Chapter 3

HANK – HANK - HANK

During the rest of the afternoon, Hank and Jay take turns sitting beside Erin. Hank calls Alvin and Antonio a few times to be updated on the advancement of the case, and Halstead makes a few calls as well when Hank's keeping Erin company. When one of them comes in, the other goes out, and the dance continues for a few hours, before Hank comes into the room to find Halstead almost passed out in his chair. His hand is holding Erin's in a lose grip and he's blinking slowly, his eyelids dropping a little more with each blink.

Hank waits for his detective to acknowledge his presence but Halstead is clearly on the brink of sleep and doesn't notice him standing there. It shouldn't come as such a surprise, they're all exhausted. They put in an all-nighter to find the connection between the drugs and the perps, and they launched their intervention at the crack of dawn.

Hank narrows his eyes at their linked fingers. There's possessiveness in this simple gesture and Hank just doesn't like it. The anger he feels at the general situation is once again directed toward the only person available, and a fresh wave of antipathy washes over Hank. He knows he's being unfair, knows that he should accept the fragile truce that was born when the young detective chose to let Hank check on Erin first. But he can't let go of his anger, not yet anyway. Because the alternative to anger is a deep, total, debilitating sorrow, one that can only be drowned in a bottle of strong liquor, one that he's not ready to feel for the second time in such a short time.

He clears his throat loudly.

Immediately and in the span of a few seconds, the younger man wakes up with a gasp, looks around disorientated, and almost loses his precarious balance on the edge of his chair. He winces as he catches himself, and if he weren't so angry, Hank might feel a tiny little bit bad. But he's angry, and he's decided that what he wants right now, is answers.

As Halstead starts to rise out of his chair, intending to leave his Sergeant alone with his girl, Hank stops him with a bark.

"Sit your ass back down."

Halstead freezes, and for a second it looks like he might get up anyway, but he takes one look at his chief's face, and seems to think better of it. He sits down on the edge of his seat, unnaturally still, eyes never leaving the prowling form of his superior. The wary look he sported in the waiting room is back, and though Hank is angry, he tries to reign himself in. He already assaulted the kid once today, and he might be pissed but he's not proud of his earlier actions. Besides, it looks like a strong gust of wind could be enough to knock out Halstead right now, the usually tall and well-built man looking ridiculously exhausted and battered. The bruises have darkened on his face and the bluish spots stand in stark contrast against the crusted blood on his cheekbone, where Hank split the skin.

Hank paces a bit more, all the while aware of Halstead's eyes following his every movement. Finally he stops and faces Jay, hands on his hips.

"Debriefing. Now."

Halstead recoils like he's been struck. "Wha… ? Now ? Sarge…"

"Yes," he cuts him off, "Now, Halstead. I want to know every second, every detail of what happened during that raid, so that I can understand how we got to this point," he says, voice steadily rising in volume, all the while gesturing at Erin's prone form.

Hank knows it might sound cruel, knows that it makes him come across as an insensitive bastard. But he also knows that the sooner they do this, the less likely Halstead is to forget important details. It's a known fact that traumatic events are accompanied by a distortion of reality. The mind plays tricks, time stretches, some memories happening in slow motion, while other elements are simply occluded, almost erased altogether. The more time passes, the less precise Halstead's recollection of the raid will be.

The young detective swallows, then steels himself. "Yes sir," comes the short reply.

Unconsciously, as he starts talking, Halstead squares his shoulders. He talks in short sentences, straight to the point, describing the action in a sterile and detached way. His back is straight. The way he's talking, it might as well have happened to someone else. He's distancing himself, dissociating from the traumatic events. It's painfully clear that Hank is asking too much too soon of his subordinate, but Halstead is talking and Hank can't bring himself to stop him.

And at the end of the day, this whole mess boils down to bad intel. There were twice as many guys as there were supposed to be on that floor. And they knew the cops were coming. Halstead and Lindsay had walked right into an ambush.

"I didn't see the guy, I only saw the iron bar coming at me. I tried to block it but it caught my hand. It made me drop my gun. We fought. He hit me behind the head. I must have been knocked out for a second or two. I woke up near my gun. I grabbed it with my left hand and shot the guy."

