Jay is on automatic pilot when he leaves his dad's, when he gets in his truck and when he drives away. Three blocks down he pulls over, knowing he's far enough away from the house and shouldn't drive any further. He looks at his sleeve, it's soaked with blood so he replaces it with some napkins from the glove compartment. He's not sure how long he sat there staring out the windshield at nothing but long enough for the blood to soak through the napkins and run down his face again. He grabs another stack of napkins to replace the the blood soaked ones, wipes off his face, puts more pressure on the cut and drives to Med. If he was thinking straight, he would have gone to another hospital or an urgent care, but he wasn't thinking straight, so this would inevitably bite him in the ass.
xxxxxxx
MED
When Hailey walks into the ER, she heads straight to Maggie but is cut off by Ethan.
"Hailey…" Ethan ducks in to an exam room grabs something from the counter, then heads her way. "Glad I caught you. Can you give these to Jay. They must have fallen out of his pocket."
"Sure…Wait, Jay was here?"
"Ya, he just left. The cut to his eyebrow needed stitches."
Hailey is puzzled. "Huh…how did he get the cut?"
"Oh, thought you knew. He said a CI punched him. He's going to have a nice shiner."
"Oh, ya okay…"
"Thanks Ethan. What room is Jamie Marcus in? I have to ask her some follow up questions.
xxxxxxx
Jay hears the knock and considers not answering it until he hears Hailey's voice and knows she'll just keep knocking or just come in since she has a key.
He gets to the door just as she's opening it.
"Oh…Hey…wasn't sure if you were here. I brought your keys. You left them in the ER."
Something crosses Jay's face and she could swear it was fear but lets it slide for now.
"Wow! That's gunna be a nice shiner. Ethan told me what happened. I didn't know you were going to see a CI. Why didn't you tell me? You're supposed to log it and tell someone."
"CI called on the way to my way in. Stopped on the way."
Something is off, "What CI did you go to see? Are you going to file tomorrow?"
"Probably…maybe…thinking about it."
She notices he didn't say who it was just deflected to the second question.
"Jay, you can't keep a CI on the books if he attacked you. You have to file and add assault to the initial charge that you were holding."
"Ya, ya I will…"
"You going to be good boy tomorrow or is Voight going to end up sending you home again?"
He looks away. Again, humor that should have brought on some snark falls flat.
He clears his throat, "I'll see you tomorrow, Hails. Thanks for bringing my keys."
"No problem. See ya tomorrow."
FRIDAY
Jay hadn't been sure he actually would go in to work this morning but Hailey texted that his fuckup hadn't resulted in anymore kids getting hurt. Jackson had confessed last night. So he went in but looked like absolute shit. He thought Voight would lay into him again but apparently he was getting a pass or maybe Voight thought putting him into the wall was punishment enough. Either way it was good because he wasn't sure if would've been able to handle any more shit.
"Nice shiner Halstead, Hailey told me what happened. File today. I wanna see the warrant in the computer by the end of the day."
"Will do Sarge."
"You good to go? No concussion?
"No concussion."
"Good."
xxxxxxx
"Shit Jay, that is one ugly shiner."
He tried for normalcy, "Still better looking than you Adam."
"He's got ya there."
"What the hell Kev? You're my partner."
He just shrugs. "I gotta tell it like I see it dawg."
Hailey laughs with the rest of them. Adam goes back to paper work, as does Jay. Jay's demeanor this morning relieves a bit of the worry she had. When she talked to Voight this morning they agreed they would need to keep an eye on him.
Jay sat looking at his computer. He was so fucked. He couldn't file on any of his CI's. It was a stupid excuse. He should have known his excuse would get back to Hailey or someone at work. Now he was fucking stuck.
Hailey was almost finished her report on Jamie Marcus when she caught Voight's eye. Voight lifted a chin towards Jay. It didn't look like he had moved in the last half hour. He was just blanked out on his computer screen. She looked back at Voight and shook her head and shrugged. She had no idea what was going on.
"Halstead! My office."
