#hank voight x abigail barlowe

[keanureevesisbae]

Pilot Episode: A Break From Patrolling

Sergeant Hank Voight x Abigail Barlowe (asian ofc)

Summary: Abigail Barlowe and her patrol partner Tyrell Johnston uncover an interesting drug bust and sergeant Hank Voight asks her to help Intelligence out.

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of racism and neo nazi's. Some indecent language.

Wordcount: 4.1k

Masterlist // fearless masterlist // season 1 masterlist

I have been faced with many things during my time on Patrol. Me, Abigail Barlowe, has seen it all. It shaped me as an officer. However, this is new. 

Having a gun shoved in my face doesn’t make me think a lot of things, but there is one matter about the situation that bothers me: the sheer audacity of this lowlife to pull out a gun and point it at me.

I hold up my hands, knowing damn well I have to play an act now. Like I’m afraid, like I don’t want to die.

Sure, dying is not necessarily on my to do list for today, however I’m everything but petrified. This man, with the five ‘o clock shadow, the cuts on his bruised up face and the ash blondish hairs, is not going to shoot me. His hand is slightly shaking, he is blinking with his eyes a whole lot and his breathing is inconsistent.

This man is nervous, not about to kill me.

Sure, he shot at my partner, but I highly doubt that was masterfully aimed. I suspect it was an anxious shot. 

‘Listen,’ I say, ‘my partner is over there and he is unconscious, so I need to help him.’ 

He swallows hard, before clenching his jaw.

‘I know you don’t want to kill me,’ I say, lowering my hands carefully and slowly. 

‘Don’t move,’ he says breathlessly. 

I’m thinking about my next move. What approach should I take? A loving and kind one or one that resembles more something in the tough love (which in my case means, just plain insulting)?

‘Killing a police officer will be the most stupid thing you’ll do today and that bar is already so painfully low, considering you have done quite the dumb stuff already. Stashing drugs? Stupid. Stashing drugs for other people, hoping to get paid? Even more stupid. Trying to shoot an officer? I don’t even have words to describe the stupidity.’

I’ve decided to use the tough love a.k.a. insulting strategy.

‘Shut up!’

He’s too aggravated to look at me, to actually consider pulling the trigger. So, this is my moment. I only have one shot at this, so I better make it worth while. With lightening speed, I undo him from his gun and kick him down. He lands on his back and I now pull the gun on him.

The son of a bitch made me hand over my gun and because I had not quite made an assessment of the situation, I did what he told me to do. Pointing his own gun to himself, is oddly satisfying. 

‘Well sir, you have outdone yourself,’ I tell him. ‘I’m almost starting to feel sorry for you.’

‘Don’t shoot,’ he begs. ‘Please don’t shoot!’

‘Do something idiotic and I will.’

Right at the time I want to say something more (believe me, I’ve got plenty to say), the door opens with a loud bang and I hear someone announce themselves as: ‘Chicago PD.’

‘In here!’ I yell. ‘I’ve got one.’

‘Antonio, cuff him,’ I hear that familiar raspy voice I catch during work hours from time to time. Antonio does what’s asked from him. The paramedics are already looking at my partner Johnston, so that’s one thing less to worry about.

With my hand on my belt I walk up to sergeant Voight. ‘Hi sarge,’ I say. ‘Got his weapon right here. A Standard Mfg. S333 Thunderstruck Revolver. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be holding one of those.’ I hand him the gun and say: ‘Son of a bitch made me give off mine. It’s somewhere here.’

‘Can you tell me what happened?’ sergeant Voight asks me.

‘We had complaints about loud music. Nothing special at first glance, but it was the fourth one in a row, so we responded to it. Checked it out, bumped into mister Genius over there, who shot at my partner Johnston in the vest. He held me under gun point, I gave up my weapon and Johnston’s. Not much happened.’

‘His gun ended in your hands. Tell me about that.’

I can’t help but smirk. ‘It all happened so fast. It’s a real shame you weren’t here a few seconds before. Think of all people, you would truly appreciate me snatching a gun from someone.’

He nods. ‘Real shame. You go to your partner. We’ll secure the scene.’

I jokingly salute to him, before making my way over to Johnston. ‘You better don’t die on me,’ I tell him.

He flashes me a smirk, his pearly white teeth framed by his full lips. ‘I got shot and you tell me what to do?’ He chuckles. ‘You’re quite the gal, Barlowe.’

‘Come on, you got shot in your bulletproof vest. You lost consciousness because you hit your head on the floor, you idiot.’ I try to look stern, but fail miserably. I place my hand on his cheek. ‘You’ll be alright, ‘kay? Can’t lose you.’

‘Ew, that’s sentimental,’ Johnston says. ‘Therefore disgusting.’

‘It’s never good enough for ya, is it?’ I joke. 

‘We’ve got to take him to Med,’ the paramedic tells me. ‘Bulletproof vest did its job, however this is a nasty bruise. Probably his rib.’

‘Well, take his ugly face,’ I say. ‘I’ll come and pick him up later.’

He makes his way over to the gurney and the son of a bitch even enjoys the extra attention. I can’t help but roll my eyes. I watch Intelligence taking over the scene and plant my hands on my belt, taking it all in.

The infamous sergeant Voight walks up to me, holding up my gun. ‘Is that yours?’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘The one and only.’ I take it and say: ‘Thanks.’

‘How’s the partner?’

‘Bruised his rib or something.’

‘Well, once you get down back at the precinct,’ he says, ‘finished up the paperwork, I’d like for you to come up to Intelligence.’

My eyes enlarge. ‘For real?’ I ask, a bright smile plastered my face.

‘For real,’ he says. ‘But go be with your partner now. I’ll see you back at the station, Barlowe.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

‘Guess who can go up to Intelligence after I drove your sorry ass home?’ I singsong the second I can go into Johnston’s room at Chicago Med, who is already getting dressed again, a huge plaster on his ribcage. The doc told me it’s nothing severe, but my partner Tyrell Johnston has to get home and rest for at least two weeks. 

‘Hm,’ Johnston says, pretending to think long and hard about it. ‘Wild guess, but you?’

‘You must’ve been valedictorian of your year, because you, my friend, are absolutely right!’ I hold up my hand and am on the receiving end of a high five. ‘Sergeant Voight told me I get to come up. Isn’t that absolutely exciting?’

‘It is,’ he says, buttoning up his shirt. ‘Maybe this’ll be your chance to become a member of Intelligence. I know how that has been a dream of yours for many months now.’

I smile. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay? It’s probably just a one time thing.’

‘Nah, it’ll happen, especially if you continue to show everyone you are Intelligence material,’ Johnston says, wincing as his fingers brush against his painful bruise. ‘Besides, the sarge really likes you.’

‘He does not,’ I retort after I scoff. 

‘Let me rewind,’ Johnston says, as he slides off the hospital bed, buttoning up his shirt. ‘He never ignores you, you’re the only one who can talk normally to him, without having to raise his eyebrows in annoyance and he compliments you every time he gets the chance.’

‘He complimented me a few times,’ I respond, as the two of us make our way towards the elevator. ‘Besides if what you are saying is true, you have to work with another partner. I don’t think I can leave you. Look at the dumb shit you do when I’m around babysitting you. Imagine the ludicrous crap you’ll pull when I’m not around.’ I press the button for the elevator. 

When we step into it, Johnston places his hand in the back of my neck. ‘I’ll sure miss your kind nature.’

Without saying another word, the two of us make our way to the patrol car. ‘Look, Johnston,’ I say, before I turn the key in the ignition. ‘I really like working with you and if it were up to me, it be a where you go, I go type of work relationship. But you love patrolling and narcotics and I love Intelligence. Whatever is going to happen, I will always support you. Okay?’

He chuckles. ‘Geez, so sentimental.’ He holds out his fist and says: ‘But I love you, Barlowe.’

I smile. Tyrell and I have been partners for almost three years now. We’ve been through a lot, the two of us. His wedding, my first real adult apartment (one I didn’t have to share with five other girls) and other troubles and festivities. ‘I love you too, Johnston,’ I say, bumping his fist. ‘Now, I’ll get you home, listen to your wife screaming about how irresponsible you were, swoop in and tell her how I saved the day and then I’ll go to Intelligence.’

‘Evil streak you’ve got,’ Johnston says, as I start the car. ‘I cannot believe you enjoy to see me suffer like that.’

‘There is something so beautiful about seeing arguments in domestic setting fold out like that,’ I note. ‘Especially when you’re involved.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

After I dropped Johnston off at home, witnessed indeed a lovely argument between him and his wife Elizabeth, I make my way over to the front desk. ‘Good morning, sergeant Platt,’ I say with a smile, placing my underarms on the desk, standing on my toes, because I’m a little too small to peak over it.

‘I heard miss Karate Kid saved the day again,’ the sergeant who invented sarcasm says, without even looking up from her work. 

I am used to it by now. Besides, I’d be worried if she was actually nice to me. ‘Can you buzz me up?’ I ask. ‘Sergeant Voight wanted me to come up after I brought Johnston home.’

She now looks up. ‘I’ll indulge you for today, but that is only because Voight actually told me this himself.’

I feel oddly satisfied. ‘Thank you, sergeant.’ I dig into my pocket and pull out her favorite candy bar. ‘For my girl.’

She cocks an eyebrow. She appears unimpressed, but when I make my way up the stairs, she buzzes me in and I can see she has already confiscated the candy bar and is taking the first bite from it.

By the time I’m upstairs and enter the bullpen, Antonio holds out his fist. ‘There she is,’ he says with a smile as I give him a fist bump. ‘How’s the partner?’

‘Bruised rib and a broken ego after his wife told him off. Other than that, he’s good,’ I tell the crew. ‘What’s up, guys?’

Everyone holds up a hand and quick hello’s are exchanged. Voight beckons me and I follow him to his office. ‘We’ve got a problem,’ he says, the second I close the door of his office. ‘The man we brought in, he ain’t talking.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Now what?’

‘How about you talk to him?’

That is quite the assignment. One I had not expected. I figured I was going to assist and this seems more than assisting. 

‘I can do that,’ I say nonetheless, trying to appear like I am confident in myself. Like I always do this. 

Like I’m part of Intelligence and this is what I do. 

‘You got regular clothes on you?’

‘I do.’

He nods towards the door. ‘Get changed and meet us at the cage.’

I heard a lot about the cage, but now I am able to see it in real life, which is quite thrilling in all honesty. ‘And what do you expect me to do there?’

Voight shrugs. ‘I don’t know. He seemed pretty terrified of you when we cuffed him, so I think you can figure something out.’

I nod. ‘I can,’ I am quick to say.

‘Off you go,’ he says. ‘And get rid of the ponytail. Okay?’

Not quite sure why, but who am I to ignore what appears to be an order? ‘Okay, sarge.’

I exchange my blues for a loose fitting pair of jeans—a 90s fit—and a black shirt. I pull out the scrunchy and let my hair fall over my shoulders. I run my fingers through the locks, trying to tame the curls. Thankfully I carry around some curl cream and after I damped my hair a bit, I scrunch it in. On my black sneakers I make my way to the cage.

‘Listen,’ Voight says, who is already waiting for me near the entrance, ‘when I tell you to stop, you stop. Make sure you do not ruin this, because I don’t know when you’ll get another shot, ‘kay?’

Realizing he is pretty damn serious, I nod politely. ‘Got it, sir.’ 

He nods towards the cage and I am quick to make my way over. ‘So, Albert Einstein,’ I say, opening the door of the cage. ‘Heard you weren’t sharing your name and why on earth you were even there to begin with.’ She leans against the frame. ‘Pretty stupid, you know?’

He blinks his eyes in a nervous pace.

‘But, we already concluded back at the lot you weren’t the most experienced criminal, so that’s no surprise. You’ve got two choices. One, you’ll rot in a cell, be miserable for a crime you didn’t commit. It would be stupid, but that fits right up your alley with the course of today’s events. Or, you tell us what we want to know, therefore be less dumb than the previous hours and make sure you’ll be useful for the first time today.’

I plop next to him, allowing ten seconds to go by, but he doesn’t tell.

‘Listen,’ I continue to say. ‘I think you are able to be a good guy. I mean, you shot my partner, but I think you just got scared. You could’ve shot me, but you didn’t. You gotta a heart, man.’

‘If I tell you, they’ll kill my family.’

So, he’s got a family. We’re getting somewhere. ‘Then be reasonable about this. If we don’t know your name, who your family is, then we don’t know who to protect. They are going to figure out sooner or later you screwed up.’ I place my hand on his shoulder and feel he’s tense. Insanely tense, that must hurt a lot. ‘Give me your name, the name of your family and the people who put you up to this and we can help.’

He doesn’t say a word. It stays silent for a second, but that second turns into five and then ten, so I stand up.

‘Or be brainless and foolish,’ I say, grabbing the door. ‘We found a lot of heroin. We could charge you, instead of the real guys behind this.’ I turn around the lock and want to make my way over to sergeant Voight, who’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

I barely can tell whether or not he is even impressed in the slightest with what I did. I think about what Johnston told me. I realize Voight does give me compliments and I rely on those to know whether or not I did my job well, because this man has the world’s best pokerface.