'Not before the guy got in a few more hits with his iron bar, if Halstead's current state is any indication,' thinks Hank.

"I heard two more gunshots coming from the next room. I rushed over there and I found Erin…" Jay pauses, his gaze still far away in the memory, but he can't manage to keep the military precision in his tone anymore.

"… I don't know where the shots came from. I didn't even see anyone leave… I think I heard someone running away but I don't…" His voice cracks, and he swallows a few times to find the strength to go on. "I couldn't… I couldn't look away from Erin, from all the blood… I radioed in and started putting pressure on the wounds but…I … I couldn't… The wounds were on her back and the blood just kept flowing… and…"

And that's when it happens. Somewhere, somehow, the dam breaks, and Hank can only watch as his detective crumbles in front of him. He watches as Jay turns toward Erin and buries his face against her arm, no longer paying attention to his boss, watches as he whispers a litany of "I'm sorry baby, I'm so sorry, please be ok Erin, please come back…", watches as sobs that were held back for too long begin to break out.

The air is filled with pain, regret, self-loathing and sadness, and that doesn't leave any room for Hank's anger. It's suffocating, and it wakes some feeling in Hank that he doesn't care to examine. So he takes his anger with him and goes away. Everyone has the right to grieve in peace.

JAY – JAY – JAY

After what feels like forever, Jay gets his breathing back under control, and his blurry vision clears up. He doesn't know what he's more embarrassed about: that he just got a fucking melt down, or that his boss was there to witness it. Jay finally gets up, needing to stretch his leg, and thinking some fresh air should help clear his (concussed) head. Whispering a tender "I'll be back" to Erin's prone form, he steps out of the room, only to be intercepted by Dr. Choi.

The neurological check up is quick, Jay remembering and doing in advance what he's supposed to do. Choi seems relatively satisfied with his performance, but keeps a worried frown on his face, and reminds him once again that it would be better if he just let himself be admitted for the night. Jay brushes his concern away. He's had worse, a lot worse.

As Jay wanders toward the hospital's patio he feels drained, and strangely apathic. He feels like something should have changed now that he let it all out, but in truth nothing has changed. He's finally faced what happened, he has managed to make a semi-reliable report to Voight, he's said how sorry he was to Erin, but still the worry and nausea don't go away. Nothing has changed. Erin is still hanging between life and death. Voight is still probably planning to dump his body into the lake. And his head is still pounding, pounding, pounding.

He sends a quick text to Olinski to let him know the latest news about Erin, like he promised he would. He waits a few more minutes, body and soul aching, before making his way back to Erin's room.

HANK- HANK – HANK

At some point, there's nothing to do but wait, and Halstead looks dead on his feet, so Hank's suggestion that he goes home and gets some sleep sounds more like an order than gentle advice. Truth be told, Hank's also tired as hell and hospital rooms bring back souvenirs that he'd rather forget. When all the adrenaline is gone from his body, he understands that there is no use staying here while Erin is kept sedated. She's not going to wake up, the doctor assured him of that. So he thinks about heading home himself, and having a shower, grabbing something to eat without tasting the food, and getting some kind of rest. Halstead is a sore sight, moving slowly and stumbling as he makes his way to the corridor in a dream like state.

Hank sighs and grumbles something about dropping Halstead off at his place. The wary way the kid follows him tells Hank that he might have sounded more threatening that he wished. He feels like it's his default mode, nowadays, threatening and passive aggressive. Or just plain aggressive.

The ride to Halstead's place is silent. When they reach Halstead's apartment unit, there's no movement on the passenger's seat, and indeed Hank sees that his detective is asleep, head pressed against the window. Asleep or more likely passed out. He should wake him. Wake him. Huh. That reminds him of something…

He knows better than to touch the ex-ranger so instead he barks "Halstead!"

"Huh ?!" the kid jerks awake, half raises a fist before his eyes fully open and he sees his boss. He recoils but can't go far, already pressed against the window. The younger man finally realizes where they are and reaches for the car handle mumbling, "right, sorry. Thanks for the lift."

