And the Band Played On (One Chicago/L&O)

Chapter Two

Frank is Nolan's voice of reason (for once), Herrmann works on cracking Boden, Sylvie has a rough night, and Frank gets another point of view on Voight from a trusted source.

***

"And then, get this, then the sonofabitch tells me to just head home without seeing her!"

Nolan's agitated tones were a tinny echo emitting from the speakers of Cosgrove's phone. The older man had set it on the short kitchen counter while he rummaged in the fridge looking for leftovers. Even without the way Nolan's voice kept coming in and out, Frank could easily picture his husband pacing the length of his hotel room. The younger man's hands would be vacillating between wild gesticulations and set on lean hips.

"I hope this isn't some sort of trick conversation, where I'm damned if I say I want you home sooner, and equally damned if I don't say I want you home sooner?"

As much as he'd loved his ex-wife, could have taught master classes in that particular skill of emotional manipulation.

"What?" Nolan's confused noise told Frank the younger man hadn't actually heard his question, so he decided to deflect.

"What?" He responded, getting a grunt and envisioning Nolan's frustrated flapping of a hand towards the phone.

"All I'm saying is Hank Voight is an arrogant bastard and I've let him get his own way about this for too long!"

Surfacing from the fridge with a pack of half-eaten hotdogs, Frank gave the package a cautious sniff, then shrugged and set them on the counter. Time to raid the back of the pantry for boxed macaroni and cheese. "Voight's an arrogant bastard, because he's usually right about things. At least these sorts of things."

"Frank. I could really use your support here."

Blue box retrieved, Cosgrove set it down beside the hotdogs and walked over to pick up his phone.

"Nolan. My support comes in the form of telling you when to get your head out of your ass. Voight's doing his job, which -as I understand it- is to look out for your sister. You asked me if I'd ever heard of him, and yeah, I've heard a lot. Good and bad, but always consistent on one fact; if he's concerned, it's because there's a reason for concern."

The phone line was silent for an extended period of time, during which Frank retrieved a pan and began to make inroads on putting his bachelor dinner dejour on the table: hot dogs in mac and cheese.

"You think I ought to come home."

It was a question, despite sounding like a statement. Nolan's voice was level, the way it got when he was at a crossroads in an argument and was genuinely soliciting opinions. Even if he wasn't happy with what came his way.

"I think," Frank began with a sigh as he picked at the top of the box. "That you're not calling me because you're pissed off at Voight. I think you're calling me, because you're concerned about the risk your presence could pose to your sister, and you're feeling guilty that you've let five years go by without even making an effort to go out and see her before now. You're frustrated with Voight, but you're really mad with yourself."

"Sometimes, I really hate being married to a detective," Nolan said in a quiet voice, and Frank heard the bedsprings creak as the younger man sat down.

"Nolan."

"Yeah?"

"Get your head out of your ass. Is it a risk? Yeah. She puts it all on the line every time she goes on a call, and that's her choice. You're being a coward about this because you don't want to have to live with being the reason she gets hurt."