Chapter Seven

She woke up with a crick in her neck, still leaning against the cool glass of the window in Jay's living room. The earliest tendrils of light streaked across the sky. It looked like a watercolor of blues, light golds, and a bit of pink. Before moving away from the window, Imogen took a moment to breathe.

She counted the inhales and the exhales. In through the nose, always. Out through the mouth. Making her way to the count of twenty, she ignored the occasional stab of pain in her ribs. She wouldn't let it ruin the peace of looking down Chicago's streets at dawn in the silence of Jay's apartment.

Her phone buzzed. Imogen glanced down at where it lay on the hardwood next to her foot. With a quick swipe, she checked her email. The tiniest hint of a smile grew as she realized the notification had been for a promo email for Giordano's special of the week. What a return to normalcy. Pizza ads.

Imogen hauled herself off the ground. Her legs and back ached from laying at an odd angle all night. She didn't know what time she'd finally managed to fall asleep. Based on the yawning she couldn't stop while changing for the day, she guessed it had taken a while. She could still see Jay, shirtless but wrapped in his grey comforter, dead to the world. Imogen smiled and shook her head. She returned to the kitchen.

Nothing looked good to her. Jay had coffee, which certainly was tempting. But she wanted to get in an early run. Or at least, she wanted to try. Imogen rifled through the supplies she had bought the day before and pulled out a GU energy gel. She downed it in sixty seconds.

Jay still hadn't stirred by the time she'd filled up her water bottle and tied on her gym shoes. Imogen found the pad of sticky notes he'd used to leave a note for her before and scribbled that she'd be back by nine. She stuck it to his phone.

By the time she got out the door, it was just after 7:30. The sunlight warmed her face as she stepped onto the sidewalk. Imogen didn't intend to go very long. She wasn't sure her ribs could handle more than an urban run for a couple of miles.

The city continued to wake as she half jogged, half walked down neighborhood sidewalks. Imogen counted her steps as she went trying desperately to focus her racing mind onto something mundane. When she didn't, when alone, she saw flashes of blood and faces.

Somewhere in the first thousand steps, she realized she'd looped around towards the local. As she stopped to breathe and rehydrate out front, Imogen realized why the number 51 had sounded so familiar when talking to the firefighters at the bar. A decade ago she'd dated one of their candidates. Well, dated was a strong word for it. Imogen took another drink. Had a fling with, more like.

Kelly Severide had been known for those. She hadn't minded a few weeks of fun and low commitment. The Academy hadn't left her much time for anything else.

"Hey! Detective!"

Imogen turned away from staring at the red brick and long, pale concrete drive at the familiar voice of Herrmann the bartender. Sweat had started to sting the scabbed over scratches along the left side of forehead and she was careful not to hurt it further when pushing hair out of her eyes. Hermann and Chief Boden, if she remembered his name correctly from a decade ago, strolled over from the other side of the street. They had duffle bags in hand.

After a small wave, she put her hands on her hips and continued her breathing exercises. It wasn't long before they joined her.

"Morning," she said. Imogen took another drink before extending her hand to the chief. "Detective Adler, Intelligence." Felt strange, saying it out loud. But she liked it.

"Yeah, she's buddies with the Halsteads," said Herrmann.

"Chief Boden. Pleasure to meet you," he said, returning the handshake. "Intelligence. So. You work for Sergeant Voight?"

"Newly transferred." Gesturing to her left arm, she said, "One perk of getting shot on the job is being able to request your next posting."

"How'd you end up shot so soon after getting back to the city?" Herrmann asked.

Keeping her expression in check, Imogen stayed silent. She watched Herrmann and Chief Boden shuffle uncomfortably as she let it drag on. Lowering her voice, she leaned in closer. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

It took all the skill she'd learned from being in improv groups in college plus the last ten years of police work to keep from laughing at their unnerved faces. Herrmann leaned back a bit, mouth opening as if to speak. But he stayed silent, just like his chief. Imogen smirked, tapping Herrmann on the arm. "Just kidding."

"Right. Well," Boden said. He looked her up and down and then nodded again. "You're welcome inside if you'd like. We're open to everyone."

Imogen winced as another sharp stab of pain shot through her left chest. The bruised ribs had been remarkably kind to her through the first thirty minutes of her run. Apparently they'd decided they'd had enough. "I should get going. Your paramedics might throw a fit if they see me running so soon after getting shot," she tried to joke. It came out more pathetic than she'd intended. "Thank you, though. I'll be sure to stop by soon."

"Hey. Stay safe out there, Detective," Herrmann said. He flashed her a tight smile and returned the tap on her arm. "Hope it feels better."

Imogen watched as they joined the other firefighters trickling into the firehouse. None of them stood out to her as people she'd known from before. It didn't surprise her. She'd only really known Severide, and that had been an Academy fling. She'd rarely shown up to his firehouse. Imogen turned away.

The streets started to fill up by the time she entered Jay's building. Heat flushed her cheeks and the cut on the left side of her forehead along her hairline stung ever so slightly. She'd really pushed herself over the last half mile. Her chest ached but she didn't care. The pain gave her a reason to focus on the mundane. She counted each footstep from the door to the building to the door to his apartment.

Using the spare key Jay had given her, she let herself in. She could hear Jay in the kitchen. The rumble of the Keurig machine and scent of coffee stopped Imogen in her tracks. She smiled.

