looked over your shoulder every time you were in the field, your recklessness during the trade.
He could only imagine the hell you went through these past days, the sleepless nights staring around, feeling vulnerable in the only place you were supposed to feel safe: your home.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, leaning back on the couch. Neither of you seemed to realize that in the meantime, Jay had inadvertently moved closer to you, but without actually touching you. He just wanted to implicitly tell you that he was there, that he was listening, that he would protect you.
“For what? It’s not your fault.”
“For not understanding. I mean, I knew something was wrong in the past few days, but all I did was insist on asking you if everything was okay, knowing you’d push me away. I’m your partner, I know you, I know who you are, and I didn’t do anything to help you.”
Jay studied you for a long moment, the way your shoulders trembled beneath the blanket, the way your eyes kept darting toward the floor as if you were afraid of what he might find if you met his gaze. Every instinct in him screamed to pull you closer, to erase every trace of fear from your face, but he couldn’t. Not when you’d made such a point of keeping walls between you two.
And yet, seeing you like this—raw, shaken, human—cracked something inside him.
“That son of a bitch will never touch you again, do you hear me? I don’t care what it takes, he’ll never hurt you again.”
You didn’t look up, and that killed him more than anything else. Because he could see the weight behind your silence, the exhaustion, the fear, the shame you didn’t deserve to feel. He knew it was something you hated, having to ask for help, depending on someone, feeling like a burden.
He hated seeing you like this, vulnerable, almost broken.
He just wanted to see you with that bright smile of yours, so beautiful it could light up the darkest room, he wanted to hear your terrible jokes, your way of teasing him.
“I know it’s hard for you, I know you’ve always been used to facing everything alone in your life, because every person you relied on has always disappointed you, and you’ve learned you can’t trust anyone. No one but yourself,” he spoke in a sweet, patient tone, “I know I’m the last person you’d want to tell you this. We’re not exactly best friends, but you’re not alone in this world. Whatever happens to you, happens to me… To the whole team.”
“I care about you, more than you can even imagine, and I know I’ve never told you this because that’s how our relationship is… But I’ll always be there for you whenever you want me to be. I know that stubborn little head of yours will stop you from doing that, but I’m here. I won’t leave you alone now, tomorrow, or ever, no matter how much you hate the idea.”
You finally looked up at him, and his heart broke as he saw those tears streaming down your face, that beautiful face now surrounded by that damned purple bruise.
“I hate you so much, Detective Halstead,” you sniffed, drying your tears. “Remember when you told me that if things got bad, a hug could make it all go away?”
He nodded.
“I really need one right now.”
He smiled and didn’t need to be told twice before pulling you into his chest for the second time that evening. He could count on one hand the number of times you’d hugged in the years you’d known each other, but each and every single one of them was forever imprinted in his memory.
Your arms were holding him with such force it left him speechless, as if he was your lifeline, the only thing that could save you in that moment.
“I thought I’d lose you today,” he whispered, so low he didn’t even know if you’d heard him. But from the way you held him, he knew you had. “Don’t ever do that to me again, please.”
“You really like me that much, Halstead?” you murmured, making him chuckle.
You have no idea, baby.
“That’s called being a partner, you should try it sometime.” He retorted, his arms wrapped around you as he stroked your hair.
“You won’t lose me. It would be hard to find a better partner than me.”
He laughed again, pulling you even closer. “I hate to admit it, but it’s true. That’s why I’m begging you to stay in one piece.”
“I’ll try,” you chuckled this time, and he breathed an internal sigh of relief as he felt you finally relax in his arms. “Thank you for everything.”
“Anytime. I’m always here.”
You lifted your head slightly so you could look at him, and he placed a hand on your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I don’t want to see you like this ever again,” he whispered. “Insult me, hit me, do whatever you want, but I don’t want to see you cry, see you suffer like this again.”
He saw you trying to hold back your smile, and his heart skipped another beat. “There it is, that’s that pretty smile that I like, that’s how I want to see you all the time. And if there’s anyone who stops you from doing so, promise me you’ll tell me, okay? So I’ll break his legs with my bare hands.”
You laughed, and his heart began to race this time. “Don’t you think that’s a little overboard?”
“Not at all.” He shook his head slightly. “You have no idea what I’ll do to that son of a bitch when I lay my hands on him.”
“It feels good.”
“What?”
“Feeling protected, feeling like there’s someone there to protect you, making you feel safe. It feels good.”
Those words weren’t supposed to affect him the way they did, they weren’t supposed to break his heart like that, but they did, and he hated it. Himself for feeling that way, the rest of the world for making you believe you weren’t worthy of those things.
“I know, and you won’t have to worry about that anymore, whether you like it or not.”
“I think I might like it.”
You remained silent for a moment, his heart still pounding, your breathing slowly becoming more regular. You stayed there, hugging each other on that couch as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if you were used to it, and somehow it felt natural, for some strange reason it was supposed to be this way.
His fingers continued to delicately caress your face, he wasn’t even sure if he was doing it more for himself than for you, and with every passing second he hoped time would stop for a little longer.
“So…” it was you who broke the comfortable silence, your tone lighter. “That pretty smile that I like, huh? My God, you’re really into me, Jay.”
Jay rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Don’t let it get over your head, obviously I just said that to make you feel better.” He retorted, grateful you couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks, because what he’d said was as far from the truth as could be.
“Mmh, mmh,” you hummed in amusement, relieved. You tilted d your head so you could look at him. “Sure, keep telling yourself that, maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
Jay felt something inside him twist, a sharp pull low in his chest that left him breathless. He didn’t even know how to describe it, what name to give that sensation.
You looked exhausted, yes, but there was also something else, trust, maybe, or the faintest flicker of safety. And God, it almost broke him.
He’d seen you angry, stubborn, reckless; he’d fought with you more times than he could count, but he’d never seen you like this.
So close. So open, so damn real.
And you were so beautiful it took his breath away.
His eyes kept roaming over every millimeter of her face, mentally taking thousands of photos so he could imprint them in his memory, because the truth was, he didn’t know if he’d ever have the chance to have you this close again.
His throat went dry, the words burning there with nowhere to go.
Jay swallowed hard.
Don’t do something stupid. Don’t do it.
But his gaze dropped to your lips for a second too long, and he knew he had to move, immediately, before he crossed a line he couldn’t take back.
“I…” he started, his voice rougher than he expected. He cleared his throat, stood up too fast. “I’m just gonna—uh—get you some ice. For… you know.” He gestured vaguely toward the side of your face, anything to justify the sudden space between you.
He didn’t wait for a reply.
He needed distance, oxygen, anything that wasn’t the scent of your skin, anything to non to see the look in your eyes that felt like it could undo him completely.
As he reached the kitchen, he braced his hands on the counter, eyes closed, chest tight.
Fuck.
Get it together, Halstead.
Because for a second back there, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to comfort you or just kiss you until the world stopped shaking, until neither of you would have any air left in your lungs.
Jay took longer than he needed. The ice was already in the towel but he couldn’t quite bring himself to go back yet.
For fucks sake he’d faced armed men, stared down killers, fought in wars, and somehow, walking back into that living room felt harder than any of it.
When he finally did, you were sitting in the same position, knees still drawn up, blanket still wrapped around you. Your eyes found him immediately, soft but searching, like you could tell exactly what was going on inside his head even if he was trying damn hard to hide it.
He cleared his throat, forcing a half-smile.
“Here you go,” he murmured, holding out the ice. “It’ll be good for the bruise.”
You took it, your fingers brushing his again, just a second, just enough to make his skin burn under your touch.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
He nodded, trying to focus on the movement of your hand instead of the fact that his heart was still hammering in his chest.
“Keep it on for a while,” he muttered, sitting down again, this time a little further away than before.
Safe distance. Or at least that’s what he told himself.
For a while, you both pretended to watch the rain through the window. The air still felt thick, like the room itself remembered what had just almost happened. Every once in a while, he’d steal a glance, the curve of your jaw, of your nose, your lips, the faint rise and fall of your shoulders as you breathed, and every damn time, it felt like something in him shifted.
You broke the silence first.
“Are you okay?”
Jay blinked, thrown off. “Me?” He huffed out a laugh. “You’re the one who just went through hell, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
You shrugged lightly. “I don’t know, it seems like something is bothering you.”
He couldn’t help it, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before his gaze flicked to yours, holding it for just a heartbeat too long before he looked away again.
“It’s…” he said finally, voice low. “I’m just glad you’re here. That’s all.”
And that was the truth. Raw, simple, terrifying in its honesty.
Because for all his control, all his training, nothing had prepared him for how much he could care about someone who drove him this crazy, for someone who could make him feel so protective, so alive, and so close to losing every bit of restraint he had left.
What do y’all think about a part two of this one? 👀 (me asking knowing damn well I’ve already started writing it and I’m gonna post it anyway even if nobody answers)
• Requested by anon: It's totally fine if not but could you write a smut fic for Derek Morgan where he walks in on the reader and her bf having sex and the next day he turns back up to her apartment when she's alone and says something like " that orgasm wasn't real and we both know it , do you want a real one princess?" If not fine thanks xxxx
• Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (DON’T BE LIKE THEM FELLAS WRAP IT UP), curse words,
• Word count: 6.6K.
• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE +18. I really don’t like how this turned out to be honest but here it is lol. I changed the request a bit, making the reader single and just having a quickie with a stranger because I don’t write about cheating, hope it’s okay xx love you all as always and thank you for your support ❤️
You'd always thought you deserved an Oscar, and that performance was the clearest proof of that.
You were having sex with a guy, Trevor, for the first time in months and he made you remember why so much time had passed since your last sexual encounter.
From time to time you remembered to moan, just not to stay too silent, with such fakeness you sounded like the most experienced porn actress.
You know those ones that you barely touch with a finger and they’re already screaming and moaning at the top of their lungs as if they were having the best orgasm of their life? That was you.
How the hell did that guy not even understand that your moans were fake? Even the damned stones would have understood.
But not him. Trevor seemed so satisfied with his performance and you could see from a mile away that he hadn’t touched a woman in years, that he was only and solely focused on his pleasure.
His hips were moving too frantically, he had no rhythm and it seemed as if he was chasing something.
It was these random encounters that made you hate sex. You weren’t one of those women who needed sex in their life 7 days a week, you were fine without it, but sometimes you needed that human contact, that adrenaline, that desire, feeling your intestines turned upside down and your organs moved from their original spot, you needed to feel like dying while having an orgasm.
God how you missed sex like that.
You hated to admit it, but the only man who had been able to make you feel so much pleasure, to make you forget your own name was him.
Stop, don’t think about him right now.
You realized you were too quiet so you started panting and moaning again as if Trevor was rocking your world instead of almost putting you to sleep.
Man, you regretted inviting him so bad.
But what could you say? Desperate times, called for desperate measures.
When the hell is it going to end?
“I’m coming…” he groaned and you mentally sighed in relief. You didn’t even bother faking an orgasm, you just got out of bed and locked yourself in the bathroom, not even saying a word, hoping Trevor would get the hint and leave before you came out.
You turned on the shower and waited for the water to get a little warm before entering the stall, your only thought directed towards your vibrator best friend who was impatiently waiting for you.
-
The case the BAU was working on was successfully closed and the unsub got arrested before he could kill his next victim. You were on the team jet, returning in Virginia, and you were making yourself a cup of tea when you felt a presence behind you.
You turned and rolled your eyes when you noticed Derek Morgan standing behind you, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and a sneering smirk — both panty-ripping and slapping — plastered on his face.
“What do you want now Morgan?”
You had noticed Derek giving you strange looks all day now, but you had never had the chance to ask him why since you were both busy on an important murder hunt. You weren’t sure how to describe the way he looked at you, like he was teasing you on one hand but also analyzing and scrutinizing you from head to toe on the other.
You and Derek weren’t complete strangers, to say the least.
You ended up in bed together after a night of drinking after a successfully closed case, months ago. You wanted to forget it, god you tried so hard, but your mind kept replying that night every day since it happened.
