Happy new year all! I hope your holiday has been good...if not I hope this makes it better. I worked really really hard to get this out today (as in I started it yesterday, worked on it all day and night and finished it this morning.)

Prompt: Single Minded: Jay rarely makes a mistake on job but unfortunately, he did, once which he barely survived. After getting back to work (after his medical leave) he noticed a cold shoulder from his boss and misread it as a punishment for his mistake when actually it's not.

"Is it gonna be a conflict for you?"

Alvin's P.O.V.

"It wasn't his fault Hank."

"I'm aware. You've told me ten times."

"Then why are you punishing him?"

"This isn't punishing. He can't be on the front lines all the time." I shoot him an exasperated look.

"So you stick him to sit in the front of the store while everyone else goes in to investigate the crime scene? Come on Hank. That's not putting him in the back that's excluding him from the case."

"It'll teach him to pay attention." Hanks voice is more of a snarl, betraying his anger at Jay. I just sigh and turn back to stare out the windshield.

We were (still are) pursuing the murderer of two college girls, found dumped in the park a couple nights ago. Went through the motions, talked to our CIs, and eventually ran across a witness of sorts. The kid was scared as hell, but Ruzek managed to get him to talk. Never saw most of him, it was to dark but he described a tattoo that was unique to a certain Dante Amoro. Who happens to traffic drugs. Therefore we theorized that that those girls probably saw something they shouldn't have, and then refused to comply to whatever his demands were.

Or they were mules and decided to get out. We told their parents the first option.

Climax of the story is that we got an address, split up, and then lost him, because as Jay was clearing a bedroom, he came out of a closet and ran out of the house before any of us could get close to him.

At least that's what Jay told Vought. Or Voight interpreted that. Whatever was said, Adam told me about the bruises that were starting to form on Halstead's back when they were changing in the locker room. So our theory is that it's not so much the guy got past him, but more of that he pushed Jay out of the way. And probably into the dresser that was knocked over.

Why Jay didn't tell him that or why Voight didn't listen are both mysteries to me.

So now we are driving to a well known address associated with Mr. Amoro, and beforehand Voight was sure to put an emphasis on how we would enter.

Including Jay staying in the front of the store the entire time, as to act as a 'lookout'. You know. While the rest of us clear and inspect what we think will be an empty back room full of nice incriminating evidence.

How naive of me to think that would be the case.

The storefront is simple, glass panes making up most of it with the occasional steel beam. The inside is just as boring, a small room, a glass case serving as a counter on one side, shelves on the wall opposite this protected by the same fragile material. Antiques of all sorts line the flat surfaces of these, and more are hung on the back wall to face the customer right as you walk in.

It's quiet. The team keeps the silence, moving towards the door on the far left, half hidden by a string of those hanging beads. Atwater kicks it in, Erin and Dawson pushing through before the door has even hit the floor. Everyone else follows quickly, the last being Adam and I. I shoot a glance at Jay, who looks like he's caught between following us and staying.

"We got it kid." He nods, stepping back but readjusting his grip on his long gun. I turn anyway, trying to ignore the pang of pity in my chest. I know the kid well enough to know it's not the lack of action that has him agitated, it's the fact that he can't protect us if he's not with us.

"Nice of you to join us." I shrug off Voights comment.

"Had to tie my shoe." I throw back. We share a hard look before he concedes, both of us turning towards the spacious room before us.

"Well. I guess this bout settles it." Dawson murmurs, everyone looking around. Somebody found a light switch, and bags upon bags of cocaine are illuminated. There are kilos stacked against the wall on a steel table next to a bag full of cash. Another two tables are in the middle have a few open packages, with a pile of the powder to be cut in the middle. A couple of scales have baggies on them, abandoned in the middle of weighing.

"Guess we just missed the-."

"Hey guys!" Erin interrupts Dawson, her gun suddenly raised once more, pointing at a corner of the room. Ruzek and Atwater rush over, the former resituating his gun above Erin's head while Kevin uses the muzzle to tap open a door painted the same off white as all the walls, skillfully hidden in the left wall of the room.

