Hello everybody. The finale left a lot to be desired, so here is my contribution. This was supposed to be a one shot, but I got a little carried away. There will be 1-2 chapters following to tie it all up.

I own nothing

ps. I didn't forget my other fic. I'm fixing some kinks and should have a chapter up soon.

Jay's POV.

Erin didn't show up at Molly's, nor did she come up for air when the board dropped her case. Voight didn't seem in the least worried about it. I figured he knew of her whereabouts, but found it in her best interest not to share. I tried her phone, her apartment – nothing. The team didn't seem that concerned either. I guess everyone assumed she was taking time off to clear her head. But I knew Erin, and she was never one to clear her head.

The weekend came and went and Erin still didn't show her face back at the district. Voight never mentioned the (missing) elephant in the room, nor did anyone else. So I got desperate. There was a certain red box burning a hole in my pants' pocket. I was convinced the diamond solitaire ring didn't belong there; it belongs on Erin's ring finger. So, I knocked on Voight's door knowing full well I was digging my own grave by asking of Erin's whereabouts. I needed to at least know she was okay.

"Come in," Voight rasped. When I opened the door it was as if he knew exactly why I was there. He motioned for me to enter and said, "Close the door."

"Sarge—"

He put a hand up, cutting me off. "She got pulled for an undercover gig with the Feds."

His words drifted past my ears, not registering, not making any real sense. "W-What? W-When?" I stuttered. I felt panic come on so quickly it made me dizzy and my knees began to betray me. I remember reaching for the edge of the desk for support. "For how long?"

"I don't know the details," Voight said dismissively and turned his focus back to the papers in front of him.

"Bullshit," I snapped. The words flew out of my mouth before I could hold them back.

"Excuse me?"

I paced, angry at myself for not seeing it earlier. "All of this… the board dropping her case, Bunny getting pinched by the Feds, Erin leaving…. It has your name all of it," after a beat I concluded, "You sent her away."

"I did not send her away. I gave her an out," Voight told me and after a beat he added, "And she took it."

Voight's reply sliced through the fantasy I'd created about Erin and I and let the sharp light of reality blind me. Erin took an out – from her job, from her mother, and from me. I tried to keep my self-composure, but an internal storm was threatening to break out. I was disappointed with myself, but I projected my anger onto Voight.

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't split us up. Erin would have never entered that interrogation room strapped had I been there." I didn't wait for a response, if he had one. I opened the door and stormed out.

x

I didn't think I could sink any lower emotionally or in any other way. But I did. I was distraught and broken. My heart ached and the pain refused to go away. For weeks I went about my days in a complete daze, heading for the nearest bottle of Scotch any chance I got. I drank until I'd forgotten how much I had already drunk, and then I drank more. But the alcohol didn't drown my sorrows – it only made them more obvious. I stopped going to my peer support group and I used my anger to shut everyone out. Looking back, I just wanted to numb my heart, but nothing and no one could fill the Erin size hole there.

Eventually everything came crashing down one night after a long night of drinking that put me in the hospital. Even today I can't remember exactly happened. I have little recollection of those days. It's all fuzzy, all gray. I was brought in with deep lacerations to my forehead and neck and I had enough alcohol in my system to keep me smashed for days. There were complications and I was in the hospital for almost two weeks. Surprisingly, Voight turned a blind eye to my comportment, which I'm sure wasn't easy. He put me in furlough and it took me a minute, but I finally pulled my head out of my ass. I returned the ring to its rightful home – the safety deposit box, and got myself back to the support group. Slowly everything began righting itself again. But the proverbial hole in my heart, I learned, would always be there.

That was three months ago…

I still haven't heard from Erin, and every day I miss her like crazy. I guess I'm thankful for the job. It keeps me busy. For the past couple of weeks, we've been working on this human trafficking case day and night. I hate these cases, but the ball fell on our court when Kevin and Adam responded to a homicide of a young girl, Vania, which we later linked her to a sex trafficking ring. We've tried every angle, the team even went undercover a couple of times, but these girls are scared and won't give us the name of their pimp. Even Sargent Benson got pulled into this mess when some of the girls we pinched had been picked up in New York for solicitation.

