Hi there!
First off, huge thankyous to you all for the overwhelming feedback to the last chapter. There are no words to describe how much I appreciate all your comments, PMs and notes because Jay discovering some of his repressed memories was without a doubt the hardest thing I've ever had to write.
The next chapter won't be as intense, nevertheless it's emotional, so you might not stow away your tissue box just yet.
Huge thanks to Floopdeedoopdee for all her wonderful advice, for listening to my incessant rambling, and for being my emotional support. In short: thanks for being my guardian angel throughout this story! I appreciate you so much!
Sense of time ceased to exist with the atrocious cries pervading the room. There was no telling how many minutes had passed, but eventually the heartbreaking sobs subsided, and only stagnant chortling breaths and messy snivels from Jay disrupted the quiet of the small office. The violent spasmic waves rolling through Halstead's body ebbed away, replaced by a continuous tremor wafting through him from head to toe. Tears still streamed shamelessly down his face and intermingled with snot before dripping down his chin onto Alvin's hand and sweater sleeve.
Olinsky didn't care. Through it all, he never once relinquished the tight embrace of the tormented kid in his arms. Remaining a sturdy rampart yet serving as a fluffy safety blanket that rubbed soothing circles into the back of the younger detective's hand, the one that still clutched the badge like a lifeline, and lulled soothing consolations into his ear.
At last, Jay's hitching inhales and exhales abated into a shaky yet steady rhythm, synching with his ceaseless trembles. For a few minutes Halstead stared into space, sporadic images of retrieved repressed memories flashing before his inner eye. Awareness of his surroundings in the here and now came back indolently. The slow rise and fall of O's torso against his back calmed his racing heart and grounded him, as did the firm pressure on his right knee that strangely felt like the paw of a watchdog, comforting and protective. The brunette couldn't remember ever having felt this safe, this sheltered in his entire life, except maybe with his mom all those years ago. Before she got sick, before the blows started, before everything went to hell.
But with that realization came the crushing embarrassment over letting his walls down and allowing himself to relish this feeling of security. He shifted out of Al's embrace, reluctant to leave the warm cocoon yet believing he had already overstayed his welcome for way too long. Without it, Halstead felt oddly bereft, and when his movement accidentally jostled the paw of his sentry and it slipped off as well, panic slammed back into him full force. Too exhausted to hide the once again increasing shaking, he merely rasped a brittle "I'm sorry… I…"
"Hey, no, no. Don't be," Olinsky interrupted him right away, heart aching that the young man would apologize – for what exactly? "Jay, kid, you have nothing, absolutely nothing to be sorry about. Nothing at all, you hear me?" The former ranger drew his long limbs up onto the couch and brought his knees to his chest, curling himself into a ball. Alvin instinctively wanted to reach out and pull the kid into his arms again but knew that his friend needed to regain at least some semblance of self-control after making himself so vulnerable in front of him and Voight. Settling on laying a supportive hand at the nape of the soldier's neck, he added, "what happened to you… none of that was your fault, Jay." The ailing detective's muscles tensed under O's ginger caresses as he shook his head, clearly disagreeing. It sent another painful stab through the dark-haired cop's chest, that the kid couldn't simply agree and accept his reassurances.
Sluggish flutters blinked away the residual salty liquid that clung to the kid's dark lashes, and as his vision cleared, the blurry blotch sitting sentinel in front of him composing into Hank's morose expression. "How is Flynn?" Halstead asked, vocal cords raw and scratchy from the endless abuse of coughing, retching, and bawling. It made him sound even more desperate and miserable. When he wasn't graced with an answer, he looked straight at his superior with pleading eyes as he croaked, "he shouldn't be alone when he wakes up. He shouldn't…" he broke off.
Voight pursed his lips ruefully. So far, he hadn't heard from Lindsay, which meant the boy might not have regained consciousness yet, or maybe he had and just wasn't ready to be questioned. Since he himself hadn't seen their victim at the scene and only knew the disturbing facts from his detective's incident report, he had no way of knowing the extent of medical treatment and care Flynn needed. In short, he simply didn't know the answer. What he did know, however, was that "he won't be. His parents are there with him." A fleeting flash of fright crossed Halstead's features. The Intelligence leader couldn't quite grasp the meaning of it, but it was obvious that the soldier wasn't comforted in the slightest. "Erin's at the hospital as well," he added, hoping that would assuage the brunette's qualms. "She'll make sure Flynn is taken care of. She'll make sure he's not alone."
