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Alvin Olinsky, detective for the Intelligence Unit in the Chicago Police Department and current inmate at the Metropolitan Correctional Center, should have known he’d end up like this; surrounded by nothing but steel and concrete, all alone as his warm blood spilled onto the floor and stained it. The cold seemed to seep into his very bones as he leaned against the V of the bars, one hand clutching at his abdomen in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood.
He’d felt naked here in the jail, without his trademark stoicism and unofficial uniform to bolster him up. He’d felt older, seeing all these young men, young criminals, who’d like nothing more than to kill a cop.
Above all else, he’d felt tired. For so long, he’d been dealing with cases that pushed the team to the limits - and he’d had to be a steady reserve of strength against Hank Voight’s occassional explosiveness. Al had had to deal with an estrangement from his wife, followed by a real one. He’d discovered a daughter he’d never known existed. He’d lost the one he’d raised since birth.
Every day, he’d put one foot in front of the other on the inexorable journey that would always lead in his death.
He’d known, all those years ago when he stepped foot on the path he walked, that this might be how he had ended up.
He’d fooled himself, maybe. Once he’d passed 30, then 40, then 50… He’d begun to hope… dream… imagine… that he might actually make it to retirement, die of old age in his bed, surrounded by loved ones.
(Assuming his wife cared enough to drag him kicking and screaming into retirement in the first place. For all he knew, she’d be happy to leave him chained to a desk in the CPD until he’d withered away from old age.)
Once he’d gained a best friend and confidante in Hank Voight, he’d thought he’d seen the light.
Oh, not as most people would say such a thing. He still didn’t agree entirely with the law or the justice system. He was still a firm believer that sometimes a man had to get his hands dirty, especially when it came to helping or protecting friends.
But Hank felt much the same as Al, and there had been a surprisingly instant bond between the two officers. It had followed them through both men becoming detectives, Hank becoming a sergeant. Through the death of a wife, the death of children on both sides, and a jail sentence.
Al was the only one who knew that at least part of Hank’s underhanded techniques were at the behest of Internal Affairs, the man using his own tarnished reputation to stop other crooked cops.
It had been a bond forged through blood, sweat, and tears, through dirty money and grave dirt under their fingernails, through ink smeared across false reports and the ashes of burned evidence floating away in the snowy wind.
He’d known without a doubt that Hank Voight had his back in ways few other people ever would. (That absolute trust had been shaken, when Hank had been unable to put up the money for Al’s bail, for his lawyer, but he knew that the other man was doing everything he could behind the scenes to help his friend.)
As his vision began to darken, his limbs became heavier. His hand fell away from the wound in his side and he moaned as a different hand replaced it, pressing harder than he had been able to. Stop, he wanted to say. It’s too late.
Al heard a gruff voice calling for the medics, demanding that 9-1-1 to be called.
He was laid out on the ground, the pool of blood arching further away from his body, and he absently wondered who was going to have cleanup duty. Bloodstains were always a bitch to get out of everything.
His body became heavier, leaden, like he was rooted to the ground beneath him and he had the sudden absurd thought that the earth would refuse to let him go. He;d be buried here, in this prison, a testament to the folly of cops who found themselves there.
Meredith would have no body to bury.
Michelle would be alone in the world again. (Would Meredith care for her, simply because she was the daughter of her husband? She’d never shown much interest before, especially after Lexi’s death, but tragedy brought about strange bonds.)
Hank would hold himself accountable. He’d never get over this, not without Al there to be the voice of reason in his ear.
Who would watch out for the rest of the team, curb their cockier arrogance so they didn’t end up in pieces?
Al lost the fight against unconsciousness as he was loaded onto a stretcher, ears dimly registering the jeers of criminals he had spent a lifetime helping put away, the flashes of overhead lights against his closed lids and he was raced to the waiting ambulance.
His heart stopped beating.
The latest pawn had been sacrificed on the chessboard that was the Chicago Criminal Justice system.
Alvin Olinsky knew no more.