Remind me to never play poker with him.

‘His name is AI,’ the man says. ‘And he has my family.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

‘Our offender’s name is Randy Richards,’ I say. ‘Thirty nine year old college professor. No priors whatsoever. His wife Tara and fifteen year old daughter Daisy were kidnapped, after Randy accidentally saw a drug deal unfold when he was about to meet up with his mistress Georgina Dolores.’

‘Minus the affair, Georgina Dolores is also squeaky clean. She’s a TA at the same college,’ Jay Halstead continues. ‘We’ve got Atwater and Ruzek bringing her in.’

‘The guy who’s behind all of this, is AI,’ I say, pointing to the picture of the blonde Arian looking man. ‘His real name is Alan Irving. When Alan isn’t knee deep into his heroin side business, he and his Neo Nazi pals are terrorizing people of color.’

While I am well aware of the racism that appears to be almost written in some people’s DNA, it still pains me to see that there are plenty of Neo Nazis here, meaning plenty of dangerous—mostly—men terrorizing people of color.

And it doesn’t help that Tara Richards is African American, meaning Daisy Richards is mixed raced. It appears like we all realize the urgency behind this deafening silence. If we don’t move fast, who knows what happens to Tara and Daisy. 

Voight is quick to divide the tasks among the others. Diving into Alan Irving entire life, dissecting the life of the Richards family, when Georgina Dolores gets here, interview her. ‘Barlowe, follow me,’ Voight says to me, already halfway down the stairs. I quickly grab my jacket from the chair and rush after him.

‘What are we going to do?’ I ask, as I follow him through the iron doors, trying to put on my jacket. We’re already near his car and I still haven’t gotten an answer. ‘Sarge?’

‘Meeting a CI,’ he says. ‘And you’re coming with me.’

I get in the passenger’s seat of the car. ‘Okay.’

‘You got CI’s?’

‘I know a few people, sure, but it’s not like official or anything.’

He nods, but that’s about it.

‘Is there a reason you allowed me to join Intelligence today?’ I ask, allowing my curiosity to take the overhand. 

He drives like I expected him to. Impatient, quick. Within no time we’re off the lot and on the road. ‘Figured I could use you for questioning Richards,’ he notes. ‘Figured correctly.’

Is it going to be a one time thing? The question is right there at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it.

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

The CI Voight is going to talk to, isn’t too keen on the sergeant having a non-white girl with him, though he claims he’s out of the Neo Nazi life and is a redeemed man. 

I have issues believing he is totally redeemed, because that stink eye he just gave me, almost did something to me. 

I originally listened to the name Abigail Saputra, but after my parents were killed when I was only twelve years old, I moved into a foster family. The Barlowes took me in and when I was eighteen, I took their last name.

When I was younger and still lived with my parents, people said I was a perfect mix of my American mother and Indonesian father. The thickness of my hair is inherited from my mom, the curls are my dad’s. The lack of height is my Indonesian side of the family, my large hazel  colored eyes more my American part of DNA. I completely inherited his brown skin color, which is visibly unsettling for the CI.

I stand behind sergeant Voight, who is currently in the middle of threatening the CI, as he holds him over the edge of the building. While it might not be very ethical, I am not doing anything to prevent it. This fits my own personality and my way of policing better. Being stuck with the voice of reason of the department—Johnston—I am often pulled back from the suspects. Johnston is a sweet man, but very polite. 

Too polite in my opinion. I have more of a temper and I can lose it fairly quickly if you push the wrong buttons.

I personally think I can learn a lot from Voight, because while our tempers might be identical, our ways of dealing with said temper are worlds apart. 

‘He’s in a lot,’ the CI screams. ‘2448 W 24th Street!’

‘That’s like ten minutes from here,’ I note. 

With a lot of force, Voight drops the man to the ground. ‘You know, one foul move and you’re back where you came from,’ Voight lowly threatens him. ‘Come on, we’re going. Tell the others.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Waiting is hard. My leg is impatiently moving up and down, as I’m strapped in my bulletproof vest, sitting in the car next to Voight. My hand is already resting on my holster, reading to make a move.

‘I read in your file you are the impatient kind,’ Voight notes, as we are waiting. The rest is in position and checking around the building. 

‘Maybe,’ I say. 

‘Lucky you,’ he says, as he opens the door. ‘Come on.’

I will not have to be said that twice, because I nearly jump out. I pull my gun and together with the rest we circle the building. Despite being on patrol for quite some time now, sergeant Voight still pushes me behind him. I might not be on the job as long as these guys, but this feels like a punch in the gut. 

Like I’m not good enough. 

But there is no time to think about that. 

Atwater opens the door with a brute force and we all follow them inside. We spread out. ‘Chicago PD, hold up your hands!’

The two female hostages—Tara and Daisy Richards—have their wrists taped together, duct tape over their mouths. I’m quick to take cover when someone starts shooting, but it’s out of my shooting range, so there is no instant retaliation. 

However, another Neo Nazi with a gun is, so when I see him holding up his shot gun, I point and pull the trigger. Always shooting more than once, so I fire two shots and it causes him to tumble down. Two more shots and another one falls back. 

From the corners of my eyes, I see sergeant Voight having his own interesting way of shooting, but you know, if it works it works. 

It’s AI who has Daisy Richards hoisted up and puts a gun on her head. ‘I’ve got no problem killing a skank like her.’

While Alan Irving a.k.a. AI has reached the ripe age of forty five, his juvenile way of acting and his boyish looks, only add up to his immaturity level. 

I hold my gun pointed to him, just like everyone else. I hate this part, where the assailant has this much control. 

I hear sergeant Voight talk, trying to get some sense into his skull. It’s a smart move, having a white guy talk to a Neo Nazi. Daisy’s eyes however meet mine. The poor girl is scared to death, is having trouble breathing and the tears in her eyes are rolling freely over her cheeks. 

And then I hear the shot and it goes straight into the skull of AI. As the man drops to the ground, I push my gun in my holster and make my way over to the Daisy. ‘I’ve got you,’ I tell her, wrapping my arms around her. 

‘My mom?’

I look over my shoulder, to see Atwater helping her mom.

‘She’s going to be fine, honey,’ I tell her. ‘You both are going to be fine.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

There are some Neo Nazi’s not among us anymore, a lot more heroin was uncovered and rolled into evidence and off the market. Randy Richards had a lot of explaining to do, because his wife and daughter had to know about his affair with the TA.

Other than that last situation, I can say all ends well. 

I enjoyed working here at Intelligence and I sure hoped I made an impression.

I’m called into Voight’s office, who leans back in the chair. ‘So,’ he says, ‘you did well today.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ I don’t need to be a profiler to tell what’s on his mind. Therefore, I offer him a smile and a nod. ‘I will report back to Patrol tomorrow,’ I say. ‘Thank you very much for the opportunity here. I hope we can work again in the future.’

It’s clear to me he is taking in my answer, trying to detect something other than professionalism. Sure, I’m very disappointed, but no way is he going to see that. What if he thinks I’m some spoiled brat?

‘Alright,’ he says. 

‘Have a nice evening, sarge,’ I say.

‘You too, Barlowe.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Chicago PD taglist: @acdassenza // @wanniiieeee

[keanureevesisbae]

TW: This story is about police cases, so beware of the following things being mentioned: rape, domestic abuse/violence, abuse, drugs and murder. If any of these things trigger you, do not read this story, as these are themes in the story. Lots of love 🥰

Pilot Episode: A Break From Patrolling // Episode 2: The Fibonacci Spiral // Episode 3: Similar Circumstances // Episode 4: A Place To Stay // Episode 5: An Unforeseen Discovery // Season Finale: Special Delivery

[keanureevesisbae]

Episode 2: The Fibonacci Spiral

Sergeant Hank Voight x Abigail Barlowe (asian ofc)

Summary: A serial killer is terrorizing Chicago and one math class back in the past, causes Abigail to help to solve the case

Warnings: mentions of serial killers and death (no cause of death is mentioned), canon typical violence.

Wordcount: 2.8k

Masterlist // fearless masterlist // season 1 masterlist

The city of Chicago has a serial killer on the loose. It is keeping everyone on edge. It’s been five days and five different households have been the victim of this serial killer. The media already made up a name for the perpetrator and called him ‘The Night Killer’, which only added more unnecessary fuel to the already ongoing fire. 

I was hoping I wouldn’t the patrolling officer to discover the household that was terrorized, but unfortunately I was. While Forensics are already in the house, I can now see Intelligence pulling up at the scene. Johnston has been eerily silent and to be fair, it’s sickening to the stomach. I still am trying to comprehend what I just saw.

When I see detective Olinsky and sergeant Voight make their way over to me, I kinda have this wave of disappointment wash over me. I wish I would be in Intelligence right now. It’s been three weeks since I helped them out and the rush and the satisfaction I felt there, I have yet to find here at Patrol. 

‘It’s the same?’ Voight asks as he approaches us. 

‘It is,’ Johnston confirms. 

‘It ain’t pretty,’ I add to it.

Voight looks over at me. ‘Kids?’

‘Yeah, two. A ten year old boy and a four year old girl.’ It sickens me to even say it out loud. I saw the bodies and it’s so devastating. It brings back memories and not the good kind. 

Voight must notice I’m taking this a bit more personal than other cases, because he places his hand on my upper arm for a quick second, giving it a squeeze, before he says: ‘We’ve got this from here.’

I try to maintain a professional facade, by nodding at the sergeant, but uneasiness that comes with cases like this must be written all over my face. 

‘Everything alright?’ Johnston asks. ‘With…’ Knowing he’s on dangerous territory here, he says: ‘…you know?’

Pretending I’m okay is always better then baring out my soul now. So I say: ‘I’m fine. Let’s just go, okay? See what we can do.’

He nods, respecting my decision not to talk about it. ‘Okay, little one. Let’s go.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Frederick and Ruth Callahan were the parents of Archie and Rebecca Callahan. It must’ve been terrible to witness, because autopsy shows the kids died before their parents, meaning they have witnessed their kids suffer. 

And that really makes me wanna throw up. 

‘Hi sergeant,’ I say, as Johnston and I walk into the station again.

‘Sergeant Platt, what can we do to help?’ Johnston asks, placing his elbow on the counter.

It’s clear she has a lot on her plate now, but still finds time to place two boxes filled files in front of us. ‘This needs to go upstairs.’

‘What is it?’ 

‘Case files,’ she says. ‘The other districts made copies and brought them over. Intelligence needs them.’

‘We’ll take them straight away,’ Johnston says, handing me one box, before grabbing the other one.

‘I’ll buzz you up.’

You know shit is serious when Platt buzzes you up without a snarky comment. Together with Johnston, we walk upstairs, to see the entire Intelligence team sharing their own insights with the team. We place the boxes on a semi empty desk and I hear things being shared. The victims are chosen ad random. No link between them whatsoever.

And then my eyes land on the board.

Five crime scenes, but the way they are located… With a little bit of fantasy, it can appear like a spiral. Not just any spiral, a different and unusual one. I’m opening every drawer in my memory, because this looks so familiar.

I know what this is.

‘Can I use this computer?’ I ask, pointing at the empty desk of Atwater.

Voight nods. 

I slide behind it and start searching online. I’ve seen this before, but where and when? 

After googling the most brief term on the planet (spiral math), I finally manage to find that something I was looking for. With a little bit of magic, I transfer it to photoshop and start to play a little bit with the software, knowing damn well I am no where near a professional, but my mediocre—okay, just plain awful basic skills—are enough to create what I want.

‘Patrol girlie, what you doing?’ Atwater asks me as he is approaching me—therefore his own desk—but I shush him.

After a bit of heinous photoshopping, I print it all out and place the pictures I created on the board. ‘I think I’ve got it. I think it has something to do with Fibonacci.’

‘Fibo what?’ Ruzek asks.

‘Fibonacci,’ I repeat, as if that explains it all. ‘I don’t remember much of the math college classes I took, but there was this one class that spoke about spirals and then specifically logarithmic spirals with a certain growth factor: the golden ratio. You have different types, but what we’re now looking at is Fibonacci. A logarithmic spiral, just constructed a bit different. So, Wikipedia told me that this specific spiral starts with a rectangle partitioned into two squares. In each step, the square length of the rectangle’s longest side is added to it. All in all: infinity.’

‘Yeah?’ Voight asks. ‘So?’

‘Look at the spiral over the map of Chicago. The spiral goes over each crime scene. Meaning if this is right, we might know where he is going to attack next. We basically have these these houses,’ I explain, going over the line that remains untouched when it comes to the crime scenes, ‘that could be targeted next.’

‘It makes sense,’ Jay says. ‘The victims had nothing in common and we’ve concluded many times now they are picked ad random. This might be random to the rest of the world, but for the killer, who has the same M.O. every single time, it makes perfect sense.’

‘What’s your guess for the next target?’ Antonio asks me.

‘Not too sure,’ I continue. ‘I haven’t checked each residence on the line yet, however… I suspect it has something to do with the Fibonacci sequence.’