Jay jumped and looked confused for a second before he got it together and went into Voight's office and shut the door. As soon as the door shut, she was over at Jay's desk. He didn't have his CI file up on the screen and didn't have the paperwork on his desk. What the fuck was going on. She had the sinking feeling that Jay had gotten himself jammed up again and she wouldn't able to help if he didn't let her in; and it might be too late to help when the shit finally hit the fan, which was inevitable.
They all watched Jay head in to Voight's office, "What's going on Hailey?"
"Nothing Adam, it's fine."
Adam let it go and looked around the room, "Hey, we still all going to Molly's tonight?"
He was happy when everyone was still in, even Hailey.
"Think Jay will go?"
"He should still be down for it."
"Awesome."
Everyone goes back to work. Hailey lingers at Jay's desk a minute so she can get a look at Jay's in Voight's office. She can see Jay's mask has dropped into place. Shit. Voight'll get nothing from him.
xxxxxxx
"Take a seat Halstead. Now, you want to tell me what's going on?"
Jay sit's, takes a breath and tries to save his bacon regarding the CI.
"I don't wanna file Sarge. He's a good kid. He screwed up in the first place and he screwed up again yesterday. But he was scared and got spooked. He was freaked out about it afterwards, sorry for what he had done and begged me to not to file. He's trying to turn his life around,"
"What's the initial case? Was he carrying?
"No. Possession, not for distribution but close, evading arrest, obstruction, damage to property when he ran."
Voight stares at Jay. He knows he's going to let the CI thing slide because he doesn't think a CI hit him. But he's wondering who Jay's covering for or if Jay's got himself in trouble again.
"No reason to jam the kid up. Let him know this is his last chance though. Anymore missteps by the kid and you are filing."
"Great. Thanks Voight."
Jay had almost made a clean break when Voight throws a question at his back, "You in trouble again?"
Shhhit. Jay takes a breath and turns around. "No! No Sarge. Just don't want to jam this kid up."
Voight sizes up Jay and doesn't believe him for a second. "Close the door on your way out."
Jay, feeling like he dodged a bullet, goes back to his desk and gets very busy on his computer, gives Hailey a smile and looks at Adam, "Hey, we still going to Molly's tonight?
"Hell, ya!"
xxxxxxx
She got to Molly's late because of the conversation she had with Voight. Voight was worried about Jay but more pissed that Jay wasn't coming clean. He was sure that Jay had gotten himself jammed up again. Hailey wasn't so sure but could see her boss's point. She was worried about Voight's last statement; resigned to the fact that there would be nothing she could do about it; 'I can't help him if he doesn't tell me what's going on, what he did, but I'll be damned if I let him take this Unit down with him. As much as I don't want to, I'll cut him loose in a heart beat.'
MOLLY'S
Adam waves her over to their table, "Hailey!"
"Man it's crowded in here tonight."
"Trivia night. Where's Jay."
"He's driving himself."
They all debated getting involved in Trivia Night but in the end decided against it after the last debacle. Last time they had gotten so wrapped up in their conversations, they lost track of the game and came in last. Being in Intelligence, they got a lot of shit for that.
Jay still hadn't shown up a half hour later.
Hailey: Where are you?
Jay: Shit sorry, I meant to text you. I've got a killer headache…
He opted for a partial truth, hoping it would stop any questions and ease the worry he was sure she was feeling.
I've been sleeping for shit, going to turn in early. Tell everyone I said sorry.
Okay, at least he didn't try to hide that he wasn't sleeping well…
Hailey: No problem. Feel better. AND you're gunna owe me…Adam's going to pout and I'm going to have to put up with it.
Jay: Ha! You're right. I will definitely owe you! See ya Monday. Night Hails.
Hailey: Night.
Jay sits on his couch watching the game. He's on his third beer; but knows he's going to get drunk and prefers to do it at home, alone, where no one can witness his tears or feel the brunt of his anger and he knew that one or the other would happen as soon as he got enough alcohol in him.