The door creaks open to reveal a hallway, walls of concrete blocks, construction lights hung from steel rafters.

The tension in the room sky rockets. Erin whips her head back to look at Voight.

"If this leads to the front-."

She's cut off by the shots. It's alright. Nobody would have to guess to know who she was worried about.

Jay!

"Move!" Voights yell has us sprinting around the corner to find a long hallway that leads directly to the front room. A nice little secret passageway that allows us a clear view of Halstead getting tossed into the glass case that served as the checkout counter.

There's a scream. I can't tell if it's Jays or the guy attacking him as they've disappeared from view.

Too long of a hallway.

A shot. Then another. Atwater bursts through the end of the hallway just as the perps make their exit. Turns out Amoro had a friend, who escapes with a bullet in the shoulder, courtesy of Kevin. Ruzek and Dawson go through one of the broken windows in pursuit.

There's a broken "No." that's choked out behind me and suddenly I'm on my knees next to Erin, pressing the heel of a palm against his shoulder- the same one that took a bullet to get him into the unit.

Erin is elbow deep in blood, her hands knocked out of the way by Hank, who quickly makes a better effort at stemming the gushing stream of blood coming from his arm. A piece of glass must've cut straight through and hit the artery.

"Jay. Jay look at me. Look at me baby come on." Erin's fingers smear blood on his pale skin, her voice shaking. I manage to look over only for a moment, catching the fear in Jay's half open eyes as he struggles to breath before jerking my gaze away.

"Rin." The word is merely a breath, but Erin grabs at it, holding him closer, trying desperately to keep him in this world.

There's too much. There's too much blood. It's been less than a minute, and Jay is shaking, trembling with cold from blood loss and shock. It hits me then, that we are losing him.

"M s'rry." It's slurred. Another quick look confirms Jays loss of consciousness soon after. Erin is begging now, yelling at him for doing this, screaming for him to stay.

Something sharp and painful seems to stab through my chest. Less blood is seeping out from underneath my hands and his skin is whiter than a sheet, lips and fingernails tingling blue.

I am not losing this kid. He's worked to hard and seen too much and gotten shit on for even attempting to make his life better and yet he made it this far. He fought his way onto the team, fought to make us better, fought to make himself better. We've been through too much, to let go now.

"Hank he's not gonna make it if we don't do something right now."

"I know, I-"

"Atwater let's go!" Ruzek yell snaps both our heads up, my eyes using my ears to locate my partner outside, doing something in the running SUV at the curb.

The body under me jolts, and all three of us are knocked away as Kevin lifts up Halstead, who remains as limp as a rag doll. Erin is scrambling to her feet, knocking Hank out of the way as she runs to the car.

I'm the last out of the store, Hank having shoved Erin into the passenger seat. A good idea, seeing as she's shaking to much to do anything else.

"Al, get in the back! Erin, call med, they need to know what's going on, I want them ready. Dawson you drive, Ruzek you're with me, call it in to dispatch-" Voights commanding tone is cut off as Antonio slams the trunk.

Ruzek must've folded the seats down to create a platform for the three of us in the back. Atwater is still holding Jay, like the kid is just that- to young and to innocent to die. My hands fumble as I tighten my belt around his upper arm and even though he could loose the arm I pull it as tight as I can because we are officially at the last resort.

The pain pulls Halstead back to consciousness, eyes fluttering open to slits. One of Atwaters hands are pressing against a bullet wound in Jay's side. His breathing has diminished to small gasps, his body not finding enough blood to run all it's essential systems.

It's his eyes though. It's his eyes that get me.

They're far away, like he's seeing some place else, like he's left to go someplace better than here.

And I can't have it.

I can't lose this kid, I can't. So I do the only thing I can do, the only thing I can think to do when his tired eyes flick to me. I grab his limp hand, the one that's colder than the other because blood hasn't flown to it in such a long time. And I talk. Low and soothing, yet as strong and commanding as I can. Because maybe if he listens, then he'll survive.