‘And what is that?’ Atwater asks.

‘It’s 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, et cetera.’ Realizing that does not explain it at all, I add: ‘Basically it’s: zero plus one equals one. One plus one equals two. One plus two equals three. Two plus three equals five, and so on and so on. Some number in the Fibonacci sequence, probably far along the line, will give us something. I’ve got a website where you can put in a number and you’ll find out if it’s in the Fibonacci sequence or not.’

I’m nearly out of breath by the time I’m finished with my explanation. 

‘You heard the lady,’ Voight says, ‘come back with something useful. Johnston, you busy?’

‘No sir,’ my partner says. 

‘Stay and help out. We can use all the hands we have.’

He nods. ‘Sure thing, sarge.’

Voight looks over at me and nods. ‘Good work, officer Barlowe,’ he says.

Before I can gleam with pride, Jay asks: ‘Okay nerd, how are we gonna do this?’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

There were two houses whose house numbers matched one in the Fibonacci sequence. One house had three students living in it, the other had a couple. 

To not stir anyone and create a media frenzy on top of the already fabricated mess. We have circled both houses with tons of plain clothed officers. Out of Intelligence, Atwater, Ruzek, Halstead and Olinsky have covered the bachelor pad of the students as that place has more exits to cover. Together with sergeant Voight and Johnston, I cover the other house. There is no wiring in the place. The inhabitants of the houses don’t even know we’ve circled their places. That we have eyes on the place, on every entrance.

As we’re waiting, my mind drifts off to this morning’s crime scene. Poor Rebecca Callahan. It’s sad for the entire family, truly, however seeing little Rebecca in her pajamas, her teddy bear still in her hands makes me wanna hurl. To curl myself up in a ball and scream.

‘Barlowe, head in the game?’ sergeant Voight asks, dragging me from my thoughts.

‘I have,’ I say, though that is a tremendous lie. I had my head everywhere but the game. Realizing he’ll poke right through my lie, I turn to the side and add: ‘I will.’

His eyes meet mine and he nods, but it appears he doesn’t believe me. 

‘Sir, I will have my head in the game from now on,’ I say. ‘I promise.’

‘Then don’t doze off.’

From the corner of my eyes, I see Johnston hiding his amusement. Well, he can stick that ‘Abigail, he has taken a liking of you’-comment up his ass, because the sergeant is totally telling me off.

‘I won’t,’ I say. ‘On top of my game.’

Time goes by so slowly. It’s ten at night and we’ve been here since eight. For me it feels like eternity. I have never been good at waiting. I failed many of my stake outs on the first try, solely because I am impatient, easily distracted when staring into nothing, waiting for something. 

‘What if I got it wrong?’ I ask. ‘What if this isn’t right?’

‘You’ve given us the most useful information about this case,’ Voight says. ‘If you got it wrong, at least you tried.’

‘Sarge, you ever encountered someone like this?’ Johnston asks. ‘A serial killer?’

‘Serial killers?’ Voight says. ‘Yes. Someone like this. No, never.’

‘We once chased a guy down the streets,’ I say. ‘Think it was within my first year. He shot my first partner and I just went on a rampage, desperate to find him. But he was quick and I lost him. Later, I accidentally caught him with Johnston, my newly assigned partner. Went for a drug bust, ended up finding him and the lives he took. It was the first crime Johnston and I semi solved together.’

Voight nods. ‘It never gets easier,’ he notes, ‘but eventually you’ll grow thick skin.’

Minutes go by, turning into an hour. ‘Got eyes on someone,’ Voight says. 

We all sit straighter and we see a man. His back is straight as a ruler and he’s so pale, he nearly lights up in the darkness of the night. He has a little suitcase in his hand and with a certain expertise and confidence, he manages to open the window of the basement.

He did that a little too easy in my opinion.

‘We already got him for breaking and entering,’ I note. ‘We’re going in?’

‘Let’s wait one minute, but be ready.’

This is by far the slowest minute of my damn life. He finally gives us the go ahead and Johnston and I make our way out of the vehicle. Because I’m the tiniest, I am the only one who can fit through the window the our man got through. If I open the one next to it, Johnston and the sergeant can come with me. 

After I cleared the basement from outside and inside, I squeeze myself through the opening and open the window. I guide them inside and we make our way through the house. Johnston and I thoroughly checking every room. But then I hear a deafening scream coming from the master bedroom.

I avert my eyes to Voight, who nods at both me and Johnston. My broad partner kicks in the door, screaming: ‘Chicago PD, hands in the air!’

The man in the bed is severely bleeding, however I do think I can still see him breathing. The killer drags the woman by her hair and pulls her up. Her screams are painful and it hurts to see her so terrified.

‘Let her go,’ Voight says.

I swallow hard, realizing this man has a plan. And letting her go, isn’t going to happen. We don’t have a clear shot already, but if we get him to focus on one person, he might turn. He might lower his guard and be less focused.

It’s always worth a try.

‘Hey,’ I say, putting my gun away. ‘Look, I am not going to shoot you, okay? Just… Let’s have a chat.’

It appears he is surprised by that fact. ‘About?’

Okay, he is not appalled by the idea, which is good.

‘The murders you committed,’ I say. ‘No matter what the papers or these guys say, I am absolutely fascinated by the precision.’

He frowns, however his ego is boosted a little, he can’t hide that.

‘I mean, it took us quite some time, but we figured it out. No wait, I figured it out,’ I say. ‘Fibonacci, right?’

He nods. ‘Yes, Fibonacci.’ He takes me in from top to bottom. ‘What’s your name?’

‘I’m officer Abigail Barlowe, but you can call me Abigail. What’s yours?’

‘Wesley.’

Good, I know his name. That’s one step. Besides, it’s better than The Night Killer, which I’m sure is only adding to his ego. ‘I am not an expert on it, but I feel like you are,’ I continue on. 

As I’m talking to him, as I’m keep giving him compliments, I can tell he’s slacking and he isn’t quite aware of me closing in on him and giving the two cops I’m with more space.

‘Can you tell me about it?’ I ask. 

He shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says, ‘because you’re not interested. You’re trying to get me to confess.’

‘I don’t really need your confession. We got you for breaking and entering already and you’re holding a woman at gunpoint,’ I dryly note. ‘If you talk, we can help you.’

The switch of the personality of this man is frightening. ‘I’m a dead man already,’ he says and he wants to point his gun at me, but before he can do that, a loud shot is cleared, red blood splatters fly through the air and the woman nearly launches herself in my arms. ‘It’s okay,’ I say, ‘you’re safe.’

Chicago is safe from the Night Killer. 

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

I have gotten quite good over the years, to push my personal business aside and not let it interfere with my work. Sure, sometimes cases remind me of my own past, but what I’m feeling now different.

After the Night Killer—a.k.a. Wesley Henderson—is dead by a shot cleared from sergeant Voight’s gun, I felt a mix of relief and jealousy wash over me. Chicago was no longer terrorized by this man, which is good news. The closure for everyone who deserves it, is also good news.

But I feel so jealous.

I look into Voight’s office and I decide to make my way over. I knock on the door. ‘Knock knock,’ I say. ‘Can I come in?’

He looks up from his work, before he nods and holds out his hand, non verbally telling me I could take a seat. ‘What’s up?’ he asks.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I kinda went off script back there.’

Voight doesn’t seem like he is appreciative of my apology. ‘You saved their lives by stalling. You did well. I don’t need an apology for that.’

I lean back in the seat. ‘Thank you.’

He sits up straighter, placing his underarms on the desk. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘you’ve shown me time and time again you’re a great cop. The CPD should be grateful you’re one of them.’

I feel my face heating up, but thanks to my soft brown skin it doesn’t show. ‘Thank you, sir. That truly means a lot.’

‘I’ve heard you have aspirations of joining Intelligence.’

I bet that was Johnston. Don’t know if I’m going to be thankful for him blabber mouthing or not. ‘I have indeed expressed those wishes,’ I carefully say. 

‘Why do you think you’d fit in Intelligence?’

I realize this is my shot and I do not want to fuck it up. But then I realize I don’t know what to say. ‘Well,’ I say, ‘I love to protect and to serve, but I personally feel like patrolling isn’t what I want to do all my life, especially when I am of the belief I have a lot more to offer.’

Sergeant Voight nods. ‘Well, I share that belief,’ he says, ‘because you’ve got a lot to offer. So, that’s why I want to make an offer. If you want, you can join Intelligence.’

Thank you, Tyrell Johnston for running off your mouth. ‘Excuse me?’ I ask. ‘You want me to join intelligence?’

‘The spot is yours if you want.’

That is probably the greatest news I’ve heard today. I let out a laugh of unbelief. ‘I’ll that it!’

He nods, when something that resembles a smirk appears on his face. ‘Then I will see you tomorrow, officer Barlowe.’

‘See you tomorrow, sergeant. I will not let you down and keep my head in the game.’

‘Atta girl,’ he says, now officially smirking. ‘Now go home and rest. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Chicago PD taglist: @acdassenza // @wanniiieeee

[keanureevesisbae]

Episode 5: An Unforeseen Discovery

Sergeant Hank Voight x Abigail Barlowe (asian ofc)

Summary: An unexpected bombing on an early morning is only the start of a much bigger plan.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of suicide (by an overdose).

Wordcount: 4k

Masterlist // fearless masterlist // season 1 masterlist

It’s early in the morning and Hank is making coffee at the kitchen counter. It’s a routine now. Hank getting out of bed a lot earlier than I do, and while I get ready, he prepares coffee. Then, he goes to finish up getting ready, while I clean up the kitchen.

And now he’s standing near the counter and I sneakily try to make my way over to him, however he wouldn’t be a sergeant if he didn’t hear me.

‘Morning.’

I let out a chuckle, as I’m not surprised I’m caught. ‘Morning.’ I wrap my arms around his waist from behind and press a kiss in the back of his neck. 

It’s been two weeks since I lived here. No sign of my ex-boyfriend Nelson, but it feels safer to be around here. Besides, me and Hank have been spending a lot of time together, both at work and after. At work, we are just colleagues. After work, we’re roomies, but more than just platonic, though it’s less than romantically. We both agreed on taking it painfully slow, him not having dated after Camille and me being really out of touch with the whole dating thing. 

It’s nice to not have strings attached. It’s nice for us to deal with this our own way. Take our time.

But it’s always mornings like this that leave me crave and yearn for more.

It’s just me and the type of Hank Voight I always knew was deep down there, the version I caught glimpses of during work hours. But now it’s different. I smile at him and he answers it back straight away. He hugs me whenever he thinks I need it—he’s always correct—and kisses me whenever he gets the opportunity. 

‘I don’t have a lot of time this morning,’ I say, grabbing the coffee mug from his hand. ‘I’m meeting up with Johnston for some breakfast. He doesn’t have a partner assigned, so Platt has him running all sorts of tasks.’

He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘You’re a good friend.’

‘Well, I try to be.’

I quickly gulp down all the coffee, before I grab my jacket, my badge and gun. As I’m putting on my shoes at the door, Hank already caught up. He gently holds my face in his hand, pressing a long kiss on my lips. 

‘What was that for?’ I ask with a chuckle. ‘Not that I am complaining.’

‘Call me sappy, but I can’t kiss you all day at work.’

‘Oh, I knew it,’ I say, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. ‘Hank Voight is a romantic.’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he starts, ‘saying that to anyone.’

‘My lips are sealed.’ 

Despite us not putting a table on what we are, I like this with him. It’s also the easiest thing I’ve ever done: allowing him in my life like this.

‘I’ll see you at work,’ I say. 

One more kiss. But one more turns into two more and eventually a heavy kiss, but then I realize I can’t really bail on Johnston, so I manage to peel myself away from him. ‘See you!’ I say.

‘See you,’ he smirks, before I make my way over to the cafe around four blocks from Hank’s place. I can already see Johnston sitting at a table near the window, holding up a cup of coffee. I can see another cup in front of him and two plates of waffles. ‘One for you and one for me,’ he says once I’m closer.

‘You are a life saver,’ I say, when I plop on the chair in front of him. 

‘So, how’s your inappropriate crush going?’ Johnston asks.

‘I barely warmed the seat,’ I note. ‘Can’t that question wait?’

‘No.’

I roll my eyes. My inappropriate crush is going just fine. I literally see him every day, kiss him whenever I want and though we’re not doing anything sexually, there is a certain tension between us, we have to ignore when we’re at work and I’ve been doing this for around two weeks now. ‘I’m managing it,’ I say, taking a bite of the waffle. ‘Why do you keep pressing me about this? I told you I got it. No need to check on me. It’s not like I’m violating parole or something.’

Johnston shrugs. ‘Well, I saw you getting out of his car a few days ago.’

That is awfully inconvenient for you to have seen it. ‘I’m on his route,’ I say with an added shrug for some extra nonchalance, ‘so he offered to drive me. Really, Tyrell Johnston, you are so obsessed with me.’

He sticks out his tongue. ‘I just don’t want you to get your heart broken,’ he says. ‘You deserve a guy that makes you happy and can show you off. You deserve that.’

