Ahead of the Curve ((Chicago PD)) - Chapter 1
Title: Ahead of the Curve
Summary: She thought the four year prison sentence was almost impossible to handle. How will she handle things when he is released? ((Justin Voight/OC?))
Disclaimer: I do not own Chicago PD, or any of the characters from Chicago Fire who may eventually be included in this story. If I did, I clearly wouldn’t be typing this on my barely working laptop at four in the morning.
A/N: I’m going to be honest - I’m a pretty big Justin fan. I may or may not have spent the last twenty minutes going through Josh Segarra’s instagram and imagining the life ‘Justin’ could have lead with the character in this story, Rachel. This is a short first chapter - I know, don’t sue me. I think at this point (after the instagram thing), it’s more of a ‘stream of consciousness’. Also, the nickname “Pop-Pop” because that man just doesn’t seem like a “Grandpa” kind of guy. Song used in this chapter is “Say Something” by A Great Big World.
“Mom…Mommy……Mom……”
A tiny finger poked Rachel in the cheek, smeared with peanut butter. The scent of coffee reached her nose long before the sunlight from her windows rose to meet her eyes. Bed sagging under his weight, the child crawled onto the blanket covered mass that was his mother and began bouncing up and down repeatedly. Grinning at the thought in her head, Rachel sat up hurriedly, her son falling backwards on the bed.
“Oh no, Jackson! The Tickle Monster!”
The sound of his laughter echoed through the apartment, matched only by the deeper chuckle she heard in response from the other room. Footsteps came closer (as did the smell of the coffee, she noted) until the bedroom door swung open the rest of the way, her father in-law’s frame casting a shadow over the doorway.
“Was wonderin’ if you were planning on getting up today, so I figured I’d send the kid in as a buffer.”
“Hank, it’s Saturday. Saturday, as in the day after Friday, as in ‘it’s my day off’ Saturday.”
“Yeah, about that…”
Almost as if on cue, her phone began to buzz from its place on her dresser.
“C’mon, Jackson - Let’s give your mom a minute or two to get ready.”
“Okay, Pop-Pop”, the young boy shouted, before running off to catch the Saturday morning cartoons.
Say something, I’m giving up on you
Sliding out of the bed, her feet make contact with the cold wood floors, making a mental note to adjust the heat. ‘Fucking Chicago winters….’, she mused to herself. Rachel shuffled forward, turning the ringer of her phone back on, but not before the pictures caught her eye. On each side of the phone sat two framed photos - one of her and Justin before he got sent away, and the other of Voight and Jackson on the day he was born. Her son looked just like them both, something she cherished with each passing glance, each grin. Since her own family turned their backs on her, the Voight family had, without question, taken her in and taught her how to live, how to survive.
I’ll be the one, if you want me to
It had nearly killed her when Justin got sent upstate. They had been friends, and yeah - had even messed around when they were drunk, but there was something more there, something that words failed to describe accurately. With him, she felt free. With him, she felt….safe. With him, she felt.
Anywhere, I would have followed you
They had had plans - college, travel, take $100 bucks and see where it took them. Justin spoke of wanting to leave Chicago, leave behind the tainted legacy that the family name carried and creating one all his own; a name he’d be proud to pass on to a son of his own one day - a son he couldn’t possibly have known Rachel was carrying as they spoke of their plans.
“Yo, you still with us, kid?”
And just like that, her reverie was broken, attention drawn firmly back to the here and now. A glance towards Hank and she felt that familiar pang of loneliness in her chest. Jackson would get to be with his father once he was released, but it wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t get to know the man she had fallen so deeply in love with.
“Ye…Yeah. Give me 20, and I’ll be good to go.”
With one last passing glance to the photo, she found herself turning it face down, unable to deal with the laughing face of a man who no longer remained.
Say something, I’m giving up on you
Summary: She thought the four year prison sentence was almost impossible to handle. How will she handle things when he is released? ((Justin Voight/OC?))
Disclaimer: I do not own Chicago PD, or any of the characters from Chicago Fire who may eventually be included in this story. If I did, I clearly wouldn’t be typing this on my barely working laptop at four in the morning.
A/N: I’m going to be honest - I’m a pretty big Justin fan. I may or may not have spent the last twenty minutes going through Josh Segarra’s instagram and imagining the life ‘Justin’ could have lead with the character in this story, Rachel. This is a short first chapter - I know, don’t sue me. I think at this point (after the instagram thing), it’s more of a ‘stream of consciousness’. Also, the nickname “Pop-Pop” because that man just doesn’t seem like a “Grandpa” kind of guy. Song used in this chapter is “Say Something” by A Great Big World.
“Mom…Mommy……Mom……”
A tiny finger poked Rachel in the cheek, smeared with peanut butter. The scent of coffee reached her nose long before the sunlight from her windows rose to meet her eyes. Bed sagging under his weight, the child crawled onto the blanket covered mass that was his mother and began bouncing up and down repeatedly. Grinning at the thought in her head, Rachel sat up hurriedly, her son falling backwards on the bed.
“Oh no, Jackson! The Tickle Monster!”
The sound of his laughter echoed through the apartment, matched only by the deeper chuckle she heard in response from the other room. Footsteps came closer (as did the smell of the coffee, she noted) until the bedroom door swung open the rest of the way, her father in-law’s frame casting a shadow over the doorway.
“Was wonderin’ if you were planning on getting up today, so I figured I’d send the kid in as a buffer.”
“Hank, it’s Saturday. Saturday, as in the day after Friday, as in ‘it’s my day off’ Saturday.”
“Yeah, about that…”
Almost as if on cue, her phone began to buzz from its place on her dresser.
“C’mon, Jackson - Let’s give your mom a minute or two to get ready.”
“Okay, Pop-Pop”, the young boy shouted, before running off to catch the Saturday morning cartoons.
Say something, I’m giving up on you
Sliding out of the bed, her feet make contact with the cold wood floors, making a mental note to adjust the heat. ‘Fucking Chicago winters….’, she mused to herself. Rachel shuffled forward, turning the ringer of her phone back on, but not before the pictures caught her eye. On each side of the phone sat two framed photos - one of her and Justin before he got sent away, and the other of Voight and Jackson on the day he was born. Her son looked just like them both, something she cherished with each passing glance, each grin. Since her own family turned their backs on her, the Voight family had, without question, taken her in and taught her how to live, how to survive.
I’ll be the one, if you want me to
It had nearly killed her when Justin got sent upstate. They had been friends, and yeah - had even messed around when they were drunk, but there was something more there, something that words failed to describe accurately. With him, she felt free. With him, she felt….safe. With him, she felt.
Anywhere, I would have followed you
They had had plans - college, travel, take $100 bucks and see where it took them. Justin spoke of wanting to leave Chicago, leave behind the tainted legacy that the family name carried and creating one all his own; a name he’d be proud to pass on to a son of his own one day - a son he couldn’t possibly have known Rachel was carrying as they spoke of their plans.
“Yo, you still with us, kid?”
And just like that, her reverie was broken, attention drawn firmly back to the here and now. A glance towards Hank and she felt that familiar pang of loneliness in her chest. Jackson would get to be with his father once he was released, but it wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t get to know the man she had fallen so deeply in love with.
“Ye…Yeah. Give me 20, and I’ll be good to go.”
With one last passing glance to the photo, she found herself turning it face down, unable to deal with the laughing face of a man who no longer remained.
Say something, I’m giving up on you