Chapter One

-o-o-

Since the season is ending early, and the world is a scary place, I thought I'd write...a depressing story, as usual. I'm not sure how often I can update, but there will be more coming!

-o-o-

When Hailey had first joined the CPD, domestic violence cases would turn her upside down. As a uniform, she'd handled them frequently - at one house in particular, there were calls at least once a week. She can still remember the hollow, vacant eyes of the woman who would answer the door, her hands shaking, the lies spilling smoothly and easily out of her swollen, bloodied lips.

For years, those cases would make Hailey furious. They'd make her cry. They'd give her nightmares that lasted for weeks, vivid, angry dreams about her dad's fist connecting with her face, about her mother's screams, about broken glass and cops showing up at their door.

But like everything in her life, Hailey had learned to conquer the dreams, the fear, the anger, the grief. It had taken literally hundreds of calls, but Hailey no longer shakes with rage when she can't help a battered woman. She no longer drinks until she blacks out after she sees a child with a black eye or a broken wrist. It's been years since she had a nightmare - the last one was after her original encounter with Ronald Booth, when the visceral reminder of how it felt to have the crap kicked out of her was raw and painful and immediate.

And now, it feels good that she can help Jay through this. That she's strong enough to help her partner handle his emotions, his pain. It makes her feel proud that she's gotten over her childhood enough that she can handle this kind of thing - if she hadn't outed herself, she thinks, no one would have even known.

And besides, focusing on Jay helps her keep her mind off of herself. If she's taking care of her partner, she can't think about the way her stomach had turned at the photo of Michelle Sullivan's swollen face. If she just concentrates on making sure Jay is okay, she can ignore the way her chest had tightened with rage - and fear - when Shane Sullivan told her that his wife had fallen off her bike.

But there's something about their talk at the bar that unsettles her. Something about the way Jay's eyes widen in sympathetic horror when she tells him her mom is still with her dad. She's not sure why - she'd never intended to hide her past from Jay, but now that it's out there, she feels raw and exposed in a way that makes her uncomfortable.

She'd wanted to do this - this drink, at this bar, with this man. She'd wanted to be there for him after a case she knows he's taken personally. She'd wanted to make him smile, make him feel better.

But now that he's looking at her like that, she feels a sudden panicked urge to flee, to lock herself in her room and drink until she can't see his wounded face anymore. To put a pillow over her head and try to make it all go away.

"Hailey," Jay says haltingly, and she knows what he's going to ask her, knows what's going to happen now, and she can't. She shakes her head quickly, downs her drink in one gulp.

"Sorry," she says, avoiding his eyes. His sad, worried eyes. "Can we just - I don't wanna…"

The silence is excruciating. Hailey can't even look at him.

But he nods, and changes the subject, and Hailey is grateful.

But the unsettled feeling in her stomach is still there. She wishes she could just bury this again, the way it had been until Michelle Sullivan and Jay Halstead ripped everything open.

-o-o-

Jay drives Hailey home. She's quiet in the passenger seat, her eyes staring vacantly out the window.

There's something about it that unsettles him.

She's had more to drink then he's used to seeing from her, and he's not sure what to make of it. Hailey usually keeps her alcohol consumption in such tight check - he's rarely seen her have more than two drinks. He wonders now if that's deliberate, and although she doesn't seem drunk, it worries him.

He turns the corner onto her street, glancing at her for the fiftieth time in this ten minute ride, guilt twisting his insides. He'd let the case affect him too much, more than it should have. He'd forced her to comfort him, to take care of him.

He can't imagine the wounds this case had ripped open for her.

He'd changed the subject when she asked him to, turned the conversation to the Blackhawks and the weather and the Democratic primary, but he can't help but feel like he should have pushed her to keep talking. To let him help her.

Sometimes Jay worries that their relationship is too one-sided. Hailey had been there for him through everything. After the shooting, she'd spent weeks by his side, helping him through those painful first post-surgery days, then keeping him company in the boring weeks of desk duty that followed. She'd brought him take-out and changed his bandages and drove him to endless doctors' appointments and told him stories and made him laugh. She'd always seemed to know the right thing to say to him, always seemed to know how to support him or comfort him or prevent him from doing something stupid.