Jay didn't reply but his face mellowed just a tad as he lowered his head to stare at his badge. He had never loosened his grip on the emblem. Quite the contrary: the fingers of both his hands kneaded the stiff leather patch while his thumbs once again brushed over the metal affectionately. By now, the seasoned investigators recognized the gesture as a despairing quest for inner strength and comfort. With that, they also realized that the inquiry into the victim's wellbeing was not just a perpetually altruistic act; the former ranger's need to ascertain the boy's safety was just as much a subliminal desire for that same protection that he wished for Flynn. It was a cry for help, not from the admirable badass Detective Halstead they knew but from the scared little kid that had been living inside him for way too long. Which made Olinsky question, "were you alone, Jay?"
No verbal response was forthcoming, but the way Halstead made himself even smaller by ducking his head, chin nearly touching his knees, and hugging his legs even closer to his body, was all they needed. Their protégé had indeed been by himself; the defensive and protective posture was undoubtedly that of a scared and lonely boy. No wonder he had locked away this grisly experience in the nooks and crannies of his brain. By blocking out those terrifying memories his subconscious mind had protected him from further harm, from further anguish, from having to deal with something that a frightened child simply wasn't equipped to handle all by itself.
"You never told anyone?" Voight probed, voice thick and laced with dread. As he caught the imperceptible shake of Halstead's head the sergeant's forehead crinkled into abysmal worry lines. But what disturbed him most was the despair in the blue-green eyes, the deafening question of 'who should I have told?' written all over it. "What about your mom?" The soldier looked grief-stricken, "your dad?" dejected and horrified, a peculiar mix that made his hairs stand on end, "your brother?" Guilty? Disappointed? He couldn't tell. "Not even a friend?" Sad, just plain sad. Apparently, he hadn't had any.
Deeply affected by the unspoken revelation, the sergeant dragged a hand over his face. If Jay hadn't had anyone to confide in, it was safe to assume that things hadn't been great in the kid's life even before the ultimate shit had hit the fan. The brunette had always been incredibly tight-lipped about his childhood, and Hank was shocked to realize that he basically knew nothing about how his detective had grown up. Whatever the circumstances had been, the one thing he knew was that the world had failed to protect or at the very least support a hurting boy during a time in which he needed it the most, and that exasperated him, no, it made him beyond furious.
Afraid that he wouldn't be able to keep his irritation in check, Voight refrained from querying any further and simply blew out a lengthy breath. Something must have shown on his face, though, because Halstead folded further into himself, sagging his shoulders and averting his gaze. A picture of utter defeat and despondency. Dry tears glistened in Jay's eyes and his lip quivered as he gasped, "I let him get away." While it was unclear whom he referred to – Flynn's molester or his own – there was no doubt that the former ranger felt tremendous guilt over it. And that guilt was likely at least partially induced by Hank's interrogation, though it was beyond him how one thing had let to this entirely different train of thoughts.
Shudders rippled through the soldier again. He felt cold, so incredibly cold, as if someone had switched out the blood in his veins with liquid nitrogen. Right now, not even four layers of clothing in a heated room were enough to stop the shakes, and he doubted he would ever feel warm again. Why was he even shaking? What gave him the right to feel miserable and wallow in self-pity when it was his Goddamn fault that Flynn's rapist had gotten away, just like it had been his fault that Beckett had gotten away all those years ago? Nothing. For as long as he continued to let them escape, he was not a whit better than them. There was nothing he could do about the fact that he was debauched and slutty, damaged beyond repair in so many ways, but couldn't he at least try to prove that he didn't fall in the same category as that filthy scum? He didn't want to be their accomplice any more, he… "I need to find him. I need to make this right."
Jay's voice was still hoarse but full of determination and urgency, and as the words slipped past his lips, he was already in the hasty process of unfurling himself and scrambling to his feet. It didn't even register with him how leaden and jelly-like his legs felt until they gave way underneath him and two sets of strong hands thwarted his fall, Voight's from up front and Olinsky's from behind. "Easy, kid, easy," Al soothed as he and Hank hoisted him back onto the sofa with united forces. For his five-foot-ten frame he felt too light and the aimless flails of his arms when he tried to push them away were too easy to dodge for there was no strength behind his swats. The kid's energy was waning and soon enough he gave up with a single frustrated yelp. Helplessly, he allowed his superior to position his legs on the leather at a slight angle, and O to slip a cushion underneath his head.
