Merry Christmas everyone!

May Santa be nice to you and bring harmony and joy and may he take all suffering and gloom away. May he bring a gift or too as well. And if he doesn't, well here's a little gift to all the lovers of Jay angst and whump out there.

I know I know, I shouldn't be starting yet another new story, but I couldn't help myself. This was born out of a moment of vulnerability when I was being a little too harsh on myself for not making any progress with my other stories. I needed to proof to myself that I didn't lose my creative streak over working way too much. But I digress.

This story is AU and I honestly don't know which season this would even fit in. Probably one of the earlier ones. I'm not going to give away too many details yet. I'll save that for the A/N in the next chapter.

I honestly don't know how long this story is going to be, probably on the shorter end. But I've said that about 'Nemo Resideo' and 'Pandora's Box Discovered' too so who knows.

As always, huge thanks to Floopdeedoopdee, who encouraged the idea of writing this story. This is for you!

"Detective Halstead?"

Jay glanced up from his mountain of paperwork with a quizzical look. He studied the middle-aged man in front of his desk more closely, trying to figure out who wanted to know. With his face clean shaven, black hair slicked back and immaculately styled with copious amounts of gel and clad in a spick-and-span tailored suit over a pristinely white dress shirt, the guy looked like he was here on official business. Whatever his business was, his unsmiling hardened features preluded that it was serious, which was never a good sign.

The detective had seen the man enter breeze through the bullpen straight into Voight's office fifteen minutes earlier, when he himself had been in the breakroom getting his fifth refill on coffee for the day. He hadn't paid much attention to him, after all, it wasn't unusual for the upper brass to come in and chat with the Intelligence leader. Nevertheless, something about the guy had Jay's gut churning from the second he had walked up the stairs. He'd brushed it off, putting it down to lots of stress, lack of sleep, and too much caffeine. But as his gaze landed on the nametag pinned to the man's jacket, he knew he should have trusted his instincts: Commander Caldwell from the Bureau of Internal Affairs. Whatever the man was here for, it wasn't going to be good. It wasn't going to be good at all.

Shit.

Dread started building in the pit of his stomach, and when he met the guy's eyes, a sharp and intense light blue, piercing his soul like thousand icicles, a chill ran down his spine. Repressing a shiver and quenching his budding apprehension, the brunette nodded tersely, a reluctant invitation for him to deliver the bad news, even though he had a sneaking suspicion what those would entail long before the IA officer opened his mouth. "Detective Halstead, as of right now you are suspended without pay."

Jay closed his eyes and hung his head, the color draining from his already pale complexion. Part of him had expected there to be some sort of consequence after yesterday's incident, and while he had hoped it would merely be a written complaint or reprimand that would land in his file, he'd known there was a strong probability Sergeant Kramer wouldn't leave it at something so harmless. But hearing a possibility become reality was a different matter altogether. Bile and panic clambered up his throat and threatened to spill right here, right now as his mind started listing off all the repercussions that were ultimately tied to a suspension. Of all the consequences and concerns he came up with though, it was the aspect of financial worries and the domino effect those would set in motion that weighed on him the most, filling him with a paralyzing fear. He already didn't know how to make ends meet. How was he supposed to…?

"Please hand over your weapon, badge and any department property," Caldwell interrupted his racing thoughts. Jay tugged his lips between his teeth and swallowed the acidic liquid gathering in his mouth cavity, cramming the growing anxiety back down where it came from. He couldn't afford it to break down. Not now. Not in front of the ruthless commander, and certainly not in front of his unit. There would be plenty of time to fall apart later, but now just wasn't the right time nor was it the right place for that.

With trembling hands, the former ranger unfastened the holster on his right hip and the leather patch with the silver star clipped to the front of his belt, neatly placing both on the desk. Opening the top drawer, he retrieved his department-issued undercover phone and added it to the pile as well before looking into Caldwell's stony face. The man stared back at him expectantly, his mien unwavering, waiting for something Jay couldn't figure out until it was laid out for him. "Car keys too, Halstead," Voight reminded him from where he stood in the door of his office. The sergeant's voice was gravellier than usual, and there was something in the way he said the words that made him sound oddly apologetic, as if he somehow knew how screwed his detective would be without the truck.

Logically, Hank couldn't possibly know that because he'd never told him what was going on, and under normal circumstances the former ranger would have been freaked out by the possibility of his boss knowing. As it was, Jay was too exhausted, his brain too preoccupied spinning about what it meant not having a car to his name anymore, his airways constricting painfully when a new wave of anxiety swept over him and tied a rope around his chest. He had no time to dwell on it though, the commander already champing at the bit, huffing in annoyance and impatience. Pushing his emotions aside once more, Halstead patted the pockets of his jeans and pulled out the clunky rectangular object. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, measuring its significance, then dropped it on the desk, thoughts and heart racing a mile a minute.

Oblivious to his internal battle and unsettlement, Caldwell nodded his head in approval. "One of my officers will contact you with a date and time for the hearing, so make sure to keep your phone on and with you," he advised matter-of-factly. Jay didn't bother with a reply, just grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, hesitating when he caught Voight's unreadable gaze in the process. Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest and legs spread hip-width, the Intelligence leader exuded an air of calm and nonchalance. His face, however, betrayed his stance. Chin protruding, mouth a grim line and eyes dark and troubled, his expression lacked the usual confidence and reassurance the former ranger had hoped to find there. As unnerving as it was, it stung more that Hank wouldn't – or maybe couldn't – meet his eyes, though it was nothing compared to the dagger of fear and despair slicing at his soul.

