Turn Back Time

Chapter 1 - Blaze of Glory

"Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better."

He wasn't really one for deep, philosophical affirmations but, as he took a moment to surreptitiously watch him watching her, Alvin couldn't help but think that the fortune cookie excerpt couldn't have been more accurate when it came to the Chicago PD Intelligence Sergeant. As Kate Meadows stood a few feet in front of the whiteboard with a furrowed brow, bright hazel eyes darting over each piece of new information, Alvin felt his lips twitch into a knowing smile when Hank's russet orbs subconsciously drifted from the stack of papers Jay had handed him to return to their prior task of covertly observing Kate.

It was long past midnight but the unit was still very much hard at work, hip-deep in leads and surveillance footage as they hunted down yet another sinister serial killer who had been terrorising the city of Chicago for the past six weeks, leaving a harrowing path of dead bodies in his wake. But in amongst the chaos of chasing a psychopath, Agent North continued to be a proverbial thorn in their side, occasionally dropping by to remind them of his dogged pursuit of the person behind Kevin Bingham's unfortunate demise. But, so far, both Alvin and Hank had held firm, refusing to be rattled into making a mistake that would be costly for one, if not both of them.

It wasn't as if it was their first rodeo. He'd been burying bodies at Hank Voight's side for almost three decades and he'd known exactly what he was getting himself in to the night he agreed to help Hank and Erin dispose of Bingham's remains.

For thirty four years, Alvin had watched Hank grow from an eager rookie, desperate to live up to the reputation of his father to, in his opinion, one of the most effective cops to have ever worn a CPD shield. He was smart, tenacious, aggressive and clearly didn't have a problem doing whatever it took to get the job done.

Whatever it took.

The first time that ruthless aggression manifested in taking a life outside of the call of duty was the night they tied a cinder block around the neck of the man who killed Eddie Penland. Even now, he could still recall how the icy chill of the wind burned his cheeks as he pushed Browning off of the side of the boat, a lump forming in his throat as he watched the vague outline of his body disappear beneath the dark waters. While Hank had continued about his business apparently unaffected, for Alvin it had marked the start of a twenty-plus year waiting game wondering when karma would eventually catch up with him because, let's face it, it always did.

But the handful of people who had fallen at Hank's hand had been predators who had no place roaming the streets amongst innocent wives, sons, daughters, grandparents and, although it didn't make it right, it at least made it somewhat bearable. There was nothing he wouldn't do to protect those he loved and, ultimately, Hank Voight was a man who wasn't afraid to do unsavoury things for the right reasons.

Hank navigated his life with a wrought-iron gate around his heart but Alvin was one of the very few who had seen it beat, bleed and shatter just like anyone else's. He had seen the unbridled adoration in his eyes the day that he married Camille, the unconditional love as he held Justin in his arms for the first time and the subsequent agonising heartache when he put him in the ground.

But there had been a tangible shift in his best friend ever since the pretty detective from the east coast rolled into the 21st with her bright eyes and bad-ass attitude and, from the second Alvin set eyes on her, he instantly knew that Hank was going to have his hands full.

He had watched them dance around their attraction for weeks on end. The covert glances when they thought nobody was watching, the subtle brushing of fingers as papers and mugs were exchanged, the occasional guiding hand on a lower back. Then came the undercover gig at the strip club and Alvin could recall barely being able to contain his mirth as Hank all but stopped breathing when the jaw-dropping siren emerged in a scrap of navy silk, all coy smiles, tanned skin and honey curls. 'Breathe' he had muttered quietly, startling Hank into sucking in a much-needed short, sharp breath as he frantically tried to gather himself.