Crestfallen that his own body would betray him so treacherously at such an inopportune time, robbing him of his only chance to redeem himself, Halstead's features tied into painful knots, unable to register much less treasure the relaxation the vertical position provided his tired muscles. Brows furrowing, nose scrunching, and the corners of his mouth twitching in a weird dance between twisting up and dragging down at the same time. If there had been any tears left to spill, they would have been streaming down his face like rivers, but since his lachrymal sacs were just as drained as the rest of him, there was only bone-weariness and desolation brimming in those expressive eyes as they locked onto the sergeant.
For all their differences and miscommunication over the years, Voight understood immediately what his detective was asking, begging. "We'll find him, Jay" he assured him, laying a hand on the kid's shoulder. "But for now, you concentrate on you." The young man blinked owlishly, his eyes dulled and glazed over from sheer fatigue. "Get some sleep, okay? You're going to need it," he presaged. It was a promise, the answer to a thus far unacknowledged question that had been hanging between them ever since Hank had summoned his subordinate into his office: the former ranger wasn't taken off the case, and he most certainly wasn't kicked out of the unit.
Eternal gratitude radiated off the brunette, breath hitching with emotion. The corner of his mouth curled ever so slightly upwards, a ghost of a smile but it was there. Halstead took a deep, shaky breath and nodded timidly, then let his unfocused gaze wander from the sergeant to Olinsky perched on the armrest near his head. Their eyes met, the older man's dark irises trustworthy and calming. "Just close your eyes, kid. You'll be alright," he reassured softy, his hand squeezing the nape of his neck ever so gently. It was all the comfort he needed to allow his lids to droop. The shot up a few more times, but at last they closed completely, and once they did, Halstead drifted off almost instantly, the older men's promises all he needed to find that smidgen of peace of mind.
…
They watched him for a while, O's fingers a steady presence at the kid's hairline. He could have sworn that the sleeping figure nuzzled just a tad into the touch, seeking the protection it symbolized. Although lines of emotional torment and physical sickness were still brazen, both seasoned investigators were grateful that Jay apparently trusted them enough to relax this much in their vicinity.
However, the solitude didn't last longer than a few minutes. Platt's thunderous "Alvin Olinsky" permeated the thin walls that separated them from the bullpen, and it not only disrupted the quiet but also the tiny traces of serenity that had just settled on their young colleague's features. The kid's permanent frown deepened, muscles twitching fitfully as his agitation grew. Even the smallest disturbance had the potential to wake the hypervigilant soldier again, so if Trudy decided to rush in there, it would inevitably stir him up again, thereby slim their chances to calm him tremendously. It was safe to say that the brunette wouldn't give in to his exhaustion a second time.
Al and Voight locked eyes, silently communicating that they couldn't risk the woman storming into the office. They would have to intercept the female sergeant outside, and since it was the dark-haired detective whom she seemed to have a bone to pick with, it was agreed on that he would face her while Hank would watch over their protégé. Heaving a mute sigh, O carefully retracted his hand. He let his gaze linger on Halstead for just a second, empathy shining in his eyes, before he pushed himself up. Crossing the room in habitually stealthy moves, he slipped out the door, immediately coming face to face with Platt's tempestuous expression.
"Explain to me," she laid into him without a preamble, "what about 'make sure Chuckles drinks and eats' did you not understand?" Her words were forceful, deliberate, rampant. Alvin knitted his brows just a fraction, momentarily at a loss as to what she was referring to. Catching a glimpse of the thermos in one hand and the pack of crackers in her other, though, he closed his eyes briefly. He scratched his moustache and slanted his head, at least having the decency to look apologetic that he hadn't carried out her earlier request. However, his lack of an answer seemed to infuriate her even more. Fortunately, she lowered her voice a bit as she continued her diatribe. "That young man is sick as a dog," she launched off, her facial features twisting into deep concern. "He was puking his guts out for nearly half an hour earlier, looked like the slightest breeze might knock him off his feet," she recounted, her alto trembling with barely concealed affection and fear for their coworker.
