What I Need- a Hank Voight Chicago PD fanfiction

Late

Voight downed another drink, felt the burn against his throat as he swallowed. He knew his team was out at Molly's, blowing off steam and wasting an evening together. It was good, them doing that. He was a little too used to doing it alone.

There was a thump from down the bar, a drink spilled and a muddled curse before an argument broke out. Voight glanced up in irritation, he wasn't in the mood to deal with a couple of drunks shaping up to do something stupid.

The bartender could usually handle this kind of crap, but he was in the back. With a long suffering growl, Voight stepped in.

He grabbed the arm of the larger one before he could swing again, slammed him hard against the bar.

 "Knock it off!" Voight glanced at the guy next to him in time to duck, the glass the man had thrown shattering against the back wall. Voight cursed as sharp shards stung his face.

"Hey!" Mikey was out from the back now, and he grabbed the guy by the collar. Mikey was not a small man, but he was quick and he pressed the drunk's face into the bar.

"I don't like people breaking stuff in my bar. Get out. and don't come back. Both of ya."

He sent the one Voight held a scowl as Voight let him go, and Mikey shoved his away.

"You alright?" He tossed a towel at Voight, frowning at the blood dripping from his cheek.

"Yeah," Voight pressed at the cuts, trying to staunch the bleeding, head wounds always bled worse than they were. "Just scratched."

He fished his wallet out with his other hand, but Mikey waved him off. "Tonight's on the house. Thanks for the help. And you might wanna get that looked at." He jerked his chin as Voight's head.

"Yeah," Voight grunted, before grabbing up his jacket.

It was colder than he was expecting, and his face stung. He was going to get blood all over his car. This was shaping up to be one hell of a night. He dug out his keys, but hesitated.

He was only a block away from Milani's apartment.

Voight rolled his eyes, he wasn't hurt bad enough to bother her and he knew it. He had a first aide kit in the trunk, he had handled worse himself before.

"Voight?" her voice interrupted everything, and Voight turned. 

Lana had paused on the sidewalk, under the light of a cracked street light. Her jacket was pulled tight, arms wrapped around her stomach like she was fighting off the cold. She still wasn't quite used to it, losing that Miami warmth.

"Hey Milani," he grimaced as his cheek twinged, and Lana stepped closer.

"You're hurt." The shadow of blood lay thick on his cheek, his hand pressed to cover a wound she couldn't see.

"I'm fine," Voight spoke as she approached, saw the worry in her eye.

"You don't look it." Her fingers touched his chin, turning his face to the light. Her hands were cold, and he shivered when her thumb brushed the corner of his lip.

"You should get this cleaned up," she stepped back, nodding her head down the road, "My place isn't far."

"I remember."

Lana felt her stomach tighten.

He didn't know why he said it, why his voice had dropped. Why his eyes tracked the way she paused, glanced back at him with a gaze that flashed wide.

He walked beside her, as silent as the night they had met. Left his car in the lot and followed her down empty streets to her apartment.

She clicked the light on, dropped her keys on that little table by the door. Frowned when she saw him in the full light.