He felt bad about lying to Hailey but glad she didn't put up a fight about him not going to Molly's. He slouches on the couch and stares at the TV not really seeing the game anymore. He was almost asleep when he was startled awake by the ding from his phone.
Hey how's Dad doing?
…
…
He's good…an ass but good…par for the course.
Christ Jay. Maybe if you were nice to him he wouldn't be such a jerk.
…
…
…
…
Hey Will…last time I was there he was good and seemed pretty well set up with groceries. I took the trash out for him so I probably won't go over this weekend. I told him you'd be back Monday night.
Come on Jay, I asked if you can go see him for a reason. I just want him to know we're checking on him, it's less likely he'll do something stupid and hurt himself then. Why don't you try leaving your attitude at the door and he won't get so defensive. Maybe you guys could actually have a good visit. Watch a ballgame or something.
…
…
…
…
…
He didn't know what to say to that, so he settled on a lie; Gotta go. Caught a case.
Be safe. Let me know how the next visit goes with Dad. Just give him a chance Jay.
Jay watched his hands flip his phone over and over to the rhythm of the mantra spinning in his head; just give him a chance. just give him a chance. just give him a chance. "NO!" he screamed, throwing the phone as hard as he could at his TV, shattering them both on impact. Stunned, he stared at his TV for a minute, got up, unplugged it, and got another beer.
Beer in hand, Jay plopped back onto the couch and zoned out on the destruction that was his 60" TV until he fell asleep. He dreamt of the first and only argument he had witnessed between Will and his Dad; the argument that Will believed all Jay's animosity towards their dad came from. Will agreed their dad was an absolute asshole that day but felt Jay should forgive him and was an asshole for not forgiving him.
Jay had just finished his second tour and was home for good. The war hadn't quite caught up to him, so he wasn't fucked up beyond belief yet. Will was home for a week and Jay had agreed to stopping by their Dad's with him on the way to lunch. He had considered waiting in the car while Will did whatever he had to do, but Will convinced him to come inside. He was prepared for his Dad to be an ass to him but he went in anyway because he still held onto the sliver of hope that maybe his Dad would be glad to see him, would maybe be proud of him. That maybe, since he had been gone for so long, and/or been injured, maybe his Dad would love him or at the very least, maybe be kind to him.
But that idea was a pipe dream, his dad started in immediately, didn't even want Jay in the house. Will knew what his dad thought about war, but he didn't think he would be so harsh when it came to his own son. Will's discomfort was palpable, he was stuck in the middle, he loved them both. He was proud of his brother and wanted to try to mend fences after what went down with their mom but at the same time, Will didn't want to go against his Dad; they had never fought before. Jay could say nothing, just stood there and let the tidal wave of his Dad's contempt engulf him.
"You are not welcome here, I will not have a murderer coming into my house."
"DAD! What the hell!"
"What? War is evil and unnecessary. It was your brother's choice to take part in it. In my view that makes him a murderer."
"Jesus dad, he's not a murderer. He was a soldier, a Lieutenant in the Army Rangers, he was protecting our country, our freedom."
"He's a murderer. You won't convince me otherwise."
"Dad, he got a Purple Heart and a…"
"What? He get shot? Too stupid to duck."
"DAD! Jesus! He's your son! … You should be proud…And he didn't get shot…he was a POW…he saved…"
His dad interrupts. "So… what? You think that makes him some kind of hero, some war hero? It doesn't matter what medal's he gets. He's still a murderer."
"DAD!"
Jay tried to keep a straight face; but the despair became overwhelming and he was unable to pull it off. Will didn't notice the devastation on his brother's face; he also didn't see the smirk of satisfaction on his dad's, but Jay saw it.
Will hadn't noticed Jay leave until his dad yelled 'good riddance.' When Will didn't follow, Jay wondered if he was still arguing on his behalf, or if he was apologizing to their dad for being 'disrespectful' and arguing. Probably a little of both.