Olinsky raised his brows in alarm. Voight, who had chosen to that moment to join them and inexorably caught Trudy's words as well, appeared just as shocked as him. Given the circumstances of the day and knowing that Jay's health had already been deteriorating before they caught their latest case, it didn't come as much of a surprise that he had thrown up. But going at for that long? No wonder the female sergeant was so adamant about getting some Goddamn tea into him. However, undeterred by the morose expressions on both male officer's faces, Platt went on. "Halstead belongs home in bed," she enforced. "Now, we all know how stubborn that kid is and how little he cares about himself," her eyes shifted from Al to Hank, "so the very least you should do is get some fluids in him and make sure he doesn't collapse." The slight waver in her voice took some of the bite out of her words, but at the same time put an urgent vehemence into the reprimand.
With piercing greenish-brown eyes and her forehead knitted into deep crinkles, the female stepped in front of the Intelligence leader. "You," she pointed the pack of crackers at him, "have a responsibility for your team, Hank," she reminded him sternly, fully aware that she was about to tread uncharted territory here. She rarely butted into his leadership style, but she was slowly losing her composure. Tone rising to a higher pitch she couldn't help but attack her old friend on a more personal level. "Just because you feel threatened by Jay's candor and integrity…"
"Trudy," Voight interrupted her ferocious rambling. "We're just as worried about Halstead as you are," he assured her, "but there were more pressing matters to take care of." Misinterpreting his words entirely, Platt stared at him incredulously, eyes wide and jaw dropping. More pressing matters? Was Hank really trying to tell her that something was more important than taking care of Chuckles right now? How dare he brush off the poor soul's health as less valuable! Chest rising with fury, she primed herself for a hefty protest, but the male sergeant held up a placative hand while draping the opposite arm around her shoulders. "C'mon," he prompted, "I want to show you something." Even though she wanted to wiggle out of the hug, the older woman allowed him to steer her towards the board. "Tell me what you see."
Disbelief was painted all over her face as she glared at him from the side. If Hank was trying to prove to her that a case took precedence to his subordinate's wellbeing, he sure had another thing coming. Nevertheless, she remained quiet for now, pursed her lips instead and studied the board as per his encouragement. Her eyes landed on Flynn Baker's close-up right away, and when they did her breath hitching in her throat. She had to do a doubletake to be sure she was seeing right, and if it hadn't been for the thirteen-year-old boy's name written underneath the photo, she would have believed him to be someone else. "Oh my…" she gasped, "this kid looks like a pre-teen version of Jay." She vaguely registered Voight's nod from her periphery. "Is this the victim that was reported today?" Another, more hesitant nod this time.
Glancing at the picture again, she intensely studied the familiar facial features of the adolescent. If it weren't for the slightly rounder face, the darker shade of green in his eyes, and the more distinct natural streaks of ginger in his hair, he would have been a carbon-copy of what she imagined their young detective to have looked like at that age. Platt gulped; the information didn't sit well with her. Trepidation suddenly built in her chest as she remembered how Halstead had stumbled into the precinct earlier, paler than a ghost and wearing an expression that she only now recognized for what it was: a terrible combination of upset, pain, and panic. Her unease only increased as she recalled his jumpiness and the haunting terror in his eyes when he had come out of the bathroom thirty minutes later, or the way he flinched at every sudden movement of hers.
No. It couldn't be, could it? No! Trudy shook her head against the dreadful thoughts invading her mind as she scolded herself to be rational about this. After all, she didn't have all the facts yet, so no need to jump to conclusions. However, her bowels remained a Gordian knot as she turned to face Hank. "I assume Jay was the one who found him?" she inquired, trying to keep her voice steady but failing miserably. When Olinsky stepped up into the empty space to her right, she already sensed the answer before the dark-haired detective verified it for her. Platt's gaze flitted back and forth between him and Voight, eventually resting on the Intelligence leader. He unhinged his mandible and worked his jaw, eyes darkening. She knew that look, knew it well enough to know it always augured ill. Which meant…
"You don't think…" she trailed off to take a steadying breath, though if anything it only made her more anxious. "Are you saying," her voice was thick with emotion, and she barely got the words out, "that our Jay was the victim of sexual abuse?" The silence from both male officers was deafening. However, the meaningful silent communication between them said it all. So, her assumption was right, yet she didn't want to believe it. Not Jay. Not her Detective Chuckles. Oh God, that poor young man. Hadn't he been through enough in his life? Why him? Why of all people had this happened to someone who was so selfless, so kind, so overall good as him?