He thought you didn’t remember anything, but every time you looked at him you could only think about how that bastard had been the best and most beautiful sex of your life.
And you hated it.
Stupid Trevor, why did you have to be the worst sex of my life and make me believe even more I’ll never have something as overwhelming as I experienced it with Derek?
Both you and Derek silently decided it’d only be a one-night stand but there had certainly been no shortage of jokes and barbs from him, or the languid and mischievous glances he’d throw you, like he wanted to undress you with his gaze, or how he’d give you that panty-ripping grin when he caught you staring at him.
You had always thought that Derek was a handsome man, since you joined the BAU. You’d always fantasized about him from day one, god you was so attracted to him likefew, but knowing what it was like to have sex with him had turned your world upside down.
And it didn’t help that you were so frustrated after the Trevor fiasco.
That day Derek was wearing an all-black look, almost as if he knew how crazy he was driving you.
Please calm down now.
“Oh nothing, I just wanted a coffee,” he replied, his voice so husky and soothing that just hearing it almost made you want to beg him to give him a blowjob right there in front of everyone.
Fucks sake I’m becoming an animal.
Your heart almost stopped when you realized he had taken a step towards you, almost making your drop your cup.
“You’re welcome, the kitchen is all yours then.”
“How was your night?” he asked, making you stop in your tracks before you could exit the jet’s small kitchen.
You sipped your tea, your heart skipping a beat. “It went well.”
His grin grew even wider, and you wondered what the hell was going through his mind. “Just well?”
“What do you want, Morgan?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh nothing, baby girl. I just asked a simple question.” His eyes moved from your eyes to your lips and your mouth suddenly felt dry. Derek noticed the way you wet your lips with your tongue, even though it was completely unintentional.
Even though your stomach was in a tizzy, you feigned calm and tranquility as you took another sip of your tea. “Well, I answered you, now if you don’t mind, I’m going to…”
He cut you off. “You know, if I hadn’t known before, I would’ve actually given you an Oscar for Best Actress.”
You frowned. “What?”
His grin grew even bigger than it already was. Your breath caught for a moment as he took another step towards you.
He was close.
Too close.
Your eyes never left his, which despite the dim light shone like two bright beacons in the night. His scent flooded your nostrils and that was enough to rekindle your senses.
Why the fuck did it have to smell so good?
“Oh yeah,” he fake-groaned in a low but high-pitched tone and you wished the earth would swallow you right then.
That’s what the bastard was talking about, he heard you.
Derek Morgan heard you having sex and, in that moment, you hated Trevor even more.
“Why fake actress?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.
“You look so beautiful when you fake a confidence you don’t have,” he retorted, reaching up and stroking your cheek with his index finger. It took all of you not to lean into his touch and close your eyes. “But the blush on your cheeks always gives you away. It’s so damn cute.”
Your breathing was visibly quickening, and you found yourself putting the cup of tea on the sink because you knew it would slip out of your hands sooner or later. You tried to put distance between you and Derek, but the space was too small.
“Morgan, they could hear us.”
“We’re just talking,” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and — even though you fought it — you couldn’t help but look down at his lips, so beautiful and sensual. “I’m congratulating my dear colleague on her amazing performance.”
“Will you just stop? It wasn’t a performance. It was sex, have you ever heard of that, Morgan?”
He chuckled, his fingers still playing with the lock of your hair. “Oh yes, of course, that’s why I can tell reality from fiction and that orgasm, my beautiful agent, was the furthest thing from reality.”
“It’s not true,” you muttered, unable for the life of you to pretend and be more convinced. Derek’s eyes traveled along your body, making every cell that passed under his hungry gaze light up and set ablaze. He wet his lips and you almost moaned at the gesture. And that would’ve been a real moan. “You’re so creepy, did you really listen to me having sex with someone else?”
“It’s not my fault our rooms were practically attached,” he replied, his voice lowered and a hint of irritation surrounding it. “Believe me when I tell you the last thing I want is to hear you with someone else. But it comforts me to know that he wasn't even up to your level.”
“Oh, and what do you know? You weren't there with me.”
His chocolate brown eyes met yours again. His face came so terribly close to yours that you thought he was going to kiss you right then and there.
And the bad thing was that you wanted it and you were going to let him.
“Because I know what you look like when you're coming, I know what you sound like when your body is shaking with a real orgasm, I know how to touch you, how to make you lose your mind,” he whispered but his voice reached your ears powerfully. You clenched your hands into fists because that one whispered sentence made your vagina throb.
“You remember?” You whispered back, alternating your eyes between his and his lips. God how you wanted those lips on you, on every inch of your body.
You decided that you would think about how pathetic you sounded later.
His left arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards his body, already interrupting the tiny space between the two of you. A sigh escaped your lips involuntarily when you felt his erection press against you. Your hands, which were resting on his sculpted chest, clenched his shirt in a fist.
“I have done nothing but replicate that night for the last three and a half months, every fucking day.”
With his free hand, Derek moved your hair aside, letting it fall over your shoulders and leaving your neck free.
You sighed when he placed his hot mouth on your skin, leaving a series of chaste kisses that made you lose your mind. You forgot for a few moments where you were, that at any moment any member of the team could walk in there, but you couldn’t give a fuck.
“I know how your body shakes with pleasure, you pant uncontrollably, your moans aren’t loud,” he kissed that spot below your ear, “but they are so intense and so fucking sexy, I can come just hearing them. You don’t scream, but everything that came out of this mouth when you were with me was real. The way your body writhed, the way your pussy tightened around me was real. Tell me baby, did this happen with him? Did you feel like you were going to explode?”
“Oh God… Derek…” you muttered, your eyelids half-closed as his lips kissed your neck and his teeth nibbled your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. You didn’t even realize you’d tilted your head to the side to give him more access but you didn’t care, if that man wanted to fuck you right there, you would’ve let him without hesitation, even if it meant everyone would catch you.
That’s how desperate you were.
“I don’t think so,” he answered his own question and raised his head so he could look at you.
You bit your bottom lip, trying hard to hold back the urge to kiss him until you were out of breath.
His erection continued to press harder and harder against your body and you writhed, just wanting some relief.
“I tried to forget about that night, believe me. I was drunk but I remember every single gasp, every breathy moan, everything that dirty mouth said to me,” his thumb traced your bottom lip and you parted your lips spontaneously, your breathing quickening and your heart beating like you had just done a hard workout. “I remember perfectly the way you looked at me, how your eyes shone while you had my dick in your mouth, how you smiled at me when you turned around and looked at me while I fucked you from behind… Every little detail is burned into my memory and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”
“Fuck Derek please…” But you were begging him for what? You didn’t know.
His lips slammed against yours before you could finish that sentence and you moaned.
Yes, damn it, you moaned, and all you could do was pray that no one had heard you.
Your arms immediately wrapped around his neck as he held you tightly against his body, both of his hands gripping your hips with a firm, steady grip. His tongue wasted no time in possessing your mouth as soon as you gave him the chance and you lost yourself in that kiss.
All the frustration that had built up ignited like a match hitting gasoline, ready to explode and drag you into the ash.
You were rubbing yourself against him, his erection so hard you wanted nothing more than to free it.
“Y/n! Can you get me a cup of tea too please?” You heard JJ’s voice and that little bubble you and Derek were trapped in burst, making you separate from each other.
“Yes, I’ll be right there!” You exclaimed back, never taking your eyes off Derek whose chest was rising and falling rapidly in response to yours, his lips slick with saliva.
“Don’t even think for a second this is over,” he whispered, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll kill before I let another man take what’s mine.”
“Not very jealous, huh?” You bit your lip and he sucked in a breath.
“Yeah. I’m quite possessive of what’s mine.”
“Since when?”
He grabbed your face with one hand with a tight grip, determined to leave you no escape but at the same time gentle, careful not to hurt you or leave marks. “From this moment on you are. Understood?” He kissed you one last time and you found yourself nodding in a trance like a poor idiot.
Girl stand the fuck up!
“See you soon, baby.”
When Derek had said those last words you didn’t think he was serious but when that same evening he knocked on your doorbell, you couldn’t hide your amazement and — above all — your excitement.
God what kind of witchcraft had that man done to you?
You waited a couple of moments before opening, just to keep him on his toes.
When you opened the door Derek revealed himself at his best, breathtakingly wonderful. You noticed he had changed clothes, he was wearing a white shirt and black pants and you wondered why he had dressed so elegantly to come to you.
But then you remembered when you—still drunk—told him how sexy he looked in a white shirt.
Needless to say, the memory of it made you want to bury yourself.
“Took you a long time, baby girl,” he grinned, a cheeky smirk plastered across his lips as he took pleasure in the way your eyes hungrily roamed over his body.
“What are you doing here?”
“I told you, this isn’t over.” He took a step toward you and then walked past you into your house, not even waiting to be invited in. Typical Derek Morgan.
“Come in, I guess,” you muttered under your breath before closing the door and following him into the living room. You watched him sit on your couch, legs spread and arms stretched over the back, his eyes on you as they devoured you.
He was so fucking hot you wished you had Reid’s eidetic memory so you could never forget that image.
He looked like a king sitting on his throne, ready to spit out orders and sentences left and right that you’d have happily obeyed whatever he asked.
Good job, sending back feminism back a hundred years.
His presence filled your modest home, it felt like every inch of it belonged to him and a part of you hated how good he looked sitting there on your couch.
He nodded to the empty seat next to him, never taking his eyes off you, as he looked at you and observed you so intently almost as if he wanted to find your most intimate secrets.
“You want something?”
His eyes traveled down your body and for a moment you cursed yourself for not wearing something sexier than a simple t-shirt and shorts. But, in your defense, you didn’t think he’d actually show up at your house.
He nodded as he looked back up at your face. “You.”
Your stomach clenched in on itself and for a moment you didn’t know what to do. Your options ranged between kneeling in front of him and running away to your bedroom and locking yourself in just because of the intensity of his gaze.
“Should I drag you here or what? I don’t bite, you know.”
“I wish,” you muttered under your breath but the deep, sexy chuckle that escaped his lips proved that it wasn’t as short as you thought.
“Come here, baby girl.”
Your feet moved on command and you stepped towards him. You were about to sit down but he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him, making you sit on his lap.
Your arms spontaneously wrapped around his neck, just like they had done that same afternoon during that kiss. Your eyes looked and studied his face as if you hadn’t already imprinted every detail of his features in your memory.
Desperate? Very much so. But who could blame you.
That man was walking sex.
And he was sitting on your couch.
“I don’t understand you…” you started to speak, trying for a moment to think with your brain and not with your vagina.
“About what? I’m afraid you need to be more specific, baby.” Just as it had happened only a few hours before, his fingers began to play with a lock of your hair that had escaped from your messy ponytail.
“All of this. We had sex months ago, we both pretended it never happened and even forgotten about it. You hear me with another man, and now you act like this, you want me, you come to my home… I don’t understand Derek. What do you want?”
“I already told you. I want you,” he replied, “And I don’t want any other son of a bitch to put his dirty hands on you.”
“And why? What has changed from today until a few days ago when you were pretending nothing was happening?”
“You call what happened in these last few months ‘pretend nothing happened’?”
He was right about that, there had been times when you and Derek had been close, so close to ending up in bed again and breaking your promises. Even when you were around people there was always that attraction that pulled you towards each other.
He paused a little. “You really want to know what changed?”
You nodded.
His fingers moved to your face, his thumb caressing your cheek with a sweetness that almost made you go crazy.
“Absolutely nothing, that’s what changed. I’m as obsessed with you as I’ve been since that damn night and as I’ve been since I laid eyes on you the day you stepped foot in the unit.” His words, although almost whispered, were firm and his eyes never left yours as he spoke, almost as if he was trying to convince you he was sincere. “I pretended to forget for you, because that’s what you wanted and because I didn’t want to make things worse since you didn’t even look at me for two weeks, right?”