But despite that, he finds himself at a total loss on how to get through to her.

"Thanks for the ride," she says, smiling at him as he pulls up in front of her building.

He wants to come in with her. Wants to force her to talk to him. Wants to make things better, the way he couldn't when she was a kid.

He wants to kiss her.

"Hailey," he tries, but she cuts him off before he can continue.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she says, and then she's gone.

-o-o-

The dream is nothing concrete. There's no monster, no plot, no dead bodies and no one chasing her.

It's just lights and noise and blood and angry colors and the horrible sound she knows is a belt buckle connecting with bare skin.

And screaming. Pitiful, horrified, screaming.

"Hailey!" a voice is saying. "Hailey! Hailey, wake up! Hailey!"

She does as ordered, and finds herself in a heap on the wood floor, tangled in the sheets. Her back aches, and her shoulder is smarting, and she has absolutely no idea how she ended up down here.

"Hailey!" Vanessa says again, and she can't see her roommate's face in the darkness of the bedroom, but her voice is totally freaked.

"Yeah," she manages. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She curls into a ball on the floor, fighting to catch her breath. Vanessa sits beside her and doesn't try to touch her. She's grateful, because even just her presence, inches away, feels overwhelming.

When she finally regains control of her body, she pushes herself up, leaning back against the bed.

Well, fuck.

"I'm okay," she says, because she can't think of anything else to say. She has no way to explain what just happened, no answer to any of the questions she's sure Vanessa has. "We should go back to bed."

"You were screaming," Vanessa says dumbly, and she realizes her friend is pretty rattled.

"Just a bad dream," Hailey says dismissively. "Come on, it's still early."

She stands up. Her legs are shaking, and she hopes Vanessa doesn't notice.

Vanessa is still watching her, wide-eyed. "I'm fine," she says, harsher this time. "Thanks for waking me, okay?"

Vanessa nods, opens her mouth as if to say something, then turns and leaves.

Once the bedroom door is closed again, Hailey lets herself sink back to the floor. She wraps her arms tightly around her knees, and tries not to cry.

-o-o-

Hailey's eyes have dark, thick bags under them, and Jay can't seem to keep from staring.

He's not totally sure anyone else has noticed. She's been just as sharp and smart and fearless as ever. In the last few days alone she'd planned and led a raid on a meth lab, gotten a confession out of a triple murder suspect after a seven-hour interrogation, and put the pieces together on a complicated cartel hit that had left them all running in circles.

But she looks exhausted and dazed, and it's starting to worry him.

And when he notices Rojas watching her too, it heightens the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He corners Hailey's roommate in the locker room, desperate for reassurance or answers or help - he isn't sure which. Vanessa startles when she senses him behind her, nearly banging her head on her locker.

"Sorry," she says, laughing it off. "What's up?

"I'm worried about Hailey," he says quickly, without preamble, because he's nervous that his partner is going to walk in any second, and she will not like this.

Rojas smirks, just a little. "Have you talked to her about that?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

Jay's not sure what that's about. He chooses to ignore it. "She looks like she's not sleeping," he says instead.

Rojas sighs. "I think - yeah, I don't think she has been," she says. "She's been running in the middle of the night."

Halstead looks at her blankly. Running?

"And she's been having nightmares," Rojas admits, and then brandishes her finger. "You didn't hear that from me."

Jay's too busy beating himself up to laugh or even smile.

"Jay," Vanessa says gently. "Just - talk to her. You'll be able to help her."

Jay shakes his head. He's not so sure about that.

"She needs you," Rojas persists. "And believe me - she wants your help."

Jay frowns. He's gotten to know Rojas pretty well since she started living with Hailey, but he's not sure what this weird crypticness is all about.

"Go," Vanessa says, nodding towards the locker room door. "Talk to her. Go."

He goes.

-o-o-

Jay suggests lunch at a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place in Pilsen.

He's been watching her all morning, his worried eyes following her as she got up to pick up a DMV record from the printer, to refill her coffee mug for the fourth time, to dig a bottle of Advil out of her locker.

It's making her crazy, but she also just...wants to have lunch with him.

So she says yes, and climbs into the passenger seat of his truck.

"You okay?" Jay asks, as she absentmindedly sips her coffee.