Trudy shook her head, but the denial was waning fast when the bitter truth pushed itself to the forefront. Her heart crumbled into a million pieces – or maybe the crunching sound was the crackers that fell victim to her clenching fist right now. The thermos threatened to slip from her other hand, but Voight grabbed it in time before it could clatter to the floor, and when her legs started to wobble underneath her weight, Alvin had already dragged a chair over for her to sit on. She plopped onto it unceremoniously, breathing hard. "How sure are you about this?" she asked, not yet ready to give up on that tiny glimmer of hope that maybe they were wrong about this.
Alas, Hank's cloudy expression crushed most, O's words the last of her remaining hopefulness. "Jay didn't outright confirm it to us, not verbally anyway, but judging by his severe reaction," Al shook his head in grave sadness, blowing out air through his nose, "there's no doubt." He met her eyes, and Trudy could see just how affected, how deeply afraid he was for the former ranger. Directing her gaze towards Voight, she could see the same compassion there, and she had to admit that seeing the two seasoned investigators so rattled unsettled her even more. Apparently, she didn't even know half of it yet. "Kid must have blocked the worst of it out of his memory. He seemed genuinely shocked and terrified when we confronted him."
If possible, Platt's heart shattered even more but she found herself unable to say anything, too stunned was she by Olinsky's disclosure. She tightened her grip on the crackers; at this point they must have been completely refined inside the plastic wrap. She couldn't care less, but when the packaging opened at the seam and cracker dust trickled out, Voight gently pried it from her hands and discarded the remnant in the closest bin. Absentmindedly brushing off her dress pants, her eyes fell on Flynn's portrait on the board once more, thankful that Voight and O were considerate enough to give her some time to process the news they had just dumped on her.
Whirring sounds of the gate downstairs which announced the arrival of the rest of the team, pulled them out their thoughts at last. Mere seconds later, Ruzek's rowdy and Atwater's calm voices drifted up the stairs, though no footsteps, no movement could be heard so far. A good thing, since it gave Hank another minute or so to put forward his request to his fellow sergeant. "Listen, Trudy," he addressed the female, helping her to her feet and guiding her towards his office. "It appears that Halstead didn't have anyone to confide in back then, seems he was alone." Platt's steps stuttered ever so slightly. "I want you to do some digging. See if you can figure out why he didn't have any support from his family. Anything that'll find us a way to help him get through this." She looked at him questioningly, opened her mouth to ask for any directive where to start, but Voight beat her to it. "Unfortunately, we don't have a lot to go on, other than his report on Flynn."
Burgess' upbeat chatter joined that of the male officers downstairs. A second later the gate closed, and multiple sets of footsteps could be heard. The Intelligence leader glanced at Al behind him but didn't have to say anything. Olinsky's imperceptible nod let him know that he'd understood the request. He intercepted the young members at the top of the stairs, placing his index finger against his lips to shush their unremitting babble. Whilst they seemed confused by the unusual welcome, they quieted down immediately and each moseyed to their respective desks, gazes focused on the conversation taking place at the head of the bullpen. However, neither Voight nor Platt paid them any attention. "Where is he now?" Trudy's queried in a muffled voice.
"In my office. He's sleeping," Hank elaborated, equally as hushed since he didn't want the youngsters to know what, or rather whom, they were talking about. They didn't need to know about Jay, and more importantly, Jay didn't need for them to know. "I want you to stay with him. Kid shouldn't be alone when he wakes up." 'He's been alone for way too long already' remained unspoken but was left hanging between them. Trudy nodded with strong determination; nothing would stop her from taking care of her Chuckles, after all. Her hand was already on the door handle when Voight held her back at the shoulder, only to thrust the forgotten thermos back at her. The gesture was enough to mend not all but some of the broken pieces of her shattered heart for it was a testament that the Intelligence leader cared so much more about Halstead than he usually let on. Albeit strained, a rare small smile pulled at her lips.
"The file is on my desk," Voight hinted, then opened the door for Trudy to slip through. As he closed it behind her, he braced himself with a long sigh. He'd rather be in there with his detective right now, but at least he knew that with Platt the kid was in capable hands. With another deep breath he turned around to face the puzzled and curious expressions of the newly arrived members of his unit. His gaze met Al's, who nodded reassuringly, encouragingly. All they could do for now was tackle the case, after all, he'd promised Jay as much. Time to face the music. "Alright. What did you find out?"
Stay safe! Stay strong!