He wasn’t wrong.
You didn’t say anything.
“I was so stupid and I’m sorry. If I had done something we wouldn’t have, or at least I wouldn’t have, spent three and a half months of torture. Seeing you every day at work and not being able to touch you, seeing you and reliving every minute of that night we spent together with the knowledge it wasn’t going to happen again,” he sighed, a hand stroking your back. “Seeing you and knowing there was another bastard who was lucky enough to be with you. I imagined you would’ve eventually be with someone else, but hearing it… It was awful and I’ll be damned if I’ll let that happen again.”
He moved closer to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek while his other hand was still resting on the other cheek.
You chuckled. “Lucky you, first time I have sex with someone and you manage to hear me.”
“Wait, really? He was the only one?”
“Well… Yeah… I tried but you rocked my world pretty bad Agent Morgan,” you spoke as your fingers caressed the back of his neck. “You know, I always hoped you’d try again because with or without alcohol in my system as an excuse, I would’ve given in in a nanosecond.”
He frowned. “Don’t play with me. If you think I’ve never hit on you these past months then you’re completely wrong, you know you’ve always been the one to say no.”
“Well you’re right about that,” you chucked, placing a small kiss on the tip of his nose and watching him try to suppress a smile. “It’s just… Like I said, I thought you didn’t remember that night, I told myself it was a one night stand and I’d definitely find someone else who…” you paused “Oh and wipe that grin off your face.”
“No, no, go ahead, baby girl. I love hearing about how I’ve turned your life upside down with my sexual skills.”
“Idiot.” You laughed and gave him a small slap on the back of the head. “I was saying… Trevor was the first one I hooked up with but… Well… As you could hear it was a disaster, I had to use my vibrator when he left.”
“Oh well well, that’s the really interesting part. Tell me more, baby, I’m all ears,” he smirked and you giggled like a schoolgirl. Yep. Like a schoolgirl.
God, you were so fucked.
“Seriously? How are you already hard?” You said, gasping as you felt his erection press under your thigh.
“Baby I’m always hard when you’re around. Especially now, you’re sitting on me, looking so beautiful, smelling so good and you’re telling me about how you touched yourself, c’mon what did you expect?”
You stood up from his lap, earning a confused look from him but before he could ask what you were doing you positioned yourself on top of him again, this time straddling him as your legs surrounded his.
A mischievous smile appeared on his lips while his hands wasted no time gripping your ass. You sighed, in that position you could perfectly feel his erection pressed against your pussy and that was enough to rekindle the desire.
You caressed his shirt-covered chest, with slow and sensual movements, without his eyes ever leaving you. He looked at you as if you were the eighth wonder of the world, as if he was a pirate and you were the treasure he had just discovered.
“So you want to know how I lay naked in bed, still dripping wet from the shower, how I spread my legs and put the vibrator on my pussy while I thought about you and how you fucked me so, so good?” You whispered in his ear and his fingers tightened on your ass, pressing you more onto his erection and making you sigh again.
“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth. You placed your lips on his neck and he immediately tilted his head to the side, giving you full access. You stuck out your tongue and began to lick his skin while your lips sucked and your teeth nibbled.
Derek let out a deep, guttural moan as you sucked and licked his skin. His hands continued to squeeze, press and grope your ass more and more, almost as if trying to release the tension he felt.
“Do you want me to show you?” You nibbled on his earlobe, basically dry humping each other.
“What?” he asked, dazed and confused.
You let out a chuckle. “How I used to touch myself thinking about you.”
You didn’t know where that confidence was coming from, you just knew you were horny as hell, that you were done talking and that this time you weren’t going to let anything stop that man from fucking you six ways into Sunday.
“Yes, yes, yes, fuck yes, please.”
You giggled. “So desperate.”
“For you? You don’t have a clue.”
“Come with me.”
“I’d rather come in you. Actually, no, I believe in my pants if you keep this up.”
You burst out laughing again before getting up from his lap. You held out your hand and pulled him up with you before leading him to your bedroom. Did you have to say how he didn’t keep his hands to himself for even a second and how he kept touching your ass nonstop? No, you could imagine by now.
He was undressing you with his eyes. His gaze continued to travel up and down your body, analyzing every inch of exposed skin and imagining every depraved thing he could do to you.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said and wrapped his arm around your hips, pulling you closer to his body. His mouth was on yours before you could respond and for the second time that day, he sucked the soul out of you, kissing you until you were breathless.
This time, however, there was nothing that could stop you.
You were a mix of wandering hands, sighs, you touched each other as if it was the first time and as if you never wanted it to end.
Derek wasted no time in slipping his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. The air was thicker and hotter, your body possessed by the sensation of being engulfed in flames.
His hands moved to your face, one around your throat and the other around your ponytail which he pulled, forcing you to lean your head back.
Your mouth was still half open in an attempt to catch your breath after that pornographic kiss. You moaned when his lips kissed your neck, when you felt his tongue slide over your skin leaving a wet trail behind it, his teeth nipping and his lips simultaneously sucking every inch of skin he could access.
“Oh Derek…” you sighed in ecstasy as he continued to lick and suck the skin of your neck, moving down your chest and then back up, almost in disbelief that after months of pent up frustration his imagination had finally come true.
“Yeah baby girl, I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re so beautiful it drives me crazy,” he whispered against your lips and you closed the distance, sucking in his breath and canceling out his words.
You slid your hands down his chest and, in the heat and frenzy of finally having him naked, you ripped open his shirt, ripping the buttons and letting them fall scattered across the floor.
You pulled away as your brain processed what you had done and you gasped, noticing the now ruined and open shirt, his chest on full display. “Oh God Derek I’m so…”
Before you finished your sentence he grabbed you by the back of the neck and slammed his mouth hard on yours again, this time stopping your words, kissing you so deeply and so intensely that your knees went weak.
It was sloppy, messy, and the best kisses you’d ever had.
That’s what you’ve been missing.
The feeling of the ground disappearing beneath your feet, of having a person who wanted you so much your absence took his breath away, to the point that he couldn’t stop kissing you, touching you, breathing the same air as you.
“If you do something like that again you’ll make me come in my pants before we even start and don’t think for a second that I’m kidding,” he murmured against your lips between kisses and you smiled, letting out a giggle. You hated and loved the way that man made you giggle like a little girl.
Before you could even realize it, both of your clothes ended up on the floor, leaving you both naked. As his mouth continued to devour you, you slowly backed away until you both fell onto the mattress, his arms resting on either side of your head to cushion his weight on you.
You moaned as his lips trailed down your neck to encircle your breasts, first the right and then the left, biting and sucking on your nipples as his fingers spread your pussy, penetrating you with them with absolute ease.
“Derek please…” you sighed as he pushed his fingers in and out of you. “I want you so bad, fuck please.”
“So wet for me, my sweet, dirty little angel… All mine to ruin,” he murmured as he continued to brush your lips with his and you nodded, desperate, in the throes of pleasure as your hands cupped his face.
“Yes, yes, all yours, yes…” you felt your walls begin to contract and you knew your orgasm was already upon you. God, how you hated to admit it, but there was no man like Derek who could make you lose your mind, who could bring you to the edge with just two fingers.
You kept writhing beneath him, overwhelmed by the pleasure that you had missed so much, so intense you almost passed out.
“I’m… Oh God…” You dragged your nails over his bicep.
“Yes baby, come on my fingers, show me how only I make you feel,” he whispered in your ear as his lips licked and marked your skin and it sent you over the edge, making you explode in an orgasm not even your vibrator had ever given you.
Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to catch your breath but he didn’t give you time to recover because he had spread your legs and positioned himself between them again, lining up his cock with your entrance.
He wrapped his hand around your throat and you gasped, feeling your head spinning and light, as if you were on some kind of narcotic. What the hell had that man done to you?
“I want to eat your pussy until I pass out but I need, I need to be inside you right now,” he continued to tease you with his cock, rubbing it along your wet folds, making you both pant with anticipation. Before you could respond though, he entered you and in that moment you finally felt complete.
“Oh shit yes…” you moaned, breathless, enjoying the feeling of fullness. “You feel so good inside me.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed under his breath, breathing heavily as he concentrated on not coming right away. But too much time had passed and your pussy felt so damn good that he literally had to think about other things to keep from exploding right then and there.
“Please move,” you wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing your heels into his ass, your body shaking with the desire, the kind of pleasure you knew only Derek could give you.
“Fuck baby stop squeezing me like that or I’ll come before I even get started.” His voice was rough, desperate, the restraint in his tone barely hanging on. He finally started moving his hips, rolling them in a slow, controlled rhythm that sent a stinging jolt of pleasure through your body.
It wasn’t enough though, not to satisfy you completely. But Derek was doing it on purpose, he wanted to torture you, he wanted to make you beg and go crazy for every inch of him and it was safe to say he was doing it perfectly. He fucked you slowly, deeply—too deeply, making you feel him in every inch of your body.
You continued to pant as he fucked you, tension building in your stomach, tightening with each of his thrust, your hands pressing into his back so deeply they left marks.
You never looked away from his eyes, not even for a second.
And neither did he.
“God Derek please, give me more… I need more,” you panted. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he pressed his forehead to yours, both of them coated in sweat, his lips parted as his ragged breath tickled your mouth. You kissed him deeply, your gasps and moans mixing as well as his own.
His muscles were shaking, every inch of his body trying to resist letting go completely but he didn’t want to. He wanted to last as long as possible, to experience that feeling of pleasure and euphoria as long as he could, especially after so long.
“Fuck,” he groaned again, his voice strained as his fingers pressed tightly into your hip. “You destroy me.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck and licked and bit every inch of your skin he could reach, making you literally tremble beneath him.
When he raised his head again you kissed him again, biting his bottom lip, sucking his tongue. This made him thrust deeper and that almost made your heart stop.
“Shit yes do it again,” you moaned, “Break baby, break for me. I want to feel all of you… Please,” you brushed your lips against him, your hands on his cheeks.
And that’s when he completely snapped.
He started moving his hips deeper, harder, keeping up a rhythm so devastating it consumed you completely, made you lose your mind.
“Fuuuuck yes baby,” you gasped, almost breathless as he kept hitting over and over again that spot inside you. “Just like that oh my god, ah…”
“Baby I’m not… Fucking hell… I’m not gonna last…” He couldn’t hold back any longer, buried so deep inside you, wrapped in heat, in need, in the unbearable pleasure of your body. “This pussy feels so good, all mine to fuck.”
You tried to say something but it was almost impossible. You were losing yourself and as you dragged your nails down his back, holding him tighter, you felt another orgasm build up inside you.
Your breathing became frantic, your back arching beneath him, and he knew you were as close as he was. He could feel the way you tightened around him, your body responding to every stroke of his dick.
“Derek…” you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as you crashed your lips against his. Your kiss was frantic now, desperate as his hands grabbed a fistful of your hair.
“Come for me,” he groaned into your ear, his voice raw with need. “Let go, baby. I got you.”
That was all it took.
You shattered beneath him with a cry, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him in deeper, and that was enough to send him over the edge, his own climax crashing through him like a tsunami.
He collapsed onto the mattress next to you, drained of energy as he waited for his soul to return to his body. He pulled you into a hug, holding you as if you were a lifeline. Your arm wrapped around his torso, your head resting on his chest as you felt the frantic beat of his heart in your ear.
“My God Derek, you’re destroying me. I don’t think I can feel my legs anymore,” you murmured, your eyes half closed. He dropped a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as his free hand caressed your hair—which you had no doubt resembled a swallow’s nest at that moment—and your face.
“Look at me,” he whispered instead and cupped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, lifting your head towards him before kissing you softly. “How can you be so beautiful?”
You smiled, before kissing him again. “Now what?”
He raised his perfect eyebrow in question.
“Between us, I mean.”
He frowned. “I thought I made myself clear enough. You’re mine just as much as I’m yours, don’t think for a second that it’ll go back to the way it was before. I want you and I want to explore what’s between us.”
