Authors Note: I felt the writers of Chicago PD did Al a tremendous disservice by giving him such a lousy sendoff. Two minutes of airtime and a couple shots of a casket being carried down some stairs for a beloved character who was there since the beginning? He deserved better. I was inspired to write this after seeing a deleted scene in which a few members of the Intelligence unit gathered to share their memories and grieve together. I invite all of you who write One Chicago fanfics to add your own memories in lieu of reviews/comments at the bottom of this story, whether from the POV of canon characters or your own original characters. Let's give Al a decent memorial.
Molly's was closed to the public that afternoon, closed to everyone but members of the Chicago Police and Fire Departments as they gathered to pay tribute to their fallen comrade, Detective Alvin Olinsky. The place was strewn with flags bearing the CPD insignia, and all of Olinsky's favorite dishes were waiting for the mourners on a buffet table. Hermann and Platt had arranged for all his favorite music to be played continuously in the background.
The place began to fill up quickly both with those who had been on duty during Olinsky's funeral and those who had attended. Sergeant Hank Voight had been banned from the memorial service but had showed up anyway, watching covertly as the pallbearers carried his best friend to the waiting hearse which would carry him away to be buried.
Voight manned the door as wave after wave of people from Chicago Med, Fire and PD arrived, and he greeted each of them with a handshake, front and center here as Al's best friend and longtime partner. Someone who loved Al deeply had hastily organized this event, and she called it 'sitting shiva', a chance for people to come together and share their memories of the one they had lost, a tradition in her own culture that Voight had a newfound respect for.
Many who had been unable to attend the funeral showed up in full dress uniform, and Voight was moved by the respect being shown. Some were giving Voight a wide berth, others offering heartfelt embraces, seeing his face so etched with grief, his eyes sunken and harrowed, his face bruised, and he offered sparse replies as best he could, his throat constricted, words whelmed in heartache that soon rendered him mute. He was glad to let others take over the emcee duties, and grateful when Trudy stepped up to the mic first.
"Welcome, everyone. You're all invited to take my place here and share your memories of Olinsky when you're ready. I'm going first because I knew him the longest, except for Hank, and because I plan to get shitfaced and I want to get started." She paused, staring at her shoes for a moment. Her eyes shone with tears when she looked up again.
"Olinsky was, above all else, a cop's cop, and easily the most dedicated officer I've ever known. He was old-school police, and those of you younger cops who were privileged to learn from him, well, you should consider yourselves lucky, because they don't make 'em like that anymore. Al and I went through a lot of shit together. I remember being in the car with him driving back to the district, and he's going on and on about some Moroccan restaurant and I look down and his pants leg is soaked with blood, and I go Al, what the hell's going on, and he looks at me with that Al face and says oh, yeah, I got shot. I didn't want to bother anyone. That was Alvin Olinsky, the most loyal, toughest, best cop and friend there ever was." Trudy was too overcome to say more, and her husband slid a protective arm around her and ushered her way from the mic.
"To Al," someone called out, and they all raised their glasses. Voight stumbled over to the mic.
"Alvin Olinsky was my best friend. My priest, my shrink." Voight struggled to get the words out, his throat working. He shook his head, his eyes closing. "Chicago is a lesser place without him in it, and owes some of its greatness to him. We'll never know how many lives he touched, and changed, through his dedication and service. There will never be another cop like him, and those he left behind can only aspire to accomplish half as much." A strangled sob escaped Voight then, and he tried to stutter something, not wanting to leave it like this. Kim Burgess came to his rescue, taking his arm and guiding him away to a place where he could grieve unseen for a while.
A woman dressed in a nurse's uniform who had come to Molly's straight from work stepped up to speak next. "My name is Trina, and I'm a nurse at Chicago Med. Ten years ago, Al Olinsky arrested my brother, Jamal. Jamal was a small-time dealer well on his way to becoming a full time thug. He was also the only real parent I had. Olinsky saw this, saw what would happen if Jamal went away, and instead of throwing the book at him, he got Jamal help, got him out of Chicago long enough to get his life together. Because he did, we were able to stay together, and I was able to finish school and go on to become a nurse. Al kept up with me over the years, and helped me out with tuition once. That was the kind of guy he was. I wanted y'all to know what we all lost. I'm not the only one with a story like this, so keep listening, and those of you with a story to share, share it."
