Hey there. Against my better judgement I started another story and – also against my better judgement – I decided to post the first chapter already even though I only just started writing this story.

Don't worry, this doesn't mean I won't continue my other stories. I really just needed to get this out of my system.

This is an episode-related story following season 1 episode 11 "Turn the Light Off". There are significant mentions of season 1 episode 10 "At Least It's Justice" aka the episode where Jay was accused of murdering Lonnie Rodiger and therefore suspended, as well as all other episodes of the whole Rodiger ark.

Lots of Jay whump and angst, as to be expected with pretty much all my stories.

Here we go. Enjoy!


Jay reversed into the parking space parallel to the curb and turned off the engine. He closed his eyes and leaned forward in his seat, resting his forehead against the knuckles of his left fist, hoping the pressure would quell the heavy pounding in his skull. But it was to no avail. Just like the two Advil he'd dry-swallowed before leaving the district half an hour ago, it provided no pain relief whatsoever, the pulsing throb a ruthless reminder that if he had been smart, he would have gone to the ER, or at the very least would have allowed the paramedics on scene to check him over. While he didn't need anyone to tell him that he had a concussion – he'd had plenty of those to know what one felt like – but it wasn't just the headache bothering him. Much rather it was his cheekbone thumping in sync with his noggin.

He hadn't been smart though; his pride and dourness had gotten in the way. Again. Which was why he found himself parked outside the Corson's two-story townhouse, sitting in his car, stalling to go in, wondering why he hadn't just politely declined their invitation to join them for their little celebration family reunion dinner. After all, he hadn't felt like celebrating before he'd gotten his ass kicked by a drugged-out-of-his-mind drug lord earlier that evening and he certainly didn't feel like celebrating now. Sure, he loved the Corson's, but still… why had he agreed to this?

"Because you can't say no to my parents, that's why," Allie had retorted cheekily when he'd asked the same question out loud that morning. She wasn't entirely wrong. He did feel guilty. For many reasons too. Not for enlisting, which had been a deciding factor as to why he and Allie had parted ways all those years ago. Not for breaking up with her either because their life aspirations were just not compatible and would have ended with them both endlessly miserable. No, he felt guilty about everything that had happened with Ben and that he hadn't been able to prevent it. He should have made more of an effort to get Lonnie Rodiger behind bars right after that pedophile monster had assaulted and murdered him. Hell, he should have locked him away the second they had caught that scum jerking off behind a school.

The guilt still weighed heavily on his mind, the images of Ben's body still haunting his dreams. He may still have been a wet-behind-the-ears rookie beat cop back then, but he had been the one to find the boy. Moreover, he had known him, was almost like an older brother to the kid. Therefore, he should have protected him. At the very least, it had been his duty to solve that crime and see that justice was served. He hadn't though. He had failed Ben; it was something he carried with him ever since. Thus, he'd forever be deeply indebted to the family. Joining them for dinner, a dinner dedicated to the eight-year-old now that his perpetrator had finally been brought to justice, was the very least he could do for the Corsons.

Halstead let his eyes wander to the picturesque brownstone, the white stairs leading up to the aged wooden door with the old-fashioned ornamented glass windows and the washed-out golden 1961 on black marble above it. He'd ascended these stairs and walked through this door hundreds of times, had probably spent more time here since his teenager years than in the shabby run-down bungalow home he'd grown up in. He'd most definitely spent more time here since he'd left the Army, at least after his mom had lost her fight with cancer.

At this point, the Corson residence felt more like home to him than his own childhood home ever had. The house was full of love, laughter, and harmony, nothing at all like the cold, cantankerous, downright vitriolic atmosphere that occupied the bungalow these days. Tragedy and grief over losing a loved one had forced a wedge between the three Halstead men, anger, resentment, and animosity had torn them apart to a point where they barely spoke to one another outside of the mandated calls on their respective birthdays, for Thanksgiving and for Christmas. It was different here, though. There had been no room for hostility of bitterness here, not even after Ben's murder. Sadness, sure, mourning and tears o' plenty. But the warmth? The endless support and solidarity? Those had never disappeared. If anything, they had only gotten stronger.

Jay had always admired their strong familial bond, ached for the same unity with his brother and his father. While he might not ever have that with them, he at least got a taste of what it could have been like here, with them. He didn't feel deserving of it, not after everything he'd put them through, but Allie's parents had always welcomed him with open arms, and he'd be eternally grateful that they extended their love to him, allowed him to seek solace with them when he had nowhere else to go. It infused him with a sense of peace and security, a sense of belonging that he didn't have anywhere else. A fact that had been driven home all too painfully a week ago when Intelligence had hung him out to dry.