Hank paces back and forth in front of the white board and says, "Where are we with the girls we have in custody?"

"They've given us nothing," Kevin says. "Burgess and I have been trying to work them, but they're scared."

"Where are we with the temporary visas?" Hank asks.

"Immigration services won't issue temporary visas until the petitioner reports the crime," Kim explains. "But even if these girls did, it could take months."

Hank massages his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. "Ruzek, that girl you picked up in Bridgeport—"

"Sheila?" He offers. "We kicked her."

"Bring her back in. She seemed unhappy enough to jump."

"Boss, she'll bolt as soon as she sees my face," Ruzek says.

Hank thinks for a moment, then points at me, "Halstead, you're up." This takes me by surprise. I've been sidelined since my hiatus, so I'm stunned that he wants me to do this. "Call their escort services and set up a date. Ask for Sheila. If she's not available, throw more money. Get this girl back here."

The date is set up and I'm mic'ed and waiting for Sheila at this scrappy hotel outside of town. I'm pacing and my eyes keep turning to the mini bar. I could really use a drink right about now. I don't know why I'm so nervous. This is nothing compared to the shit I've had to do. I guess it's just been a minute. Also, my back-up isn't here.

"Halstead," I hear Ruzek in my ear. "Are you alright, man? You're going to wear out that shag carpet pacing like that."

I stop and take a deep breath. "I'm fine," I tell him. "Just... Let me know when she's coming."

"Copy that."

My hands are clammy and cold; my mind is going a million miles an hour. I run a hand over my face and straighten the lapels on my jacket. It's okay, I tell myself. It's like riding a bike. Just stay calm. I lick my parched lips and scrape my teeth across it, as I go over the details of my cover.

Moments later I hear Ruzek say, "Show time," in my ear.

The knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I walk towards it and slowly pull it open.

"Are you Mr. Smith?" The young woman asks in her thick accent. She has that tired-to-death look, her shoulders sag from fatigue. I doubt that I'm her first costumer tonight.

"Uh, yes," I say. "Please, come in." I move out of the way so she can enter this sad excuse of a room. I close the door and follow her inside.

"You're very handsome," she says and leans against the wall looking into the bedroom. "Where're you from?"

"New York," I say, trying but failing to sound remotely casual.

"Can I see an ID?" She asks, extending her palm towards me. When I frown she explains, "Cops have been sniffing around."

"Okay," I say and pull out my fake ID. She takes it from my hand, inspects it, and playfully hands it back.

"Ryan Smith," she intones the first name and slides past me to take a seat on the bed. She crosses her legs and her dress rides up higher than it should.

"Now what?" I ask.

"Whatever you want," she says. "If you like it straight it's an extra $200."

She reaches for my belt, but I jerk away. This spooks her. Her eyes widen. I think on my feet and I take her hands gently in my and whisper, "I don't want it straight."

She relaxes a bit and says, "What do you want?"

After a beat I offer, "I want to help you." She looks momentarily stricken by my words. I need to be honest with her and she needs to hear it. "I'm a detective in the Intelligence u—"

She bolts from the bed and makes a beeline straight for the door.

"Wait! Wait…" I call out and grab her arm. "I'm not here to arrest you."

She tries to jerk away, but I tighten my hold.

"What do you want from me?"

"Your help," I tell her. She stills and I slowly loosen my grip on her arm when I'm certain she's not going to run out. "I want to put away the men who put you up to this."

"I told the other cop that I don't know anything."

"Sheila—"

"No—"

"We can keep you safe," I say.

"No," she repeats, shaking her head. Tears are streaming down her cheeks. She swipes at her face smearing her black mascara. "They are going to kill me."

"Like they killed Vania?" At the mention of her friend's name she stills. "Come with me and my unit can keep you safe."

