Kim Burgess lay sound asleep in her respective bedrooms. The dim glow of the streetlamp outside casts a soft light through the curtains, illuminating the room just enough to reveal their peaceful expressions. Kim's hair spills across the pillow, her arm is flung over her eyes.

Suddenly, a loud knock echoes through the apartment. Hank Voight, her foster dad, stands outside her doors, his gruff voice cutting through the silence. "Burgess!"

Kim groans, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow. Jay mumbles something unintelligible, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. She knows better than to ignore Voight's summons.

"Five more minutes," Kim mutters, her voice muffled.

Voight's response is immediate. "You've got two. And don't make me come in there."

Kim sat up, rubbing her eyes. "What's the emergency?"

"Emergency?" Voight scoffs. "Just another day in the life of Chicago PD. Now get your ass out of bed. We've got work to do."

Kim exchanged a tired glance before reluctantly dragging herself upright.

Kim shuffles into the bustling bullpen, their exhaustion palpable.

Kim's coffee cup clinks against her desk as she slumps into her chair, while Jay practically falls into his, narrowly avoiding knocking over a stack of paperwork.

Upton, ever observant, raises an eyebrow. "Late night, Guys?"

"Understatement of the century," Kim mutters, rubbing her temples. "I swear, the city never sleeps, but I do."

Ruzek leans over from the neighboring desk. "You look like you've been through a tornado."

"More like a hurricane," Atwater chimes in. "Or maybe a full-blown apocalypse."

Voight grunts. "Enough chatter. We've got cases to solve. Burgess, Halstead, get your heads in the game."

The crime scene buzzes with activity as the Intelligence Unit converges. Voight, his eyes steely, barks out orders like a general on the battlefield.

"Burgess, canvas the area. Talk to witnesses. Halstead, check for surveillance footage. Atwater, run the plates on that abandoned car. Ruzek, secure the perimeter."

Kim and Jay exchange a glance. They've been through this routine countless times, but it never gets easier.

Late at night, the familiar glow of Molly's Bar spills onto the sidewalk.

The Intelligence Unit, weary from a long day of chasing down criminals, gathers inside. Kim Burgess and Jay Halstead find themselves sitting side by side at the bar, their shoulders brushing against each other. The dim lighting casts a warm hue over their faces, and their laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses.

Voight, nursing his own drink, leans against the counter. His gruff voice cuts through the chatter. "Burgess, Halstead, you two look cozy."

Kim rolls her eyes. "Voight, we're just friends."

Jay nods in agreement. "Yeah, partners. Nothing more."

The rest of the unit exchanges knowing glances. Ruzek smirks. "Sure, just partners who practically finish each other's sentences."

Atwater leans in. "And who always seem to know where the other one is, even off-duty."

Trudy, wiping down a glass, adds, "And who've been spotted sharing a plate of fries at Lou Malnati's."

Kim and Jay scoff in unison. "We're not—"

"—together," they finish each other's sentence, earning an eye roll from Voight.

He takes a sip of his whiskey. "You're both mine, whether you like it or not."