TW for gross - Gross description of crime scene photos-very short scene when Voight and Adam are in the interview room…you won't miss anything really if you skip it. Just Voight getting a little psychological payback on Daddy Barton. It starts at the bold XXXXXXX and ends at bold XXXXXXX
XXXXXXX
For a brief moment, he wondered if leaving the hospital was a good idea. But the thought left as quickly as it came. He needed to get home.
He lifted a trembling left hand from his lap and wiped, then rubbed the sensation off his thigh but it didn't work.
Henry Zebra Victor three zero two
He squeezed his arm tighter against his side, trapping his right hand against the… wound.
I knew you'd like it.
He sat in the back of Voight's Escalade reading license plates to distract himself, trying to keep a handle on the pain, trying to keep a handle on…trying not to throw up. He held his breath and slowly exhaled to a four count.
2019 Silver Mustang, Sierra Charlie Victor one nine nine
2020 White Ford F150, Frank Union Nora six three six, expired tags
I knew you'd…
1998 BLUE HONDA CIVIC, TOM DAVID LINCOLN ONE SEVEN FOUR, BROKEN TAILLIGHT, RUSTED OUT BUMPER
2017 BLACK HONDA CRV, IDA EDWARD EDWARD FIVE TWO SEVEN
He drew in another breath, thinking he was going to lose his battle with the nausea.
Five lights
One…
…
Two…
…
Three…
…
…
…
…
…
Four…
Five…ran that one.
Three blocks…turn left…
Stop sign…didn't even slow down
One block…stop sign…rolling stop
Right turn…
Immediate right into lot…
Breathe
The dip into the lot jarred his body and he let out a hiss. He felt Hank's eyes on him in the rearview mirror but looked out the window while Hank pulled into the parking spot. Before the car stopped, his seatbelt was off, his door open and he was leaning over puking on the pavement.
He held onto the door jamb with his left hand, unwilling to let go of his side with the right, he almost tumbled head first out of the truck but was stopped by Kev's strong hand on his right shoulder.
The strength of touch banished any flinch as he continued to dry heave. When he was done and sat up, Kevin's hand lingered for just a moment before he let go.
The pain in his head was through the roof, the violence of vomiting turning up the pain in his body, temporarily overriding her.
They let him catch his breath and get his bearings. When he was ready, he stepped from the truck, not letting go until he was steady. Kevin lingered nearby but left him alone.
One
Two
Three
Breathe.
Four…
38 steps later they were in the elevator.
16 steps later they were in front of his door.
He didn't even think about his keys, but Voight opened the door and he went straight for his bedroom.
They heard the door close and both breathed out heavy sighs, sharing a look as the aftermath of what happened and what was to come settled in like sludge.
He walked straight to his room, letting them know they could go. He closed the door, shutting out what happened on the other side and climbed into bed.
I knew you'd like it.
FUCK!
He closed his eyes to her voice. He wouldn't be able to escape it. The only sound going on in his spinning head was her. He laughter, her voice, her moans…his…
Nausea won. He stumbled out of bed, making it as far as the bathroom sink, one hand gripping the edge holding himself up, the other pushing on the stab wound, legs shaking as pain spread through his upper body.
Stitches gave it a new sensation but the sharp pain of the blade sliding in and the twist chewing through his muscle was prevalent. A sharp poke starting at his side, poking through to his soul where the knife was still embedded.
The dry heaves finally let up and he collapsed onto the toilet seat. He sat there for god knows how long, curled up over his legs, one hand pushing on the wound, the other across his chest. He couldn't get small enough.
He found himself in the shower sometime later, wet clothes piled in the corner, hot water doing a poor job of rinsing her away. He grabbed his body wash and squeezed more than he needed onto a washcloth and began scrubbing the sensation of her away. He picked up the body wash again and squeezed it directly onto his skin, his arms, chest, his legs, his…there was not enough soap.
The scrubbing of his skin was brutal, panicked. He turned up the heat on the water until it was almost scalding. He scrubbed his face and his hair, every inch of his body over and over again. What was once a full bottle of body wash lay empty, discarded on the shower floor with his clothes and he still wasn't clean. He had soap in his eyes, but he could still see her, she was still there above him, laughter and ecstasy teeter tottering in her eyes.
He heard her as he scrubbed. Most of the soap was rinsed away, his skin scrubbed raw and yet she was still there, clinging to his skin like a stain. His movements became more desperate. A sob escaped his lips, turning into growl as he scrubbed harder. The growl turned into a moan of pain but he didn't stop.
Unable to hold himself up any longer, he collapsed to the floor and sat against the wall, knees pulled to chest, head down. His body ached, his skin burned, but still she was there. He pulled his legs even tighter to his chest, trying to banish her touch but like a ghost it lingered. More sobs escaped, followed by another round of dry heaves, adding to the pain in his muscles, but it was barely felt compared to her.
He doesn't know how long he sat there. He was brought back to his brutal reality by a light knock on the door and Kevin's soft voice.
"Jay…"
He didn't answer at first but blinked the faraway look out of his eyes.