Okay, that’s really sweet of him. While I think Hank can make me happy, can he show me off? Is secrecy what I want?

Yeah, it’s too soon to think about that, but I know this is going to be in the back of my mind from now on.

Thanks for that, Tyrell Johnston.

‘I see,’ I note. ‘That’s sweet. Disgustingly even.’

Before he can say anything about it, a woman stops next to our table. ‘Are you police?’ she asks. 

‘Yes, we are,’ Johnston says. ‘Everything okay, ma’am?’

‘There is a man unconscious in a van and I tried to wake him up, but he doesn’t respond.’

So much for a nice waffle early in the morning. While I’m almost tempted to say I’m off duty, I say: ‘Come on, let’s check it out.’

I already feel the adrenaline rush through my veins. This is the only thing I miss about patrol and now I’m glad to have Johnston next to me.

‘What van?’ Johnston asks.

‘The blue one.’

With my hand already resting on my weapon, I make my way over to the vehicle. The man appears to be unconscious, but he also has an expired glow over him. I knock on the window. ‘Chicago PD, open up, sir,’ I say, however I fear the man might already be roaming around in the afterlife. 

‘Can’t open the other one either,’ Johnston says. ‘Is he…?’

‘I think so.’ I knock on the window again. ‘Call the fire department or break the window?’

He grabs his baton and hits the window. We’re breaking in the window. We watch it shatter and I walk around the car while putting on some latex gloves and am not met with a smell we associate with death, meaning he either is alive or dead but not for too long. I climb in the passenger’s seat and place my fingers in his neck. 

‘No pulse. He’s not too cold yet. Probably dead for around four hours or so.’

I rummage through his pockets to grab his wallet. ‘His name is Henry West,’ I say. ‘How about you call it in. Say Intelligence got it, alright?’

‘Sure thing,’ Johnston says. 

I push the wallet in my pocket and see an empty bottle of pills. ‘Geez,’ I say to Johnston. ‘Poor guy killed himself. Why? Why here?’ I grab it and hand it to Johnston, who says: ‘It’s prescribed to him: Henry West.’

I turn around in the van, to look in the back, when my heart stops beating.

‘Johnston,’ I say, ‘move slowly backwards.’

29:03

29:02

29:01

29:00

28:59

I carefully make my way out of the van and push him away from it. 

‘What’s wrong?’ Johnston knows better than to interfere with me when I’m this serious, but I can tell he is a little confused about it. 

‘Call it in,’ I tell him. ‘And alert patrol to clear the area.’

‘What are you going to do?’ he asks, right before he raises the radio to his lips.

‘I’m going to call bomb squad.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

The entire area is cleared and the Bomb Unit, Intelligence and the CFD have arrived. Johnston and I let Intelligence know what we found.

‘The coroner needs to check it, but I think he was dead between four and six hours. He had taken who knows how many of these,’ I say, gesturing for Johnston to hand it to Ruzek. ‘I got an ID on the guy. His name is Henry West.’ I pull the wallet from my back pocket. 

‘We ran the license plate and came back bogus,’ Johnston continues. 

‘Then I looked back in the van and saw the timer,’ I say. 

‘But the question is: why the bombs?’ Antonio asks.

‘Another question: why here?’ Jay adds.

‘Well,’ Johnston says, ‘around this time, this place is usually pretty packed.’

‘But why kill yourself beforehand?’ I now ask. ‘If you want to blow this place up, why not dump the van and make a run for it?’

Before anyone can even try and answer that question, someone yells: ‘Take cover!’

Thankfully we cleared the area and we’re quite a distance away, but the shockwave is still noticeably felt. I crouch down and feel three men covering me. 

Johnston, Antonio and Voight. 

‘Geez,’ Jay notes, uncovering his ears. ‘Do I have to look like her for you guys to fight to save me?’

I ignore it, though my face feels hot. ‘Thanks guys,’ I say, patting Johnston and Antonio affectionately on the head, before looking over to Voight. ‘Thank you, sarge.’

Johnston helps me up and we look at the mess that has been created. It’s not pretty, but from the looks of it, no one seems to be critically injured. 

‘I can’t believe our only suspect, is now smeared all over the place,’ Johnston notes.

‘Well, at least we got a name,’ Jay says.

‘We need to find out whether or not there are more bombs,’ Ruzek says. 

Voight nods. ‘Johnston, you’re with us for this one. We’ll meet at the station.’

‘Copy that, sergeant,’ my former partner says. ‘Copy that.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

‘Our suspect’s name is Henry West,’ Ruzek says, placing a picture of said Henry west on the board. ‘He lives with his mother near River North and the security camera from store close by lets us know the car got parked there at 2:04 AM. He has no priors. Kid is squeaky clean.’

‘His mother hasn’t reported him missing?’ Olinsky asks.

‘Not yet. The kid is twenty two years old. He probably goes away a lot.’

‘It’s weird for a guy who has no priors and lives in that area to all of the sudden want to blow himself and an entire car up,’ Johnston notes. ‘And why there?’

Voight is quick to assign the tasks for us. ‘Ruzek and Johnston, you dive deeper into Henry West’s life. There must be something we’re missing. Olinsky and Halstead, you go to the the community college Henry went to. Antonio and Barlowe, go to his place. Mom has to know something.’

Antonio and I are seated in the car, as Antonio drives off towards the house up in River north. ‘Lucky girl you,’ he eventually says.

I have no clue what he’s on about. ‘What?’

‘You had Johnston, yours truly and the sergeant cover you at the blast.’

‘Well, you didn’t have to,’ I say. ‘If you guys had given me a chance and had not covered for me, I’d done it for you.’ I pat his leg and say: ‘Don’t you worry.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Well, it’s just good to have some more confirmation that Voight cares about you more than he does for the rest of us.’

‘Jealous?’ I jokingly say, though I really wish I could just leave it at this. 

‘Of course,’ Antonio chuckles. ‘I thrive to be a teacher’s pet.’

‘Idiot.’

We stop in front of the West residence. The house is luxuriously large, close to obnoxiously. ‘You know,’ I say, as we get out of the car, ‘I used to live like this. Then my parents died and I was put into foster care, thus a normal suburb house.’

‘That’s unfortunate.’

‘However, it kinda answers the question as to how a kid who lives like this, ends up immensely screwed up.’

Antonio frowns. ‘Enlighten me on that insight.’

‘The richest families tend to hide the worst things.’ I press the bell and we wait.

Wait a little longer. 

Right when I want to press the doorbell once again, the door finally opens and a petite looking woman appears. ‘Yes?’ 

‘Macie West?’ Antonio asks.

‘This is her.’

‘I’m Detective Dawson and this is officer Barlowe, CPD. We’ve got a few questions about your son Henry.’

She frowns, as she steps to the side. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘When was the last time you saw Henry?’ Antonio asks, when the two of us walk inside. 

‘Last night,’ she says. ‘Around nine o’clock he went to visit a friend.’

‘What’s the friend’s name?’ I ask. 

‘Theo,’ she says, ‘Theo Duvalt. Is everything alright with Henry?’

Macie has a lot of pictures up of her son, but he looks like the most unhappy kid I’ve ever seen. Barely smiles—except when he was a kid—and it appears he has never quite had a hobby. 

‘Does Henry own a car?’ Antonio asks.

‘No not yet. I’m still trying to fix a good one for him, but his dad… He was much more into the car thing than I was, but then he passed and that’s up to me now.’ She smiles, however her smile doesn’t meet her eyes. ‘Why?’

‘Do you know if Theo has a car?’

‘He has this horrendous looking van,’ Macie says. ‘I hate it with a passion. It makes a whole lot of noise and looks so unsafe.’

‘What color?’

‘Blue.’

Antonio and I lock eyes and a single nod is exchanged. ‘Ma’am, have you had any contact with your son? Since the last time you saw him?’

Macie shakes her head. ‘No, why?’

Antonio sighs. ‘Ma’am, please take a seat.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Telling Macie West her son died wasn’t easy (considering the circumstances concerning his death). Going to Theo Duvalt’s place came up empty again when it came to actually finding the boy himself. He wasn’t home, but his stuff was and discovering what goes on in Theo’s mind wasn’t pretty. The police evacuated their former high school and the community college Henry and Theo attend, thinking he would go there, but that turned out useless.

So, now, we were back at square one.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Ruzek notes. ‘One kid blows himself up. The other is no where to be found, but has taken his parents’ entire gun arsenal and what not.’

‘Finances don’t bring up a lot,’ Jay continues. ‘The kid went to Home Depot, to buy some drapes, the same ones we found in his bedroom. Nothing in the last three months, just like Henry hasn’t brought anything suspicious.’

I’m focussing on the interviews we did at the high school and community college about Theo Duvalt and Henry West and it all came back the same: weird dudes, kept to themselves, always talking about the stupid double X thing.

They had it tattooed on their arms, was written in every notebook they had, starting from senior year in high school, all the way to the notebooks from their college and personal diaries.

‘Wait,’ I say, ‘Double X.’

‘Yeah,’ Atwater says, ‘I cannot understand what the hell that means. I literally put it in every database around, but nothing. Nada.’

‘I think I know,’ I say. ‘This is real bad.’ I start typing on my computer and turn around the screen. ‘This is the newest Fun Fair in town.’

‘And how does double X relate to it?’ Ruzek asks.

‘If you wouldn’t have interrupted me, you would’ve known by now what I was getting at,’ I snap.

Voight clears his throat. ‘Barlowe, continue,’ he says, after glaring shortly at Ruzek.

‘A few nights ago, I met up with a CI and had dinner at this place that has a perfect view of the fair. Anyway,  I looked down and saw this.’ I click on the other pictures of an overview of the fair. ‘Does it look familiar?’

‘Double X,’ Ruzek says. 

Jay nods. ‘This could be his target.’

‘Yo sarge,’ Atwater says. ‘A pod just picked up Theo Duvalt. Half a mile away from the fair.’

Voight nods. ‘Let’s hit it.’

Everyone gathers their stuff and makes their way downstairs. Since I am a little slower, it’s just Hank and I in the bullpen. ‘What?’ I ask, as I place my gun in the holster. ‘Something’s wrong?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, no, nothing’s wrong,’ he says in a low tone. ‘Just proud of you, that’s all.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Patrol is on the move, the organizers of the fair are brought up to speed, just like the security guards know what’s up. However, we have yet to see him. Intelligence has split up and Hank and I are one duo. 

‘This is annoying as shit,’ I mutter, while we squeeze through the crowds of people. ‘He’s gotta be fucking somewhere.’

‘We’ll find him, miss impatient.’ 

Despite being at work, I like seeing a glimpse of home Hank during duty. 

I halt my steps, just like I halt Hank, by placing my hand on his arm. ‘What is that?’ I ask, pointing through the crowd. ‘Is that a propane cylinder?’

He nods. 

‘What if,’ I think out loud, ‘we’re looking at the wrong place? What if the propane tanks are meant to drive people to the out because of its explosion and then he starts shooting them? From the roof tops?’

Hank brings the radio to his lips and starts giving out orders. Be on the look out for the propane tanks. Remove them. The rest of Intelligence is led to different rooftops, while we take the one of the restaurant I had dinner at. 

With our weapons drawn, we make our way upstairs. While we take the stairs, we hear the metal door upstairs clang shut. There is a chance we got Theo Duvalt. We’re waiting and then Hank nods.

Open the door. 

I push open the door and with my weapon drawn, I make my way over the rooftop. And then I see him and together with Hank we hide behind the wall. And then I hear it. Shots, screams. 

‘This is 5020,’ he says in his radio, ‘the suspect is on the rooftop of The Crystal Brewery.’

‘Drop your weapon!’ I scream, holding out my weapon and though the shots stop, he doesn’t drop his weapon. ‘Chicago PD, drop your weapon.’

But then he turns to me and shoots. Thankfully I duck away and dodge the fucking bullets. ‘Sarge,’ I say in my radio. ‘He’s wearing a bullet proof vest.’

‘Aim for the head,’ he yells, knowing damn well that shooting his leg is not going to slow him down. 

But the son of a bitch moves so much, it’s hard to take a great shoot. I always trust the sarge with an excellent shot, however this is even too much for him. I peak around the corner, only to see Theo is rummaging in his bag. 

‘Sarge, it’s pipe bombs.’

‘Aim for the bag,’ is his next order. We’re hiding behind the same pillar and I turn around. And then one bullet hits the bag and the explosion, while massive, it’s thankfully pretty contained. Just like earlier today, Hank shields me from the blast with his body. My ears ring a little from the blast.

In the background I can hear Hank’s voice saying something, however I barely register it. ‘You okay?’ he asks, as his lips are close to my ear and I can actually hear the question. 

‘I’m fine,’ I whisper. ‘You good?’

‘All good,’ he confirms. 

I sit up straight, only to see something slashed my leg, causing it to bleed a little. It’s not much, but it’s a gash. ‘Fuck,’ I say. 

‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘It’s not that deep.’

I let out a deep sigh. ‘We did it,’ I say with a semi smile. 

He nods. ‘We did.’

