So, I don't mean this is in a "pity-me" way, but I've been having a really bad day today, and then I read all your awesome reviews! I just want to say thanks to all of you, by getting this chapter out today, when I planned on taking my time. Thank you all so much and I hope you enjoy!

Sorry, there's not a heck of a lot of explaining Erin's condition...I just suck with anything medical..I really did try my best for you guys though.

Chapter 3: Take Me Down to the Fighting End

(Castle of Glass -Linkin Park)

Voight banged his head against his seat, his hand gripping the wheel tightly. He was waiting in a dark alley for a contact to show up.

"The surgeon...whoever took Halstead...they took his daughter," Atwater had said. "Said if he didn't kill Lindsay, they'd kill his daughter. He left a note apologizing to us."

Voight took a deep breath and tried to convince himself it was going to be okay, but deep down he knew, nothing would ever be the same. The worst part, was it was almost definitely on him. He had a detective down and one missing, because of him.

He was going to make it right. No matter what.

"He made an incision on one of her arteries. It was so small, no one else in the operating room noticed it. They stitched her back up, as she slowly bled out internally."

He was waiting for a man named Nico Pavelski. He was a local gang-banger, a major "go-to" guy when it came to illegal deals. He considered himself an "illegal middle-man," and a true professional, but he'd slipped up a few years back. Voight could've arrested the guy, but he decided to turn him loose as a C.I. Pavelski agreed, since he would've gone away for a very long time.

"They didn't realize anything was wrong until a several minutes later, when her vitals had begun to drop dangerously low. They rushed her back to surgery as fast as they could, but they were short a surgeon. The one who operated on Lindsay, Richard Blanc, was caught on surveillance, leaving the hospital just after the original surgery."

Finally Voight saw him. Pavelski, strolled into the alley, whistling as he counted some money from some illegal transaction. The leader of intelligence got out of his car and stomped towards the "illegal middle-man."

"V-Voight," the C.I. stuttered. "H-Hey man. What's u-up?"

Voight walked right up to Pavelski and slammed him against the wall of a run-down building, causing him to drop the cash everywhere. "I don't have time for your games today! You damn well know 'what's up'!" He shouted.

Pavelski squeaked, "I-I-I may have heard a thing or two...I-I didn't think anyone would actually be crazy enough to go after H-Hank Voight!"

"They didn't!"

The criminal looked confused, but soon, realization fell over his face. "Who?" He whispered.

"Two of my detectives," Voight admitted in a slightly calmer (but no less threatening) tone. "One was shot. One was taken."

Pavelski looked up, as if trying to remember something. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I heardabout a deal going down. Something about...paying off a guy to take a surgeon's daughter. Said they wanted insurance of the death of a cop. If the cop made it to the hospital, they were to have the girl's daddy botch the surgery. Yours?"

"Yeah," Voight said, dangerously quiet.

"Is he- or she- o...okay?"

Voight's glare intensified. "She's alive. You, however, won't be if you don't tell me everything you know!"

"I-I don't know that much!"

Voight slammed Pavelski against the wall, pressing his forearm against the CI's throat. "Listen to me very closely. As we speak, I have one detective at death's door, fighting against all odds to hang onto her life and another who is probably being tortured. You. Will. Tell. Everything. Or I swear, I will drop you in the lake with a 'Chicago Necklace.' Is that clear?"

"Voight!" Platt called as the leader of the intelligence unit stormed through the precinct.

With slight reluctance, he made his way over the desk. "What?" He growled, impatiently.

"How is she?"

Voight sighed. "It's damage. They don't know if she'll make it, but they say there's hope. They said, she might wake up within the day, provided she..." he trailed off.

Platt nodded. "And Halstead?"

He shook his head.

"Take this," she insisted, handing him an envelope with the words Hank Voight written on it. "I may not be your biggest fan, but one of your own is missing. Get him home." Voight nodded, taking the envelope and rushing up the stairs to talk to Olinsky and Ruzek.

"Al!" He called upon reaching the top. "What do we got?"

"Well," Ruzek began, rising from his seat and heading towards the whiteboard. "We gathered a list of all the people who have a grudge this serious with you...Well, as may as were on record. First, we cut out anyone who wouldn't have the guts or means to do this. In order to shorten the list further, we've been focussing on down to ones who might have a reason to go after Halstead and Lindsay specifically. Especially Halstead because he was taken, and that's more personal than a single shot. This," he slammed a large stack of papers on the desk nearest Voight. "Is the most narrowed down list, but we kept the original list on file, just in case."

Nadia came into the room with a couple sheets of paper. "I was able to get a hold of the information on the 9-1-1 call. The caller outside the Halstead's building. Sounded like a middle-aged woman and I wouldn't be surprised if she was a junkie. She sounded pretty messed up in the call."

"Good job Nadia," Olinsky complimented. "Stay here with Ruzek. See if you can narrow down the list any further-"

"This Goliath of a list?!" Ruzek complained loudly. "We're not going to be able to narrow it down to a small, easy-to-use list! Let me get out in the field and help! Halstead needs my help!"