I see her resolve weaken and the ground rushes to meet her knees. Tears roll down her cheeks and sobs choke her words. I bend down to her level. "We'll do everything we can to keep you safe." After a beat I add, "Will you help me?"

She stares up at me through tired, glistening eyes that have seen too much, and nods.

x

Sheila's story is heartbreaking. I don't know what Erin is doing right now, but I'm glad she's not here to hear this. This is the type of case that would've messed with her head. She tells us she answered an ad for a nanny back in Ukraine. She was then smuggled in through Mexico and brought to New York, where they broke her. She tried to leave, but they threatened to kill her family. She kept her head down, but she aged out of the target market in New York, so they shipped her to Chicago. She tells us they killed Vania because she tried to escape. They wanted to make an example out of her.

In the next few days we apprehend the bastards in Chicago, but the shot callers, we come to find out, are in New York. I fly there the following day, and together with Benson's special victim's unit, I continue to work on the case after the duo we apprehended in Chicago offers up names and locations for the trafficking operation in New York. We set up surveillance, but we are unable to get enough traction for a search warrant. If this was Chicago, Voight would have waved his finger and a shiny warrant would have materialized from thin air.

"Halstead," Sargent Benson approaches me. "You got Sheila to open up. Do you think you can get another girl to talk?"

"Maybe," I tell her. "If you can get me in I will try."

"Good," she says and pats me on the shoulder. "I have a CI that owes me a favor."

x

I'm standing amongst a sea of people on top of a high-rise building. The music is loud and the strobe lights are making me nauseous. The CI Benson put me in contact with is supposed to meet me here and make introductions. I'm supposed to be this rich business man looking to have some fun. I finally feeling like myself again. I'm the furthest thing from the nervous guy Sheila met in that scrappy hotel room.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, "You, uh, Ryan?"

"Yes," I say. "You Link?"

"Yeah, yeah…C'mon, they are waiting for you." He plucks a drink from a tray and puts it in my hand. "Quit looking like a cop."

I down the drink and follow him through the crowd and up a set of stairs. The party noises become muffled and, to my relief, the strobe lights blink dimly at a distance. We reach a set of double doors with two burly men standing guard.

"Tell King I got Richie Rich here with me."

One of the man nods and disappears behind the doors. I open a button on my shirt and crack each side of my neck, relieving the tension there. The guard comes back, pats me down, and then signals for me to go inside. This is by far the fanciest room I've ever been in. All it's missing is a Tiger lying on a red velvet pillow.

A man dressed in all white approaches me and asks, "Welcome. Would you like a drink?"

"Scotch. Neat," I tell him. Don't want to set off any flags.

"You're here on business or…?" He lets the sentence linger, while handing me the drink.

"Business," I offer. I take a sip from the cup and it bites at my throat as it goes down and ends up warm in my stomach.

"What kind of business?" he asks.

"I'm a PR specialist." The man frowns so I go on, "I'm the person you call when you need sensitive information to go away."

"I see," he says. "I think I need your services," he says with a dry chuckle.

"With all due respect," I tell him. "You can't afford me."

The man is taken aback by my bold reply and chuckles humorlessly. He looks me up and down and asks, "With all due respect." He parrots my earlier vernacular, "How come a pretty boy like you want one of my girls? Can't get a girl out there?"

I half chuckle half scoff. "I have an acquired taste and most women can't…consent."

The man raises an eyebrow. "Okay, okay. Come back tomorrow and we can talk business."

This wanna-be Pope is trying to play games with me. "If I leave right now I'm not coming back. I will just hop across the bridge where I usually get my fix taken care of." I can see that he is contemplating his next move. "Look, I buy smack off your boy Link. He said you had new merchandise and I'm in the mood for something…different."

The man continues to scrutinize me, weighting my words against his better judgement. I keep myself calm and indifferent. After a few silent moments, he nods to one of his henchmen and he disappears towards the back. Seconds later I hear and click-clack of high heel shoes coming in my direction. One by one, the young women appear. They remind me of Sheila –sad eyes, stooped shoulders, forced smile. But then I think my eyes betray me when they land on the fifth girl walking in.

