I am currently watching the first season of Chicago PD, and I have fallen completely and utterly in love with the dynamics of the show. There are so many characters, and so many great story lines and ugh, I couldn't wait to get something published for you guys. Any feedback or comments are greatly appreciated! This is my first fanfiction, and a special one. I noticed the lack of Ruzek/OC stories, and decided to show him a little love.

Without further ado, I give you: Reckless

Summary: All while trying to resolve his unsettled feelings about his relationship with Wendy, Officer Adam Ruzek shares a reckless evening with an alluring stranger, causing doubts to unfurl in his mind about what he truly wants, and what he needs. What will happen when the woman he encountered becomes his newly appointed partner in the Intelligence Unit? Adam Ruzek/OC - Slightly A/U

Rated T (Violence, Language, and Sensual Scenes)

i. WRECKED

He couldn't focus. Crumpling the report he'd been writing, Officer Adam Ruzek leaned back in his chair with a sigh of agitation.
Hurling the unfinished statement toward the trash can in the corner, he groaned as the wrinkled clump bounced off the rim, landed on the floor.
Running his hands over his face, Adam drew his palms along the stubble covering the underside of his chin.
The pungent scent of stale cologne and clorox filled his nose, a fetid combination that did nothing to alleviate his hangover, nor quell the sudden nausea roiling in his stomach.

Examining the ringed exterior of the empty styrofoam cup lying haphazardly across his desk, he eyed the coffee machine, knowing if he poured another cup he'd never be fully rid of the fatigue weighing him down.

He should've felt invigorated. Enlivened, even.
Rather, he felt troubled, his mind depleted, distracted. What the hell was wrong with him?

Absently gnawing the tip of his thumb, he vaulted the question around in his head, recalled the answer all too easily.
It was quite obvious what ailed him. It was pure guilt. Nothing more, nothing less. And he would've come to the conclusion long ago, if he hadn't spent the last half hour speculating, considering every reason why it wasn't.

He promised himself he wouldn't delve any further; that what was done, was done. But it plagued him.

Because he hadn't done anything. At least, nothing worth feeling guilty over.

What had started as a spark of initial lust had dimmed to a low burning, thought provoking conversation in the aftermath. There had been nothing physical. Nothing but her partially clothed body clinging to him, waves of silken hair caressing his shoulder blades, tequila infused breath tempting him to claim her lips over and over again until they were both struggling for air.

Well, maybe he was lying. It had been something.

It had been a drunken mistake.
A mistake he should've forgotten all about by now.

But the memory of drowsy hazel eyes peering up at him through the thickest lashes still had the ability to knock him on his ass. Perhaps it was the mystery that surrounded her, that drew him in. The fact he never knew her name. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Surveying the paperwork littering his desk, Adam grasped a pen, began shuffling through what he'd already managed to finish, doubting he'd complete it by the end of shift. Tapping the pen against his lips, his thoughts strayed again as his vision shifted to the framed photograph of Wendy on his desk. He should've felt guilty. He really, really should have. But the truth was, he didn't feel a damned thing.

Wait. He did feel something. Where was that heat coming from?

Glancing up, his body absorbed the warm air outpouring from a vent directly above him.
Pulling at the collar of his plaid shirt, he longed to open a window, relieve himself. The heat felt familiar. Too familiar. As if she were curled in his arms again.

Adam closed his eyes briefly, mind reflecting on the sensation of supple skin beneath his hands, the sound she'd made when he'd placed his mouth between her neck and that sensitive hollow behind her ear. Hell.
How could a woman he'd barely known leave such an impression?

He struggled to let the thought go, even as Sergeant Hank Voight opened the floor with information on a new case. Trademark grim expression enhancing the lines around his mouth, he canted his head. "There's been a series of heists on the northern side of town."
Gesturing toward the bearish face of a man, the sunken features of an even more garish looking woman, he scrawled their identities in marker under both photographs. "Ylena Karzen, and Damien Pederson. They're responsible for the death's of four of our officers that responded to the calls."

Opening his notepad with a pronounced flick, Adam clicked his pen several times, jotted down a few minor particulars encircling the diagram of the two alleged perpetrators hanging on the whiteboard.

"Why didn't we hear about this until now?" Arms crossed, Erin Lindsay leaned against her desk, head tilted, waves of ombre hair framing her face as her eyes narrowed, perplexed.

"The officers of District Sixteen were handling the case as a robbery in conjunction with a homicide when the first two patrolmen were killed. However, it didn't come across as an unusual investigation." Voight thrust his hands into his pockets, motioned toward the opposite side of the board where the fallen officer's photos were strewn parallel to the locations of the crime scenes. "Only after the other two patrolmen were killed, did they realize that the robberies seemingly took place on their specific routes which fueled a far-fetched notion."