You opened your mouth to speak but he continued, stopping you. “And if you think I’m going to let another man get close to you, you’re sorely mistaken, I know a thousand ways to kill and ten thousand ways to get away with it, remember that.”
You fought back a smile, a flock of butterflies flooding your stomach. “So it’s already decided? I don’t have a choice?”
“Yes and no,” he said, dead serious. “You won’t get away from me again, I’ve already made this mistake once and it won’t happen again.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, and you snuggled up to him again, but not before planting a kiss on his lips. “There’s no danger Agent Morgan. Aside from ruining me for everyone else, I already told you that you rocked my world pretty bad.”
“That’s what I love to hear,” he smiled triumphantly, before hugging you. “Damn I’m so obsessed with you,” he kissed you, over and over again.
• Requested by anon: Can I request a fic with Charles and reader they go to the gym together and he has a crush on her 👀 the rest it’s up to you lol thank you its ok if u dont want to 💙
• Warnings: curse words, heavy making out, Charles being an idiot.
• Word count: 12K.
• A/N: I’m so sorry for how long it turned out 😭 that’s not my best but I was too lazy to rewrite it as always lmao. Hope you like it anyways ❣️ love you all xx
The gym is loud, as always. The sound of weights clanking, the faint beat of whatever playlist they’ve got on today, the occasional grunt from someone pushing their limit, are all sounds that Charles is used to.
But in that moment, it’s all background noise for him. Usually, he tunes it out, focuses on his own workout, his own goals, his mind isn’t focused on anything other than his workout.
But then you walked in months ago, and everything changed.
Now, he’s hyper-aware of his surroundings. More specifically, you in his surroundings.
You always come around the same time, tying your hair up before getting to work. You never wasted time, never lingered or scrolled mindlessly on your phone between sets like half the people here. No, you’re serious about it as much as Charles was serious about watching you, not in a weird way. At least he hopes.
The first time he saw you he couldn’t help but do a double take. He was sure you were new to the gym, since Charles had been going there for a long time.
Sure, you were beautiful, your body breathtaking, but it was the way you carried yourself that truly mesmerized him. You were so confident, the way you moved, you were so captivating that from the very first moment Charles couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every time he tried to focus on one of his exercises, his gaze would inevitably fall on you.
The fist time he saw you, you were wearing a matching dark gray gym-outfit and your hair was tied in a messy ponytail. You were focused on your workout, completely ignoring the world around you, and perhaps that was precisely what attracted him so terribly.
From that day on, you began going to the gym assiduously, to the joy and despair of Charles, who—ever since he saw you—couldn’t finish a workout, not even to save his life.
Months and months passed, but despite this, he never spoke to you. He wanted to do it, he’d imagined it so many times, but he never had the courage to approach you.
It’s ridiculous, really. He’s used to pressure, used to people watching his every move. He can handle million-dollar cars, race wheel-to-wheel at 300 km/h, make split-second decisions that could change everything.
But talk to you? Yeah, no. Not happening.
Instead, he watches. Always. Hoping, maybe, you’ll notice him first, give him an opening. Except you never do, because unlike him, you’re actually here to train, not to watch strangers train like you’re a stalker.
It’s not just a lack of courage, though, that must be said. Charles had tried. The first time you ever really noticed him was because he made an absolute fool of himself, and this memory, even though months had passed, continues to torture him to this day.
He’d been at the leg press, loading the machine’s weights, trying to finish his exercises, but then he saw you walk in, out of the corner of his eye. It was as if he had a sixth sense when it came to you; every cell in his body seemed to light up as soon as you were in his proximity. You were wearing a light pink fitted gym set—the one he definitely didn’t think about later that night while he was in the shower—and you looked fucking incredible, completely breathtaking.
The world must’ve hated him because you decided to work out on the machine right next of his.
So, naturally, he got distracted, his eyes watching and studying you from afar before he could even command his brain to turn away.
So distracted, in fact, that when he went to re-rack the weights, he miscalculated horribly and ended up dropping a plate, the music stopping at that precise moment.
The entire gym turned toward the noise, but he didn’t care about them, he couldn’t care less. He cared about you, standing just a few feet away, staring right at him.
His heart stopped beating for a moment and a pang gripped him inside when he realized you were actually looking at him, your eyes were actually turned in his direction. Toward him.
“Everything okay?” you had asked, lips twitching slightly as you removed the earphones.
And this is where he could’ve played it cool. Said something smooth to introduce himself and try to approach you. But no, because he was Charles freaking Leclerc and, apparently, a complete idiot when it came to you.
“Uh… yeah! I… Uhm… I was just testing gravity. Still working.”
Testing gravity. Still working.
Testing.
Gravity.
Still.
Working.
What the actual fuck?
Charles’s breath caught in his lungs, completely in disbelief at the bullshit that had just come out of his mouth.
Why wasn’t the earth swallowing him?
You had blinked, processing the sheer stupidity of his words. Then, to his complete horror, you laughed. Not in a mean way, or at him. But in that soft, amused way that made his heart stop for a second.
Charles’ cheeks caught fire, and he had no doubt that in that moment he must’ve been as red as the Ferrari he drove. He looked at you for a moment, and—though he wished lightning would strike him right there and then—the knowledge that he had made you laugh was comforting in some way. He had made you laugh, and damn, wasn’t that the most beautiful sound and sight he’d ever witnessed.
“Well, good to know,” you had said, shaking your head before walking away and going back to your workout.
Charles didn’t have the courage to look at you again; in fact, he did the most intelligent thing he could think of at that moment. He ran to the bathrooms.
And just like that, he was doomed. Completely and utterly doomed.
Months have passed since that fateful moment, and yet, Charles still hasn’t managed to work up the nerve to actually hold a proper conversation with you. It was as if every time he thought about opening his mouth, his brain completely forgot what he wanted to say, he completely lost his mind.
Which is stupid, because he’s Charles Leclerc. He’s done impossible things. But for some reason, you manage to make him absolutely useless, with the same ability to communicate as a newborn.
And today is no different.
You’re at the squat rack, focused as always, and Charles is supposed to be doing shoulder presses, supposed, because obviously he’s only looking at you.
Again.
He tells himself it’s casual. Just a glance here and there, every now and then just to satisfy his curiosity about what you were doing. But then you bend slightly to adjust your stance, and Charles is sure he’s about to have a stroke. He tries, he really tries to be a gentleman, but his eyes seem to be glued to your ass, that wonderful, perfect ass he so desperately wanted to get his hands on.
“Mon dieu.”
The words slip out before he can stop them, letting the dumbbells slip from his hands and crash to the ground.
You slightly turn your head, eyes flickering toward him.
Charles panics, immediately looking away and trying to pretend nothing happened and ignore the tightening of his shorts. His ears burn. Maybe if he just pretends like nothing happened, you won’t—
“You okay over there?”
His stomach drops and his heart stops again.
You’re talking to him.
He really thinks he needs to get checked out by a cardiologist from the number of times he’s been close to having a heart attack because of you.
Somebody kill me, please.
“Oh! Uh… yes! Yes! I… I just, you know…” He gestures vaguely. To what, he has no idea, but he continues to talk without any sense. “Good form. Very… uh… very nice.”
You blink, looking at him with an expression that he couldn’t decipher and that makes him want to die. Why the fuck did he keep talking? Why is he like this? What’s wrong with him?
“Thanks,” you say, laughing. “I think?”
Oh, this is a disaster. An absolute mess.
Desperate to salvage what little dignity he has left, he scrambles for something to say. Anything, it can’t do much worse than that. “I mean, not nice! I mean, yes, nice, but not in a weird way. Just, like, you’re strong. But not in a scary way! I mean, you could be scary if you wanted, but you’re not… I think. Not that I think about you being scary… I don’t think about you at all! Well, not like that—”
Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking.
You tilt your head, your eyes bright as you look at him amused. “You sure you’re okay?”
“No,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair.
I can’t do worse, huh?
You definitely hear it because you full-on laugh, shaking your head as if you’ve just heard the funniest thing in the world before turning back to your workout.
Charles lets out a slow breath, rubbing his hands down his face. This is so bad. He probably looks like a lovesick idiot. Which, to be fair, he is, but that’s not the point.
He has no idea why he’s reacting that way, why you have this effect on him that makes him unable to even speak coherently anymore.
He resumes his workout, or at least tries to, given the embarrassment still fresh in his mind as the conversation he just had with you continues to resurface. The discomfort, in fact, is so great that he can’t even look at you anymore, for fear of making another mess.
That’s actually a lie, he’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye the whole time.
You finish your set and walk past him, and Charles is hype about your presence even though he’s trying so hard to seem like a normal human being.
“You know,” you say casually, and Charles takes a second to process you were actually talking to him again, “if you ever want to work out together, you could just ask.”
Charles freezes.
You smirk, throwing him one last glance before walking off towards the changing rooms.
He watches you go, brain still buffering, heart racing.
Charles has replayed your words in his head approximately a hundred times since you said them.
“If you ever want to work out together, you could just ask.”
What did that mean? Were you just being nice? Were you flirting? No, no, it’s impossible. If you were flirting, that would imply you had even the slightest interest in him, which would be insane since he never received any signals, right?
“Putain,” he mutters under his breath, leaning against the rowing machine with his hands on his hips. He’s losing his mind. Fully, completely losing it.
It’s been two days and he still hasn’t worked up the courage to actually ask you if you were serious when you proposed training together. Every time he thinks about it, he gets too much in his head and can no longer think straight. And this isn’t good. He needs a strategy.
“Mate, I swear to God, if you stare at her one more time without doing anything, I’m going to bench press you.”
Charles startles violently. He turns to see Pierre, smirking at him. He is one of the very few people who knows about Charles’ ‘crush’ and he doesn’t waste time to make fun of him.
“I’m not staring,” Charles lies and giving you another look at the same time.
Pierre crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Really?”
“I… Well… I was just—” Charles struggles for an excuse but the truth is that he doesn’t know what to say other than the fact that he couldn’t take his eyes off you in any way. “Admiring her discipline.”
Pierre bursts out laughing. “Her discipline?”
Charles groans, dragging his hands down his face.
“Okay, I’m done,” he admits. “I don’t know what to do mate.” Pierre snorts and Charles glares at him. “Are you here to help me or to annoy me?”
Pierre shrugs. “Both.”
Charles sighs, looking back at you where, surprise, surprise, you’re still completely oblivious to his suffering. You’re at the cable machine now, earbuds in, utterly focused. It’s unfair, really. How are you this cool while he’s over here having a full-on crisis?
“Okay,” Pierre says, clapping a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”
Charles narrows his eyes. “Why do I feel like I'm not going to like this?”
“Because you probably won’t.” Pierre grins. “You’re going to go over there, and you’re going to ask her if she wants to work out together today.”
Charles blinks, annoyed. “That’s it? That’s your great plan?”
“Yes,” Pierre deadpans. “Because unlike you, I don’t believe in suffering in silence.”
Charles hesitates. His palms feel weirdly sweaty at the mere thought of talking to you, since the times you had a conversation, he managed to make a fool of himself.
He’s raced in front of millions of people. He’s done press conferences with journalists asking him the dumbest questions and he always got away with it. And yet this feels harder.
“What if she says no?” he mumbles.
“First of all, she was the first to propose it,” Pierre gives him a look. “Second, if she changes her mind you move on and stop acting like a tragic romantic hero in a sad French film, grow some balls Leclerc.”
He groans again. But before he can argue, Pierre shoves him lightly in your direction and that’s how Charles finds himself walking toward you, zero plan, zero chill, and absolutely zero idea of what the hell he’ll say.
You don’t notice him at first, too focused on your reps. Which means Charles has way too much time to panic.
Maybe he can fake a cramp and walk away? No, that’s dumb.
Maybe he can pretend he forgot something… But in that precise moment it’s as if you feel his presence and you turn towards him, taking off your earbud.
“Hey,” you say a little out of breath, wiping your forehead with your towel.