Nadia, lightly, grabbed Ruzek's arm. When he turned to her, she just shook her head. Ruzek sighed.

"Nevermind," he sighed. "Go find him."

Olinksy shook his head at his partner, while Voight approached the younger detective. "We're going to find him, but only if you remember the chain of command and do as told."

Ruzek looked straight at his boss. "Yes sir."

"Now," Olinsky resumed. "Voight and I are going to check out a lead he found. Nadia, send a copy of the call to Dawson. Get him to go back the Halstead's place and sweep the area for anyone who recognizes the voice. Okay?"

The two nodded.

As the two older detectives left to go find the caller, Ruzek turned to the girl beside him. "What was that all about? Grabbing my arm?" He asked. Although he was frustrated, his tone hid it well.

"I know how you feel," she confessed a bit awkwardly. "Erin helped me out more than I ever thought possible. Now, she needs me and I feel useless. They will find Halstead, but they need our help. Here. Not out in the field."

The detective sighed. "Fine. I still don't like it."

"You don't have to," she said with a shrug, gaining some confidence.

"So...Any ideas on how to narrow down the list?" He wondered, as he picked up the stack of names and plopped down in his desk, placing the list on his desk.

"The simple way?" She suggested.

"I hate the simple way," Ruzek groaned. "One by one, it is. This is gonna take forever. Here," he said, pulling up a chair up beside him. "Let's get this party started."

"Michelle Donovan," Voight announced, as he and his old partner sat in his car, outside a bar. "She's sort of like a manager for hit men-types. Pavelski said he heard she was the one who ended up organizing the kidnapping of the surgeon's daughter. She's supposed to work here."

"That's all the little weasel gave you?"

"Trust me Al, if he knew more, he would've told me."

Olinsky smirked. "I'm sure."

"Are you ready?"

Olinsky nodded and the two got out of the car. They burst open the door of Royce's Bar and entered. Every head in the room turned to the two, clearly out of place, detectives. After all, most of the people in the bar were junkies or in early twenties.

"Michelle Donovan," Voight announced. "She's all I want."

"Michelle's out right now," Confessed the man at the bar.

The leader of intelligence walked up the bar and had a seat. He took out his gun and placed in on the counter, facing the bartender.

"Funny," Voight said. "I don't believe you. Al, check the place out."

Slowly, Olinsky made his way through the bar, telling customers to run out. Each did, when he flashed his badge. Meanwhile, Voight had a staring contest with the larger than average bartender.

Eventually, once all the customer's were out of the bar, Olinsky returned to his friend's side, his hand resting on his own firearm.

"You know," Voight said sternly. "I will blow your brains out if I have to."

The bartender laughed nervously. "You're a cop."

"Yeah. Sergeant Hank Voight."

The bartender froze, his face filled with shock. "Oh," was the only sound he made. Then he quickly turned and darted off into the back. Voight made a motion with his head, and Olinsky nodded and left the bar.

"Yeah," the bartender said, after returning a good five minutes. "She must've left."

"You sure?" Voight asked.

The bartender raise an eyebrow in confusion. He turned, following Voight's gaze, which was focussed on the entrance to the back. Olinsky was standing there, with a gun held to the head of a woman dressed in black short-shorts and a tan tank top. She had long, wild, balck hair.

"And this is..." Olinsky asked.

The bartender stumbled over himself, surely trying to come up with a good lie.

"Must be his girlfriend," Hank said, clearly not believing him. "I'm sure you would never lie to us. Would you?"

"Uh..."

"Damn it!" Michelle Donovan shrieked. "What do you bastards want with me?!"

"Answers," Voight promised. "Tell us what we want to know and you live...and you," he turned to the bartender. "You're probably already dead."

The large bartender squirmed uncomfortably. "I don't know nothing! I was just tryin' to protect my boss. It's my job. Surely, you can understand that. Right?!"

"Of course," he said, picking up his gun from the table. He pointed it straight at Michelle Donovan. "Al, take him down to the station."

"On what charges?!" The bartender cried out.

"I don't think he cares," Olinsky said with a soft shrug. "You," he said, turning to the woman. "Stay put." Then he led the bartender out of the bar, giving Voight a look that explicitly told him to be careful.

"Have a seat," Voight instructed, motioning with his gun.

Donovan didn't move a muscle.

"That's was a polite request. If I have to ask again, it won't be."

After a pause, she sat down next to Voight. Neither of them faced each other, instead they faced the other side of the bar.

"Tell me about Richard Blanc."

"Go to hell, she muttered."

Suddenly, Voight stood up and slammed her head into the counter. He then pushed her backwards so hard, he knocked her chair over, causing her to fall on the floor. The back of her head slammed into the floor with a loud thud.

Slowly, (while Donovan writhed on the floor, holding her, now bleeding, head) Voight rose to his feet and knelt down beside her. He pressed his firearm against her temple. She stopped writhing and stared him in the eye. She was terrified.