Releasing an airless breath in a futile attempt to soothe his frayed and frazzled nerves, Halstead averted his gaze from his boss and glanced around the room but lowered his head as soon as he felt his coworkers' eyes on him. He couldn't take their perplexed, shocked, and disappointed faces right now, nor did he feel like answering the barrage of questions written all over their features. Eyes cast down to his threadbare shoes, he trudged past their desks towards the stairs, footsteps as heavy as his leaden heart. With each step it became harder and harder to breathe, the dread of what would await him once he left the building gripping his soul in a vice.

He made it as far as the tread of the stairs when Ruzek could no longer watch the mysterious scene playing out in front of him. "Hold on a sec," he intercepted, his voice challenging on the curb of indignation. Jay stopped in his tracks and heaved a tired sigh, wishing that the blonde officer would mind his own business for once. The man was still young; he didn't want him to jeopardize his promising career by getting in a strife with the upper brass, especially not over him. Briefly locking eyes with his colleague, he shook his head in a silent, pleading warning to just leave it alone.

But Adam ignored him and frowned in exasperation, refusing to let his friend, someone he looked up to, idolized even, be railroaded like this. "What the fuck is going on here?" he raved daringly, turning around on his heels to pierce Caldwell with a cold and angry glare. "Why the hell are you suspending him? What for? What did he do?" he fired off, his tone boisterous and demanding. Apparently, he wasn't at all bothered by the fact that he was blowing up at the commander of Internal Affairs.

Not really needing to hear any of the answers to the rapid-fire questions, Jay had half a mind to leave the bullpen and leave the Commander to deal with the Q&A session. After all, he already knew this was about Sergeant Kramer from Organized Crime and their little falling-out – if one could even call it that – the previous day. But at the same time, he wanted to know just what the other man had settled on accusing him off, knowing a lame insubordination claim wouldn't get IA involved. So, he stayed, watching as Caldwell arched an unimpressed eyebrow and pinned Ruzek with an icy stare. "Insubordination, endangerment of a civilian, and physical assault of a superior officer."

There was a stern warning attached to it, advising Adam to watch his tone and attitude unless he wanted to be written up from disrespectful behavior, but Halstead was no longer listening; his mind was stuck on the severity of the allegations made against him. Endangerment of a civilian? He huffed internally, knowing that one was absolute bullshit. He'd saved a life, not endangered it, something the sergeant hadn't been capable of. But it was the accusation of physically assaulting of an officer that he couldn't laugh about. It was a fire-able offense. He could lose his job over this. And knowing Kramer, someone who was not only a decorated and eminently respectable man on the force but also had lots of connections in high places both within the department and outside of it, his chances of coming out on top were slim to none.

In other words, he was fucked.

Suddenly, there was not enough air in the open space office for him anymore and it felt like he wasn't getting enough oxygen to satiate his lungs. The walls seemed to close in on him and it felt like he was suffocating. He needed to get out of here. Now.

Through the haze of his growing panic, he was only faintly aware that Adam launched into an incensed tongue-lashing, on his behalf or in his defense, he couldn't really tell. Had the circumstances been different and had he been a bit more with it, Jay would have tried to placate the man, telling him it wasn't worth it. But for once he was grateful for the brash officer's fierce loyalty and his proclivity to meddle in other people's affairs because it allowed him to slink away unnoticed. Taking two steps at a time, he almost tripped over his own feet in his desperation to make a hasty retreat, but thankfully made it into the foyer somehow without losing his footing. He ignored the feigned sarcastic comment Trudy hurled at him, not even deigning to look at her as he stormed past the front desk and to the large double doors, his only objective to leave the stifling, claustrophobic precinct.

By the time he finally made it out of the building, Jay was on the brink of hyperventilating, ready to tip over into a full-blown panic attack. He stumbled to the nearest park bench lined up off to the side of the main entrance and plopped himself down ungracefully. As soon as his butt touched the surface, his right leg started bouncing, releasing all the pent-up adrenaline-infused energy pumping through his veins. He propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his chin to his chest, resting his forehead in the cold palms of his shaking hands. For a minute, he stayed like that, then carded his fingers through the frayed wavy hair, vaguely recognizing how long the strands had gotten recently – a result of not having enough money to get it cut nor the means or time to style it properly. He couldn't bring himself to care; getting a haircut was the least of his worries these days.

Jay forced himself to take long, deep breaths. Inhales through the nose, exhales through the mouth, repeat. At last, he got his breathing under control and enough oxygen into his starved lungs. He sat up and leaned against the backrest of the bench, closing his eyes as the frigid March air hit his face, allowing the cool breeze to ground him. But the tranquility was short-lived, his moment of calm interrupted by the persistent vibrating of his phone. He clumsily fumbled for the device. As he read the all too familiar name off the screen, his heart leapt into his throat, lighting the match of panic anew. His breath hitched, and his hands started shaking so much that he had to tighten his hold on the cell as not to drop it.

Part of him wanted to let it go straight to voicemail, unsure whether he could take any more devastating news today – and the displayed number forebode just that: devastating news. But he knew ignoring it would only delay the inevitable and quite possibly would make things even worse than they already were. So, he let it buzz one more time as he gathered his courage, then accepted the call. "Carly…" he breathed into the phone, his voice impossibly frail and filled with fearful trepidation, breaking into a crackled susurration with the words that followed. "Did she…did she die?"

And I'll leave it right there, on a nice little cliffhanger.

Feel free to leave a comment. Any review would be much appreciated!

Happy Holidays and stay safe out there!