Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 Trudy Platt lay propped against the pillows, wide awake and already annoyed about it. Between the fire in her back, the stiffness in her limbs, and the sterile hum of machines around her, she was more than done with the day. Then again, she didn’t have much choice. She’d been shot three times and flatlined — all in the last twenty-four hours.

The door opened, and Voight walked in. He didn’t say a word, just gave Mouch a nod, his usual unreadable mask in place. But Trudy had known him too long to be fooled. He was carrying something, and it wasn’t flowers.

She sighed.

“If you’re here to tell me I look like hell, save it. I already had the pleasure of seeing myself in the mirror.”

Voight smirked faintly and rested a hand on hers.

“You’ll live.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what the doc said, too.”

Trudy’s face was pale but her sharp gaze locked onto Voight. She was awake, alive—but it had been close. Too close. Both knew that.

Voight stood near the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. Grief in his eyes.

'' Did you get them?'' Trudy wanted to know.

'' Yes, case closed ''

He flicked a glance toward Mouch, who sat nearby, still in soot-covered gear. Trudy didn’t miss it.

''Still alive?'' Mouch asked cautiously, like he was testing whether Voight had crossed line he wouldn’t admit out loud.

Trudy rolled her eye. Her husband and the rest of 51 always thought they were the moral compass, but she waited for the answer too. After all whoever, shot her had nearly killed Adam and put dozens of others at risk.

''Yes'' Voight said.

But something in his voice didn’t sit right with her.  

She turned to Mouch, still in his firefighter gear, taking in the slump of his shoulders, the exhausted into his face. He wouldn’t leave her side unless she told him to and she knew Voight wasn’t going anywhere.

She saw it in Hank’s eyes—he was scared. Scared of losing her, the way he’d lost Al.

“Randall, go home,” she said firmly.

“Change, sleep, and come back in the morning.”

Mouch hesitated, looking between her and Voight.

“You sure?”

“I’ll be fine. Hank will keep my company,” she said.

Mouch gave her a tired smile, leaned down, and kissed her forehead.

“Call me if anything changes.”

Voight nodded. As the door clicked shut behind Mouch, the steady beeping of the monitor filled the room. He lowered himself into the chair facing her.

Trudy shifted slightly, eyes narrowing.

“Alright. Out with it.”

Voight leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. It took him a second to speak, longer than usual.

“It was Bates,” he said at last.

Silence stretched.

Platt blinked, not sure she’d heard him right.

“What?”

“Jennifer Bates. She was working with them. She’s the one who shot you.”

The words landed like a punch.

Trudy stared at him, waiting for the words to make sense. Bates? They had come up together. Worn the same uniform. Fought the same battles. And she had shot her in the back.

“Bitch.”

Voight didn’t say anything. He let her process.

Trudy deserved to hear it from him. Not a report. Not some gossip too loud outside her room.

“She used to be one of us.” Trudy murmured. Less angry. More tired.

“She was. She made her choice,” Voight said simply. “And now she’s gonna pay for it.”

Trudy looked at him, reading between the lines. She knew Voight. Knew what he might have done if he’d gotten to Bates first. But arresting her meant humiliation, worse in some ways.

She nodded once.

“Good.”

“Get some rest, Trudy”

The room fell quiet again — the kind of silence that comes after hard truths.

Then the door creaked open...

Chapter Text

Dr. Caitlin Lenox walked the surgical floor, now finally quiet. The chaos of the day lingered only in the filled beds and the steady hum of machines. The explosion had sent patients pouring in burns, crush injuries, smoke inhalation and the hospital hadn’t slowed until now well past midnight. 

With the ER shift changing, Lenox decided to catch on reports in the calm of the surgical wing. She sat at the nurses station, a cup of hot coffee beside her, and scrolled through patient files on the computer. She took another sip, then opened the next chart.

Platt, Trudy.

The name pulled her up short. Three bullet wounds, flatline, experimental cooling, survival against odds that rarely bend. Most people didn’t come back after flatlining three times. Lenox had given the woman the facts: alive, but facing months of pain and physical therapy. Platt’s response hadn’t been fear or tears, only dry sarcasm.