The mere thought sent a sharp pain through his chest that had nothing to do with his bruised if not cracked ribs. He may only have been part of the unit for a few months, but in that short time, Voight had preached over and over that they were a family. They would always have each other's backs and come around for one another when one of them needed help. And for the most part they did. Since he'd joined, he remembered at least a handful of incidents were one or the other member was in trouble, and they'd done so without hesitation. Not for him, though. Stripped of his badge out of the blue and accused of a murder he hadn't committed, none of them had stopped to questioned it or offered earnest help to clear his name.

No one but Al. An Army veteran just like himself, who took the rules drilled into him and the oath they had once taken seriously. Nemo resideo. Leave no one behind. If only the rest of the team would live by the same principles.

Halstead heaved a sigh. A sight that abruptly ended with a hiss and a wince when the deep inhale aggravated his abused ribs. Right, he'd forgotten about those. With practiced shallow gasps he breathed through the pain until it abated to a dull ache, only the uncomfortable twinge in his back where it had been thrown mercilessly against kitchen appliances earlier remained. He hoped it was just a pinched nerve and not a herniated disc. Maybe he shouldn't have refused being checked out by the medics after all. Maybe he should go to the ER after all, just to be sure. However, another glance at the row house infused him with a warmth that he rarely felt these days. He needed to be around people he cared about, needed to be around what were probably the only people who cared about him as well. His back could wait.

Plugging the key from the ignition, he climbed out of the vehicle painstakingly slow and limped his way across the street, up the stairs, knocking once. The door opened less than a minute later, and before he knew it, Mrs. Corson had already engulfed him in one of her trademark firm yet gentle embraces. It was just what he needed: the silent strength that always surrounded her, therefore he didn't move away, despite the hug jarring his maltreated body. Nevertheless, he couldn't suppress a pained groan as she accidentally brushed against a particularly tender spot on his left side. Gail instantly eased up and took a step back. As she noticed his discolored and swollen face for the first time, she couldn't help but gasp. "Oh dear, Jay. What happened?"

Jay shook his head. "Ah… it's nothing. Just another day on the job," he tried to assure the redheaded woman. She merely stared back at him with her eyebrows raised in disbelief. "I'm fine, Gail. It's just bruises, really. Nothing to worry about." He forced a lopsided smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and looked more like a grimace the way it pulled at his split lip and the swollen skin of his right jaw, belying his words. If possible, Gail's eyebrows rose even higher, and he knew right then that he hadn't been very convincing.

"Don't give me that malarkey, Jay," she admonished him, glancing at him reproachfully, lips pressed into a tight, grim line. "Knowing you and your tendency to downplay things, I'm sure it's more than just a couple bruises you're hiding." The detective lowered his head, resisting the urge to bite down on his split lip. Upon seeing his glum expression, Gail's features softened momentarily, but as soon as her gaze fell on the boot-shaped red mark taking up most of the left side of his face, her eyes went wide with horror. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, did someone stomp on you?" she burst out incredulously. She reached her fingers towards his chin and tilted her head to get a closer look, but Jay shied away from her, shaking his head imperceptibly.

"Yes," the former ranger admitted sullenly, "but it's fine, nothing is broken. It looks worse than it is. I'm fine," he placated her reassuringly. Mrs. Corson seemed skeptical, her arched brow instantly flaring Halstead's guilt, so he tried to divert the conversation by reminding her why he was here. "Or I will be once I ate some of that unbelievably delicious spaghetti and meatballs of yours. I'm starving." He grinned at her boyishly, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, praying she wouldn't see through his avoidance tactic. As much as he hated lying to her, he knew if he told her how miserable he really felt, she wouldn't hesitate to drag him straight to the ER. And while he knew her concern to be genuine, he really didn't need to be there right now. Not yet anyway. Right now, he needed to be surrounded by familiar faces, in the company of kind people, not the sterile white walls and obnoxiously loud buzz of an emergency room. Having that was well worth the persistent muscle cramp that had had his entire back in a vice grip.

Gail's gaze lingered on him a little bit longer than necessary, green eyes assessing him carefully, but eventually she shook her head and gave in with a defeated sigh. "Alright, I surrender," Jay curled his lips victoriously, only to morph into a sheepish grimace at the postpositive "for now." The redhead took a step inside, only to turn around once more, looking straight into his questioning Maui blues. "All those bruises aside, it's really good to see you, Jay. I'm glad you're here," she told him. He nodded once, a tiny smile gracing his lips that reached his eyes for once and warmed her heart. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she bowed her head towards the house and ushered him to the door. "C'mon, let's get inside. Food's getting cold."


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