Undercover Love - Jay Halstead

Hairdryer.

Jay Halstead
(Bonus Chapter?)

There never goes a day like this one, that I somehow find myself worrying about her.

How she always manages to get herself kidnapped one way or another, goes beyond my understanding. I'm just relieved that we manage to get her all the time.

But today was different.

After what happened in the cage, seeing her cry for the first time- well, seeing her cry in front of me for the first time- I can't shake off this feeling that I want to be there for her. That I want to help her get over whatever it is she's going through.

It's one thing I admire about this girl, which she most definitely must've gotten from her father. It's her way of coping through things.

Being able to distance yourself, shut your emotions off completely, in order to do whatever task is at hand. Even to turn those feelings of grief or anger into determination, until you've finished the job you needed to do.

Whether it's healthy to close yourself off to cope like she does, I don't know, but that's one of the reasons that makes her a brilliant cop.

I watch as she's sat at the desk opposite me, her eyes trained on the paperwork in front of her.

She's always doing paperwork around this time.

Her hair has been tied back, with only some loose strands framing her face here and there. In a way it makes her look tired, yet beautiful in some way.

I'm not supposed to be calling her things like these. She hates me to my guts, but somehow I just can't help it.

If something- someone is this beautiful, you just can't unsee it.

I'm pulled out if my trance, when I see Voight leaning against his doorframe in order to catch my attention.

For a moment, I feel like I've been caught stealing. I shouldn't be staring at his daughter like I did, yet he says nothing about it and only motions me towards his office.

I get up instantly, catching her attention for just a few seconds, before she trains her focus back on the papers in front of her.

I love getting her attention every now and then. I've always had.

I close the door behind me, "What's up, Serge?"

"Did you talk to her earlier?" His gruff voice asks.

"I did," I nod. "She was in the cage and uh, we talked for a while, she cried a lot too."

The only reason why I would tell him that she's been crying is for the only most obvious reason- he's her father. If it was anyone else, I would've left that part out.

"She cried?" He raises a brow and for a moment I felt like I've done something wrong.

"Uh, yeah," I say, running a hand behind my neck. "I think the guilt she had, took a toil on her emotions and after I talked to her about it, she just gave in. I felt really bad for her, Serge. She took a lot of the case's weight on herself."

"And she let you comfort her?" He asks, faining the same confusion I'm feeling at that question.

"Yeah," I frown in the same confusion. "Yeah, she actually did."

Quinette doesn't like me. In fact, hate is a much better word to describe her dislike of me.

So, if you hate someone that much, why would you let them comfort you?

Voight hums, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands in front of his stomach. He's silent, clearly deep in thought as I just stand behind his table.