He's about to leave when Hank stops him. "Wait. You got someone to wake you up at regular times?"

Halstead's frown of confusion doesn't help his case. Hank is getting annoyed "Choi said someone has to wake you up every few hours. Is Will here ?"

"No. He's at a congress in Boston. But I'll… see if I can reach someone…"

One look and Hank knows he won't. He snorts. "Right." Shakes his head and gets the car moving.

"Sarge ?"

"Shut up, Halstead."

Halstead shuts up but looks more and more uncomfortable as they drive away from his apartment. Hank's cynical humor tells him his detective is wondering where he'll chose to dump his body.

Soon enough, they reach Hank's house. Halstead follows his boss tentatively into the living room, and just stands there, clearly ill at ease and unsure of what to do. The sun is setting on the horizon, giving the room a warm orange glow that contrasts with the freezing atmosphere that has settled between the two men.

Ignoring his subordinate, Hank goes straight to the kitchen, and takes a box of yesterday's lasagna out. He doesn't really feel like eating, but his stomach is hurting from having consumed only coffee in the last twelve hours. Come to think of it, he hasn't seen Halstead eat or drink anything either.

"Sit down" Hank grumbles when Halstead finally enters the kitchen. The younger man does so slowly, careful not to jostle his bruised body. The "ding" of the microwave is sharp in the otherwise silent room. Hank quickly fills two plates and places one in front of Halstead, next to a small plastic bottle filled with white pills.

"Choi gave me some meds for you. Said to take them in the middle of a meal," he adds, gesturing to the plastic bottle that Halstead is eying warily.

"I'm… uh.. I'm fine Sarge, don't need any meds… but thanks."

"Like hell you don't. You were supposed to be admitted to the hospital." Hank barks, voice raspier than usual. "Now I'm fine with you deciding not to stay, but you're going to follow the prescription the good doctor gave you. And that's final."

Halstead flushes and looks down. Hank takes it as permission to add "now eat some of that and take your damn pills, 'cause god help me I'm not in the mood to deal with your temper tantrum".

The younger man opens his mouth to argue but seems to think better of it when he sees the look his boss is giving him. 'Just fucking test me, just give me a reason,' is written all over the hard lines of Hank's face. Reluctantly, he grabs his fork and digs in, chewing slowly and looking like swallowing is a heroic act in itself.

'That's right', thinks Hank, 'for once you do what you're fucking told to do'. He knows he's not being fair, knows that Halstead is actually quite good at following orders, except maybe for the most important ones. Or any order involving Erin.

After that, dinner is a quiet affair, food is eaten, meds are swallowed, and not much is said, both men lost in their thoughts, both men worrying about Lindsay. When Halstead starts to blink a little too often and he looks like he's about to fall asleep in his half eaten lasagna, Hanks grunts "if you're done, I'll show you the couch with your name on it."

Hank has thought about inviting Halstead to sleep in one of the upstairs bedrooms. But of the two free bedrooms, one is Erin's, and Hank thinks there's no way he's going to allow Halstead to sleep in Erin's bed, call him a protective old-fashioned dad all you want. Not happening. The second bedroom is Justin's, and he's just not ready to let anybody sleep in that bed either. Justin's corpse is cold but the memory of his death is hot and alive in Hank's mind. This room is off limits. Upstairs is for family anyway, and Halstead is not part of his family. Maybe one day, if Erin makes it, but the uncertainty of Erin's future burns so bad that he doesn't want to consider it.

So he removes some cushions to make some room on one of the sofa that looks big enough for Halstead, leaves one that he can use as a pillow, and throws an afghan on it.

He doesn't wait to see if his subordinate needs anything before making his way towards the stairs, departing with a "I'll wake you up in three hours".

He thinks he hears "Thanks Sarge" but it's far away and he's already closing his bedroom's door.

AN: Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it. Up to now most of what I posted was already written, but now I'm writing this story chapter to chapter, so it might be a bit longer between each updates. More to come in a few days.