The first time Platt woke, she hadn’t wasted breath on emotions. She gave intel to help solve the case. Duty first. Lenox rarely allowed herself opinions about patients, but she’d walked away this time with one: I like her.

Lenox wrote some notes into Trudy’s file, trying not to dwell on the image of Platt’s husband. He’d barely left the waiting room all day, hollow-eyed, terrified. It reminded Lenox too much of her father, the way he had lasted three hours only after her mother died then grief had swallowed him whole. She shoved the memory down, closed the file, and reached for her coffee. 

Another chart. Quick review. Efficient notes.

She opened the last patient file: the burn victim.

Lenox sighed. Not much could be offered beyond comfort. She closed her file, sipping the last of her coffee as her mind replayed the events surrounding this patient.

The cops: Voight and Burgess had wanted to wake the women. They’d pushed, threatened even. She hadn’t budged. How Burgess had threatened to arrest her, trying to guilt trip her, reminded Lenox of times she'd been ostracized as a child for her blunt honesty. But she hadn’t taken offense. Intimidation was just a tool in their job. Hers was an oath: treat every patient equally.

“Voight and Burgess are good police. Sometimes they just lead with their emotions. They all have to respect you have an ethic to maintain. Least most of them will.”

Goodwin’s voice echoed in her ear. 

Her thoughts drifted to the hospital itself. She’d worked in enough to know the usual rhythms, the distance most staff kept. the way fire crew and cops that frequented the hospital stayed professional and detached.

Med was different. The lines blurred here. Fire, PD, doctors, nurses, they wrapped around each other like an extended family. Goodwin defended her one minute and defended the cops the next. Hanah and Maggie had kept checking in on Platt more than some surgeons checked on their own patients.

Lenox found herself smiling at the thought of the two women. She liked them both efficient, resilient, and genuinely nice to her. Maybe she’d ask them to map out the strange web connecting Med, Fire and PD. Clearly, she had been missing something important today.  Too many interactions hinted at ties stronger than professional.

How easy these cops kept asking for unethical things. “Fire has one trapped too” wasn't an update but supposed to mean something. Dr.Charles sitting with Platt’s husband like a friend, not a shrink. 

Whatever tied these people together-different uniforms, different codes-it had to be something real that made them look like one big family.

“We all need to honor where our own limits lie”

Lenox set her empty mug, remembering Goodwin’s words that guided her toward an idea to help the cops without waking her patient.

She had assumed Ms.Goodwin's check-in with Voight had been just politics, a manager courtesy. But then Goodwin turned to her and said, “Tell me Platt is going to pull through. I don’t want to hand this man another loss.”

Not just politics,then. Personal. She cared for these cops but unlike most of the staff, she was kept the boundaries clear. Lenox admired that.

Was she keeping count of their losses, or just Voight? Were they hers too?

She had taken Voight as the type of leader who only cared about outcomes, who would press until he got what he wanted. But in the waiting room,he hadn't looked like that. He'd looked raw. Loyal. Stripped of all that armor, waiting for news about Trudy. Did she misjudge him?

She wasn’t good at emotions but she knew this much: his care for Trudy Platt was real. Lenox kept clicking on the pen wondering why she couldn't shake this case and today like any other time.

She overheard nurses whispering that the trapped cop was Burgess's fiancé—that explained her desperation. But Voight? He’d shown something else. She could’ve sworn there’d been a flicker of respect in his eyes when she refused to cave.

Leaning back in her chair, Lenox considered him again. Voight was a hard man to read. Her assumptions about him were wrong or incomplete. And that intrigued her.

 Movement caught her eye. Mouch slipped out of Platt’s room, muttered a goodnight to a nurse, and headed for the elevators. Lenox frowned. She’d assumed he’d stay by his wife’s bedside tonight. Clearly, she’d miscalculated.

She took a deep breath, letting the thought settle. She stood up, ready to check on patients before heading home for much needed rest. Still, she decided to save Platt for last. Something told her that visit would linger.

Chapter Text

The monitors hummed steadily when Dr. Caitlin Lenox pushed the door for Platt’s room open. 

‘’Sergeant Platt.’’ Lenox nodded.