You smile and Charles literally forgets how to speak.
You raise an eyebrow, waiting.
“I… Do you…” He clears his throat, trying to reset his brain even if it doesn’t work. “I was wondering if you… if you maybe…”
Your expression is somewhere between amused and concerned. “If I maybe…?” you prompt.
Charles stares at you and he notices the way you’re trying not to laugh. For a second he swears you’re doing it on purpose.
Then, in a moment of sheer, unfiltered panic, he blurts out “Do you want to squat together?”
The words hang in the air. Silence.
“Uh…” You tilt your head. “Like… right now? Or…?“
“I—no! I mean, yes, if you want, but… Jesus Christ.” Charles groans. “I meant, like, train together! Like you said the other day! Not just squats… Unless… Well… You want to just do squats, which is also fine, I guess—”
You press your lips together, clearly trying very hard not to laugh and he completely melts. Why do you have to make things so hard and be so fucking beautiful?
Charles runs a hand through his hair, his entire face burning with embarrassment. “I… Just…” He exhales sharply. “You know what I mean.”
You bite your lip, eyes glinting with amusement.
Then, to his absolute shock, you nod. “Sure,” you say with a sweet smile. “I thought you wouldn’t agree to be honest.”
Charles blinks. “Wait what? Really? You were serious?“
You laugh. “Yeah? I mean, you’re here all the time anyway. Might as well train together instead of just awkwardly watching me from across the room.”
At those words Charles swears he can hear the sound of the sirens of the ambulance coming to pick him up from afar.
“I… W-what?” Charles chokes. “I don’t… I mean, I wasn’t—”
You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “Charles.”
He swallows, there was no possibility of denying the evidence but he doesn’t respond.
You laugh again, before gesturing to the free weights. “Alright, come on Leclerc. Let’s see if you can actually keep up.”
Charles stares at you still in disbelief about what’s happening and despite the absolute mess he just made of everything, he grins.
But as soon as you both start to workout again, he thinks he might be having a heart attack. Because it was already hard trying to function like a normal human being while looking at you from afar but working out with the girl of your dreams it’s a whole different story.
You’re standing next to him now, adjusting the weight on your dumbbells, completely oblivious to the absolute war zone inside his head, he feels like his soul is actively trying to escape his body.
His hands feel weird. Why are they sweating? Oh God. His grip is all wrong. He tightens his hold on the weights, trying to seem natural, but it’s no use.
You’re here.
Next to him.
So close he can smell the faint hint of your shampoo, something fresh, a little sweet, something that’s definitely going to haunt his thoughts for the rest of his life.
This is a mistake. A huge, massive mistake.
He’s spent months crushing on you from a safe distance, where the only thing at risk was his dignity (which, let’s be honest, was already in shambles). But now? Now you’re talking to him, laughing at his dumb jokes, looking at him like he’s just another guy and not a complete disaster of a man who loses all brain function when you’re around.
He’s so fucked.
“Alright,” you say, tossing him a quick glance as you stretch your arms. “You good to start?”
Absolutely not. He isn’t good and he will never be good again, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, of course.”
You give him a small, knowing smile—like you can sense how nervous he is—but you don’t call him out on it. Instead, you lead the way to the squat rack, and Charles has to physically stop himself from staring at the way your leggings fit.
Focus, Leclerc. Focus.
It’s in vain because for the millionth time his eyes fall on your ass. A huge mistake, since everything about you seems to have a direct connection with his private parts, and just looking at your ass gives him a throbbing erection.
You go first, stepping into position with effortless ease, and Charles really tries to be respectful, not to stare, but it’s impossible.
Because it’s not just about how good you look.
It’s the way you move, so strong, confident, controlled. The way your jaw sets with determination as you push through the reps, the little exhale you let out at the top of each squat.
His mind imagines you bobbing up and down while you’re on top of him, and this image alone almost sends him into cardiac arrest.
He’s supposed to be counting your reps. He isn’t counting your reps.
His brain is too busy supplying him with completely unhelpful thoughts, like:
I wonder what her legs feel like wrapped around me.
How is she so effortlessly and fucking hot?
You finish your set and step back, rolling your shoulders as you exhale. “Your turn.”
Charles swallows. Hard. He has to get it together and above all he prays with every fiber of his being that the erection between his legs isn’t so obvious or it would’ve been quite embarrassing to explain why he got horny in the middle of a gym.
He steps up, adjusting his grip but your voice interrupts his inner thoughts.
“Are you sure you got that weight?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice as your eyes roamed along his figure. “Don’t want to strain yourself.”
It’s a joke, he knows it, but Charles’ brain short-circuits because all he hears is her watching him lift.
She’s watching me lift.
And suddenly, this is the most important workout of his entire life. Not one Formula One race could compare to this.
He has to get this right. He has to look strong, impressive, look like a man who deserves to be anywhere near you.
So, naturally, his overconfidence immediately betrays him.
The moment he drops into the squat, he realizes that the weights are heavier than he thinks. And now he’s stuck.
He could power through. Could fight for it, push up with everything he has. But his legs shake a little, and he can already see Pierre’s smug face in his mind.
“Need help?” you ask, the amusement in your crystal-clear voice.
Yes, please call an ambulance.
Charles forces a breath out through his nose. “No.”
You cross your arms, looking way too entertained. “You sure? You look kinda—”
“I got it.”
With a final, desperate push, he somehow manages to rack the weight again, stepping back with what little dignity he has left.
When he turns, you’re smirking. “You okay there, champ?”
Charles groans, resting his hands on his hips. “Pff, it was as easy as stealing candy from a child.”
You laugh, shaking your head and playfully pushing his arm but Charles can’t think of anything other than the fact that you had just touched him.
“Alright, alright. Let’s move on before you actually hurt yourself.”
By the end of the workout, Charles is a mess. Not physically but mentally. The entire session was just you, right there, smiling at him, teasing him, pushing him, laughing. And Charles loved every second of it, which was the real problem.
Because he realized it’s not just a crush anymore. It’s not just ‘Oh, she’s cute, I hope she notices me’, no, it’s ‘I like her. I really, really fucking like her’, and he realized that after a single workout he was on the perfect path to completely losing his mind.
He hoped you were unpleasant and unbearable so maybe he’d get over his crush, but no, you also had to be cheerful, kind, fun.
“I had so much fun, Charles. We should do it again.” That’s what you say when you turn to him at the end of the session, hair a little messy, cheeks flushed from exertion, and at these exact words he knows, without a doubt, that he’s absolutely, irrevocably gone.
-
Charles is not okay.
Like, actually not okay.
It’s been four days since your workout together, and he still hasn’t emotionally recovered. He’s in shambles.
Because now that he’s actually spent some time with you, now that he knows what it’s like to be the center of your attention, to hear you laugh at his stupid jokes, to see you smirk at him like you know exactly what you’re doing to him… He’s screwed.
He has a list of problems, and the main one is that after just one workout, you managed to make his crush ten times worse. The second problem is that he has no idea what to do about it or how to behave.
He’s at the gym again later that evening, like always, and he’s terribly nervous and anxious. His eyes keep lingering on the door, waiting for it to open and for you to come in.
He doesn’t know why but now it’s different. Because now, it’s not just about admiring you from afar. It’s even worse.
Now, every time he looks at you, he remembers things.
Like how your fingers brushed his arm when you adjusted his shape. Or how you bit your lip in concentration mid-set. Or how, at one point, you grabbed his waist to move him aside, and he literally forgot how to breathe for a solid five seconds.
And now he wants more.
He wants to hear you laugh at him again. He wants to make you smile. He wants you to roll your eyes when he tries to show off. He wants you to keep touching him, even if it’s just casual, even if it means nothing to you, because it means everything to him.
Charles has had crushes before. This isn’t new for him, he knows what it’s like to like someone, how to act, what to do or what to say. But this? This is something else, something he has absolutely no control about. And he hated it.
He is stretching when he hears the door open. He looks at it, hoping to see you and the moment you actually step through the door, the tension in his body tightens like a coiled spring. His breath catching for just a second before he forces himself to exhale. It’s ridiculous, how easily you undo him even by just existing.
You haven’t even seen him yet, but he watches as you adjust the strap of your bag, your expression relaxed as you looked around. His mind wonders for a second and just for a split second, he hopes that he is the one you’re looking for.
Charles swallows, rolling his shoulders as if that will somehow help him shake the nervous energy building inside him. His palms feel too warm, his heartbeat a little too fast.
Get it together, he tells himself. But it’s useless because your eyes meet his and suddenly, nothing else in the room matters.
You smile and raise your hand to wave at him, and for a moment his stomach drops, forgetting he was standing there like an idiot and he had to wave too.
He did the same, waving at you and smiling back while praying he wouldn’t get a facial paralysis or make another of his embarrassing blunders.
When you head towards the changing rooms, he lets out a breath as if he’s putting oxygen into his lungs for the first time.
You’re by the mirrors now, stretching after your workout, and Charles is trying to be normal, trying not to watch you, but you lean forward slightly, stretching your legs, and his brain short-circuits.
It’s the most innocent thing, you’re just stretching. Nothing provocative, nothing intentional, but Charles is completely gone.
His throat goes dry and his grip tightens around his water bottle. His entire body tenses like he’s in a race, except this is worse than a race because at least there, he knows what he’s doing. Here? He’s just a man watching the woman he wants more than anything stretch in front of him like it’s nothing.
He needs to leave. Immediately.
But before he can escape, you straighten up, turning toward him with that easy, effortless smile that has already ruined his life.
“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head, your hands on your hips. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
He wishes he had seen a ghost, he would’ve reacted more normally.
He could lie. He should lie, say something else about not feeling good but he’s so flustered, so overwhelmed that instead, he just blurts out the worst thing possible.
“You’re really pretty.”
Silence.
Absolute, deadly silence.
You blink, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
Charles wants to die and in that moment, he realizes he has this feeling quite a lot when he’s around you.
He didn’t mean to say that. It just came out.
And now you’re staring at him, and he’s panicking, and he has no idea how to fix this, so he just keeps talking.
“I mean… Uh… Good stretching! Very… effective! Nice… Nice technique.”
You keep staring at him and Charles contemplates running into traffic while already envisioning you filing a restrict order against him.
But you laugh, like, full-on laugh. Not just a polite chuckle, but a real laugh, head tilted back slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners.
And Charles is in hell because he’d climb a mountain barefoot just so he can hear your laugh over and over again. And this is exactly why he’s so screwed.
It’s not just that you’re hot. This goes without saying. It’s that you’re the kind of person who laughs when he embarrasses himself instead of making him feel worse. He can’t even fathom the idea how you still haven’t run away thinking he is the weirdest guy ever.
Finally, you shake your head, still smiling as you approached him. “You're so cute, do you know that?”
Charles stops breathing. You’re teasing, obviously, saying it in a light, playful way. You probably don’t even mean it.
But none of that matters because you called him cute.
You think he is cute.
And now he’s never going to recover.
And if it isn’t enough, you manage to almost send him in a coma when you kiss him on the cheek. It’s a light peck, it’s barely there, just your lips caressing his skin, but he feels suddenly like a fire has been lit.
Oh my fucking god.
Charles is living in a nightmare. A beautiful, torturous nightmare, where you keep existing near him, keep smiling at him, keep saying things that make his brain malfunction, and he has to pretend like he’s fine.
But he’s not fine, and everyone around him notices it.
Which is how he finds himself sitting at a café after his workout, head buried in his hands, while Pierre openly cackles at his suffering.
“I still can’t believe you just blurted it out,” Pierre says, wiping away a tear.
Charles groans, dragging his hands down his face. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean it! She was just standing there, so beautiful... Putain I’m ruining everything.”
“Nah this didn’t ruin anything, mate she kissed you on the cheek,” Pierre smirks trying to shut down his laughter “The worst part was ‘nice technique’, oh god that’s so funny.”
Charles glares at him. “Are you here to help me or just to bully me?”