After Jay left and walked home, he realized that Will basically gave his Dad a resume of his qualifications as if to say; 'Look, he's worthy of your love. He's done a great job. You should consider treating him as your son.' And his "resume" wasn't good enough.
xxxxxxx
Jay was woken up by the same emotional pain he had felt that day. The pain in is heart had been so intense as he walked down his dad's driveway, he actually thought he was having a heart attack until he recognized it as the pain he felt whenever his dad took a sledgehammer to his heart. Over the years his dad had many ways to wield that sledgehammer; but his go-to when Jay got older was that he was a "murdering soldier."
That was the last time Jay saw Will until he moved back to Chicago six years later. They had exchanged a few texts in that time but that was it. The day of that fight was also the day his 'fucked up beyond belief' started, he had called Mouse as soon as he got back to his apartment. Yes, eventually Mouse and he would save each other from themselves but before that, they went down the rabbit hole together. Mouse may have had a bit of a head start on the destructive behavior but Jay joined the trip that day.
Jay downed the rest of his warm beer without realizing it. He was lost in his thoughts, wondering if that confrontation was what started his subconscious need to make up for something, something he had done wrong. That he had to prove (to himself or the world) that he was good. He ultimately decided that he had always felt that way, that day had just turned a pilot light into an inferno.
xxxxxxx
SATURDAY
Jay had been sitting in his truck, 4 blocks away from his dad's for a little over an hour. His mind spun in a million different directions but what he always circled back to was self loathing. He hated that without fail and in a matter of minutes of being around his dad, he reverted to that wounded 10 year old kid again. Being around his dad stripped away everything that he was, who he had worked hard to become, someone he was proud to be. His dad could snuff out Jay's self worth in a blink of an eye; and he hated that he let his dad do that to him. He hated feeling powerless. He hated doubting himself; and that probably hurt him more than anything.
He just had to get through one more day and then he wouldn't have to see his dad ever again. Or at least never without Will. He just had to get through one more day and he and his dad could return to the status quo - a mutual denial of the others existence.
He finally bit the bullet and drove the last four blocks. Rip the band-aid off. Get it over with. A five minute surgical strike. He didn't have to think of what to say, hell, Will basically wrote the script for him; Did you need me to take out the trash? Do you need me to lift anything heavy? Do you need me to get you any groceries? That's it. Ask the questions, leave. He could do this. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He could do this.
xxxxxxx
He slowly became aware of his body and with that awareness came pain. The coldness of the tile under his throbbing cheek; he never saw the right hook. The ache in his lower back; blow after blow after blow to his right flank. The sting of his bottom lip; his head smashed it into the counter. The twinge, the tenderness of his throat when he swallowed; a vice like grip around his neck, crushing off his air.
Jay could hear a tv playing in another room and in his confusion, wondered where he was. Footsteps and a kick to his gut hard enough to toss him over onto his back, brought it all back. He sluggishly pulled a leg up to elevate some of the pain but it fell back in place. He clamped his mouth shut in an effort to quell the nausea. He forced himself to open his eyes before his dad could do something else.
"You're awake. Get the fuck out of my house."
He could feel the blood on his face some flowing, some dry, making his face feel tight. He wondered how long he's been out. He looked up at his dad and couldn't help the tears that leaked from his eyes.
"Dad…"
It was the first time he called him 'Dad' in 22 years but he couldn't help it, it just came out of his mouth. It earned him another kick causing him to groan and roll over. The kick was to his side but he felt it in his heart.
He smirked at the anguish in his "son's" eyes, "I told you to get out."
Jay rolled onto his stomach then, blood dripping on the floor as he pulled his legs under him until he was able to sit back on his heels. He grabbed for the wall and missed as the world spun then tipped, sending him back onto his side. He landed with a groan, the world went white and he closed his eyes to the pain. A kick to the sole of his boot reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing and he repeated the process, except this time he was able to hold onto the wall and ultimately get his feet under him. He leaned his shoulder and head against the wall, using one hand to steady himself, for as long as he dared, before he made the attempt to adhere to his dad's wishes.