"That's it kid, eyes on me, just keep focusing on me. We...we're getting you to the hospital alright? We're getting you to Will. He's gonna help you okay, but you have to hold on Jay, you have to fight for us. You hear me? Fight for us. Because we're fighting for you."

If Kevin has anything to say, he keeps it to himself, and the litany of words continues even after Jay's eyes lose their light, even after his eyelids drift shut.

Don't leave. Don't leave kid, not yet.

"Erin get the trunk!" The car comes to a halt in front of the ED, doors opening and slamming shut in rapid succession. I'm out of the trunk before the door is fully open, helping the team of medical professionals drag Jay onto a waiting gurney.

"Sir we have him. We need you step back. Both of you." Atwater is with me, running next to the gurney. An oxygen mask is bypassed for what I've heard them call a 'bag' (basically pushes aid into your lungs without intubation) and even that is discarded as they push a tube down his throat in the trauma bay, where words fly as doctor Choi and Rhodes scramble to save a life.

"We need to get him into surgery-"

"Blood pressure is way to low-"

"Anybody know his blood type?"

"O neg." I call, one foot in the doorway of the chaotic room. Rhodes nods.

"Alright let's go!" The gurney just about runs Kevin over as they exit, a cloud of nurses and doctors with a life fluttering between them.

I look at Atwater, whose own dark skin is painted with Jays blood.

"We should go wash this off."

"Yeah." Despite our words neither of us move, still staring at the ER doors he disappeared behind.

"He doesn't deserve to die like that." It's spoken softly, the sentence that pierces my heart. I turn my head to look at Atwater, who has always held more respect for Halstead than any aspects of a friendship, but he just turns and walks away, looking like he was already mourning Jay's death.

Jays P.O.V.

The bullpen was dark, save for the light being thrown off by the lamp in Voights office and the running lights.

My fingers skim the top of my desk, dancing across the worn surface to come up slightly dusty. Well,

I'll just get in early tomorrow. Do a bit of cleaning. Hopefully, Voight won't take notice and tell me to clean out everything from my desk as well.

I came back to light duty two weeks ago, after a month and a half of recovery and physical therapy. My poor shoulder took its third bullet, and this one wasn't kind to it. My therapist has had a hard time getting me to slow down. I've been through this enough that I know how fast I should be progressing, and trust me when I say, it's worrisome how slow I'm going. He's convinced I'm going faster than normal, but it's not fast enough.

It's never been said, but I understand the implications. If I do anything else to that joint, I'm done as a cop. Period. I'm extremely lucky this didn't put me out.

But then maybe it did.

I came back to relieved smiles and warm hugs and a pre frozen cold shoulder from my boss. I'm not even in the field for another three weeks and all Voight has done is push me away. All the cases, all the things I could and should be doing to help are constantly denied. Hell when I first came back he didn't even let me stay longer than a few hours, dragging me into his office and telling me to get the hell out of the precinct.

Mind you that was after our argument was over (I was a little apprehensive and Voight telling me to do nothing but take phone calls was rather annoying. But every single thing I asked for was blatantly denied on some sly reasoning that implied I was either a) incompetent or b) shouldn't ask because I shouldn't be here in the first place.

I wanted catch up on cases? Nope. Not ready for that.

I wanted to track down a phone number? If I thought I could handle it.

I wanted to call a judge to get a warrant? Absolutely not. What did he say about working on cases?!

It's a problem. Not just because I was suddenly unwanted in a big way. I'm forced to work three and four hour days. Which means my paycheck is quite smaller, and Lindsay and I have a mortgage to pay.

Plus, I'm tired of him running over me, and Erin's madder than i am, so she sent me to talk to him before she "rips him a new one."

Hence why I'm here at ten at night. It was a quiet day, one of those slow ones where everyone does paper work. I know Voight likes to stay late on days like these, because everyone goes home early and it's better staying alone in a precinct rather than a house, because you're never really alone with the cops moving below you.

"Jay." I duck my head to hide the flinch at his voice. The sudden action brings on a bout of dizziness, not helped at all by the sudden turn thing I do in order to face him.