Pierre shrugs. “Both. Mostly the bullying, though.”
Charles groans again, slumping back in his chair.
“But hey at least she said you’re cute.”
But that doesn’t make him feel better, it’s clear you only said it out of pity and not because you really meant it. Yeah, you also kissed him on the cheek, but you just did it out of pure kindness.
Because the thing is, it should be over by now. He embarrassed himself, he suffered. That should be it. But no. You just had to make it worse because now you’ve started playing along.
It starts small.
The next time you see him at the gym, you pass him by and say, “Nice technique today, champ.”
Charles chokes while drinking water.
Then, later, when you’re both at the cable machines training together, you tilt your head and go, “Do you always blush this much, or is it just when I’m around?”
Charles chokes again, this time on air.
Pierre, of course, witnesses all of this and is having the time of his life. “Oh, you’re so fucked,” he tells Charles later. “She knows she’s driving you insane.”
Charles scowls. “No, she doesn’t.”
Pierre gives him a look. “Mate. Be serious. She absolutely knows.”
And Pierre might be right because every time you tease Charles, you do it with this smirk, this little glint in your eye, like you’re enjoying his suffering.
But the moment you break him happens on a completely normal day. Nothing special. Just another gym session where Charles thinks he’s safe.
You’re both at the dumbbell rack, finishing up your workouts. You’re stretching—because apparently the universe hates him—and Charles is doing everything in his power to not look at you even if his eyes are fixed on your body, your legs, your ass without even realizing it.
But then you turn around him and step closer. Right into his space and he freezes since you’ve never been this close before. “Can you help me stretch?” you say in a voice way too casual for the absolute havoc it causes.
Charles stops breathing.
He should say no. He should walk away because he knows he won’t be able to survive this but then you tilt your head, all innocent and so unfairly attractive, your eyes so beautiful and shiny that if you’d asked him to rob a bank he would’ve done it right away.
“Y-yeah,” he starts, voice cracking just a little and hopes you didn't hear it but by the way you smirk, you definitely heard that.
You turn, putting your hands on the bar in front of you, stretching your arms. “Just push a little.”
Charles hesitates, hands hovering over your back, because he knows the second he touches you, it’s over for him.
But he does it.
His hands press lightly against your lower back, pushing you into the stretch, and—Oh, fuck.
Because now he can feel you. The warmth of your skin through his fingers, the slight flex of your muscles as you hold the stretch, how good his hands look on you.
You slightly shift under his touch, adjusting into the stretch, and Charles feels like he’s about to combust. He swears he can feel every single cell in his body firing at once. His jaw tenses as he tries to keep his breathing steady, but it’s hard when all he can think about is how ridiculously close you are, how easy it’d be to just lower his hands.
And fucking hell.
Why did you have to look so fucking good even from behind?
Now his mind is filled with images of him mercilessly fucking you, so hard and deep until you couldn’t take it anymore and the mere thought almost made him pass out. He knows he’d never recover from this and that he’s going to use these images later in the shower alone.
This isn’t enough, it’s not enough that your ass was practically at dick height and the mere movement could make you feel how hard he already is.
No.
You sigh. A soft, content and a little breathless sigh that almost makes him black out on the spot.
He's so fucked, so irremediably fucked.
God please have mercy on me I can’t keep doing this.
Okay Charles just think about something else, think about the next race. Yes. Let’s repeat the strategy.
The car is supposed to be ready… Merde, her skin is so warm and soft, God I want to feel her ass on my dick so bad… Jesus her moans would sound so good…
Fuck stop it!
“You okay back there, champ?” your voice brings him back on planet earth and he realizes you’re looking at him over your shoulders, a teasing smile plastered on your lips, like you knew this would fully finish him off.
Charles lets go immediately.
“I—I need water,” he blurts put, stepping back so fast he almost trips. “Lots of water. I’m very dehydrated.”
You laugh, standing up straight. “If you say so.”
Charles sprints to the water fountain even if he has his own water bottle. He needs to stay away from you for a second, to compose himself.
Pierre, who has witnessed everything, is crying with laughter. “Mate,” he gasps. “I think you just had a religious experience.”
Charles slams his head against the wall. “Shit Pierre I feel like I’m dying, why is she doing this?”
Pierre grins, one eyebrow raised. “Isn't it obvious?”
“Huh?”
He rolls his eyes. “She likes you, you idiot. She’s messing with you and trying to get your ass to make a move.”
Charles heart misses a beat at those words. “No, she doesn’t.”
“Do you think she’d ask anyone to help her stretch and basically bend over them?”
He remained silent. It couldn’t be like that, it had to just be your way of making fun of him, there was no other explanation.
“Just ask her out, man,” Pierre continues.
Charles glares. “It’s not that simple.”
Pierre throws his hands up. “What do you mean? She’s clearly into you. She’s torturing you at this point.”
“You’re imagining it,” Charles groans, running his hands over his face.
Pierre gives him a look. “Mate. She moaned while you stretched her out.”
“It wasn’t a moan!”
Pierre smirks. “You’re right. It was a sigh, which is even worse, by the way. Women don’t just sigh like that unless they want you to think about it later.”
Oh, Charles will definitely think about it later, that’s the problem.
Pierre claps a hand on his shoulder. “Look, just grow some balls and make a move, like I said she’s waiting for you to do it.”
Charles scoffs. “She isn’t. She’s just messing with me.”
Pierre grins. “Are you sure about that?”
Charles stays in silence, not answering the question.
“But go back to her now and try not to come in your pants please.”
Charles hits him in the arm. “You bastard. I hate you.”
“Nah, you don’t. You love me.”
And unfortunately, he’s right.
Because the only person Charles hates more than Pierre, in this moment, is himself, for being so painfully, desperately, stupidly head over heels for you.
-
Charles is not okay.
He has never been okay since he met you, to tell the truth. But now he’s reaching a new level of suffering, because ever since the accident—which is how he now refers to The Stretching Disaster—you’ve been worse.
Bolder. Dangerous.
You’ve always teased him, but now he knows you’re doing it on purpose.
You lean in just a little too close when you talk to him. You ‘accidentally’ brush your fingers against his arm when you walk past. You stretch in ways that makes him want to die, and every time you catch him looking, you smirk like you know. You whisper how good he’s doing while he does an exercise.
And Charles is hanging on by a thread.
Apparently, you really want to ruin his life. Because one day you were both at the squat rack and Charles is already mid-set when you walk by, looking completely innocent, which is exactly why he doesn’t see it coming.
But you stop right next to him, pretending to grab your water bottle. “Bet I’d look so good doing that above you,” you whisper as he’s coming up from his squat, soft, quiet, words that are meant for him only. And it’s so much worse than anything he could’ve anticipated.
Charles collapses, he actually drops the bar, nearly falls over, and has to grab onto the rack to steady himself.
Because what. The. Actual. Fuck.
He turns to you, his eyes and mouth wide open, and you just take a sip of your water, smirking like the devil you are, and walk away towards the changing rooms, like you didn’t just destroy his entire existence.
Charles cannot process this.
His brain completely empty, his body totally useless, his entire life? Over.
And now, there is nothing else in his head, nothing but that image. Nothing but your voice saying something so unbelievably filthy with that casual little smirk.
Fuck, he needs to sit down.
Pierre finds him five minutes later, still staring at the floor like a broken man.
“Mate?” Pierre asks, nudging him. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Charles just shakes his head.
Because how does he even begin to explain this?
How does he tell Pierre that you have officially crossed the line? That he can never look at you again without hearing those words on repeat in his head?
Pierre watches him struggle, then sighs, immediately understanding it’s something that concerns you. “Oh, man. She got you bad, huh?”
Charles buries his face in his hands, nodding. “I need to go to church.”
He isn’t a stupid man or, not all the time even if next to you he looks brain dead. But he knows that’s not something you say just to mess with him, or at least he hopes. You wouldn’t have said something so strong unless you were interested, right?
Charles is spiraling.
His mind is in turmoil and he no longer knows what to do, how to behave.
“You’re pathetic,” Pierre laughs, watching Charles as he’s about to have a melt down after he tells him what happened. “Completely gone. It’s embarrassing.”
“Can you stop messing with me for a second and help me?” Charles groans, covering his face with his hands.
Pierre smirks. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“I don’t know what to do that’s why I’m asking you!”
“What do you mean you don’t know what to do, are you insane? She’s flirting with you Charles, she made it quite clear she wants you too, I don’t know what more you want her to do.”
“But maybe it’s just her way of joking and messing with me, I don’t know if she’s serious about it or not. That’s the whole point.”
Pierre watched Charles with a blank expression and Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time.
And Charles wants to say he’ll make a move. That he’ll man up and do something about it. But the truth was that he’s terrified. What if it’s all just a game to you? What if you’re just teasing him for fun and he’s just deluding himself that there’s something more? What if you’re just making fun of him because it’s crystal-clear he’s into you? He can’t risk it, so he decides to do nothing and decides to just suffer in silence.
“Mate I’ve seeing you two together, she’s definitely not messing with you, the way she looks at you it’s not just for fun, especially when you’re not looking. She’s dropping all kinds of hints for you to make a move and she’s just waiting for you to do it.”
The way she looks at you.
Charles looks up and sees you from afar as you’re leaving the locker room. His eyes don’t leave you for a second, until they see your figure disappear from the door, but before you leave, you wave goodbye with a small, sweet smile on your lips, completely oblivious to the way you’d just destroyed him.
Charles waves back, his heart pounding against his ribcage.
“C’mon Leclerc, man up and do something. She’s not going to wait forever.”
-
He hasn’t been the same since ‘The Whisper’, as he calls it now. Call it dramatic, but it was a spiritual experience. That few words kept repeating in his head over and over again for days, and he’s not embarrassed to admit it helped him quite a lot in the shower.
The whisper, that damn whisper, has taken root in his brain, and every moment since has been a slow descent into madness. Every time you look at him, he hears it, every time you speak, it echoes in his mind, every time he looks at you, he can’t stop the imagine of you actually doing ‘squats’ on him.
And the worst part is that you know, you know exactly what you did to him, Charles is sure of that.
The next time you see him, you just smile, you act normal, too normal.
He can’t even work out properly anymore. Every time you walk by, his brain short-circuits. Every time you look at him, he panics, his heart rate picks up to a point it might suddenly stop.
He’s now at the gym, building up the courage to ask you to work out together again. Charles knew it was a bad, bad idea. It’s been weeks since you started training together, and he hasn’t managed a good workout because he was a nervous wreck when you were near him.
But he can’t help it, he waits for those moments like water in a desert, and he doesn’t care if he embarrasses himself. He just wants to be close to you.
Man up and do something before it’s too late.
Pierre’s words echo in his mind, and a knot clenches his stomach at the mere thought. So, before changing, he prepares to walk toward you.
“Y/n… Hi,” he calls you, his voice hoarse and unsteady. Fuck.
You turn to him, a weight in your hands, and smile sweetly. “Hi, champ, I thought you weren’t coming today.”
My God, was she waiting for me?
No, it can’t be.
Charles tries with every fiber of his being not to lower his gaze down your body but, good God, it’s hard. He has to do it, he needs to do it.
“The rehearsals for the race took longer than expected, but I couldn’t leave my training partner alone.”
Woah, woah, woah. Where did this come from? Let’s go Charles, you’re doing amazing sweetie.
I need to stop talking to myself.
You giggle, yeah giggle, and it’s so fucking adorable, Charles is about to drop at your feet. It feels so huge for him, he made you giggle.
“Oh, so should I feel honored you made time for me, then?”
Charles lets out a small laugh, shrugging nonchalantly. “I mean, I don’t like to brag, but… Maybe you should.”
You laugh, and Charles immediately feels his chest tighten. There it is again, that sound that makes him feel like he just won something without even knowing what game he was playing. God, he wants to make you laugh like this again, forever.
“Since you’re here and I can’t do anything without you, help me set up the barbell.”