Reclining backward in his chair, Jay Halstead flexed his hands around the circlets of a neon colored notepad. "So you think these two were targeting them?"

"It's a possibility." Voight answered grimly, "But the question remains, why."

Adam felt the wheels turning as he concentrated, observed everything. If these were hardened criminals, they wouldn't be foolish enough to force the heat of the Chicago PD on themselves. If they had any sense at all, they'd stay in their designated holes. But maybe he was giving them more credit than was due.

"These guys are professionals." Alvin Olinsky asserted, voice resounding through the room as he leaned against the far wall, beanie pulled depressingly low, veiling the wrinkles marring his forehead. Swiveling in his chair, Adam placed the pen between his lips, listened. "They're efficient. And they know what they're doing. Each robbery was timed, planned. Five minutes, forty seconds," Olinsky swiped a hand through the air, drew a line across his chest. "In, and out."

"District Sixteen has granted us their location." Voight disclosed, advancing toward the front of the room, he pointed to a distinct photo. "A building on the north side of town, near an abandoned warehouse. We're to detain them, and bring them back here for questioning." Tapping the watch on his wrist, his steely eyed gaze and gravelly voice penetrated the charged stillness. "Karzen and Pederson are set to move in ten. That means we need to be ready in one."

The team dispersed with restrained urgency, voices echoing in the bullpen as they gathered the information they needed, vacated their desks. Lingering, Adam thrust himself out of the chair, momentarily grateful for the change of pace, until he crossed the threshold of the locker room. The essence of citrus hand soap wreaked havoc on his senses, made his mind spin uncontrollably. That same scent filled his lungs, soaked his shirt, infused his bed. Expertly drew his attention elsewhere.

Wrenching open his dented locker door, he pulled out his tactical vest, threw the heavy equipment over his head, adjusted the shoulder panels, cinched the straps around his torso. Dammit. He needed to let this go. Slamming his locker closed with more force than necessary, Adam turned, taken aback when Olinsky appeared, seemingly materializing out of nowhere.

Gray mustache highlighting a threadbare face, Olinsky's eyes probed him beneath the recessed lighting. "Is everything alright, kid?"

Exhaling, Adam rotated his shoulder blades, as tension swarmed him. He wasn't in the mood for a lecture. And he definitely wasn't predisposed on the notion of an argument. Knowing Alvin never excluded him for any other reason, he remained silent, altered the numerous inline zippers on the front of his vest. Keeping his head down, eyes straightforward, he began snapping the buttons of his flannel over his gear, combed a hand roughly through his hair.

Noting Olinsky hadn't moved in his peripheral vision, Adam shook his head in irritation, realizing the man wouldn't leave until he gave him something.

Glancing upward, he heaved a sigh of exasperation. "You know I'm fine, Al. I really am."

Holding up his hands, Olinsky flattened his lips. "I didn't ask, and I'm not going to. I just want to make sure you're focused."

He was focused. Mostly. Where it counted mainly, he was. And if he didn't dwell on it, it wouldn't become a problem. He was here. He was ready. And no longer believed he needed to explain himself.

Pausing, Adam extracted his phone from his back pocket, swiped his hand over the lock screen. "We better head downstairs, team's about to head out."

Olinsky nodded, turned toward the locker room exit, clapped his hands in sudden remembrance. "Hey, by the way, District Sixteen sent over an officer earlier, someone who knows Karzen and Pederson's whereabouts if they decide to fall back somewhere once we raid the place. You mind grabbing her a go bag on the way out?"

"Sure. No problem." Hefting his rucksack over one shoulder, Adam yanked open the men's storage room closet, sifted through numerous strategic gear until he located an unused pack. Assuring the contents needed were inside, he shoved the door closed. It buckled before swinging back open with a derisive moan. Brows drawn, he inspected the door's latch. Clasping the thick wood between his hands, he shifted the door back and forth, detected resistance. Nothing had fallen between the door and the metal sill. He shifted it again. So what was keeping it from-

A slight rattle resonated, a warning he declined to recognize before the door's hinge pins tumbled to the floor, issuing a resounding ping. Reacting on instinct, he rushed forward, seized the right side of the door as it fell. Unbalanced, the shoulder strap of his tactical pack gouged the skin of his left forearm. Before he could move, a rush of dark hair and feminine features flashed in his peripheral vision. Settling alongside him, soft hands enclosed his, helped guide the door gently against the wall.

Chest heaving, the woman turned toward him, tawny eyes full of concern. Absorbing her disheveled appearance and damp hair, recognition dawned instantly, caused his heart to stutter sharply. Laughter, seductive and unabashed drifted through his hearing on a loop as the night backpedaled in his head, centralized. Breath whooshing from his lungs, he felt his mouth fall open.

It was her.


Please let me know if you'd like me to continue or if you enjoyed reading!

xoxo, emislen