She hadn’t expected anyone else inside, but there was Voight, seated in the chair beside the bed like he belonged there. Not slouched, not half-asleep, but present. Staying the night.

Her eyes flicked to him as she moved toward the monitors. 

“Sergeant,” she said, her voice flat but honest. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Voight gave a short nod, his face unreadable.

Lenox turned her attention to the patient. 

“How are you feeling, Sergeant?”

“Like I got shot in the back by someone I trusted,” Platt said deadpanned.

The words caught Lenox off guard. She froze for a second, her eyes flicking to Voight before she recovered.

“Sorry to hear that. How’s the pain?”

“Manageable.”

Lenox entered the response into her tablet, face neutral, though her mind tugged elsewhere. Maybe that was why her husband had left, because he couldn’t understand betrayal the way Voight could. Maybe that was why Voight stayed, because he felt it too.

Lenox knew she was more invested than she should be. Was it the shadow of her parents? Platt’s survival? Or was it the way everyone seemed to orbit around Platt, as if she were the anchor of something larger? Or was it Voight whose layers kept shifting every time she thought she’d read him?

Whatever it was, she needed to clear her head.

Goodwin’s words echoed as Lenox finished her notes though: For an ER chief, Having PD in your corner is worth it.

So she straightened and extended her hand toward Voight. 

“Dr. Lenox. Caitlin.”

Voight’s eyes flicked to her hand. He knew what it meant—a peace offering, a way of saying let’s move past the rough start. After a moment, he took it.

 “Hank Voight.”

Their shake was brief, firm, mutual.

Trudy watched the exchange with silent interest . No quip. No smirk. The weight of betrayal sat too heavy on her chest for words.

Lenox cleared her throat. “Get some rest, Sergeant.” She glanced at Voight, part of her wanted to see if he’d acknowledge. “Both of you”

‘’Thank you doctor.’’ Voight replied.

Lenox gave a final nod, slipped out  of the door. Her hand closed around the handle, ready to pull it shut behind her, when a voice carried from inside the room.

“Blunt. Honest. I like her.”

Platt.

Lenox stilled. She wasn’t the type to eavesdrop. But something in those words rooted her in place. No one had ever said that about her bluntness before. Not as a compliment.

“Maybe she does remind you of you,” Voight answered, his tone softer than she’d expected. “But yeah. She’s courageous.”

Lenox tilted her head, listening despite herself. She’d expected dismissal. Instead, he sounded sincere and compared her to Platt.

“She stood up to you,” Platt countered, dry as ever.

There was a beat. Then Voight’s reply came, steady and without heat.

“She stood up for her convictions. I respect that.”

So he understood, even respected it, as if he knew some people lived by different codes and that was fine. Lenox thought.

Lenox stepped away from the door, headed to the elevators, the words pulling at something she rarely let surface. Blunt honesty had always made her the outcast, the cold one, the difficult one. But Platt, just as sharp, drew loyalty and love. Goodwin kept her boundaries clear, but never distant, and that earned trust. And Voight hadn't held her refusal against her.

Lenox wondered if that was what made these people different…their acceptance of one another’s values and limits. Always showing up for each other.

As she stepped inside the elevator, something inside her shifted. She wasn’t as alone in her edges as she’d always believed. She’d never cared about making friends but today stirred a curiosity in knowing these people and their history. She hadn’t felt it in a long time.

As she stepped outside into the cool night air, leaving the weight of the day. It wasn’t Goodwin’s steadiness or Platt’s resilience that lingered with her. It was Voight’s voice, his sincerity still echoing louder than the noises she left behind.

Chapter Text

Jay Halstead sat on the bench facing Chicago Med, the cold midnight air filling his lungs. He exhaled slowly, thinking back of the last time he was here. Three years ago, he’d stood on this same spot saying goodbye to his brother before rejoining the Army, unsure if he’d ever come back.

Back then, he’d told Will the truth that had weighed him down: he’d lost sight of who he was. His love and loyalty had bent him into someone he didn’t recognize. Leaving had been the only way to breathe again. Leaving had been the first real boundary he’d managed to set in years.

And it worked.