You turn around, continuing to set up the barbell. Charles can’t help but let his hungry eyes finally wander over your body. You’re wearing a sports bra and a pair of leggings, both a light blue. He hates and loves those leggings because they make your ass look so beautiful and pumped up that it stops his brain.
“You’re staring, Leclerc,” your voice brings him back to earth and a feeling of warmth immediately takes hold of him. When he brings his eyes back to your face, he sees you looking at him with an amused expression, trying not to laugh.
“No, I’m not! I was just… Well… Uh… checking your…” abort mission, abort mission. Just shut up.
You grin. “Checking my what?”
He has no way out.
“Can you please have mercy on my soul for once in your life?” He blurts out in exasperation, and you burst out laughing. God, your laughter is his favorite fucking sound.
It’s unfair, really, the way it wraps around his ribs and squeezes, like you just reached inside him and stole his breath without even trying. He watches as you shake your head, still giggling, and he wants more. Wants to keep you here, keep you looking at him like that.
But you step back, moving toward the weights. “Alright, come on champ. Let’s get to work.”
Right. Training. That’s why he’s here.
You move toward the squat rack, setting yourself up, but then you hesitate. “Wait,” you turn toward him. Your eyes scan him, assessing. “Wanna try something different today?”
Charles lifts a brow. “Different how?”
A slow, mischievous smile spreads across your face. “Switch places. You spot me first.”
Oh. Oh, mon dieu not again please.
Does he look calm? He should look calm. Because his entire body just went on high alert. He swallows, forces himself to nod like his hands aren’t itching to touch you. “Sure.”
You turn around, facing the rack, and Charles steps in behind you, hands hovering at his sides. Too close for his sanity.
“Alright,” you say, adjusting your stance. “You good?”
No, I’m not.
But he doesn’t say it.
Because the second you lower yourself into position, he feels the warmth of your body, so insanely close to his. The way your back curves as you move, perfect, effortless. The fact that he’s right here, just inches away, ready to catch you.
And then… You laughed.
Pressing up through your legs, rolling your shoulders back into him and Charles stops breathing.
He should step back. He knows he should. But his stupid, traitorous body refuses. Instead, he leans in. Just slightly, enough that his chest barely brushes your back.
And you feel it.
Because the next time you drop into the squat, your breath hits. He notices it and, mon dieu, does that do something to him.
Charles swallows, heart hammering. “Good girl,” he whispers when you push up again, deliberately, just near your ear.
He freezes, not knowing where the fuck that came from.
You freeze too. Just for a second but he notices it again. The way your grip falters slightly, the way your body tenses, like you weren’t expecting that at all.
Oh, shit.
It hits him like a fucking freight train. You like this. You actually like this. The flirting, the tension, the teasing, maybe him.
This entire time, he’s been spiraling, suffering, losing his mind over you and you’ve been right here, enjoying every second of it.
“You okay?” Your voice snaps him back.
Charles blinks. Shit. He’s been quiet for too long.
He clears his throat, forcing himself to take a step back. “Yeah. You did good.”
You turn around to face him now, your expression unreadable. He can’t quite read it but it’s something different, something he hasn’t seen before. And then, you tilt your head, smirking.
“Good girl, huh?”
He blushes. Yeah, actually blushes. He’s the one who said it and now he’s blushing.
He sees the way your eyes travel down his body for a moment, not too explicit, not too exaggerated but when he sees how you wet your lips before bringing your eyes back to his, he almost passes out.
“Let’s get back to work,” he speaks, before a heart attack kills him on spot and immediately goes to set up the weights.
You start lifting again and Charles is there behind you watching you, as if it wasn’t complete torture for him. He swallows nervously until he sees you struggle.
“Shit—wait…” you wobble for a second trying to adjust your stance and Charles moves on instincts. He steps behind you again, trying not to distract himself from your scent, and he rests his hands on your hips, to help you steady.
You freeze again and Charles feels the way goosebumps make their way onto your skin.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raised in surprise. He should move. He should let go, you got it. But… he doesn’t, fuck you feel so good to let you go.
Just a second, he wants to enjoy it just for a second.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his fingers squeeze lightly at your waist, a silent reassurance. “I got you.”
You lean into him again, subtle, barely anything, but Charles feels it like a punch to the gut. His brain starts racing, running through every possible explanation.
Was that intentional? Was it an accident? Were you just shifting your weight? Was this just a normal reaction?
You drop the weight on the floor and then tilt your head, looking up at him through your lashes as your eyes kept roaming across his face. He notices the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, and in a moment of hope, he wants to believe it’s because of him, that he was having this effect on you.
His grip tightens, just briefly, before he forces himself to step back. “You good?” His voice is lower, rougher. Yours is teasing when you answer.
“More than good, champ.”
And Charles is fucked.
-
“Need help, champ?” You suddenly ask. It’s been two days since he helped you spot you, and Charles’ mind hah been a hurricane of thoughts.
He wants you, so much it hurts, so much it drives him crazy, but now the thought that you might also feel something for him has crept in, and he doesn’t know how to behave. What if it was all a figment of his imagination? What if his mind just wants to convince him there might be a possibility?
But now you’re here, next to him, and he has to focus or he’ll smash his face in with the barbell. “No,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m fine.”
But you just keep standing right next to him now, like you’re waiting. But then you lean in just a little bit too close, and he holds his breath as he continues to lift and lower the barbell.
“You sure? I can help you with that.” It’s not teasing anymore. It’s… almost like you’re serious, and for a split second, Charles forgets how to breathe. His grip on the barbell weakens, and for a moment he thinks he’s about to kill himself if it hadn’t been for you, who instantly helped him regain his grip.
“Merde,” he mutters to himself, embarrassed as he always is whenever he’s near you. He glances at you and sees you smirking. “It’s not funny.”
“Oh yes, it is.”
“You distracted me.” So much I can’t even do a proper workout when you’re here.
“My bad,” you raise your hands in surrender. “I just wanted to help you.”
With a horrible squeak of the gym floor beneath his shoes, Charles gets up from the bench. God, why is he so clumsy? What’s wrong with him?
He’s about to reach for his water bottle when he trips. Yes, he trips over his own feet and he doesn’t even know how.
And it’s not enough that he trips, no. He crashes straight into you. He slams into your chest, face directly against your shoulder until you both fall to the ground, and for a second, he’s so embarrassed, he wishes the ground would swallow him whole.
It all happened so fast that it takes him a second to process it.
He fell. Above you.
You’e under him, his body caging you in and he’s about to die.
It’s too much, the feeling of your hands instinctively gripping his biceps, the soft gasp that left your lips when you hit the ground, a sound that shouldn’t be doing things to him.
Oh, shit.
His arms are at the side of your head, trying not to have all of his weight on you.
Heat floods his face so fast, he feels dizzy. How the fuck did this even happen? His brain is scrambling, trying to make sense of the situation, but all he can focus on is you.
You with your wide eyes locked onto his, mouth slightly parted in shock, you with the warmth of your breath fanning against his jaw, you with your legs tangled with his, your chest rising and falling beneath his own, making him hyper-aware of just how close you really are. Too close. Way too close.
He should move. Now, but he doesn’t. He can’t.
Because for some inexplicable, stupid, suicidal reason, he’s frozen.
Fuck.
You haven’t moved either, you’re still looking at him and Charles feels a shift, a subtle but undeniable shift. The initial shock in your expression melts into something else, something he doesn’t know how to handle.
His pulse is in his throat, in his fucking ears, pounding like a war drum. His hands twitch, itching to touch all of you and he swears you feel it because your grip on his arms tightens, just slightly but enough to make his stomach twist and his heart stop.
Mon dieu, what the fuck is happening?
His jaw clenches. He should say something. Apologize, joke, laugh, anything to break whatever the hell this moment is turning into.
But then you shift again.
Just a tiny adjustment beneath him, like you’re trying to get comfortable, but it doesn’t fucking matter, the second you move just a little Charles feels it everywhere.
A sharp breath shuts out of him, and he knows you heard it because your eyes flicker, darken just slightly to his lips and he knows it because he’s looking at you with the same intensity.
Holy fuck.
This is dangerous and he has to get up. Now. This is everything he’s been running from and everything he’s been dying to do, all at once.
“I, uh—” His throat is dry as hell when he finally speaks.
Fucking hell. Great start.
You blink up at him, still not letting go of his arms. Still not moving away, but now a little smile on your face, a slow, amused, knowing smile.
“You okay?” He manages to ask before his voice cracks. You nod.
“Never been better.”
Merde stop saying that please.
Charles’ limbs are jelly when he stands up and he doesn’t know how he does it without falling again. He holds out a hand and you take it, your eyes never leaving his.
“I’m so sorry…I…” he apologizes, embarrassed. “I don’t know how it happened…”
“Hey, it’s okay,” you stop him, placing both hands on his biceps, and he feels all his muscles tense at the contact. “Nothing happened.”
He tries to listen to you, seriously, but his mind is still completely clouded by what happened, by your closeness, by your scent and the smell of your skin, by your eyes, by you.
“And by the way,” you take a step toward him, and his breath catches in his lungs. “I think you’d look pretty good on top of me, too.”
And without another word, you turn on your heel and walk away, laughing, leaving Charles standing there, struggling to process what just happened, a dumb expression on his face.
Obviously, you couldn’t walk away and not give him the final blow to finish him off completely.
He’s trying so hard to control himself, he’s really trying, but he can’t do it. it anymore. He’s reached the edge, he’s so done with those little games, with this constant desire to have you and not being able to do anything about it.
He’s tired.
He wants to break, he wants to break you.
The way your fingers tremble just slightly before you reach for him, the way your breath stutters before you speak, the way he’s catching you looking at him so much lately, the way your lips part—just a little—like you’re hesitating, like you’re nervous.
And it’s so weird because you’re always so confident, so strong, always so ready to tease him and drive him crazy. But he finally got it.
You want this, you want him, just as badly as he wants you and all the weight of weeks of teasing, of tension, of aching want, it all hits him at once.
Because this isn’t just him suffering anymore, you’re suffering too, and you’re just as scared of it as he is. Pierre was right, you were just waiting for some signal from him.
The gym is now empty and Charles sees you going towards the changing rooms at the end of your workouts. For the rest of the afternoon you had continued to train on your own, but his thoughts were always directed towards you, his eyes always looking for you.
He takes a deep breath, running a shaky hand through his hair before he pushes forward, his legs moving before his brain even catches up.
By the time he reaches the locker room door, he hesitates for just a second. His pulse is in his throat, his mind screaming at him to think, to be rational but rationality left him by now, he just wants to act.
With a deep breath, he steps inside.
The air inside is warm, slightly humid from the showers that were running. Silence echoes through the space and he quickly scans the room, noticing there was no one else beside you. His focus narrows completely when he spots you standing in front of your locker, a towel slung around your shoulders as you rummage through your bag.
You don’t hear him at first, too focused on whatever you’re looking for. And for a brief moment, he just watches you, giving himself a second to process what he’s about to do, even if he has no idea what he wanted to do.
Then he moves, his footsteps are quiet, but something in the air must shift because suddenly, you freeze. You turn your head towards him, meeting his gaze. Your expression remains unreadable, but he doesn’t miss the way your fingers tighten around the fabric of your towel.
“Charles,” you say, his name soft but firm, as he steps closer, like you’re trying to figure out what he’s doing, where this is going.
The world has faded into nothing, no sounds, no movement, no one else, it’s just you and him, standing too close, breathing too hard.
“Do you enjoy messing me? You like it, don’t you? Driving me so insane to the point I can’t even think straight anymore,” his voice is low, rough with all the build up tension. Even he is surprised by the firmness of his tone.
Your eyes drop to his lips, and he thinks he’s about to have a seizure. “A little yeah.”
A gasp escapes your mouth when he grabs your face with one hand, coming so dangerously close that only a breath separates you.
Charles doesn’t know what he’s doing, he has no idea, he just knows he wants you so badly and that if he didn’t do something, he’d explode.