I see no one is upstairs just yet, so I press a kiss on his lips. It’s short and it’s quick. ‘There’s more where that came from,’ I chuckle.

He smirks. ‘I’ll be happy to find out later.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

While it is a little bit unsatisfying for the two suspects to have died already, therefore not knowing what their motives were exactly, it’s nice to know that there were not a lot of victims, except a seven people who were shot, but they’ll all make a splendid recovery. 

That night, instead of going to Molly’s or whatever bar, I directly go to Hank’s place, him included, after I got to Med to get my leg checked, but that is nothing bad. It’s not much what we do. The two of us lounge around, allow the adrenaline to die off a little, as we share a lot of kisses.

When I’m too tired to function anymore, I push myself up and announce I’m going to bed. 

‘I was thinking,’ he says, standing up as well. ‘Maybe we don’t have to have separate bedrooms. If you want.’

We made it pretty clear we do not sleep in the same room, though I would love nothing more than that. He’s just hesitant, which I understand. He and Camille slept in that room together, I’d have a hard time with that too if I were in his shoes. 

‘You want that?’ I ask. 

He nods. ‘If you do.’

I smile tiredly. ‘I don’t mind. We can sleep in the guest room, if that makes you more comfortable.’

He places his hand on the back of my head, to pull me closer for a kiss on my forehead. ‘I’d appreciate that.’

I take a bit of his shirt in between my fingers and drag him with me, since we don’t have to lock the place anymore, since Hank already did that. We end up in the guest room, that is already looking like a place I’ve been living in for a good two weeks.

He shakes his head in disapproval and slight amusement as he closes the door behind him. ‘Neatness isn’t your forte, isn’t it?’ 

I place my hands on his hips, pushing him against the hard surface of the door. ‘What’d you say?’

He smirks and I love it when he does that. I love it when there are cracks in his facade, when I have a feeling I can actually get to know him. ‘Nothing,’ he whispers, as his lips welcome mine. 

Kissing Hank is not boring and I highly doubt it’ll ever become dull or repetitive. My ex Nelson hadn’t been the affectionate type. When he wanted a kiss, he got one, but I didn’t dare going near him if I needed him. It had never been a very balanced relationship. In his eyes I wasn’t equal. 

Despite Hank being my sergeant—meaning at work we aren’t equal and there is a hierarchy—I have never felt so seen, so accepted and well appreciated. 

Hank got rid of his shirt before he steps in the bed with me. Having his warm body pressed against mine as I slowly drift off to sleep, is an extra component for me to instantly relax.

Because I now know no one can hurt me. 

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Chicago PD taglist: @acdassenza // @wanniiieeee // @one-sweet-gubler // @sofiebstar //

[keanureevesisbae]

Episode 3: Similar Circumstances

Sergeant Hank Voight x Abigail Barlowe (asian ofc)

Summary: A young child is murdered and Abigail confides to her sergeant about the similar circumstances of the case to her personal life.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mention of murder.

Wordcount: 2k

Masterlist // fearless masterlist // season 1 masterlist

Her name was Felice Geralds. It had been easy to ID the victim, since she had everything on her. Her passport was placed next to her, together with her tiny backpack and her giraffe plushie.

The poor girl was only two years old.

The circumstances of her death are for now unknown, but kids being murdered is always painful. No matter whose child it is. 

This is my real case ever since I joined Intelligence. I did some paperwork, sure, but I had yet to solve and work a true case.

I just wished this wouldn’t be my first real Intelligence case. 

I stare as forensics are working the scene. With the rubber gloves on, I clench and unclench my fist, the squeaky sound the latex makes, hearable to me, as everything around me turns into white noise.

Sergeant Voight steps in between me and the crime scene, physically blocking my view. I look up and my eyes meet his. 

‘You okay?’ he asks me.

I shrug. ‘Sure.’

Almost like he feels for me, because he places a hand on my shoulder. ‘Look, it’s okay to take a step back every now and then. Cases like this can be tough.’

It’s not just tough. It’s eerily similar. Similar to the event I constantly try to forget, but when I do forget it, it eats me up alive because I feel guilty for not constantly thinking about it. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘It’s just that… I really want to find out who did this, sergeant.’

‘We all do.’ It’s clear he thinks about what he should do next. ‘Go back to the station,’ he says. ‘Find out about the parents what you can discover.’

‘Are you sure?’

He nods. ‘Yes, Abigail, I’m sure.’

It’s the first time he uses my first name, instead of ‘officer’ or my surname. I purse my lips into something that resembles a half smile, but I know for a fact it does not reach my eyes. Not even close. ‘Call me when you got a lead,’ I say. ‘Please.’

He nods again. ‘Will do.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

‘Felice Geralds,’ I say, placing a regular picture of her on the board, because I am not ready to put the crime scene pictures on the board and I suspect I’m not the only one who feels that way. ‘Two years old. The daughter of Lia Monroe and Leonard Geralds. The two of them divorced a year and a half ago, because Leonard became emotionally abusive to Lia. Felice spends every two weeks the weekends at her father’s place. It’s an arrangement that has worked for them for that year and a half. Lia is now engaged to Evan Easton and he has a daughter from a previous marriage Katie Easton.’

‘Lia didn’t know something was wrong with Felice, since she got frequent updates from Leonard,’ Ruzek says. ‘However, we tried to ping his phone, but he dumped it in a bin not far from where we found the body. We’re currently trying to locate relatives and have put his picture out there on patrol. So far, no luck.’

I stare at the picture of Felice. Poor kid. Poor Felice Geralds. 

‘ME report states the little girl was drugged with Temazapam,’ Halstead says. 

Sergeant Voight divides the tasks, but I realize I’m not on any of these tasks. Instead, he pulls me aside and says: ‘Go to the family.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because, I can tell you want to.’

Not because it’s an order. Because he saw I want to. I nod. ‘Alright, keep me posted, sir.’

‘Will do, Barlowe.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

I stayed around the house with the family. Lia, Evan and Katie were crying, as expected. They were heartbroken and it hit me like a punch in the gut. However, I can tell they can visibly relax when I’m there. To have an Intelligence officer around, appears to put them at ease. 

I sit down next to Lia. I’ve made myself at home, by making not only myself a cup of tea, but also one for the grieving mother. I recognize myself in Lia. While she’s older than I was when I went through what she went through, the heartbreak is all the same. 

Her eyes are puffy, her snotty nose is read, however there are no tears. ‘I can’t believe she’s not here anymore,’ she whispers in a hoarse tone. Her eyes then meet mine. ‘My little girl is dead. How am I ever going to recover from that?’

‘First,’ I say, ‘you feel numb. Nothing matters anymore.’

‘Second?’

‘You’ll feel angry probably,’ I say, gently placing my hands over Lia’s trembling ones. ‘And eventually you’re able to semi continue on with your life. You’ll always remember, you’ll always mourn, but you are allowed to continue with your life, to be happy, which of course is easier said than done.’

She nods. ‘You… You know this?’

‘Yeah, I do,’ I whisper. 

It’s hard to say it out loud, but I do it anyhow. The thing with Lia is, she has a lovely husband, a sweet step daughter who is just as distraught. She told me her family is coming over from LA as soon as they can. She has a great support system.

I had my friends, but we were all in the middle of college. I got time off, my friends didn’t. My foster family were there for me, but with the hectics of still being foster parents, it was tough for them to be there one hundred percent for me.

It also didn’t help I didn’t accept their support, their comfort, because I was busy at being angry, in burying my sorrows and feelings underneath a facade of tough. 

I got this. I can handle this by myself. 

And emphasis on by myself.

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

The day has turned into night. There is still no trace of Leonard Geralds, but according to Voight—who kept his promise and me in the loop—they are close on finding him. The family asked me to stay and because I literally have nothing better to do, I stay, turning this shift into a nightshift, since I know for a fact I’m not going to sleep anytime soon.

Lia, Evan and Katie are all asleep, while I’m taking a deep breath as I try to relax. My phone beeps and I bring the phone to my ear. ‘Barlowe.’

‘Hey.’ It’s short, sweet and enough for me to feel instantly relaxed. 

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

‘Nothing’s wrong. Just checking in on you,’ Voight says. 

‘We’re making progress?’

‘Leonard Geralds is practically untraceable. We’re trying. Obviously not hard enough. How’s the family?’

‘As great as they can be.’ I rub my face and sigh deeply. ‘I feel so useless.’

‘Don't be. You’re very valuable. It’s not always we have someone this close to the family.’

‘You’re just saying that,’ I mumble.

‘I’m not,’ he tells me. ‘You’ve got anything to tell me?’

I wonder if he knows about it. Even if he does, I am just not ready to tell. ‘Not yet,’ I whisper. 

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll be here when you want to.’

And then I hear it. I stretch out my neck. Since I wanted to be a little bit left alone and in the dark, I turned off all the lights, it appears everyone is asleep. 

‘Barlowe?’

‘I think I heard someone.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

I attended the funeral of Felice Geralds. The entirety of the Intelligence team and a few more officers made it to the funeral. I was the first of them to arrive, but also the first to leave. It hurt, it was painful to be dragged into pain, in mourning. 

I’m standing in front of the empty board, which only has a picture of Felice Geralds on it. She appears to be a smiley little girl. Giddy. A little mischievous. 

‘Hey,’ I hear from behind me and it’s the raspy voice of Voight, who sits on the desk close to me, staring at the picture as well. ‘How are you holding up?’

I shrug. 

‘Wanna talk about it now?’

For a second I hesitate, but then I manage to tear my eyes away from the picture, only to discover Voight was already looking at me. I cross my arms in front of my chest, chewing on the insides of my cheeks. 

‘I was nineteen when I found out I got pregnant,’ I say. ‘It was horrendous timing, really. My lousy ex and I were having issues, the pregnancy totally broke things off between us. I was still in college, had tons of classes to attend. But, I decided to keep the baby. My ex didn’t want to do anything with us, so it was just me, my friends and my little girl Jolie.’

‘Jolie,’ Voight says. ‘Means pretty in French, right?’

I nod. ‘That’s why I chose the name. She was pretty. A gorgeous little girl.’ I pull out my phone and find a picture to show him. It’s one of the last pictures I have with her. She’s sitting on my lap, a cupcake in her hand as I smile widely behind her. It was her second birthday and she was so excited about it. Her nose wrinkled as she laughed in exhilaration. 

‘Her birthday?’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘This was a day before she was taken. My ex had broken into my apartment, grabbed her from her crib and when I woke up and couldn’t find her, I called the police. It took them three days before they found her body.’

And I have done so well to hide my feelings about it. But now I can’t. Hot tears spill over my cheeks. 

‘In four months,’ I sniffle, ‘she would’ve turned ten. Instead of celebrating, I’m going to be by myself for the eighth year in a row. Mourning.’

‘C’mere,’ he says as he stands up from the desk and pulls me in a hug. His strong arms are wrapped around my shaking frame. He places his chin on top of my head, as another sob escapes from my lips. 

Every memory I have of my little Jolie flashes in front of my eyes. When she was just born, her first steps, shared chuckles. Her first words. Our inside jokes. When she would sit with me in class back at college, where she was never fuzzy, always well behaved and sweet. How we spend time after time at the zoo, staring at the ostriches, as they were her favorite animal. 

And just like that, my little girl was taken from me. 

No first days of kindergarten, graduating, going on dates if she wanted to. I wonder how she would’ve grown up in a world like this. If I would’ve been an okay mother.

‘So,’ I mumble, as the cries has died down, ‘I quit college and became a police officer, thinking I could change this awful world a little for the better. I’m grateful to do so, but it’s cases like this… It was like I was watching myself from years ago.’

Voight pulls back, holding my face in his calloused hands, wiping the tears from my damp cheeks. ‘I’m sorry what happened to you,’ he says softly. ‘There are no words that can bring some comfort to losing your own child.’

Referring to himself losing his own son. The circumstances are different, but there is one common denominator: losing your own flesh and blood so abruptly. No parent should bury their own kid, no matter how old they are. 

‘It… It feels good to tell someone,’ I admit. I place my hands on his wrists, my thumb mindlessly caressing his wrists. ‘Thank you.’

‘Of course,’ he says. 

I know that hugging your sergeant shouldn’t become a normal thing, however these aren’t normal circumstances. So I wrap my arms around his waist, nuzzling my face in his chest, letting out a deep sigh. 

‘My door is always open for you, Abigail,’ he says. ‘You know that right?’

I nod. ‘Yes, sarge, I know that.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Chicago PD taglist: @acdassenza // @wanniiieeee // @one-sweet-gubler

[keanureevesisbae]

Episode 4: A Place To Stay

Sergeant Hank Voight x Abigail Barlowe (asian ofc)

Summary: Sergeant Voight discovers Abigail is sleeping at the precinct, so he offers her a place to stay.

Warnings: a drug bust, mention of murder.

Wordcount: 4.1k

Masterlist // fearless masterlist // season 1 masterlist

‘Question,’ I say, when I’m sitting in front of Johnston at the cafe. It’s our day off and we’ve decided that spending a day partially together would be good for our relationship. We’ve been partners for years and now we’re apart a lot. It felt wrong not to see each other on a daily basis like we were so used to.