The chaos of his last year in Intelligence wasn’t a knot in his chest anymore—it was a lesson. He could see it clearly now: how his loyalty got twisted, how his love became a weapon he turned against himself. He wore the protector badge so tightly until he couldn’t see where duty ended and devotion began.

Keeping his wife as both partner and spouse erased the boundaries. Home stopped being a refuge and became just another extension of the job. The bond that meant to balance him, instead pushed him into choices he’d never have made for anyone else.

Becoming each other’s everything hadn’t been romantic. It had been isolating. It cut them off from the team, from friends, from perspective. It left them vulnerable. 

Jay thought of Kim and Adam, how he used to laugh with others for their on-again, off-again mess. Now, he could see the strength in it, the honesty of recognizing when love wasn’t enough, of giving each other space to grow without clinging and of having a steady partner to lean on when things got hard. That was healthier than what he and Hailey had done. What had once seemed chaotic was actually balance. Jay winced at how blind he’d been. 

Jay sighed. Every time Kim came to his mind, the guilt returned. He still wondered if he should tell her the truth about Roy, even now, years later. Closure mattered, even if it came late. And he could.

Jay watched people going in and out of the hospital doors. A blond woman walked out,seemed familiar but he couldn’t place her. Instead, Erin came into his mind. Jay smiled, how many times they walked through these doors together.

Erin, who had often stepped aside letting him and Voight clash and find their balance without forcing herself into it. Hailey didn’t. She pressed closer instead, turning it personal. What once sharpened him only got muddied. Jay wasn’t just facing Voight anymore but carrying Hailey’s too.

He shook his head, pulling himself back. Therapy had helped. Time had helped. He’d moved on. 

Jay rose and walked toward Med’s glass doors. Walking inside meant brushing against the world he’d left behind—friends, family, ghosts. But it didn’t feel heavy anymore. He’d made peace with most of it, untangled what needed untangling. In the end, he would always cherish his time at Intelligence.

And Voight would always be a father figure to him,family, badge or no badge. But he no longer felt the need to follow the man’s path. And that was what mattered.

Stepping through Med’s glass doors, Jay wondered if the place had changed, if anyone would recognize him.

The antiseptic smell hit him first—sharp, sterile. Once it had made him flinch; now it was as ordinary to him as gunpowder. Once, the smell had meant pain. But over the years, it had rewired itself in his mind.

It carried Will’s laugh during quick breaks, their banter, Will scolding him with that familiar mix of exasperation and love. Jay chuckled. Some things never changed, even with miles between them.

This is where it began, he thought as he stepped into the reception area. At Med, that smell had never been just one thing. It carried years of memories. The place might look the same, but everywhere he turned, a memory waited—smiles blended with sorrow. He didn’t try to suppress them, good or bad. He welcomed whatever came.

At the front desk, his eyes landed on the ER doors at the far end. He wondered what the new staff were like. He remembered flashing his badge, doing his job. Erin leaning on the nurses’ desk with a grin. Choi. Maggie. The times he’d ended up here himself, scraped up or bleeding. The losses.

With Trudy’s room number—courtesy of being Will’s brother—Jay headed for the elevators.

He passed a vending machine and thought of the Bears game he’d once gone to with the Med and Fire crew. More family than coworkers back then. They’d drifted since, tangled in their own messes and drama. But the memory was still good.

The smell no longer meant just hurt. It meant survival, it meant family. And it wasn’t only Med. That same sterile air had followed him into other hospitals, softened there by steady love. What once marked pain now carried something more moments worth holding onto.

The elevator ride up stirred heavier memories—visiting Antonio, Kim, Adam. And Al. His absence still louder than his presence had ever been, leaving a space no one could fill. Jay’s chest tightened, from just loss, pure and simple.

The elevator doors opened. Jay stepped out, shook his head clear. 

He was here for Trudy. A woman whose steadiness and confidence he had always admired. Even with her close friendship to Al and Voight, she had never let their shadows change her. She stayed true to herself, her code, her way of doing things—and that made him respect her more.

He reached her room. He took a deep breath then pushed the door open.

And there she was, staring at him.

Chapter Text

A Week After The Shooting.

