The hospital room felt stifling, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic. Erin sat on the edge of her bed, her legs dangling over the side. She'd been waiting for this moment—her ticket out of this sterile prison—for what felt like an eternity.

Nurse Doris Thompson bustled into the room, her white uniform crisp and efficient. She carried a clipboard, her pen poised for battle. Erin had nicknamed her "Nurse Iron Fist" because of her no-nonsense demeanor. But today, Erin was ready to stand her ground.

"Erin," Nurse Thompson said, her voice as stern as ever, "you're being discharged today."

Erin raised an eyebrow. "Finally," she muttered. "I thought you'd forgotten about me."

Nurse Thompson ignored the sarcasm. "Now, listen carefully," she began, ticking off points on her clipboard. "You'll need to continue your medications—"

Erin interrupted. "I know, I know. Antibiotics, painkillers, and that weird green potion that tastes like swamp water."

Nurse Thompson's lips twitched. "It's called a probiotic, Erin. And it's essential for your gut health."

Erin crossed her arms. "I've been swallowing those pills like a champ. Can't I just take them at home?"

"No," Nurse Thompson said firmly. "You need supervision. And speaking of home, you'll have a nurse visiting regularly."

Erin scowled. "I'm not an invalid. I can take care of myself."

Nurse Thompson leaned in, her eyes narrowing. "Erin, you fractured three ribs, punctured a lung, and had a concussion. You're not exactly doing cartwheels."

Erin winced at the reminder. The accident had been a blur—a collision of metal and pain. But she'd survived, damn it. And now, she wanted her freedom.

"I'll be fine," Erin insisted. "I have a cat at home. He'll keep an eye on me."

Nurse Thompson raised an eyebrow. "Your cat?"

"Yes," Erin said, her voice defiant. "His name is Whiskers. He's an excellent judge of character."

Nurse Thompson sighed. "Erin, this isn't negotiable. You need rest, proper nutrition, and—"

"—and fresh air," Erin finished. "I've been breathing recycled hospital air for weeks. I need to feel the wind on my face."

Nurse Thompson's expression softened. "Erin, I understand. But your recovery is delicate. Going home prematurely could set you back."

Erin leaned forward, her eyes locking onto Nurse Thompson's. "Look, Doris," she said, using the nurse's first name for the first time, "I appreciate everything you've done. But I need to be home. I need to see the sky, even if it's through my bedroom window."

Nurse Thompson hesitated, then sighed. "Fine," she said. "But promise me you'll take it easy. No wild parties or bungee jumping."

Erin grinned. "Deal. And don't worry—I'll make Whiskers my official nurse."

As Erin sat on the edge of her hospital bed, contemplating her impending discharge, the door creaked open. In walked Hank Voight, a man with a no-nonsense demeanor that rivaled even Nurse Doris Thompson's. His graying hair and stern expression made it clear he was not one to mince words.

Hank Voight leaned against the doorframe, his gruff expression softening as he looked at Erin. "You ready to get out of here, kid?"

Erin blinked, surprised by his sudden appearance. "Hank," she replied, "I didn't expect to see you here."

He pulled up a chair, sitting down with the ease of someone who'd seen it all. "You think I'd let you escape without a proper chat?" His eyes bore into hers. "You've been through hell, kid."

Erin shifted uncomfortably. She'd known Hank for years—ever since he'd taken her under his wing as a rookie detective. He'd been her mentor, her tough-love guide through the chaos of the Chicago Police Department. But this felt different. Personal.

"I'll be fine," Erin said, echoing her earlier defiance. "I've got Whiskers waiting at home."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Whiskers?"

"Yeah," Erin said, her voice softening. "My cat. He's been my silent partner in this whole mess."

Hank leaned back, studying her. "You're tougher than you look," he said. "But don't mistake stubbornness for strength."

Erin smirked. "I won't. But I need to breathe real air, Hank. Not this sanitized stuff."

He nodded. "I get it. But remember, recovery isn't a sprint. It's a marathon."

She met his gaze. "You sound like Nurse Iron Fist."

Hank chuckled. "Doris? Yeah, she's a force to be reckoned with." He leaned in. "But she's right. You need rest, Erin. And you need people who care about you."

Erin hesitated. "You care?"

He grunted. "I've seen you dodge bullets, face down criminals, and defy orders. You're like a daughter to me, Erin. And daughters need looking after."