Besides, his wife Elizabeth needed a break from him, so I took over Johnston baby sit duty like I had done so many times in the past. 

‘I know you were involved with Elizabeth when you started working at the police force, but if you weren’t, would you ever have considered dating someone within the force?’

Johnston looks up from his coffee, cocking an eyebrow in the process. ‘You were eyeballing me, Barlowe?’

I kick his shin underneath the table, causing him to wince. ‘A partner, you dummy. Not me. A.’ I shoot him a dangerous glare. ‘Just answer the damn question.’

He leans back, his fingers toying with the handle of the cup. ‘I don’t know. It’s of course how you meet people and they understand you and the job well, but it also means you take your job home with you.’ He smirks. ‘What’s up, Abigail? You got a boy you like in your unit.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I was just wondering.’ I take a sip of my cappuccino, already hating myself for bringing up the conversation.

‘Ah, little Abigail Barlowe has a crush. Tell me who it is.’

‘I do not have a crush,’ I say, though that is a lie.

Johnston obviously pokes right through it. ‘It’s Antonio, am I right? He’s a pretty boy.’

I now sorta wish it was Antonio now, because that would’ve been less weird than the truth.  I could say yes, but then he’ll taunt me for a crush that is fake and will try to play matchmaker, especially because he and Antonio hang out at Molly’s a lot and Antonio is recently divorced. 

I decide to just continue on with my ‘I don’t have a crush’-lie. 

‘I’m not interested in anyone of my unit or the entirety of the CPD for that matter. Besides, even if I had a crush, I wouldn’t tell you.’

Johnston tilts his head, narrowing his dark brown eyes. ‘Wait a damn minute, I think I know.’

I scoff. ‘Yeah sure.’

‘You’re crushing on your sergeant.’

How the fuck did he draw that conclusion. I hate how he’s right, but I’m not going down that easy. ‘What? No, Johnston, that’s ridiculous!’ I say. 

After I broke up with my ex-boyfriend Nelson, I hadn’t even considered falling for someone again, let alone dating. But now, a month after the Felice Geralds case and its aftermath, it has been impossible for me to forget about Sergeant Hank Voight.

After I bared my soul to him, told him about Jolie, he has been tender and kind to me. Not in a patronizing way, more like in a supportive way. 

Everything he does, is only adding more fire to the infatuation I am currently experiencing. It’s been so long since I felt like this. I always thought that having crush again would be me betraying on Jolie, but I realize that I can be happy. I can fall in love again without feeling guilty. 

But I can’t fall in love with the sergeant. It’s wrong.

It’s just so hard when he is him. Every time I’m determined to not fall for him, he does something that swoops me off my feet. 

Getting a beer for me too, double checking with me before we do something at work and giving me nods and tiny smiles of amusement. The other day he wanted me as a back up when he met someone who could give us a lead.

It was great to be around him so much, to learn from him.

To have more reasons to fall for him.

‘That I live long enough to witness you have a crush on someone and then you pick someone,’ Johnston laughs.

He is having way too much fun with this. ‘Shut up,’ I say. ‘It’s just a silly crush. It’ll die down eventually.’

Even if it’ll die down if you have to believe me, he is curious. ‘When did it start?’ Johnston asks.

‘A month ago or so,’ I say, realizing that shutting up about it, isn’t going to work with Tyrell Johnston. He will get his information, so I decide to just put all my cards on the table. ‘After the Felice Geralds case. I… I told him everything about Jolie.’

‘You did?’ he asks, visibly confused. He knows how hard it can be for me to share it. It took him a whole year before I told him about it.

I nod. ‘I felt so safe sharing it with him and now… I feel horrible and giddy about having a crush again.’

‘Giddy I understand, but how is it horrible?’

‘I am not on top of my game. I stuttered the other day and weirded everyone out. The only thing that saved my ass, was claiming I just had a low blood sugar and felt dizzy. But I’m not sure if I can continue to milk that lie out.’

Johnston laughs. ‘I would’ve paid good money to see you stutter and stammer like that.’

‘It’s hard, okay,’ I say, trying to be mad, but I can’t stop my chuckle. ‘It’s not helping at all I’m non stop dreaming about him.’

His expression falters. ‘I don’t need to know that.’

‘Oh shut up, it’s PG friendly,’ I tell him. ‘Besides, I’m not going to do anything about it, because it’s weird. Dating your co-worker is probably a terrible idea already, but dating your sergeant? That is batshit crazy.’

He snickers. ‘Stuttering is too.’

I grab my unopened bag of sugar and throw it in his face. ‘No wonder your wife didn’t wanna have you around. You’re annoying as shit.’

He grabs the bag of sugar and says: ‘Abigail, I think it’s absolutely darling to see you have a little crush.’

‘Shut up.’

He laughs. ‘You turn quite adorable.’

‘I told you to shut up.’

I take a sip of my coffee after I stole his cookie, because I think I deserve it. 

‘Okay, don’t freak out,’ Johnston says, ‘but your sergeant just walked in.’

‘Very funny,’ I grumble.

‘No, I’m serious.’

And judging from his expression, he is serious. I look over my shoulder, only to see my sergeant indeed walk in. He must notice I’m gawking at him, because when his eyes land on me, he holds up his hand, offering me a friendly tightlipped smile.

I hold up my hand. ‘Maybe joining Intelligence was a mistake,’ I say, when I turn around again. ‘Then you and I would still be patrolling together and I wouldn’t have a crush on him, meaning I wouldn’t hopelessly embarrass myself.’

‘Okay, miss valedictorian of the University of over exaggerating,’ he hisses. ‘Just get your act together and be cool, okay? He’s coming over.’

Here I am: already in thirty years of age and yet I am a nervous wreck because I have a little crush. I work with this man for fuck’s sake. I managed to have it semi under control usually, however since Johnston knows about my little secret, there is a chance he’ll expose me in a heartbeat.

‘Morning sarge,’ Johnston says.

‘Morning sir,’ I say, when I look up.

He’s wearing his infamous green leather jacket and has a coffee to go in hand. ‘Morning officers,’ he says. ‘You’re up early.’

‘I’m on Tyrell Johnston babysit duty,’ I say and I applaud myself for sounding normal.

‘She and my wife are conspiring against me,’ Johnston chuckles. ‘Can’t you arrest them? It’s basically harassment.’

Voight smirks. ‘Nah, bet you did something to deserve it.’

‘Ouch,’ Johnston notes.

‘Well, rest up well,’ Voight tells me, as he places his hand on my shoulder. 

Abigail, whatever you do, do not faint. Please, for your own dignity, keep it together. ‘Will do, sarge.’

‘And be tough, but righteous as a Johnston baby-sitter, ‘kay?’

‘Copy that,’ I chuckle, slightly nervously.

He squeeze my shoulder, before he takes off. 

I only take a breath once he’s out of the cafe. I look at Johnston, who has his eyebrows raised. ‘I’ve got the crush under control,’ I tell him.

‘Sure,’ he says, however it’s clear he does not believe me. ‘May I—a complete outsider—speak freely?’

‘You may not.’

‘But I will,’ he continues imperturbably. ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked you back.’

‘Shut up,’ I say. ‘Or I’ll skip the righteous part and just be tough on you.’

He holds up his hands. ‘I’ll shut up,’ he chuckles. ‘Just wanted to share my two pieces, that’s all.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

I’d like to think I have my crush under control, but then Voight would compliment me, squeeze my shoulder or push me behind him when we were going inside a house. It were the little things that made my heart go in overdrive. It were those things that made it impossible for me to forget about my crush.

Thankfully, now I can focus on my first undercover job as an officer.

‘Remember,’ Antonio says to me, ‘look innocent.’

‘I am innocent,’ I retort.

He chuckles. ‘Okay,’ he says, before exchanging a certain look with Ruzek, who starts to laugh as well.

I smack Antonio’s shoulder. ‘I am innocent.’

‘A little less attitude, a little more doe eyes, ‘kay?’

As Antonio checks with Ruzek if the audio and camera work on my necklace, I say: ‘This better, mister Dawson?’ I bat my eyelashes and smile in a pure and almost gullible way. 

‘Lovely,’ Antonio jokes, squeezing my cheek. ‘You know the drill: say ‘crazy’ or switch your purse from your right to left shoulder.’

‘You told me that five times, already. You think I’m dumb?’

‘Doe eyes, princess,’ he reminds me and I once again slap his shoulder.

The thing with this undercover deal, is that I have to appear like a college girl, who—for the first time in her life—is going to buy some drugs. I cannot believe I have to pretend like I’m so naive. 

I also can’t believe I actually managed to pull of looking like I’m ten years younger than I originally am, but I think I’ve got to thank my father’s DNA, for barely standing at 5’2.

I walk around the corner and make my way over to the guy standing near it, as he leans against the wall. Only thing I need to do, is get that deal. That is all.

While it sounds easy… It’s just that I’m wearing loafers, paired with socks with a laced hem and a plaid dress. The outfit per se isn’t terrible, but I have two braids in my long curly hair.

I look like everyone’s farmer girl fantasy.

‘LT?’ I ask, causing the man to shush me. 

‘Quiet,’ he hisses.

‘Sorry,’ I whisper, before cleaning my throat. ‘You got it?’

The man with orbs as dark as night, stares at me, before a smirk appears on his face. ‘I’ve got it,’ he says, his tone a little friendlier now. ‘First time buying?’

I nervously move my legs. ‘That obvious?’ I whisper, adding a nervous chuckle to it. ‘I…’ I search in my purse and pull out two fifty bills. ‘A hundred right?’

The man still smirks, but it appears he is actually pitying me. It means I’m doing my job well. ‘Yeah, but. because you’re a newbie, I’ll give you a little extra. How about that?’

‘Really?’ I ask with a smile. We exchange the money for the bag of coke. ‘Is it too much for me to hug you now?’

‘Easy there, sugar,’ LT says. ‘I’m a married man.’

Yeah, I know. ‘Right,’ I say, pushing the evidence in my bag. ‘You want to hear something crazy?’

And it’s at that moment, my colleagues come barging in from all different places. ‘Chicago PD!’ I hear, together with some other comments. 

As LT is pressed against the wall, he looks at me and screams: ‘You bitch!’

I flash him a smile, a lot less gullible, a lot more vicious. ‘Oh LT, bless your heart.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Something not even Johnston knows, is that I’ve been sleeping at the precinct for three days now. It’s terrible, but everything is better than staying at home. The place I so loved is now empty. Everything I own is now stored in a storage unit and I go there from time to time to exchange some clothes and what not.

I don’t want to tell anyone, because I don’t want them to worry. I can’t have Johnston worry about me, my team worry about me.

‘Why aren’t you going home?’ Voight asks, as I’m still in the bullpen.

‘I’m good,’ I answer, shutting down my computer. 

‘That wasn’t the question.’

Fuck, I forget sometimes evading questions in a place like this, is really never ever going to work.

‘I can’t go home,’ I tell him in all honesty. ‘I sold my place.’

He appears visibly confused as to why on earth I would do that. ‘Why?’

‘My ex… Nelson… He’s on parole.’

‘What?’ he asks, his voice a little more annoyed and sharper. He rubs his face and places his hands on my desk, leaning over a bit. ‘But why have you sold your home?’

‘I’m afraid he’ll come after me,’ I admit. ‘I know I shouldn’t be scared… It’s just… I don’t know, terrible memories I guess.’

He nods. ‘That’s your stuff?’ he asks, nodding over to the bag next to my desk.

‘The stuff I have on me, yes. The rest is all in a storage unit.’

Voight takes in all the information I’ve provided him in the span of the last thirty seconds. He stands up straight and says: ‘Come on.’

‘Come on what?’

‘Get your stuff. You’re coming with me.’

This is totally not helping with my crush. ‘Seriously?’

‘You can’t think I’m leaving you here,’ he says and it would’ve been weird if I even thought that for a second. ‘I’ve got plenty of rooms. Come on.’

It took me around two whole seconds before I could respond. I don’t want to sound brainless by asking ‘Really?’, so I nod and stand up, grabbing my bag after I close off.

The car drive to his place go by in silence. Sure, I want to talk, but I barely trust my own voice enough to say something out loud, let alone to form a coherent sentence. But I look to the side from time to time, to see him staring at the road, the dim lighting of the street lights highlighting his fatigue. 

His place looks like a home. It has pictures on the wall, of his late wife and son, his grandson even and a few pictures of his closest friends, which aren’t many. With my bag in his hand, he leads me to the guest room and places it on the floor.

‘We can get your other stuff tomorrow,’ he tells me.

‘Oh no, I’m fine.’

‘You’re not going to live like that,’ Voight says and the tone leaves no room for discussion. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.’

‘I was a little bit better at hiding it.’ I look around the empty room and say: ‘Thank you for allowing me to stay here. I promise I won’t be an inconvenience, sarge.’

‘When we’re outside the precinct and we’re here, it’s Hank,’ he says. ‘And that’s an order.’

