Wasted

Lauren attempted to keep up with the woman's stride, hanging on to every word she said.

"Okay rookie, I'm going to show you the ropes once and only once," Sergeant Platt explained. "Any calls for the detectives you come to me first, never transfer one without telling me. Calls for regular officers you can go ahead and tell them, except for Burgess and Atwater, you let me know if someone calls for them." The woman stared into her eyes with purpose. "Understood?"

Lauren nodded and looked up at her from in front of the desk.

Platt took that as her cue to continue. "If someone comes in and asks to speak to any police officer, you come tell me no matter what. I don't care if it's the president of the United States out there, you still come tell me."

"Alright. Got it," she smiled. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, don't be so peppy. This isn't a high school, you're not a cheerleader- tone it down."

Her mood slightly faltered, but her smile kept it's place. "Y-yes ma'am."

"You're desk is at the bottom of the stairs, just at the entrance. I'm sure you seen it when you came in. You'll be there a majority of the time, if you're not there you'll be running errands for me."

"Running errands for you? I thought I was a receptionist."

The sergeant glowered at her and pointed down the stars, "Go on."

"Right."

She spun on her heel, taking in the room she was in. It was large, with stairs on either side of it leading to different departments. Many policemen passed her, some smiled and wished her a good morning, some acted as if she simply didn't exist.

She held onto the railing down the stairs, smiling as she met some of the officer's eyes. She made herself comfortable in her seat, looking over the things on her desk. A pen sat in the middle of the surface, along with a notebook for messages, she supposed. An old, corded phone sat ominously at the corner of the desk. She imagined it's ring to be obnoxiously loud.

She went through the motions as the day progressed. She'd only had to go to Sergeant Platt twice for emergencies, and that was because she didn't know the extensions. As she became more familiar with the process, she felt more confident in her endeavors.

Unconsciously, a gasp left her lips as a chill shot through the small area when the door opened, blowing the wintery air directly toward her. She made a mental not to bring an extra jacket from now on, and maybe a blanket.

A dark haired man began to climb the stairs, but quickly she remembered her duty. "Excuse me, sir!"

He stopped and turned to her, surprised to see her sitting there. "Yeah?"

"Can I help you?" He had a handsome face, one she'd never seen before. His blue eyes bore into her own as his generous eyebrows raised slightly, waiting for her to continue. "I can't just let you go up there. So I ask again, can I help you?"

"Uh yeah," his breathy voice replied, "can you tell me where I can find Hank Voight?"

She nodded and moved from behind the desk. "Come on, I'll take you up."



He followed the small girl up the stairs, watching as her long red hair swayed with each movement she made. She was a curious little thing, he noted. He'd never known of the station to have a receptionist.

"Sergeant Platt," she greeted politely. "He wants to see Detective Voight."

The old woman rolled her eyes dramatically and glanced over to Justin. She stomped from her position and crashed up the stairs, her ponytail swishing with every footfall, bellowing his father's name in an annoyed manner.

Justin took the opportunity to glance at the girl beside him, who stood patiently waiting with him. Her arms were crossed loosely across her chest and she bounced slightly on the balls of her feet. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket, uncomfortable with the silence they stood in. A few moments later Platt and Voight came down the stairs, both with stoney expressions.

"Justin." Voight called from the stairs, urging him forward.

He gave one last glance to the girl and followed his father up the stairs. They made small talk on the way to his office, mostly consisting of the basic 'how are yous'.

"When did they hire her?" Justin asked.

Voight watched his son from the corner of his eyes. "Don't know, I didn't see her when I came in." He sat down at his desk, his hands resting on his thighs as he waiting for his son to talk. "So, what are you doin' here?"

"I just got back from the army, Pop." He ran his hand through his crew cut hair. "I wanted to see you."

"I heard some good things about you while you were gone," Voight assured. "I'm proud of you, son. You did good."

"Thanks Pop." He hesitated a moment and smiled. "You still got a place for me at home?"

"You know I do. You go ahead and get moved in, I'll be home after work."

Justin stood to his feet, wrapping his arms around the man beside him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

He smiled gratefully at the him. "For making me a better man."



Lauren sat at the bottom of the stairs, doodling on a sheet of paper as she waited for another call. An owl perched on a tree limb was shaded expertly, seemingly basked in moonlight. She continued to add detail to it, lost in her own mind when a voice interrupted her.

"That's real good."

Her eyes widened and she bared down on the pencil, snapping the lead instantly. She looked to him with a small smile, "You scared me."

"Sorry," he said simply. "I never got your name earlier."

"Oh, I'm Lauren Evans," she extended her hand as an act of professionalism. She smiled as he gripped her hand in a firm but gentle manner. The callouses on his palms signaled that he'd used his hands for labor in the past, but the softness of his grip confused her.

"Justin Voight."

"Nice to meet you." He let go of her hand and backed away slowly with a grin, "See ya, Lauren."

She felt her face heat up, as his eyes never left hers. Not until he was out the door. "See ya."