She blinked back tears. "Thanks, Hank."

He stood, patting her shoulder. "Now go home, kid. But take it easy. And tell Whiskers I said hello."

Erin hesitated. "Hank, how's Jay doing?"

His expression softened. "Jay's tough. But he's worried about you."

She frowned. "Worried? Why?"

Hank leaned in, lowering his voice. "He was up half the night with stomach cramps. Said he couldn't sleep."

Erin's heart clenched. Jay Halstead, her partner and confidant, had been by her side since the accident. She'd seen the worry in his eyes, the way he'd paced the hospital corridors.

"He's stubborn too," Erin said. "Won't admit when he's hurting."

Hank chuckled. "Like I said, Voight stubbornness runs deep."

Erin laughed softly and packed her bag.

Later. Erin stepped into her cozy apartment, the familiar scent of home enveloping her. Hank Voight and the rest of the Intelligence Unit had insisted on escorting her, their camaraderie unwavering even outside the precinct. Whiskers, her faithful cat, weaved around their legs, as if welcoming them to his domain.

Hank settled into her worn-out armchair, surveying the space with a critical eye. "Not bad, kid," he grunted. "Could use some dusting, though."

Erin rolled her eyes. "I've been in a hospital bed, Hank. Cut me some slack."

Across the room, Kevin Atwater and Kim Burgess perched on the couch, their banter filling the air. They'd brought takeout—greasy burgers and fries—because nothing said "welcome home" like cholesterol overload.

Adam Ruzek leaned against the kitchen counter, his eyes on Erin. "So," he said, "when's Jay coming home?"

Erin's heart skipped a beat. Jay Halstead, her partner, her confidant—the man who'd held her hand through the darkest nights. He'd been her lifeline during her hospital stay, and she missed him more than words could express.

She glanced at Hank, who raised an eyebrow. "Jay's still at the hospital," she replied. "Tummy cramps. Stubborn as ever."

Ruzek grinned. "He's got Voight's stubborn gene."

Erin chuckled. "Yeah. But he'll be here soon. Whiskers is waiting."

Hank cleared his throat. "Listen, kid," he said, "you've got a second chance. Don't waste it."

Erin nodded. "I won't, Hank. And thanks—for everything."

As the unit settled in, laughter and stories filling the space, Erin knew she was home. And when Jay finally walked through that door, she'd be ready—with Whiskers by her side and Hank's gruff wisdom echoing in her heart.

Recovery might be a marathon, but she had a damn good team running alongside her.

Erin sank into the plush couch, her legs tucked under her. Kim Burgess and Hailey Upton flanked her, their laughter filling the room. They'd dubbed it "girls' night in," even though the presence of Adam Ruzek, Kevin Atwater, and Antonio Dawson disrupted the gender balance.

Burgess leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "Okay, spill it, Erin. What's the secret to your flawless skin?"

Erin chuckled. "Good genes, Kim. Plus, I've been moisturizing since I was twelve."

Upton nodded. "And that herbal tea you swear by?"

Erin winked. "It's my elixir. Chamomile, lavender, and unicorn tears."

Burgess raised an eyebrow. "Unicorn tears?"

Erin leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. "Secret ingredient. Works wonders."

Meanwhile, the guys had commandeered the kitchen. Hank Voight sat at the head of the table, nursing a beer. His gaze swept over his team, a mix of pride and gruff affection. Ruzek and Dawson clinked bottles, their banter louder than the TV in the background.

Atwater leaned back, surveying the scene. "Voight," he said, "what's the secret to your interrogation skills?"

Voight grunted. "Patience, kid. And a dash of intimidation."

Ruzek chimed in. "And that stare. You know, the one that makes perps confess their sins."

Dawson smirked. "He's got a whole arsenal of glares."

Voight's lips twitched. "Trade secrets, my friends."

Back on the couch, Erin sipped her herbal tea. "So, Kim," she said, "what's the verdict on my unicorn tears?"

Burgess grinned. "I'll take a bottle, Erin. Anything for flawless skin."

Upton nudged Erin. "And maybe we can share some with the guys. They could use a glow-up."

Erin laughed, feeling the warmth of camaraderie. The room buzzed with life—girly secrets and cop banter blending seamlessly. As the night wore on, Erin realized that home wasn't just a place; it was the people who filled it. And whether they were discussing skincare or solving crimes, this mismatched family was hers.

