A/N: Massive apologies. Both parents suffered hospitalization and COVID-19, but have finally pulled through. Hope my readers are doing well! Missing you and been dreaming about Hank this whole time but just couldn't find time to pen to paper so to speak.
Married several weeks …
They had an agreement that they would not show any form of physical affection while on the job in front of other coppers.
That meant no touching, no kissing, no holding hands. They generally tried to tone it down even when they were among their small circle of friends in public because they simply didn't want to draw attention to the relationship.
The people who needed to know they were married knew and the people who didn't didn't. Cali knew she was Hank's and he was hers. They wore wedding bands marking them as such, but they preferred to leave the intimacy behind the privacy of closed doors.
Cali's safety came first in Hank's mind, and the less they advertised their love, the less chances she'd become a target. But that didn't stop Hank from wanting to get up close and personal with any man who got too close to her—on or off the job.
His eyes narrowed as he watched Sergeant Michael Collins from the 72nd flirt with Cali. Hank knew his wife could handle herself, but the alpha within roared in anger the moment Collins touched her.
Do you have a death wish? Cali thought the moment Collins laid a hand on her shoulder. She knew the instant Hank was behind her; she could feel the anger radiating off him.
Collins continued flirting with her, barely acknowledging his district colleague—that was until Hank inserted himself between her and Collins.
"Is there a reason you're hitting on my wife?" Hank asked in a disturbingly calm low voice, arching an eyebrow, his jaw twitching, as he stared Collins down.
Cali subtly laid a hand at the base of his spine as if to say, Calm down. Don't kill him. I'm OK. She appreciated Hank's protective animal side; however, an altercation and another assault on his record would accomplish nothing but add more disparaging remarks on his already checkered past.
Collins visibly paled and slightly trembled as he realized his colossal overstep. How was he to know that the sergeant from the 21st had remarried? Moreover, how was it that Voight could have snagged the pretty young thing standing here?
But Collins had zero desire to tangle with the infamous Hank Voight, especially since he had heard rumors that Voight buried people who messed with his family.
He couldn't find his voice, so Collins shook his head as he silently took a step back. Cali actually felt sorry for the man, who looked like he was going to pee his pants. Hank merely continued to menacingly glare at him until he turned and joined his squad across the street.
There was something about that leather jacket.
Cali ultimately would end up with it and Hank would be searching for it, only to discover his wife had it in her truck, or on the back of her chair at work, or even on her person.
She had plenty of her own coats—for pete's sake, they lived in Chicago—so he couldn't for the life of him figure out why she kept stealing his leather jacket.
He could recover it and wear it, but before he could say boo, it would be in her possession yet again.
And while they weren't hiding their relationship at the precinct, they weren't exactly advertising they were married. So for her to be wearing something that was so blatantly his while she was on the beat …
Hank finally cornered Cali on it in the locker room after her shift ended.
She gave him a bright smile when he walked in and leaned against the lockers as she packed her belongings.
Shutting her locker, she paused to look at him, her smile flatlining at his expression.
"Something on your mind, boss?" Cali asked, aware other coppers could be about.
Hank couldn't give a damn if someone else was in the vicinity. He invaded her personal space and fingered the collar of his leather jacket that she was still wearing.
"Is there a reason you're wearing this and not me?" he asked in such a low timber, she nearly shivered.
Cali tried to read the man in front of her. Was he angry about it? Was he happy about it? What did he want her to do about it? Should she take it off and give it back?
Wide-eyed and staring up at him, Hank could almost see Cali's mind whirling as she tried to decipher what was happening.
Was he reprimanding her for it or was he relishing her in it?
"I still haven't heard a reason," he admonished her.
"I … it's yours … I mean, it's like having you with me wherever I go," she faltered, knowing he must think she was acting like such a teenage fangirl right now.
Hank laid all her fears to rest as he tugged on the collar, urging her to him.
"I'm not mad, Cali," he softly said. "In fact, I like seeing you in it. I just want to wear my own jacket from time to time."
Cali playfully batted her eyes at him.
"How 'bout you take it off me tonight when you get home?" she flirted. Hank stifled a groan at the thought of her stretched out on the bed wearing nothing but his jacket. He shut his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath.
"You're gonna be the death of me," he muttered, knowing he still had a stack of paperwork on his desk that had to be filed before he could go home. She knew it too.
Cali smirked at him and patted his cheek before stealthily slipping around him.