"I think we had a miscommunication," he whispered. "Richard Blanc?"

"Look, I just arranged the deal. Some guy, dropped off 50 grand and note at the bar, saying we'd get another 50 grand if we insured the death of a cop. It was a lot of cash man," she explained, practically crying from the pain in her head. "So I got one the guys I manage to hook up the kidnapping of their main surgeon's daughter. Told him, to make sure the next cop who came into the emergency room died. I needed the money to pay off some loans! It was just business!"

"Now, where is the girl? The surgeon's daughter?"

"I don't know," she cried softly. "I gave the job to one of my best guys. Man called Ripper. As long as I get my share, I don't care about the details. I don't even know his real name."

"Where can I find him?"

"He hangs out at a club down on 61st street! It's called Full Grey. That's where I find him."

"And the note? The cash?"

"I don't know who gave it to me! I came home and it was in my mailbox!"

"Have you gotten the 2nd half yet? The other 50 grand?"

Donovan shook her head. "Not yet no. The note said it would arrive around tomorrow evening if I got the job done." She paused. "But he won't drop it off. He said he'd watch this place. Now that he knows you're onto me, he won't give me the money. You might be able to get that surgeon's stupid girl, but your cop friend won't be avenged!"

Voight didn't say anything. Instead, he slammed the butt of his gun into her head and walked away.

Olinsky put the bartender in the backseat and then hopped into the passenger seat. They sat in silence for a while.

"What's your name?" He asked after the silence.

"Mitch," he replied. "Mitch Donovan."

"So she's your...sister?"

"Cousin."

"Ah. I see. You must've known about her business then. Let me guess, you're a part of it."

"I don't know nothing."

"Tell you what. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Help me out and I'll let you go."

Mitch paused, weighing his options, but before he could speak, Voight jumped into the driver's seat.

"Is she...?" The bartender wondered before trailing off.

"She's probably got a concussion," Voight confessed.

Mitch fidgeted in his seat.

"You want to run to your cousin?" Olinsky asked. "Help us and we'll let you."

"What do you know about a man called Ripper? He's a...employee of the business you've got going on in there."

"I know Ripper. At least, I've seen him around a few times. I honestly don't know much about Michelle's work, especially her employee's. I just run the bar, you know, to make it all look legit."

"She said he frequents a place on 61st. A club called Full Grey."

"I really don't know if that's true or not."

"What do you know Mitch?" Olinsky asked with a groan.

"The 50 grand. The anonymous cash that Michelle got for some job. I saw the guy. I was stopping by her house the other night when he dropped it off. Thought it was suspicious, so I snapped a picture. It's hard to see his face though. He wore a dark hoodie with his hood up. It's on my phone. It's...uh...it's in my back pocket."

Olinsky looked at Voight who nodded. Olinsky got out of the car and let Mitch out. He took the cuffs off the bartender who abruptly handed him his phone and rushed back to the bar.

"Keep it!" he yelled as he rushed off. "I can buy a new one with the 50 grand anyways!"

When Olinsky got back in the car Voight was twirling an envelope in his hands.

"What's that?" Olinsky asked.

"You know," Voight replied, ignoring the question. "When Dawson brought that kid into intelligence I thought for sure he'd do something dumb enough to let me fire him within the week."

"Halstead?"

"He didn't though. As much as a hate to admit it, he's a good partner for Lindsay and a damn good cop. I've done a lot of things in my time as a cop, but..." Voight let out a heavy breath.

"What's in the envelope?"

"Platt gave it to me. She left a note explaining how she found it in her mailbox. No idea how it got there. They knew she'd give it to me. This is all about me. Not Lindsay. Not Halstead."

"What are you talking about?" Olinsky snapped, snatching the envelope from Voight. It was already torn open. He froze when he pulled out what was inside.

"I always thought my actions would come back to haunt me, but just me. Not anyone on my team."

Olinsky stared at Voight in sheer horror.

The content of the envelope was a photo. It featured Jay Halstead, hanging by his hands from the ceiling (held up by thick chain). He had his head hanging (surely unconscious), but it was still clear that he had a large gash on his forehead and a brightening bruise on his left cheek. His bare feet, were just millimetres of the ground. His shirt was removed, revealing burn marks and cuts. Blood ran all across his torso.

On the photo was a message written in bright red marker.

This is on you.

I hope you all enjoyed. I even added a sneak peek of the Jay whump as requested. I plan on having Erin wake up next chapter, or maybe the one after that. Either way, she is certainty not out of the woods yet. Also, next chapter, I'll feature Dawson searching for the 9-1-1 caller and maybe Voight and Olinsky looking for the surgeon and his daughter. I'll probably have something with Atwater tonight's brilliant episode has gotten me even more into his character! I know this chapter may not be my best work, I just really wanted to get this out to all of you!

Next Chapter:

Chapter 4: I Think I'm Moving, But I Go Nowhere