Antonio Dawson took over then. "I've lost count of how many times we'd be in the bullpen discussing how to attack the day and Voight would say 'as soon as Olinsky gets here' and Al would call out 'I'm here' and sure enough, there he would be at his desk where he'd been all along, and now it occurs to me how much we all took him for granted, you know?" Dawson dragged his sleeve over his eyes and it came away wet. "Maybe that should be our takeway today, not to take one minute for granted. Minutes, people...they slip away too easily." Dawson lifted his glass. "To Al."
Halstead appeared next to Dawson. "Antonio's right. Al was the heart and soul of our unit. We butted heads more than once, but I always came out of any conflict with him a better cop. Al was a cop before we had the conveniences of cell phones and GPS and computers, back when cases were solved by pounding the pavement, by relying on your wits and your intuition and asking the right questions and sometimes flying blind, and truly depending on your partner. Al personified what it meant to be a cop in those days; he was a great example of what it meant to trust your instincts then, and now. I'm gonna miss him more than I can say."
"So will I," murmured someone unseen from behind Jay, though she was heard by the whole room anyway.
"Erin!" cried Jay, whirling to sweep her into his arms. The room erupted in applause at the sight of one of their own back in the fold. Erin took the mic from Jay, her eyes swimming with tears.
"I'm sorry I couldn't make the funeral. I wouldn't have missed this chance to say goodbye to Al for the world. A lot of you know my story, you know how Sergeant Voight took me in when I had no one and nowhere to turn, how he became my family, and in turn, so did Al. It was kind of a package deal. I can't count how many times I cried on Al's shoulder during the hard times, how I looked up to him as the kind of cop I could only hope to one day be. In a lot of ways, I became a cop because of him, because of his steady influence on both Hank and me. Al epitomized what family means; nothing meant more to him than his kids, and he considered them the greatest gifts in his life. They say you can choose your friends, but not your family, but I can honestly say that is not true. Sometimes we choose, and sometimes they choose us. If you were one of Al's chosen, well, you were blessed."
Ruzek smiled affectionately at Erin before taking his turn at the mic. "Al hand picked me from the Academy. Impulsive, inexperienced, cocky, eager to please. Being partnered with him tempered me in ways I could never have expected. I don't think he'd mind me telling you that he was so dedicated on stakeouts that he'd wear adult diapers rather than miss his targets. I kid you not." The room exploded with laughter then, and a raucous round of toasts. Hermann and Stella were struggling to keep glasses filled, and people were mopping at their wet faces and sharing stories of Al between themselves while still listening to those at the mic.
"I think I see someone with something to say." Ruzek beckoned to a half-hidden figure standing behind Kevin Atwater. "Come on, sweetheart. It's okay."
Michelle Sovana came slowly forward, shoulders shaking. Her lips trembled as she spoke. "Al was my dad. He didn't know it for most of my life, and he spent the time he did know it trying to make up for the time he didn't. I didn't really make it too easy for him at first. I thought we would have time, lots of time…" her voice trailed off poignantly, her gaze darting around the room. "Seeing so many people who cared about him is like getting to know him all over again, like seeing another side of him. I think he'd really love it that you all came here today to remember him, to honor him. I hope some of you will tell me things about him I don't know, because I need to know. The people who loved him are all I have left of him now, and it's gonna be really hard to keep going." Michelle gestured at the line of people waiting to take their turn at the mic, and lifted her glass sadly. "To my dad."
Molly's was standing room only now, and people were lining up outside, waiting to get in. The crowd began breaking up into smaller groups, some going outside to allow others in for their chance to share. Volunteers bustled around, filling glasses, encouraging others to introduce themselves to friends of Al they hadn't met yet.
From a quiet corner, Voight watched people streaming in, until he slipped out the back for a moment alone, a frosty bottle of beer in hand. He poured the beer out slowly onto the ground, a private toast for the one no longer here who had left a void that would never be filled.
Now it's your turn. Share a memory of Al from the POV of whatever characters you wish.