Just then, the door creaked open. Erin turned, expecting another teammate. But her heart skipped a beat when she saw Dr. Will Halstead standing there, a half-asleep Jay Halstead leaning against him. Their eyes met, and Erin's breath caught. She'd missed Jay's presence during his hospital stay, worried about him like family.

"Erin," Will said softly, "we're home."

And there, in the doorway, was Jay—bruised, tired, but unmistakably Jay. Erin's voice cracked as she called out, "Jay!" She rushed over, wrapping her arms around him. "Welcome back."

Jay mumbled something incoherent, his eyes fluttering. Will chuckled. "He's been through a lot. But he insisted on coming home."

As Jay settled on the couch, surrounded by laughter and warmth, the entire unit gathered around him. Kim Burgess, Hailey Upton, Adam Ruzek, Kevin Atwater, and Vanessa Dawson—all of them, like a protective shield. They were more than colleagues; they were family.

Hank Voight stepped forward, his gruff exterior softening. He placed a hand on Jay's shoulder, his voice low and steady. "Jay," he said, "you've been through hell. But you're back now, and we've got your back."

Jay blinked, exhaustion etching lines on his face. "Thanks, Hank."

Voight's gaze bore into Jay's. "You're not just a detective, kid. You're part of this unit. And that means something."

Jay nodded, understanding the weight of those words. The mismatched family—the banter, the secrets, the shared danger—they were bound by more than duty. They were bound by loyalty, by the unspoken promise to watch each other's backs.

Voight's voice softened further. "Rest up, Halstead. We'll handle things here. And when you're ready, we'll be waiting."

Jay closed his eyes, leaning into the couch. Erin watched, her heart swelling. Home wasn't just a place; it was the people who filled it. And in that moment, as Voight stood there, speaking to Jay in that fatherly tone, Erin knew they'd protect their own.

As

Jay stumbled into the kitchen, the dim light casting shadows on the linoleum floor. His head throbbed, a relentless ache that matched the turmoil inside him. The nightmares had followed him even here, into the heart of his sanctuary—the firehouse.

Ruzek was at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee. He glanced up as Jay entered, concern etching his features. "Halstead," he said, "you okay?"

Jay's patience was frayed, and he snapped, "What do you think, Ruzek? I've barely slept in days."

Ruzek's eyebrows shot up. "Easy, man. We're all—"

But Jay didn't wait for the rest. He pushed past Ruzek, the bile rising in his throat. He stumbled up the stairs, each step a battle. The bedroom door loomed ahead, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time.

He knelt before the toilet, heaving, the taste of acid burning his mouth. His body trembled, and he wondered how much more he could take. The darkness clung to him, suffocating, and he wished he could scrub it away.

Voices echoed from downstairs—Ruzek's concerned tones, Burgess's soothing words. They'd come after him, of course. They were his family, after all. But Jay couldn't face them now. Not when the memories clawed at him, tearing open old wounds.

Erin's footsteps approached, and she knelt beside him, holding back his hair. "Jay," she whispered, "you're safe here."

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that this unit—the mismatched family—could chase away the demons. But as he retched into the toilet, he wondered if he'd ever find peace.

Voight's voice cut through the haze. "Erin, give him space. We'll handle things downstairs."

Jay's vision blurred, and he clung to Erin's hand. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

She squeezed his fingers. "You don't have to be."

Erin's touch was gentle, her fingers brushing against Jay's forehead as she eased him back onto the bed. The room felt too small, the walls closing in on him. Tears blurred his vision, and he couldn't shake the memories—the darkness that clung to him like a relentless shadow.

Voight stood at the doorway, his gruff exterior softened. "Halstead," he said, "you've faced worse. You'll get through this."

Burgess hovered nearby, her voice soothing. "We're here for you, Jay. Always."

But Jay closed in on himself, curling into a protective ball. His hand rested on his tummy, the pain there a constant reminder. He'd survived gunfights, explosions, and betrayal, but this—this internal battle—felt insurmountable.

Erin knelt beside him, her eyes filled with empathy. "Jay," she whispered, "you're not alone. We'll fight those demons together."

She gently laid Jay's head on her lap, offering comfort and solace in the midst of his struggle.