"I'm fine," she says, hackles rising immediately. "Why?"

"You've been staring out the window for like ten minutes now," he says gently.

She shakes her head, embarrassed. "Sorry," she says. She realizes that their lunches have arrived, that Jay is already halfway through his. "Just tired."

She picks up one of the greasy tacos, and her stomach immediately turns. She sets it down again, and takes another gulp of coffee.

"Just didn't sleep well last night," she mutters, avoiding his eyes.

"You could try talking to me," he says with a shrug, taking another bite of his food. "I've heard it helps."

She can't quite suppress her smile. "Talking to you?"

Jay smirks. "People say I'm a good listener. Almost like a shrink. But better looking."

Hailey snorts. She thinks they might be flirting right now, and she thinks she might be enjoying it.

"I'm fine," she says. "Really."

He's looking at her the way he did that night at the bar, and she rushes to change the subject before he can ask her anything else. "Did you see that Iron Maiden is coming to Chicago?" she says, because it's the first thing that pops into her mind.

The radio on the table between them crackles to life, and Hailey feels a rush of relief. "Units in the 21 and units on the citywide," the disembodied voice says. "We have reports of shots fired at 1925 South Allport Street."

"That's just around the corner," Hailey says, reaching for her coat. Jay is already pulling cash out of his wallet and throwing it on the table.

Hailey grabs for the radio. "50-21 Henry responding. We're one block out. Please advise, plainclothes officers will be on scene."

She follows Jay out of the restaurant, feeling like she's been saved by the bell.

-o-o-

The house is quiet when they get there. It's a small, two-story, redbrick building, solid and stable and working class and proud.

The whole street is quiet. There's no arguing, no fleeing cars, no sign of whoever called in gunshots.

Hailey and Jay draw their weapons as they hustle up the stone steps to the front door. They hold for a few seconds, listening, observing.

Jay shakes his head, then pounds on the door. "Chicago PD!" he shouts, and they wait, guns ready.

There's no answer.

Hailey tests the doorknob, finds it unlocked. Slowly, carefully, she pushes the door open, and they slide into the house.

Jay spots it first. "Body," he whispers, nudging his gun in the direction of the middle-aged white man sprawled on the faux-leather couch. He's clearly dead, a bloody circle darkening his blue Cubs t-shirt. His iPhone sits on his stomach, untouched.

Jay points Hailey towards the stairs, and she nods, silently creeping up while Jay clears the bottom floor.

She clears three bedrooms - a master, a little boys' room, and a teenage girl's room - and a small, cluttered bathroom. The house is empty.

"Clear!" she hears Jay call.

"Clear up here too," she responds, but at that moment, she hears a small, muffled thud. She instantly whirls around, gun pointing towards the sound.

It's coming from the little boys' room.

Soundlessly, she tiptoes in. The walls are covered in tattered Cubs and Blackhawks posters, the bunk beds made up with rocket ship comforters. She carefully scans the small space, glances under the bottom bed - nothing.

"Hailey?" Jay calls, but she doesn't respond. She's focused on the last remaining hiding spot - the closet.

Gun steady, she very slowly slides the door open.

"Don't shoot!" a little voice screams. "Please don't shoot!"

Nestled among a pile of clothes and stuffed animals and basketballs is a girl, no more than fifteen, her arms wrapped protectively around two small boys.

"Don't shoot!" she begs again.

Heart hammering in her chest, Hailey holsters her weapon, kneeling down in front of the terrified kids.

"It's okay," she says, trying to comfort herself as much as them. "It's okay."

She sits down in front of them, trying to seem calm and steady.

"My name is Hailey," she says, slowly and carefully. "I'm a police officer. You're safe, okay? Everything is okay."

All three kids look at her, wide-eyed with terror.

"Can you tell me your names?" she asks gently. The girl has a black eye spreading across her cheek, and she can't help staring at it. "I promise you, everything is going to be okay," she says, when none of them answer.

"Lizzie," the girl says, finally. Both boys keep their faces buried in her chest.

"Okay, good," Hailey says. "Lizzie. Are these your brothers, Lizzie?"

Slowly, warily, Lizzie nods. "Alex and Jamie," she says.