Jay moved away from the wall when he felt the heat of his dad's aggression, forcing himself to move despite the dizziness. He willed himself to stay on his feet and not throw up. He stumbled towards the sound of the TV, knowing that was the way out. His body was taut, waiting for the blow that was sure to come since his dad walked closely behind him. His unsteady gait finally got him to the door without any further contact from his dad.
He thought he had made it and was just about to open the door when his dad shoved him hard against it and landed a few more jabs to his back, causing him to cry out and lose his feet again. He went down and ended up sitting on his heels. The only thing that kept him from falling the rest of the way was his grip on the door knob. His dad had walked away as soon as he had landed the last punch, so Jay gave himself a moment to breathe. He put his other hand on the door and leaned his head against it for a second then got himself back on his feet. He saw his blood on the door, closed his eyes and willed himself not to wipe it off.
As soon as he was out the door, he leaned against the house, giving himself a minute to get his bearings. Now what. He wiped his sleeve across his face smearing the blood and tears, hoping no neighbors were out and about. He just had to get to his truck and he could figure it out from there. Just get to the truck, get to the truck, one step at a time. Halfway to the truck he stumbled. The veil of adrenaline lifted and what just happened sunk in. The tears started again and didn't stop. It took everything he had to keep going, just keep going, despite his aching heart screaming at him to do otherwise.
He didn't know how long he sat in his truck, didn't know if he passed out or zoned out but when he finally came to he took a look at himself and panicked. He had no idea how he would hide this from Voight, Hailey. He had no idea how he could hide this from Will. He cleaned off as much blood as he could with napkins. He was in a world of pain and knew he couldn't drive, he couldn't keep the world from spinning or tilting. He called an Uber. The driver was a little freaked out by his appearance and wanted to take him to the hospital but he assured him he would be fine, that his brother was a doctor and they lived together. He was unable to stifle a groan. Again he assured the driver he was fine and leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn't puke in the guy's car.
xxxxxxx.
He made it to his apartment without falling or, thank God, running in to anyone. He rests his forehead against the door while he digs his keys out of his pocket. Unlocking his door turned out to be a bigger challenge than he would've thought since he couldn't get his hands to stop shaking. It almost tipped him over the edge as the frustration with himself grew with each try. He finally made it into his apartment and stumbled to the bathroom to shower. Getting undressed was painful. He got his shirt off and unbuttoned his jeans when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The bruising on his torso was significant but a shirt would cover that up. He scowled, there wasn't anything that could be done about his face, he would figure that out later. The hand prints around his neck were already bruising and would, without a doubt, get darker. A hoody would hide those. He closed his eyes to the sight before him. He had a vague recollection of his dad slamming him into the wall and choking him; yelling at him but Jay didn't understand what his dad was saying; he was too focused on the hate in his dad's eyes as he choked him unconscious.
Jay opened his eyes. Eyes open, eyes shut, both revealed a reality that hurt. He looked at the little boy staring back at him in the mirror. He didn't know what to say except, "I'm sorry." The little boy continued to look at him but there was no forgiveness in his eyes. Then the little boy was gone and once again Jay was staring at himself. He saw pain, sadness, then ultimately anger. His fist flew, hitting his reflection in the mirror. He looked at the fragmented reflection of his face, watched as the tears fell from one fragmented piece to another; watched at pieces fell and shattered on the counter until there was one small piece left. He waited for it to fall but it hung on. When the stubborn piece refused to fall, he removed it himself and set it on the counter; the pointless metaphor was not lost on him.
He makes the water as hot as he can stand and lets it roll down his back. His head rests on the arm he's got against the wall. He watches the red blood drip from his knuckles, turning pink in the water before it swirls down the drain. His tears are lost in the water that flows down his face. At some point, the heat or maybe the slight concussion he is sure to have makes him dizzy. He sits down and pulls his knees up. He leans his head back against the tile, wincing when he hits the tender spot from having his head slammed into the wall.
