Chapter Text
Molly’s is overwhelmingly crowded for a Tuesday night.
There’s no Blackhawk’s game to explain the influx of people surrounding the bar and football season won’t start for another six months, but it’s still busier than she expected to find the local dive bar on a random and otherwise typical weekday.
And after the case they’d caught late last week, she picked Molly’s solely for the reason that it’s usually occupied by faces she knew, wandering eyes that understand her line of work and wouldn’t press her for details about why she looked like she hadn’t slept in four days.
(She hadn’t, but she knows no one here is going to ask the reason for the dark circles under her eyes.)
And while many faces remained familiar, there were plenty of profiles she didn’t know that were only adding to the anxiety and stress of the case Intelligence had finally closed today. But despite the swarm of people surrounding her and the other patrons walking in and filling in the booths and tables and barstools at the bar, laughing and drinking and having a good time, she can’t help but feel a little lost and alone in the booth she currently occupies by herself.
Her second bottle of beer had already joined her first - barren and off to the side. The cold and frosted glass had already run dry and the paper label had been torn off into tiny pieces, scattered across the table she occupies alone. It’s one of those weird habits she’s had since she was a kid when she was anxious or stressed or scared. She remembers when she’d be in the kitchen trying to finish her homework or dinner when her father would come through the front door, unruly and disruptive. He’d start with her mother - he always did, rattling on and on about something that was out of place in the house or how dinner wasn’t cooked properly. But, if she looked at him in a way he didn’t like or she tried to speak up, he’d get after her and she’d learned the hard way that the bruises he left on her pale skin didn’t fade easily. So, she’d sit there with a bottle of water and pick at the paper label wrapped around the plastic and do her best to try and pretend that she didn’t exist as she drowned out the screams that echoed around her.
She hated cases that involved abusive homes, despised that they dug up all of her old wounds and cut them open with a sharp knife and that her dark and cloudy past always came up bubbling to the surface, forcing her to relive those haunting days over and over and over again while the hazy memories flashed before her eyes.
This case was brutal and despite finishing the paperwork a few hours ago, she knew it was going to stay with her for weeks - if not months - to come.
A shadow catches her vision, pulling her out of the daze she’s got herself into and it’s quickly followed by a third bottle of beer being carefully placed in front of her. Along with the beer comes the company of a second body sliding into the seat opposite her. He smiles at her softly, green eyes gentle and curious, watching as she sips from her new bottle while his stays firm in his grip.
“Are you from Tennessee?”
Her eyebrows furrow together. “Excuse me?”
“Cause you’re the only ten I see,” he says with a smirk in her direction, a wink following seconds later.
“Jesus Christ,” she slips out under her breath.
“You love it,” Jay mumbles back at her while finally sipping from his own beer bottle that was identical to hers. “You love me.”
“Do I?”
“You have to,” he smiles, bright and wide - the same exact smile she’d fallen in love with. “I’m your husband.”
“I don’t remember saying anything about having to love your bad pick up lines in my vows.”
“Ah,” he says with bright eyes. “Me and my bad pick up lines are a package deal, I’m afraid.”
Hailey laughs softly, “Oh, is that so?”
“It is,” he says. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“Billions of people on this planet and I love you,” she hums with a small laugh, the lip of the bottle hovering below her lips. “I must be pretty lucky.”
“I’d say you you hit the jackpot.”