I own no one but my own people
A/N Thanks to Imani (xThePassionateWriterx on here, ReginaxOlivia on twitter) for the prompt and idea. I love you :-) I know at the time Surrender Benson aired (Sept 2013) Voight was serving time but let's pretend he never got arrested okay? Also, there's some Bensidy in this but it's not a love triangle. This is a Benoight story (sorry Bensidy shippers, I love Brian too but a fic writers gotta do what a fic writers gotta do. Hey that rhymed!) Anyway please read review and enjoy. But mostly enjoy.
Looking back, it was amazing how a regular calm Monday morning could have turned into one of the most intense terrifying days in Hank Voights life.
After working together twice, Voight and Olivia had been in regular contact for a few months. There wasn't a week that went by where they didn't at least call each other or skype.
He told her about his cases, what his unit was up to, how he couldn't wait for his son to get out of prison… There wasn't too much excitement in the Windy City but Olivia still seemed enthralled by every gruff rasp word that passed through his lips.
On her end, she would also talk about her job her colleagues… She told him all about her boyfriend, some uni cop that was working nights at a Bronx courthouse. Although Olivia explained that he wound up with the feather soft beat because he had been demoted, not of his own choosing and was actually dying to get back to where the real action was so Voight didn't make fun of him. That bad anyway.
Olivia also told him about her cases, including the sociopath that she was investigating right now. William Lewis… Even the name brought a shudder to the two hard cops. It seemed like no matter what angle you tried to catch him at, he would wiggle off the hook. He would torture and murder women, burn them, brand them, rape them for hours, even days on end.
She would never admit it but Voight could tell she was terrified of him, especially the way that he would look at her. She would swear she could practically see him defiling her in the reflection of his eyes when she looked into them.
On Friday night Olivia called up Voight, letting him know that the judge had declared a mistrial and he was out on bail thanks to his lawyer/girlfriend. She was mad, wanting justice for the victims that he had tortured, raped, and killed. But, even though she didn't tell him, she was also scare. She didn't want him back on the streets for other people's safety as well as her own.
He told her that she would be fine. That he wouldn't dare go after her unless he had a death wish. She had to go food shopping so she, unconvincingly, told him that she would be fine and was just being a worry wart. He promised to call her over the weekend to see how she was doing, told her to take care of herself. She thanked him, said goodnight, and hung up the phone.
That was Friday night.
He had, as promised, called a few times on Saturday and Sunday but had received no answer. Voight was half tempted to call one of her squad members to go over and check on her, but he didn't want to start a panic just because she wasn't picking up her phone.
She could have been finally relaxing or she was so deep into his case file that she didn't want anything to take away her focus. So Sunday night he finally put down his phone and climbed into bed.
Olivia would be fine. There wasn't any reason for him to worry or be upset. She would call him tomorrow, tell him he was a pussy for worrying about her so much, and she would be fine and well rested. Even with that in mind, Voight fell into an uneasy sleep the hope that she was okay in the back of his mind.
Monday morning came as it did every week. He showered and dressed himself in his usual jeans, cotton t-shirt and leather jacket before he headed into his little kitchen.
Voight turned on his little kitchen TV to Fox News not really for the content but more for the noise, even though he was a moderate Republican, as he began making his breakfast. He turned on the coffee maker and turned to watch while the black liquid brewed.
Four people were sitting around discussing the fact that the NYPD had offered up their own reward for help in finding a missing cop.
"All I'm saying is why should MY tax money go to someone who probably was involved in the crime in the first place? The NYPD gets paid to protect us, not give their money away to thugs who are short on some cash and only then deciding to come forward," one of the commentators said, being met with a nod of approval from his fellow hosts.
"Not to mention," the stick thin blonde woman who couldn't quite smile because of the Botox in her face. "The cop they're looking for is a detective in sex crimes," she said with a shudder of disgust.
Voight had just stated to lay strips of bacon into the pan when he whipped around, his heart jumping into his throat. No. No, they couldn't have been talking about her…
"They're so obsessed with rape and sex," the blonde continued. "That she probably went off on her own with him. A Sex Crimes Detective and an accused rapist running off together? That sounds like something one of those panty police would be into."
They're the feminizes of the NYPD," a large robust man laughed. "Well if Detective Benson did go with William Lewis on her own, let's hope that he remembered to get written consent in video before he even tries to hold her hand otherwise he could find himself in prison for life."
Voight had never sprinted to his phone as fast as he had right then. He dialed Olivia's phone first getting nothing but her voice telling him to leave a message, the same greeting he had gotten every time he tried to call this past weekend.
"FUCK!" he yelled, using every bit of restraint in him not to throw his phone down on the ground. His fingers flew as he searched for a number he wasn't as familiar with, dialing as soon as he found it.
"Pick up," he growled after the first ring. "Come on! PICK UP!"
"Special Victims Unit, this is Sergeant Munch," a familiar voice answered. In the background he could hear an explosion of people's hectic almost frantic voices. His nightmare was becoming more real by the second.
"Munch, its Hank Voight. Let me speak to Captain Cragen or Olivia Benson NOW!" he ordered the man he had met several times when he was in New York in his telltale raspy voice.
"Captain Cragen is out at the moment, Olivia is…" He heard Munch take a deep shaky breath. "She's not here right now."
"Is she with him? With William Lewis, did he do something to her?" His terror was shining through and for the first time in a very long time he couldn't hide it.
He hesitated for a long moment before he spoke. "Yes. We're not sure when he got a hold of her but her apartment… It's bad, Voight," Munch said with a shake in his voice for the first time. "Real bad. He already hurt her, we don't know where she is or how much of a head start he's got or where he's going... "
Voight covered his mouth with his hand, closing his eyes as he took several deep breaths. His hand was shaking as he hung up the phone, clutching it so hard he was sure the plastic cover started to crack.
Nothing else mattered. None of his current cases, letting his squad know he was leaving, any trials he had to testify in, not a damn thing… Olivia had been kidnapped by a sadistic sociopath who got off on torturing and raping women and he had already started to hurt her.
Voight pulled himself out of his shock and only taking the time to shut off his stove he began a dead sprint to his car as dialed another number.
"I need the earliest direct flight to JFK," he barked into his phone. A beat of silence as he wrenched open the front door. "I don't care if it's full; you bump somebody and tell them to wait! ...Don't tell me to calm down, this is a Goddamn police matter!" he bellowed. "I'm Sergeant Hank Voight with Chicago Intelligence, badge number 5179 and I don't care what you have to do or who you have to talk to, I will be at O'Hare in fifteen minutes and I WILL have a ticket to JFK Airport or I will arrest your ass for interfering in a police investigation!"
Not giving the ticket agent a second to respond Voight hung up the phone and threw it down in the seat next to him and drove off with his tires squealing.
Olivia was in trouble. He had to find her. He had to save her. And he had to make damn sure the man who DARED to lay a finger on the only woman he had feelings for since his wife died would never see the light of day ever again…