"Hailey!" Jay says, suddenly appearing in the room. All three kids flinch.

Hailey holds out a reassuring hand. "Guys, this is my partner. This is Jay. We're here to help."

She turns towards Jay, who looks contrite. "This is Lizzie, Alex, and Jamie," she says slowly, trying to keep her voice calm and steady.

Jay nods. "You okay?" he says, his tone worried.

She tries to smile, tries to look reassuring. "Yeah, all good," she promises.

It feels like a lie, and she isn't sure why.

-o-o-

Jay handles the body, calls in the team, coordinates evidence collection in the living room.

The silence from upstairs is deafening, and Jay can't help casting anxious glances towards the second floor of the small house.

The look on her face as she'd told him she was good hadn't done much to ease the anxiety that's been stirring in his chest all day.

And part of him can't help wondering if it's a premonition. He's not superstitious, and he definitely doesn't believe in a sixth sense, or anything like that, but his gut is telling him that something is wrong.

"Should we hand this off to homicide?" he asks Voight, trying not to sound hopeful. He can't pinpoint why, and he wouldn't be able to explain if his boss asked, but he doesn't want this case. Not at all. In fact, he wants to be far, far away from it - and he wants to get Hailey far away from it.

Voight shrugs. "We caught it. We're gonna stay on."

Jay nods. Fuck.

-o-o-

Hailey sits on the floor and tries to coax a trio of scared kids out of a closet.

Neither Alex nor Jamie, who she's ascertained are twins, will look at her. Jamie has yet to take his face out of Lizzie's stomach, and it's hard to look at, because she recognizes that image - she can picture herself, five-years-old, shaking in her brother's arms while they hid from her dad.

She's supposed to be asking what they saw, she knows. Supposed to be finding out who killed their father. That's her job.

But all she can see are the bruises marring Lizzie's face, the cigarette burns peeking out beneath her oversized sweatshirt.

"That looks like it hurts," she says, nodding towards Lizzie's eye.

The girl shrugs, not making eye contact. "It's no big deal," she says, her voice too cavalier, too rough for a kid her age.

"How'd it happen?" Hailey asks.

"Volleyball," she says firmly.

"Volleyball?" Hailey repeats. The answer is familiar and evasive and flat-out wrong.

"I got hit in the face with a ball," she says vaguely. "It's nothing."

"Are you on the volleyball team at school?" Hailey prods. Lizzie finally looks at her, eyes stirring with anxiety.

"No," she says, defensively. "I was just messing around with my friends."

He can't hurt you anymore, Hailey wants to say, but she doesn't.

She knows that isn't actually true.

"What about the burns on your wrist?" she pushes. "Did your dad do that?"

Lizzie bristles, and pulls her sleeves further over her hands. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I get it," Hailey says. She's pushing too hard, way too hard, she knows, but she can't help herself. "You wanna protect your dad, I get that, Lizzie. But you don't need to anymore."

She doesn't know why she's doing this. Lizzie's father is dead - downstairs in the living room with a bullet in his chest, and what she should be doing is trying to figure out if these kids got a look at the shooter.

Instead, she's chasing ghosts.

"My dad used to hit me too," Hailey says quietly.

"My dad doesn't hit me," Lizzie retorts. "Okay?"

Hailey's head is pounding. Her palms are sweating. She squeezes her eyes shut, takes a deep breath.

The case. Focus on the case.

"Did you see what happened?" she manages. Her voice feels scratchy and weak. "Did you see the person who…"

Lizzie shakes her head. Wraps her arms more tightly around her little brothers. "No," she says firmly. "We were up here."

"Can you tell me what you heard?" Hailey asks.

"My dad was arguing with a man, and we heard a gunshot, so we hid in the closet," Lizzie says. The speech sounds planned. Rehearsed.

It feels wrong.

"Hailey," Jay says, and she jumps. He's standing right behind her and she didn't even notice.

She tries to compose herself before turning around. "Yeah," she says. "Sorry."

He's got that concerned expression on his face, and she has to look away.

"We're finished downstairs," he says finally. "We should get the kids back to the district."

"Yeah," she says.

Lizzie looks scared. One of the boys starts crying.

"It's okay," Hailey says. "It's all okay."

It's not. And they all know it.

-o-o-