Jay paused at the door, hand on the handle, waiting to see if she’d let him in or kick him out.

Trudy Platt lay propped against the pillows, unable to sleep, her eyes cutting toward the opened door. For a moment she just stared, then her mouth twitched into something sharp.

“Either I’m seeing things,” she said, voice roughened, “or Jay Halstead just walked into my room.”

“Hi, Sarge.” Jay’s lips pulled into a small smile.

Her gaze lingered on him steady, unblinking, as if to make sure he didn’t vanish. Then, with a nod toward the chair, she said,

 “Sit. Don’t just hover like an idiot.”

He slid into the chair. Silence stretched for a beat. For all the memories he’d walked through on his way here, it hadn’t crossed his mind what he would actually say to her.

“I saw the news,” Jay said finally, his voice quiet, careful. “How are you?”

“Fine. Getting out soon.” Trudy’s answer was clipped. She wasn’t about to discuss Bates. The story had been running nonstop on the news.

“Good.” Jay nodded, not knowing what else to say.

“So, you’re back in Chicago? Left the Army?” Her eyes narrowed just slightly.

He shook his head.

“Left, yeah. But I’m in New York now.”

Trudy looked almost grateful. Like having him here let her forget the last week, if only for a minute.

“What are you doing there?” she asked. 

“My spouse works there.” Jay said, twisting the silver band around his finger.

“You got married again?” Trudy asked.

“Yeah. Almost two years.” His tone was steady, but there was an ease in his smile that hadn’t been there years ago.

Trudy gave a low hum, more thoughtful than surprised. Then, she asked.

“So do I know this mystery spouse?”

“Kinda.” Jay chuckled. 

“Either I know her or I don’t.” Her stare pinned him like old times. 

He almost smiled—God, he’d missed that. And he caught the unspoken question in her tone: Is it Erin?

“It’s him,” Jay said simply. Then, after a beat, “Though I did run into Erin once. By chance.”

“Really...” Trudy’s brows lifted. she asked, her voice carrying a mix of excitement and amusement.

“Wait. It isn’t Mouse.”  

“No. He was my witness, though.” Jay replied.

“You want to keep him a secret, fine. I’ll let it slide for now, since this is the best entertainment, I’ve had since my shooting.” Trudy said.

“It isn’t a secret. it’s just he has his own story with this place.” Jay said honestly.

Trudy nodded. She pushed for details, not out of nosiness, but because it felt good to talk about something ordinary. With Jay, she could forget betrayal for a little while.

“Tell me about your run-in with Erin.”

“At a Broadway show,” Jay said. His mouth curved, light, almost teasing. 

“Turns out Erin was there too. We grabbed dinner, caught up.”

“You. Broadway. What do you get lost on the way to a bar?” Trudy asked, disbelief laced with amusement.

Jay laughed, shaking his head.

“Musical, too. My husband’s choice.” His grin carried the same easy teasing she remembered from his first years in Intelligence.

Trudy snorted.

“Figures.” 

“He has a good taste.” Jay agreed.

“How is she?” Trudy asked, voice softer.

“Settled. Happy.” His tone was final.

Trudy didn’t press. She just smiled, quietly relieved to know Erin’s life had turned out well.

Taking deep breaths, Trudy didn’t speak, just watched him. He was different, lighter, settled, the tension gone from his shoulders. Not the man who’d been burning out at the end of his time at Intelligence. It seemed like he had found solid ground again. 

Jay leaned back at chair, his mind drifting back to that dinner, the moment Erin had finally apologized for ghosting him, something in him that had stayed broken since the day she left finally eased. He understood when he rejoined the army. She hadn’t left because she stopped loving him, but because love wasn’t enough to survive the circumstances without losing herself. 

When the divorce papers came, he’d called Hailey, to give her what he longed for. He hadn’t wanted her to continue carrying his silence. He wanted her to know what they had mattered, even if they couldn’t last. He wanted her free of it, free of him, able to move on without his shadow.

In the end, he had been on both sides: the need to run and the ache for closure. And he realized life can’t be just black and white anymore.

“You look good.” Trudy said, interrupting his thoughts.

“I do.” He agreed.