Erin?

My head pounds and I can hear my heart beating like a drum. When she comes into full view, I suddenly can't breathe, can't think, my vision goes blurry. I blink a few times, convinced my eyes are playing tricks on me, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing.

"Everything okay?" The man asks.

"Yes," I choke out, pulling at my collar. "Just, um… overwhelmed."

The man in white grins. "Pick one."

My eyes lock with hers and although she's keeping a cool façade I can see the same shock rippling across her face.

"Her," I point in Erin's direction.

The man nods and the other girls scurry away. "Show him to his room."

We are escorted to a room and when the door locks behind us, I open my mouth to say something, but she locks her lips with mine. Our mouths collide so forcefully, I almost fall backwards. I don't know what's going on. My mind is spinning out of control. The taste of her mouth and the softness of her lips overwhelms my senses. Until this moment, I hadn't realized how much I really missed her. I begin to kiss her back and her answering sigh of pleasure nearly brings me to my knees. She walks us to the bathroom and turns the shower on. She pushes me under the water jet and I brace my hands against the tiles when her lips collide with mine once again.

With the shower head raining above us, she pulls away slightly and whispers, "They are listening," against my lips.

The warm water cascades around us. My chest heaves with each breath I inhale. My hands are still gripping her waist, her body still bending to mine. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"

She shakes her head and pulls my dress shirt open, when she doesn't find what she's looking for she pulls at my belt buckle and takes the metal clip apart, finding what she is looking for – the recording chip. She mangles it in her hands.

Before I can protest she silences me with a finger to my lips and yanks her skimpy dress over her head. Her fingers fiddle with the underwire support of her bra and seconds later she pulls out her own recording device. She mangles it too.

As if exhausted by her actions, Erin slides down the white subway tiled wall until she's sitting on the shower floor. I turn the water off and join her.

After a few silent moments I ask, "Who was listening?"

"My boss," she says. "If she finds out you're here she will shut this whole operation down, and I will have—" She catches herself before she adds anything else. "Tell whoever you're working for to stop investigating King."

"Why would I do that?"

"If you don't you'll jeopardize my entire operation."

I look at her, drenched, wearing a black lacy bra and underwear I've never seen before. Her skin is flushed from the hot water and her makeup is running down her face. She's lost weight, I notice. She looks tired and haggard.

"Are the Feds making you do this?"

She pulls herself up, plucks her dress from a puddle on the floor, and glares at me. "No one's making me do anything," she says and steps out of the shower. There's a bite to her tone. I look up at her and see the same nip there. She yanks a pristine white towel hanging next to the sink and walks out of the bathroom.

"Erin," I follow her out, grabbing a towel on my way. "Tell me it's not a coincidence that your mom walks on drug conspiracy charges the same damn day you get recruited by the Feds?"

"Shhhhh!" She sounds over me. "Keep your damn voice down." Her own voice is a whisper. She shakes her head and clears her throat. "You won't understand," she says, her voice vibrating with so much more to say.

"Try me, Erin. Tell me—"

"I don't have time for this," she interrupts me, wiggling back into her wet dress. "Go back to whoever is leading this investigation and tell them to back the hell off."

"King is trafficking women, some as young as fourteen," I say rather loudly, but I catch myself and lower my voice. "We are not dropping this case."

Erin becomes visibly anxious, and begins pacing back and forth. Seeing her this restless and worried rather than just angry softens every sharp edge in my heart. My fingers itch to reach out and touch her.

"What do you need here, Erin?" I ask her. I search her eyes, but she looks away.

I see her hesitate, but she resumes in a lower, quieter tone. "The same men who are forging visas to these girls are also providing the same service to terrorists."

"Back up..." I say. "You're going after terrorists?"

Erin nods. "No one can know about this."

To be continued…

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