Lateness of the Hour
There was a knock at Matt Casey's front door. He looked at the clock and couldn't figure out who'd be coming to see him this late at night, especially without a heads up. He went to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open, and felt his eyes bulge.
"Voight."
The cop who not so long ago had made Casey's life, and Hallie's, a total hell, the cop who had gotten released from prison and came around talking about making amends and working together, the cop who just today caught Hallie's killer, stood on the stoop with a nonchalant expression on his face as if they were old friends visiting.
"Can I come in?" Hank asked, shocking the hell out of the firefighter.
Casey's brain momentarily lost the ability to form any thoughts, let alone words. He stood there in a stupor for a few seconds before he finally said, "Uh, sure...come on in."
He probably should've known better, but after everything he'd just been through, he couldn't really think Voight would have any more dirty tricks up his sleeve. Though he did notice the newly promoted Intelligence sergeant was carrying a brown paper bag in his grip.
"What's going on?" Casey asked as the cop showed himself in.
Voight headed over to the table and set his bag down and pulled out a bottle of scotch.
"Thought you might need some company, and a stiff drink," the cop answered as he turned back to the blonde man, "how're you doing, Casey?"
Matt wasn't even sure how to answer that. He hadn't even really thought about it. And to be honest, nobody at Molly's that night had really asked him either.
"Okay, I guess," he answered, not sure what else to say. "Uh...I'll get some glasses."
"I can find my way," Voight said as he headed into the kitchen.
Casey just about responded, 'Yeah, sure you could, you're the one that planted 15 years' worth of cocaine under my kitchen counter', but he swallowed the words before they came out. He had to keep reminding himself, that was the past, that was then, this was now...he couldn't make any sense of it, but Casey just couldn't equate the cop who did that with the one who put everything on the line to help him find Hallie's killer. Logically Casey knew it was the same person, but he couldn't fit the two together.
He heard the rattling of the glasses in the cupboard and a minute later Voight returned with two clutched in his fingers.
"I'm really sorry about Hallie, Matt," Voight said as he opened the bottle and poured them each a drink.
Casey still wasn't sure how to respond, he settled for a mere, "Thanks."
"I'll let you in on a secret, I liked her," Hank told him. "She held her own very well, she was a brave woman."
Casey nodded. "I know."
Casey took the glass offered and knocked it back, feeling the liquor burning the back of his throat but not paying much attention to it, other than as a physical reminder that he was still alive. He knew he should be relieved that justice had been done, but it didn't undo the fact that Hallie was still dead, and he was alone.
"Anybody coming over?" Voight suddenly asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Casey looked back at him and shook his head.
"I thought as much," the cop said as he took a drink.
"I haven't..." Casey couldn't finish the thought once it started. He tried again, clearing his throat, "I haven't really had anyone over since..."
Voight nodded. "I get it." There was a pause, then he asked Matt, "How long were you two together?"
"Eight years."
Voight made a sound in his throat and nodded. "Long time."
"I thought..." Casey let it die on his lips how he'd thought they'd always be together. He thought they had more time.
Casey felt a light shining against his eyelids, somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew it wasn't sunlight. Gradually he became aware of the fact that if his eyes were closed, he must've been asleep. He didn't open his eyes right away, instead he became aware of a few other things, one, he was half sitting up, so wherever he was, he wasn't in his bedroom. Another, there was somebody beside him, more to the point he felt a collarbone under his hand that rested just beside his head.
"Hallie?" he groggily asked as he forced his eyes open.
Instead the only sight greeting him on the couch was Hank Voight who Casey was pressed up against.
"Matt."
The shock of this revelation had Casey jolt up with a startled yelp and instead he wound up throwing himself on the floor. Now his eyes were fully open, and he saw the cop above him standing up.
"Sorry, Matt, I didn't realize you were so jumpy," Voight said lightly as he offered a hand to help him up.
Casey looked around the room and realized it was his living room, and it was still dark out so it had to still be night. He didn't remember falling asleep, he didn't remember much of anything.
"What happened?" he asked.
Then, before Voight answered, small bits and pieces started to come back to him. They'd slowly killed the bottle of scotch, they talked some but there hadn't been any real conversation, at some point the pain of Hallie's death came back full force and he'd collapsed on the couch crying. And the next thing he remembered was...waking up next to Voight.
And now, not only was Casey's skull killing him from drinking too much, but he wanted to crawl under a rock somewhere.
"Sorry, Hank," he got out with a slur.
"It's alright, Matt," Hank said as he pulled Casey to his feet.
"Wha' time 's'it?' Casey asked, looking for the clock but not seeing it.
"10 to 3," Voight said as he led Casey over to the couch and pushed him down on the cushions and explained, "I'm going home, and you need to get some sleep."
Casey groaned incoherently because at that moment no words were coming to him. He felt something grab his ankle and opened his eyes and saw it was Voight pulling his boot off, then grabbing the other foot and removing its twin. Then the cop looked down at him, there was something in his eyes that Casey couldn't read.
"Matt," he said somberly.
"Huh?"
Voight looked at him, and said, "My wife died 3 years ago. Believe me, I know what you're going through, and I understand how painful it is."
Casey tried to think. He tried to remember. He thought back to that time in Voight's home, the pictures of him and Justin everywhere, but none with his wife.
"I didn't know," Casey told him, "I'm sorry."
"I won't say it gets easier, because it doesn't," Voight told him, "but you will move forward from this."
Casey was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open, he just managed to get out a weak, "Thanks, Hank."
There was a sound of something cutting through the air and then a weight was on him, Casey realized it was the afghan off the back of the couch. Then he felt a hand on the top of his head, and if he'd been in a sober state of mind he probably would've cringed, as it was he didn't have the energy.
"You'll be okay, kid," Voight told him. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."
Casey weakly nodded, "Thanks, Hank." He closed his eyes and felt his head sag against his shoulder.
He heard the footsteps moving through the apartment, heard the door open, and loudly shut as the deadbolt moved into place, then the apartment was silent.
Casey turned over on his side and pressed his face against the back of the couch. Just before sleep finally took him, one thought ran through his mind.
Hallie would never have believed any of this.