‘Yes Hank,’ I say, which feels so much more intimate. ‘I really appreciate it.’ The confession is soft, almost like I’m afraid he’ll hear it. 

But he heard. ‘Of course. Come on, I’ll show you the rest.’

The rest entails the bathroom I can use, the kitchen and the living room. I walk over to the wall of pictures and now am able to get a better look at it. 

My eyes land on a picture of him and his late wife Camille. He mentioned her a few times, but I never saw a picture of her. She smiles widely on the picture and I see Vo— I mean Hank looking happy as well.

It’s dreadful to see the people he lost in his life. 

I lean over to see a picture of him, Justin and his wife Olive, together with their son Daniel. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was the last time he was truly happy. 

‘Want something to drink?’ Hank asks from the kitchen.

‘Yeah,’ I say, as I make my way back to the kitchen. 

‘Scotch?’

‘Sure, why not.’ I take the class from his hands. ‘Guess we’re roommates now.’

He smiles. ‘I guess so.’

As the two of us lean against the counter with our hips, we drink in silence. 

‘Have you ever taken the pictures of Camille and Justin down?’ I carefully ask. ‘After they passed?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, it’s good to have them around. What about Jolie’s pictures? You ever took them down?’

Hearing him say her name, it makes me feel like I’m still a mother, instead of a woman who lost her child a long time ago. ‘I’ve taken them down,’ I admit. ‘It took me four years to put them back up.’

He nods. ‘I understand. If you want, you can put them up. It’s your place too now.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘You’re taking us being roommates very seriously. I’ve been here for what? Ten minutes or so?’

‘Just know it’s your place too, okay? Make yourself comfortable and make it yours.’

I smile. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I’ll do that.’ But my smile fades from my lips as fast as it was painted on. 

‘Why are you afraid of Nelson?’ he then asks. 

‘I’m afraid he might hurt me too,’ I quietly admit. ‘I’m afraid that one day, he’ll make his way into my house and I won’t hear him and he’ll kill me.’ I look up. ‘It’s just very hard to believe he is… On parole.’

Hank nods, placing a comforting hand on my upper arm. ‘Nothing will happen to you,’ he says. ‘Not on my watch.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I’m just glad I’m not alone now.’ I place the empty glass on the counter and run my fingers through my hair. ‘I think I’m going to head off to bed,’ I tell him. ‘It’s been a very long day.’

‘Yeah of course.’

Before I can peel myself away from the kitchen and actually head upstairs, I wrap my arms around his shoulders. At first he’s a bit unsure why I’m hugging him, but then he snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his protective frame. I close my eyes as I allow myself being engulfed in this tight embrace. 

I pull back and whisper: ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ 

Our eyes meet and I bite my bottom lip as I take in his face. I try to memorize every bit of him. Apparently I’m attempting to rip off some dry skin of my lip, but he places his hand on my cheek, his thumb gently tugging at my bottom lip. ‘Don’t do that,’ he whispers, his tone even hoarser and raspier than other times.

His hand is calloused and I sharply take a breath. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper again, his thumb still grazing over my lips. 

We don’t say anything to each other, but who needs words anyway when it’s so obvious what is happening between us? We could let go of one another, but we both don’t do it. His eyes meet mine and all I can think about is how beautiful his light brown orbs are. 

And I don’t think. I just do. I bridge the distance between us, allowing my lips to fall on his. It doesn’t last long, probably around a second, if not two. But then I realize what I am doing.

So much for ignoring the crush. 

I’m kissing my sergeant. My fucking boss. This is terrible.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I stammer. ‘I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know why I did that.’

I want to pull back, but he doesn’t allow it. He shakes his head, before answering the previous kiss with one that fits his style more and in all honesty, mine too. It’s not a short peck. It’s rough, but with a tender streak to it. I melt against his frame, as we open our mouths to deepen the kiss, allowing me to taste the scotch we just had. 

I wish this could last an eternity, because I realize the second I let go, the second I’m back in reality, I have to face the consequences of what we just did.

And I am not ready for it.

I pull back, our lips parting and they’re still buzzing. I can see a very faint pink blush on his cheeks. 

‘I’m going to bed,’ I say.

Hank nods.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I then say. I make my way upstairs, my heart pounding in my throat. 

What the fuck just happened?

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

The next morning I try to avoid Hank as much as possible. I’m succeeding, because we have separate bathrooms and our respective bedrooms are apart from one another. But now I am totally ready for today, clothed in a pair of straight jeans, white sneakers and a long sleeved t-shirt. My hair up in a loose ponytail, a few curls slipped out of the hairband and framing my face.

I walk downstairs and see Hank is preparing breakfast.

So much for pretending nothing happened, when someone literally is preparing breakfast. That is next level domestic couple behavior, right? 

I see toast, boiled eggs and coffee and a whole lot of bread spreads. Gosh, he really is going for it.

‘Good morning,’ I say to announce myself. 

‘Morning.’ 

Hank Voight had a hot voice in general, but to hear the last remains of his morning voice is even better. Imagine when he just wakes up and he tells you goodmo— 

Okay, stop. Do not continue that thought!

‘Take a seat,’ he tells me. 

‘You didn’t have to prepare breakfast,’ I say. ‘I’m a very easy guest.’

The fact he’s ignoring me, is a clear indication he is going to prepare breakfast from now on and me being an easy guest will not change that. He pours in two cups of coffee and places them in between us. ‘Here you go,’ he says. 

‘Thank you.’

It stays silent between the two of us and I don’t want to break it, but neither do I want to keep quiet about it. ‘About last night,’ I finally manage to choke out. ‘I’m sorry if I crossed the line.’

‘You didn’t,’ he tells me. ‘Don’t you worry about it.’

That’s it? ‘Okay?’

He sighs. ‘It takes two,’ he says. 

‘Yeah, I don’t know what to do with that,’ I say. 

And then he does it: reaching over the table to place his hand on mine. ‘Was it really that bad?’

‘The kiss was great, but the circumstances aren’t.’

‘And if the circumstances weren’t here.’

I let out a smile. ‘Then I would’ve kissed you again.’

He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘Good to know.’

Really, that’s all he’s gonna give me? Okay, I’ve got this. If I’m correct—and I suspect that I am—he isn’t opposed to us kissing, which is a good sign.

We eat in silence and he says: ‘I’ve got to make one call and then we’ll go, okay?’

‘Sure,’ I say with a smile. ‘I’ll go clean up.’ He wants to fight me on this one, but I hold up my finger. ‘I can do it.’

He nods with a smirk. ‘Alright.’ He walks around the table and gives me a kiss on my lips. ‘Be right back.’

When he walks out of the room, I place my hands over my mouth so the loud and high pitched squeal won’t escape. I nearly jump up, when my phone beeps.

Disgusting Johnston: How’s the crush going?

Yeah, about that… Gosh, this is terrible. I’m out here, kissing my sergeant, knowing damn well I can’t say this to anyone. 

Ever.

Abigail: Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know 🎶 

Disgusting Johnston: Good, because I thought about it

Abigail: Meaning you discussed it with Elizabeth

Disgusting Johnston: And dating within the department is a bad idea

Disgusting Johnston: Especially if there’s a sergeant involved

I hate how he is right, but I decide to not say anything about this. At least, not yet. 

Abigail: I know that

Abigail: I’ve got this, honey bear

Disgusting Johnston: I know you do 😘

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Chicago PD taglist: @acdassenza // @wanniiieeee // @one-sweet-gubler

[keanureevesisbae]

TW: This story is about police cases, so beware of the following things being mentioned: rape, domestic abuse/violence, abuse, drugs and murder. If any of these things trigger you, do not read this story, as these are themes in the story. Lots of love 🥰

Abigail Barlowe's dream is finally coming true: she gets to join the Intelligence Unit. However, her own past continues to haunt her and her new crush on the sergeant is also causing a huge amount of confusion.

↳ ❝ [season one masterlist] ¡!❞

[keanureevesisbae]

Episode 6: Special Delivery

Sergeant Hank Voight x Abigail Barlowe (asian ofc)

Summary: Abigail's ex-boyfriend sends her a special package at the precinct.

Warnings: Tiny mention of sex.

Wordcount: 3.2k

A/N: and this was the end of Fearless! I hope you enjoyed it, I really liked writing something in episode format, if that makes sense. I love you loads and thanks for reading 🥰

Masterlist // fearless masterlist // season 1 masterlist

It’s so early in the morning, when beams of sunshine wake me up. Hank is next to me, still deep asleep. It’s been a month since the bombing, making it a month since we’re sleeping in one bed. When my eyes flutter open, I’m still nestled against Hank’s body. He’s already wide awake—like usual, not a morning has gone by where I wake up before him—and smiles widely when he notices me I also woke up.

‘Good morning,’ he says, when I place my arm on his chest as I turn around. 

‘Morning,’ I say. ‘Are you always up?’

‘When you are, yes.’

‘That’s so annoying,’ I note. ‘I just want to wake up before you, so I can surprise you with a nice breakfast.’

‘I make breakfast for you,’ he tells me, ‘not the other way around.’

So typical of him. I place my hand on his cheek and pull him in for a morning kiss. He hums against my lips. ‘I love waking up next to someone,’ I admit. ‘Especially if that someone is you.’

He smiles and turns me on my back, his lips devouring mine. We’ve kissed, sure, but it has never felt like this. His body pushes me into the mattress and he finds a perfect place in between my legs. I wrap them around his hips, pulling him even closer. 

‘Is this okay?’ I ask. ‘I mean… It is for me, but I don’t want to rush you.’

‘Oh, darling,’ he chuckles, ‘I want this.’

I push up his shirt and take in his exposed chest. I see a few scares. Not a lot, but a few. I hook my leg around his and turn him on his back, straddling his lap. My hands are pushing his shoulders into the mattress, as I’m leaning over to press a kiss on his lips, descending down to his chest. 

It all feels so right, so exactly perfect. 

‘How’d you get this one?’ I whisper, pressing a kiss on his abdomen and the scar tissue. 

‘Stab wound,’ he answers, his voice ever so husky. 

‘And this one?’ 

‘Gun shot,’ he answers. His hands push up my shirt and it ends with the fabric down on the floor. ‘What’s that one?’ His calloused fingers caress over the scar I have on my stomach. 

‘I got a stabbed in my stomach,’ I whisper. ‘Was some junkie, who thought I’d kill him in his delusion. Not very exciting story behind it.’

As he’s much stronger than I am, because he turns us around once again, so I’m on my back and I wrap my arms around his neck. I give him a kiss, followed by another and another. 

I love you. It’s right there on the tip of my tongue, however I can’t. I can’t scare him, besides, while the feelings are definitely there, I’m also scared. Scared of telling him how I feel about him.

He kisses my skin, touches me so tenderly. It’s crazy how this is happening to me.

‘Wait,’ I say.

‘What’s wrong?’ he carefully asks me, cupping my face. ‘You want to stop? We can stop.’

‘It’s been awhile,’ I admit with a smile. ‘Feel like I’m out of practice.’

‘Know your audience, Abigail,’ he says. ‘It’s been years for me too. We don’t have to do this now. We can take as much time as you want.’

I let out a chuckle. ‘I’m just nervous, that’s all.’

‘No need to,’ he says. ‘It’s just me.’

‘That’s kinda what is making me nervous,’ I snicker. ‘It’s not just you. It’s you. I admire you so much, I care so much about you.’ I love you, Hank. I love you so much. ‘I just don’t want to mess up. Not with you.’

Hank smiles. ‘You could never.’ He presses a kiss on my forehead. ‘Your call, darling.’

I hold his face in my hands and give him another kiss. ‘Just… Slow, okay?’

He nods. ‘Copy that.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

I try to contain my glow, however it is hard. This morning was magical, beautiful and it had been so long since somebody touched me like that. The last person to see me like this was my ex-boyfriend and when it was with him, he never cared all too much about me. Hank on the other hand took his time for me. 

He was so sweet, so darling and I realized I never wanted time to stop. 

The rest of the morning was almost the same like it usually was. Besides the shared shower, it was the same. He made coffee and breakfast, I cleaned up everything. Together we went for coffee and now, Hank and I walk into the station.

Platt cocks her eyebrow.

‘A latte for you,’ I say to the desk sergeant with a smile. Though I never expect a smile back from her, I also never expect her to look at me like that. ‘What?’

‘You two have been arriving together for a few times now,’ sergeant Trudy Platt notes. She looks at Hank. ‘Do I need to get the right HR forms, Hank?’

He simply looks at her. ‘She’s on my route, Trudy.’

She is not really convinced, but she decides—thankfully—to leave it at that, possibly because he said something about it and not me. ‘I see. Well, Barlowe, little one,’ she says, back to business again. ‘Here’s a package for you.’ As I take the package from her, she adds: ‘Make this a regular thing, the morning lattes.’

Before I can answer that, Hank pushes me away from the counter. ‘Don’t push your luck, Trudy.’

With the small package in my hand, Hank and I both make our way upstairs. ‘She likes me, doesn’t she?’

Hank nods. ‘She likes you a lot, Abigail, I’m positive.’

