Judgement Hour

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the shows.

A/N: After apologizing to a pillow I smacked after the last couple of episodes, I thought this would be a better way to work out some frustration.

Chapter 1

"Hank Voight." It was firmly but carefully enunciated.

The patrolman turned back to the desk and shrugged his shoulders at his partner. She sighed and picked up the phone to call the precinct. Once the desk sergeant came on the line, she turned to the side and quietly explained the situation.

"Sir, we have a boy here who's been sitting in the waiting area for the last four hours. Every question we ask has the same answer; he's asking for someone named 'Hank Voight." She tapped on the desk with her pen, waiting for some direction. The outpost was meant to be a discreet place for the community to interact with the police, but thanks to the keep-it-to-yourself culture, it was rarely used. "I don't think he's moving until we figure this out. He brought snacks." And they smelled good to the officer who was still an hour away from her break.

"I have to call you back." The call disconnected in her ear. She knew they should've called sooner, this would be low on the sergeant's priority list. She wanted to call two hours ago but her partner thought they could wait the teen out.

She shrugged her shoulders at her partner and settled in to pass the time.

Voight was steaming in his office. It was one thing to not answer a phone call, but to miss an raid on an important on-going case was unacceptable. They'd all been putting in the hours and even though he'd sent the team home to get some sleep, they all knew they were expected back when the warrants came through. Dawson had volunteered to do some tracking but that was probably to act as a buffer between Voight and his next victim.

He pushed himself out of his chair and yanked the door open. Stalking towards the interrogation room, nobody made the mistake of standing in his way. At least he had a drug runner to work out some of his frustration on. That would keep him occupied for a while.

"There's a Voight who heads up the Intelligence unit. Word on the street is that he's working a big drug case. I'll put in a call to the desk over there, but I'm not promising anything." The outpost had waited another hour for the call, but the sergeant's hands had been full. He ended one call, pulled up the number for the next and tapped it into the phone.

"Trudy. How's it going?"

"What do you want?" She was abrupt. Probably because his precinct beat hers out for new squad cars during the last budget crunch.

"Nothing, I want to give you something."

"If you send over one of your old squads, I will puncture your fancy tires."

"It's a message."

"Fine. I will accept it."

"There's a kid at our outpost who is asking for Hank Voight. He's determined and, frankly, the patrolmen don't know what to do with him."

"Give me the info."

He heard her click a pen and he recited the address. "Thanks Trudy."

"Yeah, whatever." And he heard the click.

"Hank, this could be good." Platt didn't back down from Voight's glare. "I know you're not getting anywhere with the interrogation and you're letting him stew anyway. Go follow it up and then come back."

"That's not it, there's…"

"It's a kid, Hank, go talk to him."

He tried another glare but it didn't get him anywhere.

"Fine." He caved, knowing she wasn't wrong. He snatched the memo sheet out of her hand and read it. He went to gripe some more, but she'd already left. Grabbing his coat, he walked out of his office.

"I'll be on my cell if you need me." With that he stalked out of the room, not waiting for a response.

The door was well oiled and Hank was able to slide in without making much noise. Regardless, the desk patrolman's head snapped up. They didn't recognise each other so Hank stated clearly "I'm Voight. You were looking for me?"

She nodded towards their small seating area. "We weren't, but he was."

Hank turned on his heel and found himself facing a slight Asian boy. He rose from the chair and held out his hand. Hank shook it and was surprised at the solid grip. "Are you from around here?" The neighbourhood was a blend of Asian cultures.

"Come." The boy said it with such command that Hank automatically followed him out the door.

"Where are we going?" Hank tried to ask another question.

The boy merely led the way down the street and turned at the next intersection.

Hank's head was on a swivel but there didn't seem to be dangers lurking in the shadows. If anything, it seemed to be normal early-morning activity of commuters heading to work and shops being opened. The boy stopped at a door and waited for Hank to meet him. He then hit a button and waited for a buzz which was followed by a lock opening.

There was a white sign with a series of words written in different red characters, but the outside of the storefront offered no clues. Hank held the door open as he peeked inside. The bite of industrial cleaners met his nose and the small room was ringed in chairs. A short table with children's toys was tucked in the corner. It was the files sitting in hangers on the wall gave it away.

"This is a doctor's office. Why am I here?" Hank let the door swing shut.

The boy waited patiently for Hank's gaze to center back on him. "Come." He pushed open a swinging door and continued down a hallway with Hank trailing behind. Finally he stopped in front of a closed curtain hung along a section of wall. His gut was telling him this was more than just an office. He spied a room with what looked like a surgical scrub room.

Again, he waited for Hank to finish looking around. "You are here because I was told you can be trusted no matter the situation." The boy's words were tinged with a hint of an accent.

Hank didn't know what to say, so he just nodded.

The boy took a breath and then opened the curtain.

"Adam?"

The night before…

Tae slid a fork beside Adam's plate. He looked up, grateful, and put down the chopsticks. "Tell your mom I'm sorry, my coordination goes when I'm tired." He stabbed the fork into the bowl and shoveled a pile of noodles, vegetables, and sauce into his mouth.

"She says she appreciates your appetite." Tae smirked as he dropped his school books on the other side of the table.

"Y'know, I keep asking her what she puts in that makes it so tasty and I think she's just making stuff up." Adam slurped an escaping noodle.

"No, she is very honest."

"Oh yeah? What about the time she said she uses lizard meat?"

Tae laughed. "Maybe she wants to ensure your continued business at her café." He opened up his text book and flipped to the assigned homework.

Adam rolled his eyes as he took another bite. "How's the life of a high school freshman?"

"It is okay." Tae focused on the page to avoid Adam's gaze.

"They're still bugging you about your arm?" Adam asked quietly.

Tae nodded, feeling tears burning in the back of his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. In a decade your tech business will take off and I'll be arresting the bullies for their increasingly stupid crimes. Did I ever tell you about the time I arrested the guy who shoved my head in a toilet in school? He held up a liquor store but dropped his wallet when he pulled his gun out of his pocket."

Tae giggled.

"And his getaway car wouldn't start because he'd left his headlights on and the battery died. I tapped on the glass with my badge and the guy tried to turn it over again."

Tae started to laugh.

"At which point the muffler fell off."

Tae snorted.

"His grandma came to bail him out and she hit him with her cane for being so dumb."

Tae's mom could be heard laughing in the kitchen.

"Now do your homework." Adam's eyes glinted and he grinned. Tae nodded and picked up his pencil.

They sat there for a while, Tae working his way through his pile of assignments. Adam chatted with the other diners and Tae's mom. He'd stumbled in one night after a double-shift. Tae's mom had taken offense to the fact he hadn't eaten in 12 hours and stuffed him full. Since then he'd show up at least once a week for a good meal.

Tonight was no exception; when he was ready to go home, Tae came out with a bag full of containers. They would send him home with a collection of leftovers which he gladly accepted. He waved goodbye and headed out the door.