No bitterness, no regrets. He was grateful for what they gave him and grateful, too, that his life had opened into something new.

“What are you doing with yourself these days?” she asked eventually.

Jay hesitated, gaze dropping. Simple he was in medical leave but he told her he left the army and in two months he would. And it felt like too much weight to lay across her hospital bed. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

The door opened, breaking the moment. A woman in scrubs stepped in.

“Sergeant Platt, just checking in.” Lenox said.

“Thanks, Doc.” Trudy said.

Lenox glanced at Jay, her brows arching. “Not visiting hours.”

Jay straightened a little, letting his tags catch the light, offering her easy smile. 

“Sorry. Just got into town. Had to see my friend.”

Lenox’s gaze flicked to the tags and then nodded to him.

Jay tuned out their exchange, thinking of Trudy's question. He had been working posts stateside trying to broaden his black or white mindset. Posts that showed him the big picture, made him consider the in-between no just search for the definitive yes or no. He allowed himself to decide where his new limits were. He didn’t want to fence himself in the army or follow someone else morals.

“Get some rest.”

Jay looked up at the tone, watching as the doctor slipped out of the door.

 “Still charming your way through closed doors, I see.” Trudy said deadpan.

“Old habits.” Jay said shyly.

“So, what do you do in NewYork?”

“Got some time off after overseas. Not really doing anything right now.” he said at last.

“You know you could always come back to Intelligence. You’d be welcomed.” Trudy said, her tone carried layers, a shadow of someone else who’d never say it out loud.

“My husband’s work has us in New York, for now. How is Mouch?” Jay asked, trying to redirect the conversation away from himself.

“He is a lieutenant now.” Trudy answered smiling

“Congrats.” Jay exhaled slowly, asked, “Could you keep this visit between us?” 

“So that’s why you showed up midnight. In and out before anyone sees you.” Trudy nodded.

Jay gave her a sheepish smile.

“Something like that. I miss everyone. But I don’t want them thinking I came back just to sneak around.”

“Halstead.” Trudy said. Her voice softened. “It’s okay if you’re not ready. I appreciate the visit. More than you know.”

She hesitated, then added,

“Hailey left Intelligence a year ago, if that’s what’s on your mind.”

Jay shook his head.

“That chapter’s closed.” His voice left no room for doubt, it was over for good. “It’s not about her. I’m only here a few days, family stuff. When I heard about you, I couldn’t not come. I hadn’t planned to see anyone else. Maybe one day.”

Her eyes stayed on him for a long moment, then softened with something she rarely let show.

“You’ve still got family here, Jay. Don’t forget that.”

“I know.”

He rose, sliding the chair back into place.

“Thanks, Sarge. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

He gave her one last smile, then slipped out, quiet as he’d entered. 

Trudy almost didn’t want him to leave. Their talk had been the first real breath of normalcy since the shooting, something untouched by betrayal or pity.

She lay back against her pillows, getting more comfortable. She thought, Maybe that was the silver lining of her shooting: it had brought Jay Halstead back, even if only for a minute. It was nice to know she was still loved and respected, especially after such betrayal.

Chapter Text

Goodwin walked toward the cafeteria. She had just checked on Trudy before the nurse wheeled her off for a scan. Ever since her return, she preferred working there instead of her office being alone in that space made her uneasy.

Passing the reception area, she spotted Voight stepping through the hospital doors, hands shoved in his pockets.

 “Hank,” Goodwin called, catching his attention.

Voight turned and walked toward her.

“Hey.”

“You here for Trudy?”

Voight gave a short nod.

“I was just there. They’re taking her for imaging final checks before she is discharged tomorrow.” Goodwin tilted her head toward the cafeteria. “Coffee while you wait?”

“Okay.” He shrugged.

They walked in silence and settled at a corner table with steaming cups between them. The low hospital hum filled the air steady and familiar.

“How was your first week back?” Voight asked.

“Good. Usual chaos,” Goodwin said with a faint smile.

‘’ And you? It was tough.” His tone was careful.

“Healed nicely. My boyfriend took care of me.” Goodwin smirked.

Voight raised his eyebrows.