Everyone is already there and once I plop down at my desk, I open up said package. It was freakishly light to begin with and I also don’t quite understand why someone would send me a package. 

I barely know people.

Let alone people who would want to send me packages this weightless. 

It’s a tiny piece of stone and a picture attached to it.

My breathing gets stuck in my throat once I realize what exactly it is on the picture. Someone calls for my name, I think it’s Atwater, however I don’t know if I respond to it. I bet I don’t. My head fills itself with white noise, my hands start to shake and I drop to my seat. 

‘Barlowe,’ Antonio asks, whose desk is closest to mine. He walks over to me and places his hand on my shoulder. ‘What’s up?’

‘I have to go,’ I whisper. ‘I have to go.’

Everyone gets up and Hank joins them as well. He carefully takes the picture from my fingers. ‘It’s signed by Nelson,’ his low voice says and it only causes me to stammer some more, to semi sob, but not quite. 

‘Who’s Nelson?’ Atwater asks.

I take a deep breath. ‘He’s my ex,’ I manage to choke out. ‘And that’s my daughter’s grave.’

The information has to sink in, however it’s Hank who pulls us out the trance and the shock. 'Ruzek, Atwater, Olinsky, I want you to check the pods and camera footage in the vicinity of the cemetery. See if you recognize Nelson Rivers. Also, make sure you get every piece of information on him. If he bought a pack of gum, I wanna know. Antonio, Jay, you two are with us.’ Hank crouches down in front of me, placing a hand on my leg. ‘Listen,’ he says, ‘we’ll catch him okay? Your family is our family.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I manage muster out. 

‘Come with us,’ he says. ‘Come on.’ He carefully takes my arm and pulls me up. ‘I got you, okay?’

I want to believe that, but my brain is a mess. All I can think about is the events of eight years ago. I knew it would draw closer, having to celebrate her birthday by myself, the date she died, but I thought I would finally be able to continue living. To not drown in grief anymore. 

And then this happens. 

While the picture was already horrifying, it’s even more dreading and painful to see. Her gravestone is demolished. To see the stone damaged like this, made me hurl, made me mad. After Antonio and Jay cleared the scene, they allowed me to take a look. I’m kneeled next to it, as my heart is in shatters. I spend so long thinking about her gravestone and now nothing is left of it anymore. 

‘Why did he do this?’ I ask in no one in particular. ‘Why?’

Antonio, Jay and Hank are all standing behind me and then I feel a hand on the back of my neck, before Hank crouches down next to me. After I brought a shaky hand to my mouth, a sob escapes and I’m officially pulled against his chest.

‘We’ll find it out, Abigail,’ he softly whispers. ‘We’ll get him.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Despite my best efforts, I am useless when it comes to helping the case. I sit in the Intelligence’s little kitchen on the couch, staring at the picture of her demolished gravestone I have in one hand and my phone in the other, with a picture of Jolie on the screen. My heart is in shatters, but I’m thankful for the entire police department to step up like they do. 

Sergeant Platt already came up a few times, handing me nice coffees she actually picked up from a nice place, because nothing is worse than drinking that crap we call coffee up here, when I already feel like this.

It’s Antonio however who walks in the kitchen and takes a seat next to me. ‘How are you holding up?’

I stare at Jolie’s happy smile. ‘In a week,’ I whisper, ‘it’s going to be exactly ten years ago that she was born. Making it also eight years ago since she died.’

‘I can’t imagine how tough that must’ve been.’

‘I don’t even know why he’s on parole.’

Antonio sighs. ‘Listen, I am so sorry this happened. We’re going to find this son of a bitch, okay?’

‘Yeah,’ I whisper. ‘I know that.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

My phone rings by the time I have unlocked the front door of Hank’s place. ‘Hi, what’s up?’ I ask, after placing my phone on my ear. 

‘You’re at home already?’

‘Yes,’ I answer. ‘Your home, why?’

‘Get out of there now. Nelson is there. We pinged his phone and he is there.’

Nelson’s phone was pinged here. Nelson found out I live here now. Deep down I knew I was overstaying. I never should’ve stayed at the same place for too long, but I let my feelings get in the way. Never should I have done this.

‘Hank, I—’

And then I feel it: a painful push on my back and I hit the ground. 

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

I’m not totally unconscious. A little drowsy, yes of course and my head hurts like a motherfucker. I push myself up. ‘What are fuck are you doing here?’ I ask him once I’m back on my feet again.  

Only then I discover he is holding a gun in his hands and he is pointing it directly at me.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I ask him. 

‘I never meant to do it, Abby,’ he says. For a second he appears to actually feel sorry, but then I remember what he did. Demolishing my daughters gravestone. I shake my head, realizing that was a lie what he just told me. 

‘But you did it anyway,’ I say, ‘and the second you got on parole, you track me down, ruin her gravestone and harass me here. What the fucking hell, Nelson?’

In my mind I’m thinking. Is Hank going to be here fast enough?

‘I’m a police officer now,’ I say. ‘You honestly don’t think we would find out it was you?’

‘I don’t know what’s happening to me.’

‘Shut up,’ I say. ‘Don’t act like prison made you a better man, like this is something that happens every now and then. You were always like this and killing my daughter…’ My voice cracks. ‘Fuck you, Nelson.’

And then I see it again. The shift in his eyes. He’s mad, I’ve made him mad. I should’ve calmed him down, but there’s this anger inside of me.

‘You destroyed my life,’ I say, adding more fuel to the fire. 

He moves in closer on me. Prison has made him faster and I hate how I am close on falling back into my old self. My heart is pounding, I’m scared.

Scared. It hurts me, it pains me to feel me slipping back. I’m not the fearless girl I wished I was, I told myself I was. 

‘Nelson, don’t,’ I plead, however with the grip of the gun I am on the receiving end of a blow to my temple. It’s not enough to knock me out, but fuck, that hurt like hell. I collapse on the ground, trying to get away, but he is stronger, he is overpowering. I’m trapped underneath him, his free hand wrapped around my throat as the gun is pointed right at my forehead. 

‘I loved you,’ he says. ‘You were my everything.’

White spots are appearing in front of my eyes. This is it. This is going to be the end of my life. I can’t believe this. A single tear runs down my cheek. I don’t want to cry, but I can feel the amounts of tears already building up. 

And then I can breath again. It feels both liberating and slightly scary. Having blood flowing back into my brain. I’m almost vomiting. 

‘Abigail,’ Antonio says, ‘take it easy. Try to take a few breaths for me.’

‘Nelson,’ I choke out.

‘Don’t you worry about that. Breath with me, okay?’

I can see Jay and Ruzek manage to peel off Hank from Nelson, who has blood coming from multiple gashes. I don’t even want to know what Hank did. With my head still buzzing, Hank kneels next to me. ‘You need to be checked out by the paramedics, alright?’ he says. 

‘I have to give my statement,’ I say. 

‘Afterwards. Antonio, go with her.’

‘What are you gonna do?’ I ask, but it would be useless if I expected an answer back.

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Within two days, the gravestone of Jolie Barlowe has been replaced. It’s all thanks to Hank, since I wasn’t properly insured for it. I owe him big time, however he continues to tell me it’s all okay and I don’t owe him anything.

It’ll be a useless battle, but I’m not that easily defeated. Besides, my pride wouldn’t allow me to simply allow this to happen to me without a fight. 

I walk towards the gravestone and take a seat in front of it. ‘Happy birthday, little girl,’ I say, as I look at her picture. She was so darling, I think to myself. My little girl, my daughter. ‘Today, you would’ve turned ten. Officially double digits. Gosh, I remember when I was ten. Slightly spoiled, a brat from time to time. I bet you would’ve been darling, sweet and beautiful. No doubt about it.’

Part of me expects to hear her voice. 

‘I love you,’ I say. ‘Not a day goes by where I don’t think of you. My beautiful girl. I wonder sometimes what you would be up to now.’

I let out a deep sigh. I can hear footsteps approaching and when I look over my shoulder, I hold up my hand for Hank. He smiles and sits down next to me. ‘It looks beautiful.’

I place my head against his shoulder. ‘Thanks to you it is.’ 

He presses a kiss on my head, a silent sign he’s here for me. 

‘You know, she would’ve liked you,’ I say. ‘She would’ve loved you even, I know that for sure.’

‘I bet she would be just like you,’ he says. ‘You have the same mischievous smile, where your nose slightly wrinkles.’

‘People told me she was my little twin.’

‘I can totally see why.’

I wrap my arms around his waist, leaning against his frame. ‘Thank you for coming today. I usually spend this day by myself, but having someone here with me, is really nice. Especially after everything you’ve done for me.’

He nods. ‘That goes without saying. Come on, you’re a special one. I move heaven and earth for you.’

I love you, Hank. It’s right there at the tip of my tongue. 

The team now knows I live with him, but we never told hem about us dating. They think I moved in because I was scared, which wasn’t really a lie. After I was released from the hospital and I was told I had a minor concussion, Hank made it clear to me Nelson was never going to see the outside world again. Jay told me it was the best if I never asked a word about it. 

So, I didn’t.

We spend quite some time at the cemetery, until Hank pulls me up and holding my hand in his, we make our way to his car. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ he says.

‘Okay?’

‘I love you, Abigail.’

My eyes widen and I try to catch my breath, however it’s impossible to say something. 

‘I love you so much,’ he continues on, holding my face in his hands. ‘It’s honestly scaring my how much I love you. I thought I would never find someone who would make me smile, who just gets me.’

‘Hank,’ I whisper, placing my hands on his chest, but I cannot seem to form words. ‘You know,’ I finally manage to say, ‘for the first time in years, this day has become bearable. I think it’s because I finally found true happiness.’ 

‘True happiness?’ he asks. 

‘I met you,’ I say, ‘and I finally accepted that I can be happy, that I shouldn’t feel embarrassed about me being content with moving on. I love you too, Hank Voight. I love you so much.’

I lean in to press my lips on his, before parting them and kissing him deeply. I never want to let him go, because I wasn’t lying. I finally found true happiness and to admit it to him, feels wonderful.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper when I let go. ‘For everything.’

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Disgusting Johnston: How are you holding up?

Abigail: I’m okay

Abigail: Meaning I’m doing real good

Abigail: Sure, I’m sad, but I think I finally managed to put it to rest

Disgusting Johnston: That’s good to hear

Disgusting Johnston: Listen, don’t get me wrong, I’ve got something to say to you, okay?

Abigail: Uh, okay?

Disgusting Johnston: I was about to go to the cemetery, to bring some flowers to Jolie’s grave.

Abigail: And?

Disgusting Johnston: I saw you kissing sergeant Voight

Disgusting Johnston: So, naturally the question that follows is

Disgusting Johnston: How is your crush going?

✧*̥˚🔎🔎🔎 *̥˚✧

Chicago PD taglist: @acdassenza // @wanniiieeee // @one-sweet-gubler // @sofiebstar //

[keanureevesisbae]

↳ ❝ [caramel cappuccino] ¡!❞

『 ↳✧･ﾟjuly 1st ; fearless masterlist & season 1 masterlist

🌷 Abigail Barlowe's dream is finally coming true: she gets to join the Intelligence Unit. However, her own past continues to haunt her and her new crush on the sergeant is also causing a huge amount of confusion.

↳ ❝ [latte macchiato] ¡!❞

『 ↳✧･ﾟ july 2nd ; fearless season 1 episode 1

🌷 Abigail Barlowe and her patrol partner Tyrell Johnston uncover an interesting drug bust and sergeant Hank Voight asks her to help Intelligence out.

↳ ❝ [iced americano] ¡!❞

『 ↳✧･ﾟ july 3rd ; your dog ate my sandwich pt. 2 (hank voight x fem!reader)

🌷 Bea the Bassett Hound listens very well to someone other than her initial owner.

↳ ❝ [flat white] ¡!❞

『 ↳✧･ﾟ july 4rd ; badge of honor (kevin atwater x fem!reader)

🌷 Kevin Atwater loses his badge, however a very unexpected someone brings it to the station.

↳ ❝ [cafe au lait] ¡!❞

『 ↳✧･ﾟ july 5th ; confession pt. 3 (henry cavill x fem!reader)

🌷 Henry discovers something he really did not see coming.

↳ ❝ [affogato] ¡!❞

『 ↳✧･ﾟ july 6th ; fearless season 1 episode 2

🌷 A serial killer is terrorizing Chicago and one math class back in the past, causes Abigail to help to solve the case

↳ ❝ [irish coffee] ¡!❞

『 ↳✧･ﾟ july 7th ; interesting purchase (august walker x fem!reader)

🌷 August Walker makes an interesting purchase: a fucking machine.

[keanureevesisbae]

if you want, ask my about a wip 🤷🏽‍♀️

WIP #1 - Crazy about you (Antonio Dawson x Asian OFC!Andrea Moore)

WIP #2 - Irresistible (Hank Voight x Asian OFC!Gracie Rose)

WIP #3 - Dear Evelyn (Hank Voight x Asian OFC!Evelyn Jones)

WIP #4 - The new colleague (Hank Voight x Asian OFC!Abigail Barlowe)