I try to update this story every Sunday. However I can't promise that I will be able to since I am starting a new job next month.

And keep in mind that I am not going to update this story next week.

Next week I am going to post another story about Hank and Kim. It's going to be about father's day and telling the Unit about Baby Voight.

Chapter 3

Another stressful day had come to an end. Another day without Al. Again.

Hank Voight was sitting at his desk, the top drawer, which was usually tightly closed, was wide open. It contained photographs. Memories of his own - memories he had wanted to lock up. At least for a while.

"Oh Al," he sighed as he looked at one of the photos. A photo of Al and him.

All the things in the precinct reminded Hank Voight of his friend. The desk where Al had always sat. The knit cap Al had always worn. In a way, it was as if everything here was waiting for him to come back. I mean, that he was about to come up the stairs at any moment. Oh, but Al would never come back up the stairs. No more wearing his knit cap. No more being here. With his team.

Voight clenched his hands into fists. He felt that anger rising inside him again. Anger at himself. Now, he had to do something about it. He knew there was one thing that would alleviate some of his anger at himself. What he had to do was find the person who was responsible for Al's death. At any cost. Al's death would not go unpunished. As for him, he would not rest until he found that person, he promised himself.

His team had no idea about his promise - they were packing up their things. It was time to call it a day. Adam didn't want to leave just yet, though. There was something else he wanted to do. For Al.

"Let's have a drink, you know, to Al. A toast to Al," Adam Ruzek said, pulling a bottle of Scotch from his desk. The death of Al had hit him particularly hard. Namely, Adam had looked up to Al. The man had been a mentor to him. Um, a bit like a father. But now he was gone. Forever. It was still very hard for Adam and everyone else to grasp that fact. To understand it. Al's death.

One by one, the others joined Adam at the desk and he poured the scotch into their mugs.

"So, Al . . . . Well, he was a . . . Al, we're raising," Adam searched for the right words. He wanted to say a few words. A few words about Al.

"Wait, please," Kim said, setting her mug on the table.

Well, someone was missing from their round. I mean, someone who should have joined them in a toast to Al. Hank Voight. A-and she wanted him to be there. For him to be there when they raised their glasses to Al. With determined steps, she walked to Voight's office. The door was only ajar. Without knocking, she entered his office.

"Sarge," she said, and waited until she had his attention before continuing, " We want to raise our glass to Al."

"Mmm."

"Are you coming, too?"

Voight hesitated with his answer. Well, he didn't know if it was such a good idea. He'd seen the looks his team was giving him. Especially Adam Ruzek. They blamed him for Al's death. Just like Meredith did. And like he did himself.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said then.

Kim waited for him to continue. That he would explain to her why he didn't think it was a good idea. But he kept silent. This silence was not the only thing Kim noticed about him. In the last few days he had become more and more withdrawn from his team.

" I think that you should join us. You may have some words you want to say. For Al," Kim tried again to change his mind.

He shook his head, "I don't think I'll find the right words to say that you all want to hear."

And then he reached for the file on his desk and turned his attention back to it. For him, the conversation was over. An he hoped that Kim would leave. I mean, that she'd leave him alone. Because Voight feared that he might give in to her. I mean, that he'd say yes if she asked him again.

But Kim didn't ask again. Well, maybe it was just for the best.

Without another word, Kim went back to the others. But her thoughts stayed with Hank Voight. Oh, she knew it couldn't leave him indifferent as he pretended to be. Al's death had hit him very hard.

The night after Al's funeral, she had noticed it clearly. Kim had seen the pain in his gaze. Such pain that hadn't gone away. And a pain that was still in his gaze today. Apparently, she was the only one on the team who noticed it. No one noticed Voight's pain. Except herself.

The thought of it stuck with Kim. Of him retreating. Away from all of them. From her, too. One thing she didn't like at all.

Hank Voight was still engrossed in one of the files on his desk hours later, when all the others had already gone home, when suddenly someone put two mugs and a bottle of scotch on his desk. Surprised, he raised his eyes and glared at Kim.

"Let's drink to Al. Together," she told him and poured some Scotch into the mugs.

"Bur. . . Kim, I don't think-"

"But I do," she interrupted him and she raised her mug, "To Al."

After a moment's hesitation, he reached for the mug.

"To Al."

Kim looked at him and waited. She waited for him to talk to her. That he would tell her what was on his mind. He had already made a start a few days ago when he had let her into his home. By trusting her enough to allow her to see his pain.

And Kim had seen something else in his gaze. Very briefly. Something she couldn't really interpret. Wanted to interpret. Not now, anyway.

" Some nights, Al and I have gone to a diner. That place has the best cheese fries with gravy in all of Chicago. So at least that's what Al used to say. ' You know, and he loved the chocolate cake they served there, too," Voight began to tell the story. A sad smile crept onto his lips at the memory of those nights together with Al in the diner. Nights that would no longer occur.

" He took me there once, too."

Surprised, Voight looked at her. Kim sat down in the chair on the other side of Voight's desk and looked at him. So she would share this story, this memory of Al with him. Well, maybe it would do him some good. Who knows, maybe it would remind him that they were all grieving for Al. So that he could share his pain with them. Was supposed to share. As they should share this memory.

" I remember after my first week in Intelligence, he said to me in the evening to come along," she began to tell her story, "I thought we were going to meet some informant of his or something. So then he pulled up outside a diner with his car. The next thing I knew, he turned to me and asked, Burgess do you like chocolate cake?"

" `That sounds like him,'" Hank said and a soft smiled played on his lips.

Kim reached for the bottle and poured him and herself some more. She wanted to talk to him. To distract him. And maybe listen to some stories about Al. Stories about the friendship the two men had shared. Just all of this in the hope that the fond memories would ease some of Hank's pain. That she might be able to ease his pain. Somehow.