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Prompt #11: Platt's front desk. - Nothing ever made it past Platt's desk. Not even their walk of shame.
Word count: 1001
"Well don't you two think you're smooth," Platt murmurs as she sees Jay and Erin walk into the station, exchanging knowing glances. They're walking too close, smiling too much, looking at each other for too long to be just friends. As someone who has known Erin since she was a moody teenager, Platt knows that she has never seen the detective as happy as she seems to be lately. Since she came back to intelligence.
Something tells the sergeant it's not being back on the job that makes Erin show her dimples quite so often, and she puts two and two together faster than anyone else. She is a detective with a sharp set of observing skills, and her position allows her to watch them closely every day.
And nothing ever escapes Trudy Platt, not even the fact that Erin is wearing the same clothes she was yesterday, or that detective Chuckles is especially chuckly this morning.
"Hey, you two!"
They stop in their step, a look of guilt washing over both of their faces. His even more, because he can't lie to save his own life, especially not in a pressing situation like this one. The Sergeant tries to keep a straight face at how scared they both look.
"Tone it down a notch, if you don't want everyone to notice," she says in a hushed voice, and watches their eyes panic.
"Hey, your walk of shame stays between us. I got you covered."
Jay looks at her with wonder, and Erin gives her a sidelook, but nods.
"Thanks, Sergeant."
"Good for you, Lindsay," she adds before returning to her duties.
They do tone down their smiles before going upstairs, and Erin does change her shirt in the locker room, but somehow, he still manages to kiss her until her lips are red and swollen and her breathing is shallow.
Then they need fifteen more minutes, before he can go upstairs.
All worth it.
"Hey, Detective. Nice work on that."
Erin looks at her, questioning what she means. Then the sergeant nods towards Jay walking up the stairs. He sends her a heated look before turning around and heading up.
"Thanks," she murmurs, suddenly recalling their not-so-PG-13-rated morning activities. She watches his butt move as he walks up, getting momentarily distracted because his shirt sneaks up his waist, and for a second she can see a bit of his skin.
She's pretty sure she sees the older woman wink at her before heading up herself, and the smile stays on her face for the good part of that day.
They haven't been together for a couple of weeks now, trying their best to stay away from each other. It's hard, because the feelings they so desperately try to hide are still there, no matter how much they don't want them to be.
Not even that goes past Platt, who figures out pretty soon why the detectives no longer smile at each other passing her desk, but instead gaze at each other with a sort of sadness and suppressed longing.
"You're too hard on them," she mentions to Hank one day and he huffs in reply. "They could've made it work." She has an eye for these sort of things, and she recognizes true love when she sees it.
"It's better to cut it off, before they get too attached."
"Maybe. But I haven't seen her happy in a while."
He has to admit she has a point, but decides that what's done is done. If they were willing to break it off, because he found out about it, then surely it was just the sneaking around that was the appeal of it.
"And he looks at her, like you used to look at Camille," she adds, the words seeming innocent enough, but she's right to assume they don't leave his mind for a long time.
"Hey, Chuckles," she calls after him with the affectionate nickname. The fact that he doesn't correct her as usually shows how distracted he is. The nickname doesn't even seem appropriate anymore, because he hasn't chuckled in a while. Not since the absence of a very stubborn detective from upstairs.
"I tried talking to her. She's as stubborn as a mule."
He nods. "Thanks for trying. I'm just worried about her. She looks worse every day, and she's not letting anyone in."
"You didn't hear this from me, but who cares what Voight thinks. She needs backup. She needs you," she offers as a sort of advice. The truth is, she has seen Erin digging a hole, and she thinks he might be the only one who can pull her out of it.
And in the interest of helping a person they both obviously care about, she's ready to break her rule and meddle for once.
Jay stares for a second, once again amazed how nothing ever gets past Trudy Platt, and then nods.
"Thanks, sergeant."
That's the day he decides to give it one more try, and finds her at the club. And even though it doesn't go his way, and even though it breaks his heart, it was worth a try.
"So, you got dad's permission, huh?"
She can't help but chuckle at the stupid grin spreading over his face. It melts away her hard mask, and softens her up just a notch. She was there when Voight told him that he doesn't care about the status of their relationship. She there a couple of days later, when the two of them came into the precinct, and casually disentangled their fingers. She was there when her famous dimples and his famous chuckle made their return.
"Just don't screw it up," she says. "And no more making out in the locker room!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, sergeant," he adds cheekily, recalling a rather vivid memory of Erin pressed against his locker, with her legs wrapped around his waist. "We would never."
They would.
They did.
They will.