He recites the alphabet in his head, anything to escape his thoughts. He recites the Arabic alphabet, counts to 100, counts to 100 in Arabic, does multiplication tables. But no matter what he does, his thoughts invade with a vengeance. Why didn't he fight back! WHY DIDN'T HE FIGHT BACK! WHY DIDN'T HE FIGHT BACK! Why didn't he protect himself, why did his dad hate him, What did he do wrong, why didn't his dad love him, had he ever loved him - even as a baby. Had his mom known, had Will known - He honest to God didn't think his Mom or Will knew. His dad was slick, Jay was a good actor and isolating himself was his norm. He refused to believe otherwise, he didn't think he would survive if he found out they knew. Finally, he gives up and lets his emotions do what they will. He's lost in his head, sobs racking his body, undoing any reprieve a hot shower could do for his aching muscles. He is only able to escape his head when he is startled by the cold water from his shower. He groans and after a few failed tries, his muscles get their shit together and he's able to get out of the shower. He wraps a towel around his waist, not bothering to dry himself and leans to the side against the wall until he is ready to move.
When the world stops spinning, he opens his medicine cabinet and grabs the bottle of Vicodin he has left over from some injury or another. His eyes catch the small but tenacious piece of mirror on the counter, picks it up on his way out of the bathroom and takes it with him. Moving slowly he makes it to his bed and removes the towel, in too much pain to even try to get dressed, he sits, takes two Vicodin dry and lays on his uninjured side. He looks at the piece of mirror for a moment, then puts it on the nightstand, not taking his eyes off it as he drifts into an uneasy sleep.
xxxxxxx
SUNDAY
At 4:00 pm the next day, he wakes up in a world of hurt. He had slept for over 20 hours. He groans as he reaches for the Vicodin and takes two. He waits for them to kick in before he even tries to get up, taking the bottle with him. Putting on sweats and a t-shirt ratchets up the pain to 10. He wants to take another Vicodin but resists the temptation of a painless stupor. He puts his hands on the dresser, head down until he has breathed through the pain enough to move. He makes it to the kitchen, after what feels like a ten mile hike and grabs a couple bottles of water. He chugs one and opens the other and sips more slowly. He eyes the couch with longing but knows if he sits down he'll never get up. He needs to get his truck. He still has a brain sucking headache but any other concussion symptoms are gone, (for the most part) so he's pretty sure he won't crash. He remembers the state of his neck and swears all the way back to the bedroom to grab a hoody, he continues his stream of cursing as he pulls it over his head. He sees the blood on his pillow and realizes he needs to address the cuts on his face also.
Seeing the destroyed bathroom mirror he looks at his hand; bruised, a few cuts, but no stitches needed, he leaves his hand alone. He looks in the medicine cabinet mirror and wipes off the dried, smeared blood, puts new butterfly strips over the older cut and covers it with a bandage. He ops for just wiping the blood from around the cut on his cheek, hoping it won't open and start bleeding again. He looks at his split lip, knows better than to touch it, so leaves it alone.
An hour later, and grateful for a quiet Uber driver, he is sitting in his truck staring at his dad's house. He wanted to leave right away but realized that even if his head might have felt clear enough to drive it probably wasn't. Sometime later, at a moment when he came out of zoning on his childhood home he started his truck and drove two blocks, made a right, drove another two blocks and parked. He would wait another hour then drive home.
xxxxxxx
MONDAY
All last night he had debated going in to work on today. As the night progressed he felt worse and worse. 'Worse' and 'worse;' worse physically and worse emotionally. His head hurt, his back hurt, his face hurt, his neck hurt, his hand hurt…basically his whole body was pissed at the world. His heart hurt.
The debate of calling out was decided when he got a text at 7:00 am - they had a case. Shit. There was no hiding the cut on his cheek and new bruise to go along with it. There was no hiding the split lip. There was no hiding the butterfly bandages over the cut on his eyebrow from when face meeting counter popped the stitches. His despair increased with the inventory of his visible injuries and what it would cost him. He was too tired to come up with an excuse for his appearance and he couldn't just call out until his messed up face healed; Hailey and/or Voight would show up at some point. He knew they thought he had pulled another 'Camilla' but he'd be damned if he tells anyone the truth of what happened and his silence would probably cost him his job.