"Hey, start one for me," she said. Imogen leaned around the wall to the kitchen and pointed to the machine as Jay stirred a bit of cream into his mug. When he looked up at her, she added a quick, "Please."

"Yeah, yeah," he said.

Shouting a quick thank you over her shoulder, she hurried to shower and change. Hair dripping down her back, she stared at her reflection in Jay's washroom mirror. Her mother had always called it Irish Black. Nothing prettier than black hair and brown eyes, Imogen. Stop your whining over Maeve's red head.

The corners of her mouth perked up as she thought about her. What a woman. Never afraid to yell, never afraid to shoo vagrants from their little yard fenced in with a partially rusted chain-link fence.

Imogen moved closer to the counter. Leaning towards the mirror, she ran her fingers gently over the scabbed cuts on her face. Mostly around her left temple and hairline, they stung a bit after the shower up seemed to calm down. Less burning. The scrapes reminded her of the time she'd stepped directly onto a rubber kickball. Face-planting directly onto Canaryville asphalt in desperate need of re-pouring hadn't been her finest moment. Mr. Halstead had been sitting in his lawn chair right out front when it happened.

Nearly twenty years later and thinking about it still made her cheeks burn from embarrassment. Imogen stopped inspecting the cuts. The bruising down her left arm and ribcage had improved, turning an ugly yellowish green. She'd seen enough bruises in her time not to freak out. Green and yellow were good.

A knock at the washroom door made her jump. A chill shot up her spine as adrenaline pulsed through her. It took a moment to catch her breath.

"If you want a ride to the District, I'm leaving in ten," Jay said through the door.

Imogen took a second to get her heart to settle. Her hands shook as she grabbed her clothes and pulled them on. "I'll be right out."

It wasn't long before Imogen pushed through to the bedroom, hair still damp, desperately trying to hook the clasp of her sterling silver Celtic cross necklace together. Her wet hands made it difficult. Muttering out a "shit," it took her nearly thirty seconds to hook on the necklace. Jay stood by the door, absentmindedly flicking his keys around.

"Coffee?" Imogen said, hurrying into the front room. She grabbed her leather jacket off the coat rack.

Jay pointed to the kitchen island. He'd put it in a travel mug. With a grin and a thank you, Imogen grabbed the mug and followed Jay out of the apartment.

"You were up early," he said.

Imogen pulled herself up into his truck as he started the engine. While she'd expected the thinly veiled concerned question behind the factual statement, it didn't make her squirm any less. She had to guess the only reason exhaustion hadn't crashed into her was the adrenaline from being so low on sleep and going for a run. Hopefully, the coffee would add fuel to that fire. She took a drink.

"Wanted to get in a run, see how I'm feeling. To get back to full duty as soon as possible."

He glanced at her, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. His lips pursed into a thin line. "They're not putting you back on full duty until you clear your psych eval, too."

"I know that."

"Okay, well, how do you think you're gonna do on that?"

She let the question hang in the air. Jay rarely played music in the truck, too focused on the surrounding road and the radio he always kept on. He'd done the same in their squad car. That's what had made them the best team in the district, no matter where they were detailed. Or so she and Jay had always liked to claim.

"If you have something you want to say to me, Halstead, say it," she said.

They stalled behind a blue Toyota Corolla at a red light. Looking her in the eyes, he leaned on the center armrest. "I know you better than anyone, Adler." He stressed her name, a twinge of sass in his voice. But it quickly faded as he continued. "You're damn good at playing a role. Sometimes too good."

Too good. Imogen didn't have a response, and turned away to look at the streetlight. God must've been looking out for her because it turned green and Jay had to focus on the road. They settled back into silence. Cars, cyclists, runners passed them by as they continued to weave through city streets until they reached the district. Jay pulled into one of the last spots.

"You can talk to me," he said. Jay turned off the car and looked at her. "Or don't. But talk to someone." He paused before continuing. "We need you in Intelligence. Things have been rough since Olinsky died. So hurry up and pass that psych eval."

She'd heard about Olinsky while undercover. Boasting gangbangers excited a cop had been taken down in prison. Few things had been harder in her life than having to be excited about a death to play a role. Olinsky had been a legend.

Jay stepped out and pushed his door shut. As it clicked closed, she did the same, trying to push down any remaining feelings. She had paperwork to do, files to read. Platt wanted to talk. She had a desk to sort out and a whole wing of District 21 to familiarize herself with now that she had access to Intelligence. She had to compartmentalize. At least Jay didn't seem to know she'd slept huddled against a window in his living room. He'd never have let that one go.

One. Two. Three. Her breathing became a distraction as she fell into silent step beside Jay. Too good at acting. Imogen rolled her shoulders back and balled her free hand into a fist to stop the shaking as they approached the front steps. In Organized Crime they used to joke that she could "Yes, And" into problems just as easily as she could "Yes, And" her way out.

But it wasn't as though she could flip a switch, turn it off. Imogen sighed. Reaching out with her left, Imogen grabbed Jay's jacket sleeve and pulled him aside at the base of the inside stairs.

"I will pass that psych eval," she said.

Jay searched her face, eyes darting undoubtedly between scrapes. But he nodded. With a quick smirk, he patted her once on the arm. "I know."

As he headed up the stairs, Imogen just released a deep breath. Halsteads. They were all a piece of work. She let out a tiny snort and followed him up the stairs. Time to do her job.