What I Need- a Hank Voight Chicago PD fanfiction

Eventually

It was the sound of her phone ringing that woke her, stretched out on an unfamiliar bed, the weight of a hand on her stomach. Voight was still asleep. She scrambled for her phone, dismissing the call before it woke him.

Part of her couldn't believe she was still here, had spent the night asleep against him. Slept like she hadn't in she didn't know how long. She settled back down, turning to face him, smiling as he moved in his sleep, his hand slipping over her side to pull her a little closer. Light was coming in from a half pulled shade, and it had begun to make its way across the floor. But his face still lay in shadow. It looked younger, here. Gentler maybe.

She was content to let herself drift off again when her phone buzzed twice. Whoever had called had left a voicemail.

Lana fumbled around blindly for her phone behind her, not quite willing to move. She found it half shoved beneath her pillow, and tugged it out enough to look at it.

Lana sat up. It was the hospital. She tucked the phone against her ear, glancing around for a clock. A small black one stood on the end table, red lit numbers reading 7:03. Lana muttered a surprised curse. How Hank wasn't awake yet, she didn't know. The man hardly ever slept.

She listened to the voicemail, the tox results were in and the doctor wanted to see her. Whatever he had could help sort out this case against Voight and Lana flipped the blankets off. If she hurried she could hit the hospital and would only be minimally late to shift.

She crept across the floor, gathering her things, tugging her fingers through her hair and yanking it into a ponytail. She didn't want to wake Voight, he didn't have to come into shift today. It wasn't exactly a vacation, but she figured she might as well let the man sleep. He didn't get enough of it.

Halfway down the stairs her phone rang again, and Lana growled. Why did everyone need her today. The one morning she would have gladly procrastinated as long as humanly possible, and suddenly she was a necessary part of everyone's lives.

"What," she hissed into the phone, reaching the bottom step.

Erin responded without even noticing. "Where are you?" Lana froze. How the freak was she supposed to answer that. But Erin continued, "We're trying to get data from a phone and Antonio keeps screwing around." Antonio's voice sounded in protest in the background. Erin ignored him. "You're usually here by now."

Lana's phone traded hands as she shrugged into her coat, "And the phone's locked?" she asked, getting Erin back to the subject at hand.

"Damaged, cracked screen."

"Ah," Lana stepped outside, squinting at the sunlight. "there's a program on my computer." She put the phone on speaker long enough to text a cab, "I'll walk you through it."

******

"Got it." Antonio pushed back from the keyboard, shooting Erin a particularly proud of himself look, and she rolled his chair out of the way, focusing on the computer screen.

There were texts, nothing too interesting. Certainly nothing incriminating to Voight but nothing to vindicate him either. They scrolled through contacts, recent calls, looking for something to help.

"Hey, try photos." Antonio suggested.

"What, you think he took a selfie during the shooting?" Erin muttered, but she clicked on the folder icon anyway. She opened the most recent media file and Antonio let out a whistle.

"Not a selfie. A video. This is time stamped right before the shooting."

It barely played, glitched and stuttered and Antonio swore. "Well that's not supposed to be happening."