@spaghetti-is-power posted this on Tumblr earlier and I wanted to write it out. Thanks for helping me find my muse.
plot twist:
jay suddenly disappears, everyone's looking for him, but no luck. then, in the mid-season all of his stuff from the apartment disappears as well. hailey and everyone else is really worried about him, but later it seems like they totally dropped the storyline. but, at the end of the season, they just show the new york's skyline and then a scene of jay waking up, with erin cuddled into him, both being happy as ever (maybe also a kid here or there.)
The dark bags under his eyes, his beard growing in, the fact that he went to the breakroom for coffee at least four times during one shift never went unnoticed. It was concerning. Everyone would be turning off their computers—packing up for the night—yet he would grab his jacket and head towards the breakroom. What he did in there? No one knew.
Until that one morning where he was ready to knock his friend flat on his ass.
For the last two weeks there were days when he showed up in the same clothes from the day before—hair disheveled; sometimes you could even smell the booze on his breath if you stood close enough. Upton had even called him out on his shirt being inside-out one morning. He blew her off—telling her they needed to focus on their task—and she never got another moment to check in on him again.
Always being the last to leave and the first to show up, no one knew if he even slept. No one even knew where he slept. Erin's place was sold and rumours flying around let them know that Will was kicked out of his girlfriend's place. The guys had joked about it one night at Molly's but the pained look in his watery, green eyes put an abrupt stop to their teasing. Quickly slamming down enough money to pay for his tab, he rushed out of the bar, likely to the comfort of his four walled home that lacked the one thing that was home.
The palm scanner didn't work for him the next morning. He did everything right—code, hand, pull. He even tried twice. The sound of his frustrated grunts made its way towards the front desk where the noise of uniformed officers running around didn't fade it away. With the quick press of a button, the gate flung open and his bloodshot eyes thanked the aging woman behind the desk. The forceful slam of the metal behind him wasn't missed by her trained eyes, along with his slumped posture and the way his hands shook as he combed his fingers through his hair.
Al showed up at his place that night: "I figured you'd be drinking. Man shouldn't be drinking alone." Not many words were spoken between them, just the sound of wine making its way down their throats. Al excused himself and made his way out the door an hour later, unbeknownst to him of the hard liquor Jay drowned himself in minutes after he had left.
The bullpen was empty, even Voight's office was vacant. His first destination was his locker, the one directly next to hers. He pulled the navy blue sports jacket off the hanger and stuffed it into his duffel bag, along with his dress shoes and a pair of dark Vans. Next came the plaid shirts and the jeans that were quickly tossed in along with a toiletry bag that contained a comb, his hair gel and some cologne. He snagged his lock off the locker and made his way back to the bullpen where he forcefully dumped out his belongings from his desk.
Closing the lid to the box, his hand reached towards his waistband and tugged off the piece of metal that gave him his identity for the better part of the last eight years. He used the back staircase—going unnoticed—and placed the box in the passenger seat of his Jeep, never looking back.
Voight was on his doorstep a few hours later, after he saw the sunlight shining against those five numbers—51163. There was no sound of strong, heavy footsteps making their way towards the door, nor was there any voices coming from a TV.
"Excuse me, sir? May I help you?" An older man with wispy grey hair and kind eyes spoke from behind Voight. He wore a plaid shirt and grey slacks, accompanied with a walking cane and he had a permanent slouch to his back.
"I'm just looking for Jay. He's late for work."
"Oh. I'm sorry sir. Mr. Halstead moved out."
"Hmm. Did he say where he was going?"
"No, he just said this wasn't the right place for him."
"When did he leave?"
"He left early this morning, the sun wasn't even up above the horizon. He looked like a sharp one, don't you worry about him. He'll figure it out." The older man bid farewell and continued down the long hallway slowly. All Voight could do was go in the opposite direction, back to his vehicle, and back to the district.
His phone was pinged, his credit cards and license plate flagged, yet they found nothing. Calls made to his phone went directly to voicemail and calls made to his brother just left him panicked. He wasn't checked into any hospitals or any rehab facilities—even the guys at his support group hadn't seen him in weeks.
Jay Halstead simply fell off the face of the Earth.
The sight of his badge still sitting atop Voight's desk didn't leave any room for hope. He wasn't—didn't—want to come back, he made that clear. Hushed conversations and the occasional look into the office by those out in the bullpen forced the sergeant to make a difficult decision too quickly.
"He's gone."
It had almost been six months now but the view of the skyline outside his bedroom window was something he had yet to get used to. He could look down from the balcony at any time to witness a sea of yellow from all the cabs and he could smell the cigarette smoke filling the air as his fellow citizens went about their days.
He had insisted on curtains but she didn't see the point of them—we're too high up for anyone to see anything.
Damn that federal paycheck.
He showed up at her place—likely waking up all her neighbours with his loud knocking—but the smile on her face was worth it. They found comfort in each other—from the feel of each other's skin to the taste of the salty tears making their way down each of their cheeks. The comfort was not something that they regretted. All the words spoken and all the sensitive touches were done out of love.
Love.
Pure, undying, adoring, blissful love.
Looking down at the faint swell of her belly as she slept, he knew that the little human that was half him and half her would never question whether he or she was loved. There would never be an ounce of doubt because that baby was a personified version of it.
/
Leave me a review :)