‘’Huh.. Good for you.’’ He said, with no bitterness or envy in his tone.

Goodwin smiled, and watched as Voight drank his coffee. Back when she was a nurse she had cared for his wife Camille through those long, quiet months and had been there when she died. She remembered the way Voight never left her side, the love that filled the room even as the light dimmed from Camille’s eyes. Since that day, that same light had faded from Voight and a little more with every loss: his son, then Al even Erin and his grandson.  

The devotion to his late wife was something Goodwin respected deeply. But part of her hoped he might find someone again especially after losing so much. Maybe it was time to nudge him, gently.

“You’re still alive, Hank. No one would blame you,” she said softly.

Voight’s hand stilled on his cup. He gave a slow exhale, eyes lowering, but didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

“Trouble?” Voight asked, tilting his head toward the entrance where Lenox stood, deep in conversation with a young man. She looked agitated, not her usual composed self.

‘’Don't know'’ Goodwin said with a frown.

Voight watched as Lenox handed the man something, and he walked away. 

When Lenox approached, Goodwin called to her.

“Dr. Lenox.”

“Yes,” she said, then turning to Voight with a polite smile. “Hey, Sergeant.”.

“Hey,” he said with a nod. 

He glanced at Goodwin before speaking again.

“Everything all right, Doc? You looked a little off back there.”

“Oh, yeah. That was my brother, Kip. He just needs to grow up,” Lenox said with a half-laugh, her usual blunt honesty returning.

‘’If you need help, don't hesitate to call.’’ Voight said. Not strangers to young troubles.

‘’Thanks. Do you have kids?’’ Lenox asked.

“Yes, How’s Trudy?” Voight said, changing the subject. 

“Good. She’s been in a very good mood since her midnight visitor,” Lenox said.

‘’ What?’’ Voight asked, looking at Goodwin.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Goodwin said. “I thought it was because she’s being discharged soon. Don't know”

“White male, late thirties, military, green eyes,” Lenox added casually.

Lenox’s phone rang.

“Excuse me.”

Voight and Goodwin exchanged a glance. One name circled in both their minds but instead, Voight said,

“Ever thought of leaving Med or Chicago?”

“You mean like my young doctors?” Goodwin smiled, then continued. “No. Maybe it took time for doctors here to see me as someone in charge, not a nurse anymore. But I don’t run. I love it here, no matter how many challenges come my way. Younger people, though—they get burned, want a clean start. Maybe they didn’t put roots here the same way as us. Not everyone can stay close to the mess and still find peace, Hank.”

A faint grunt escaped Voight half agreement, half acknowledgment.

For a while, they sat in quiet companionship. Goodwin knew Voight was closer to his team than she was to her doctors; she liked her boundaries. But both of them understood how history and grief still echoed in this city. It wasn’t just Jay or Trudy, it was about Chicago itself, what they’d lost, and how they kept learning to carry the weight. Leaving seemed easier but Chicago is home.

“Ten years next week,” Goodwin said softly, referring to his son's death anniversary, her hand resting briefly on his.

Voight’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look up, just stared into the swirl of black coffee.

“Yeah.”

Goodwin gave his wrist a light squeeze, then let go. No more words were needed.

A Text came to Goodwin.

“Trudy is back in her room.” she told Voight.

As they rose to leave, Lenox came through, her coffee in her hand. She gave Goodwin a nod, then glanced at Voight.

“Have a good day Sergeant.”

Voight nodded to them and headed toward the elevator.

Goodwin watched as Lenox disappeared into the ER. It struck her—this was the first time Lenox had asked a personal question about anyone. Goodwin knew how the woman was careful with people, measured and distant. Still, she couldn’t help but smile. Voight, of all people, had managed to stir her curiosity.

Voight still carried that quiet charm, the kind that drew people in even when he didn’t mean to. He’d spent decades devoted to his wife, and somehow, that devotion only deepened his presence. The age difference between him and Lenox didn’t concern her.

People were too quick to assume age gaps meant dependency or imbalance. To Goodwin, independence mattered far more. That what truly kept things balanced between two people wasn’t age, but having built your own life, your own footing. Once you stood on solid ground, age was just a number, not a difference in power.