His grip on your jaw tightens, just slightly, just enough to keep you there, to make sure you don’t slip away.
“You’re so beautiful, breathtaking...” he murmurs, not knowing if he actually said it out loud or if it was just his thoughts, but from the way your hands gripped his shirt, you definitely heard it.
“Tu ne comprends pas,” he breathes, his voice strained, ragged, full of something so raw it sends a shiver down your spine. His forehead presses against yours, eyes squeezing shut like he’s in pain. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Your breath catches. “Charles…”
“No,” he cuts you off, shaking his head, jaw clenching like he’s barely holding himself together. “No, I need you to really understand.” His fingers twitch against your skin as his other hand also cups your face, his thumbs caressing you.
“I can’t—I can’t keep doing this,” he admits, voice breaking at the edges, a confession ripped straight from his soul. His eyes, dark and desperate, lock onto yours, that mirrors the same feeling. “You… You drive me insane. You walk around looking so good, teasing, playing your little games, touching me like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t… Fuck… Like it doesn’t make me lose my mind.”
He exhales sharply, chest rising and falling too fast. “Tu es partout,” he murmurs, and it sounds defeated, like he’s exhausted from fighting this war against himself. “Everywhere I go, everything I do, I can’t breathe without thinking about you. You… Your smile, your eyes, your laugh. You fucking own me.”
You don’t say anything.
His thumb rubs slow, desperate circles against your cheek. He shakes his head again, letting out a quiet, breathless laugh that holds no humor. “I tried so hard to ignore you, to tell myself it was just a stupid crush, but I’m so obsessed with you that I can’t even speak when I’m near you, I can’t even breathe and I want you so much,” he whispers, not knowing where this confidence came from. “And I don’t mean just physically. I want to know you, the real you. I what to take you on dates, I want to know what you like to eat, what makes you laugh or be sad, what your favorite movies are, I want to drive you around. I want everything you're willing to give me.”
“And the worst part…” His gaze flickers to your lips, tracing the lines of them—with so much attention as if wanting to imprint their shape in his mind—then back to your eyes, his resolve crumbling right in front of you. “God…”
“Pierre was right, I was so stupid… I’ve been carried away by the belief it was all in my head but it’s not, isn’t it? I know you feel it too, now I see it,” he continues and you let out a breath that tickles his lips.
Silence stretches between you, thick, suffocating. The tension is unbearable, an electric charge sparking between your bodies.
Your hands travel along his chest, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. “Fucking finally champ. I thought I’d have to bomb this place to get your attention.”
And that’s all he needs. That’s the final push.
“Fuck it,” the quiet curse slips past his lips before he snaps. His mouth crashes onto yours, all heat and desperation and months of pent-up frustration exploding at once. His hands on your face and tangling in your hair, pressing you against the lockers, his entire body caging you in.
You gasp against his lips, and he devours the sound, his grip unrelenting, his body moving against yours like he’s starving.
Like he’s finally allowed himself to have the one thing he’s been dying for.
You don’t hesitate, melting into him, arms winding around his neck, pressing closer, deeper, until there’s no space left between you at all.
It’s not a just kiss, it’s destruction.
It’s weeks, months of tension snapping all at once, heat and need and pure fucking desperation pouring into every frantic movement of his lips against yours.
You gasp, a soft sound that sends a violent shudder down his spine, and he takes advantage of it immediately, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth.
He whimpers into you, actually fucking whimpers, because you’re kissing him back just as desperately. Because your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging hard, because your body is pressing against him like you’re trying to mold into him.
His entire body is on fire.
His mind is blank, there’s only you, the way your lips move against his, the way your nails dig into his skin, the way you taste, the way you feel.
And it’s not fucking enough.
He growls, trying to press his body closer to yours even if there wasn’t an inch of space left between you two. He needs you closer, needs more, his hands sliding down your back, over your ribs, your ass, wanting to touch everywhere, memorize every curve, every inch of you.
“Mon dieu,” he groans against your lips, breathless, wrecked, addicted. His forehead presses against yours for a split second, his chest heaving, his hands shaking as they grip your hips even tighter.
“I’m so fucking gone for you,” your voice breaks, so full of everything, every feeling you’ve been holding back. “Fuck I’ve been waiting for so long Charles, you have no idea…”
And then he’s kissing you again, harder, deeper, messier, because he’s completely lost in you and he’s never, ever going to find his way back.
Charles is gone, completely and inexorably gone. This isn’t just a kiss, it’s an answer, it’s a confirmation that you need him too, that he’s not alone in this, that you’ve never been just toying with him.
And that's what destroys him the most.
Your breath hitches as he kisses you deeper, hungrier, his body pressing you harder against the lockers. His tongue drags against yours, slow and deliberate, like he wants to savor you, like he’s trying to ruin you for anything else.
And he is.
His fingers dig into your skin, rough and desperate, his breathing ragged between kisses. He’s drowning in you, in the heat, the intensity, the way he completely and utterly loses himself in you.
Another soft moan escapes your lips but he hears it and he fucking snaps.
A sharp groan rips from his throat as his hands tighten, grab, pull, take. He presses his fingers on your thighs, as if to signal you to jump and you just do it, wrapping your legs around his pelvis. He grinds his hips against your, making both moan as his erection rubbed against you.
His fingers keep clutching you like you’re his only tether to reality, his teeth catch your bottom lip, not too hard, just enough to send a jolt of heat through your spine before he soothes the sting with his tongue.
And you fucking moan again.
He’s devouring you and he has to concentrate because another moan like this and he’ll explode in his shorts.
His lips leave yours only to trail across your jaw, hot, open-mouthed kisses, burning a path down your neck. His breath is uneven, heavy, his lips parting against your pulse, teeth scraping just slightly before he sucks hard enough to make your head spin.
“My god…” you panted, your hands keep tugging his hair. “You drive me crazy.”
“Fuck, fuck,” he exhales, his voice wrecked, ruined, desperate, like he's not even talking to you, just thinking out loud. “You taste so fucking good.”
“Charles please, I need you so, so bad,” his name tumbles from your lips, a plea, a demand, a prayer and it completely destroys him. Your nails dig into his back, your breath shuddering, and he loves it. Loves that he’s making you feel this way, loves that you’re just as lost in him as he is in you.
It’s a mess. Too much tongue, too much heat, too much everything, and yet, still not enough.
He can’t stop, not when he’s finally got you, not when you’re holding onto him like you’ll never let go, not when he’s spent months aching for this.
“Say it again,” he murmurs against your lips, voice shaking, pleading, his forehead pressing to yours.
Your breath is still uneven, your lips swollen, both your minds a complete blur.
“I’m gone for you,” you whisper, kissing him again, your hands cradling his face, forcing him to feel every word. “So fucking gone.”
And just like that he’s ruined.
He slams his mouth against yours again, harder, deeper, completely unapologetic.
“I want you so bad Charles…” you breathe out, your hands trail over his chest, pushing beneath his shirt, nails scratching against hard muscles.
He whimpers, actually fucking whimpers.
And then, he’s walking, carrying you, not even bothering to break the kiss. Your back hits the wooden bench, and he’s on you in a second, caging you in, towering over you, his body flush against yours.
His hands grip your thighs, your waist, your ribs, grasping, touching, taking, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you under his fingertips.
Your back arches beneath him, pressing closer, needing more. He drags his lips down your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, kissing, biting and licking you, trembling as he inhaled the scent of your skin.
“You’re going to kill me,” he whispers against your skin, his voice shaking, so fucking wrecked.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, and he groans, deep, low, his hips pressing against yours in response.
His tongue traces a long lick between your breasts and you let out a ragged breath. “Is this okay?” He asks softly, his eyes fixed on yours.
“Yes, yes… Please…” you respond immediately without hesitation before his lips pressed to yours again.
One of his hands cupped your breast and you moaned in his mouth and Charles again has to think of something else to avoid coming in his pants. His lips trail down your neck again, between your breasts.
“Charles,” you gasp, and he swears under his breath, his hands tightening, his lips pressing against every inch of skin he can reach.
His lips are everywhere again.
On your mouth, your jaw, your throat, hot, open-mouthed kisses that leave you gasping. His hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your skin.
He lifts your top revealing your breasts and he actually stops breathing, stops thinking, stops functioning altogether.
His mouth parts slightly, his chest rising and falling too fast, his eyes widening just a fraction. For a second, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail, every curve, every inch of you that up to this moment he has only imagined.
He can’t think straight anymore.
His lips close around your nipple, biting and sucking on it. Your fingers fisted his hair, pushing your chest further towards his face. “Holy shit… Your mouth feels so good…” you sighed in ecstasy, arching your back against him.
His tongue flicks on your nipple slowly at first, sucking it like he’s savoring it, like he’s trying to control himself.
But he can’t, it’s too much for him.
Another quiet, broken sound you make completely ruins him as a wrecked groan escapes him while his hands slide up your sides, gripping, holding, needing.
He’s not even aware of what he’s doing anymore, only following this deep, primal urge to consume you whole.
All he knows is that he’s never wanted anyone like this before, he’s never felt such desperation for someone, so much it hurts.
You grab his face and press your lips against him again, your legs around his pelvis while he continues to grind against your pussy.
You both moan in each others lips and you break apart only for you to be able to take off his shirt, which ends up thrown in a random spot on the floor.
“Mon dieu,” he chokes out, voice wrecked, trembling. His forehead presses against yours, his hands shaking as they grip your hips like he’s afraid you'll disappear.
As soon as you your hands pushing his shirt up, fingertips grazing over his abdomen, Charles sucks in a sharp breath, his muscles tense as you brush the elastic band of his shorts.
“Is this all for me?” You whisper, your lips brushing his as you caress his hard dick over his shorts.
“Fuck, fuck, yes,” he moans, and it’s ridiculous how even just touching him drives him crazy. You weren’t even touching him, but he’s already at the limit, he can’t take it anymore, too much time had passed, too much accumulated frustration, too much desire.
He looks at you, his hair wild, his mouth slightly parted as he breathes heavily.
He sees the way you’re breathing just as hard as he is, the way your chest rises and falls too quickly, the way your eyes roam over him, slow, dark, full of something that makes his head spin, the way you’re biting your lip when your gaze meets his again.
And fuck, it ruins him.
“Merde…” The curse is barely audible, almost like he doesn’t even realize he’s said it.
But you do. And you smirk, like you know exactly what you’r doing to him.
And it drives him insane.
His mouth is on you again, devouring you more desperate, messier, all tongues and gasps and pure fucking need.
He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything except hold on to you as you completely, utterly falls apart in his hands.
Your nails scratch down his back, and he groans, hips stuttering against yours, his entire body shuddering as he feels the pleasure build up more and more.
He needs you.
Now.
Here.
Forever.
But then there’s a noise, a sharp sound, echoing in the locker room.
Both of you freeze, your chests heaving, heartbeats pounding.
“Holy shit—” Pierre’s voice interrupts you.
Fucking hell.
You let out a gasp and Charles immediately cages you with his body, helping you pulling down your top while his back blocks the view.
“Get out you fucker!” Charles yells as he turns his head towards his friend.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He hears his friend’s voice from outside the locker room. “Mon dieu, finally!” Pierre laughs and Charles feels his face burning.
You’re giggling under Charles, not realizing you’re looking at him with so much adoration.
You grab his face again and kiss him.
“Merde, please don’t do this to me,” he whispers on your lips but continues to kiss you anyway. Fuck why can’t he stop? “It’s already embarrassing I have to go to my friend with a raging boner, please don’t make things worse.”
You give him one last kiss on the lips. “Go, champ.”
He stands up and helps you too before putting his shirt back on. He can’t stop looking at you, thinking about how just seconds ago he was about to come just by grinding against you.
He doesn’t know if that interruption was a blessing or not.
He pulls you by the wrist against his chest, grabbing your face and kissing you again, and again, like a drug addict who needs his fix.
“Don’t think for a second we’re done,” he whispers one last time before exiting the locker room, feeling suddenly empty.
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