Voight figure swims for a bit, a lingering effect of losing over two thirds the amount of blood in your body. The first weeks were the worst. I was always cold, shaking with chills no matter how warm the room. I could barely stand by myself half the time, and even now I can't stand up too fast after a long day.

I Scared the shit out of Erin one night right after being released from the hospital. Decided I wanted to clean the table and woke up being wheeled back into the ED with an oxygen mask on my face and a very terrified but also pissed off Erin Lindsay who was busy yelling at Will because she wanted to know exactly why her boyfriend passed out not two hours after leaving the hospital.

Good times.

Voight grabs a fist full of my jacket, steadying and rough at the same time.

"Easy there kid. What are you doing here?" I swallow hard, trying to ignore the embarrassment that flushed my face.

"I, uh, well I thought, uh, that you had a problem. With me." I stammer.

'Oh yes Jay, that's very intelligent. Good, good way to start a conversation.' I scream at myself as Voight eyebrow raises.

"Really."

"Yeah. I...look, I'm sorry." Voight smirks, nods and goes to walk away-

And I'm fucking tired of it.

"So you're not gonna tell me then? Because I'm getting real tired of you walking around like I'm some sort of low life piece of shit who doesn't deserve my badge." I snarl, watching as he tenses, and turn back towards me. He faces the floor, rubbing a hand against his forehead.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"That's what it feels like you're doing. I know you think losing Amoro that first time was a mistake and I understand that but there wasn't much I could do about the second time. And...and the third girl…" My rant tapers off, voice losing the commanding tone at the end.

"Jay…"

"You don't have to blame me for her!"

"I don't!" He finally looks at me, face portraying the exact opposite of the sneering contempt I expected. "But you do!"

"What?!"

"Nobody blames you for the Ally Carlons death, Jay. No one but you." He pauses, searching for words.

"Jay, I wasn't trying to...you deserve your badge. What happened wasn't your fault. It was mine. And no, I'm not talking about the girl." He raises a hand to ward of my protest.

"It wasn't anybody's fault. But what happened to you, that was on me. I put you in that room, with no back up, solely because you made one singular mistake, which was barely even a mistake, because, as I learned from all while you were in surgery, he just about threw you through a wall on his way by!"

Oh. Well this conversation isn't going how I imagined it.

He must see the shocked look on my face because he smiles - more of a smirk, but still.

"I said I was proud to have you in this unit, and I meant it. Nobody could have known about that door. Them getting away wasn't anyone fault. You getting hurt, however, that was my fault. You almost dying, was my fault."

My mouth makes some funny motion as I try to talk. He doesn't seem to register my confusion, only interpreting my utter lack of response as condemnation, ducking his head to keep talking.

"I understand I haven't been fair to you. All this time with you back...I keep thinking about the time in the hospital...when we thought you weren't going to make it and then again after when you were sick...I kept thinking about how my decision was going to ruin the one thing that made Erin happy. And then I thought about it some more and...I was scared for you."

I think I manage to blink. And breath once or twice.

"Voight-"

"I care about what happens to you kid. Not just because of what you are to Erin, but I care about you as a person and as a detective in my unit. So yes, that influenced how I've acted towards you, because I don't want to see you get hurt again."

"Thanks." I manage to croak before regaining my wit. "But...sarge...this is what I love to do. You can't keep me from that." He nods.

"I know. I know. It's just that...after seeing you, more blood outside your body than in it...I didn't think you were ready to be back."

"I'm not back. I still have three weeks of light duty to trudge through."

"I say all that and that's your response?" He says with a chuckle, the room becoming much more relaxed at his tone.

"How am I supposed to respond?! I expected a lot more yelling and some swears to be in this conversation." I deadpan, allowing Voight to close the distance between us and lay a hand on my good shoulder.

"Ironically, so did I."

"Voight." My voice lowers itself, trying for the seriousness we had earlier. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. You're family kid. That's what matters."

"No."

Well I hope you liked! I worked really hard to get some Halstead/Voight dynamic in there for you guys. If it's too cheesy, go drink some wine.

Review me! And as usual, throw in some prompts that you want done, I'll get them done...eventually...

I swear!