"Jay…"
His voice was thick and he was unable to stop the hitch in it, "Ya…ya…I'm okay…be out in a minute…"
"Okay…give a holler…"
The sentence didn't need to be finished. Jay knew what he meant and there would be no holler.
Kevin joined Voight in the living room.
"I got him boss, if you want to see about the Barton's."
The look on his boss' face told him that he had forgotten all about the Barton's, his sole focus had been Jay. That surprised Kevin and it didn't. Voight was all for getting down and dirty. He would have no problem making the Barton's pay in one way or another, but Jay came first.
XXXXXXX
Voight hadn't thought beyond Jay. Jay was his priority, but now that he had him safe and squared away with Kevin, his need for justice, payback, revenge, whatever you want to call it, was on the front burner boiling over with rage.
He let that fuel his cop brain as it reengaged and started looking at every nuance of the case. He was half way to the district when the penny dropped.
"Goddammit!"
He hit the lights and siren…time to deal with Daddy Barton.
XXXXXXX
He had told them all to take the day, knowing they would all need it after what happened, but was not surprised to see the team working, even if looking a little worse for wear, Adam and Hailey more so.
He tilted his chin to Adam, "How's the hand?"
"Uhh…it's fine boss…"
His eyes wandered to Hailey, then scanned the rest of the team but he let it go knowing he would just get a chorus of 'I'm fine's' if he asked how they were doing.
"He say anything?"
"Nope. Just asked for a lawyer."
"Crime scene photos?"
Vanessa handed him the file and they all watched Voight shuffle through them. Their boss was on a mission, his rage was practically sparking off him.
He pulled a photo off the board and added it to the file and pointed to Adam, "You and me."
They headed toward the interview room, Kim Hailey and Vanessa following only to split off and enter the observation room.
XXXXXXX
The first thing Daddy Barton said when Hank and Adam walked into the room was that he wanted a lawyer.
"Sure, sure…in a minute."
Barton huffed at the Sergeant, angry that he was once again being denied a lawyer, which would be the first thing he would tell his counsel.
Voight sat down across from the asshole, Adam looming behind and to the right of the man.
"Why am I being detained here. I own Infinity but I had no idea what was going on there…whatever…whatever was going on there…"
Voight stared at Barton a good minute at least, long enough for him to start to squirm, before he pushed a photo across the table, leaned back on the chair and crossed his arms casually over his chest.
"So how did you do it?" He gestures to the photo, "How did you fake her death…I have to admit, you did a pretty good job of it."
Adam's jaw hit the ground. He was glad he was behind the asshole because his reaction was anything but professional or even close to cop-like. Holy fuck!
He didn't give Barton a chance to reply, "Huh, well, never mind…" he waved one of his hands, "…it doesn't really matter how you faked her death…kind of a moot point now…"
He stared at Barton again, "…now that your sick as fuck daughter is dead…for real this time."
Barton blanched and couldn't stop his eyes from filling with tears.
"Oh, you didn't know that? Guess it slipped our minds…Adam…you didn't tell him his sick as fuck daughter was dead?"
Adam played along, "Shoot…forgot…sorry bout that boss."
Hank opened a folder and took out four 8x10 photos, laying them in front of Barton while he continued.
"Bullet through her head…" He pointed to various places on the wall above the bed, "That's her brain."
Barton's face paled when he accidentally caught a glimpse of the photos. He scrunched his eyes shut, but Voight was having none of that. He was around the table in a flash, grabbing the back of Barton's neck.
"Open your eyes or I will put your goddamn face through the table."
"You can't…this is…"
"This is perfectly fine. Open your eyes or your face is gunna see the underside of this table."
Barton took a shuttering breath and opened his eyes.
"Good…good. Now you keep your eyes open. I want to show you something."
Barton trembled as the officer squeezed the back of his neck even harder, causing him to yelp.
Voight pulled two of the photos front and center, and pointed to the first. "It's kind of hard to tell since what's left of her face is such a mess, but right here," He poked the photo, "This is where her left eye used to be…"
Barton gagged and Voight squeezed harder and pointed to an area on another photo, "And right here…see…right here against the baseboard…there's that missing eye."
The asshole gagged again and Voight pulled out the chair to make sure Barton puked on himself, not the photos. Then they left the room and let Barton stew in his own puke for a couple of hours.
XXXXXXX
Kevin called Will not even two hours after they got him home. Jay had scrubbed himself raw in a scalding shower and was in a tremendous amount of pain, but refused the meds Dr. Choi sent home with them.
He met a worried Kevin at the door and made a beeline straight to the bedroom. It had been obvious in the ER that Jay was afraid of being drugged when he refused the meds, that he didn't feel safe, but now he was home and it had to happen.
Will wasn't going to allow his brother to sit in pain. This was something he could get in a lot of trouble for - if he was at work…but he wasn't at work. He wasn't on duty. He was a brother who happened to be a doctor who carried a fully stocked med kit that included narcotic pain relief and his brother was going to get it.
Jay could hate him later.
Will was pulling a loaded syringe out of his bag before he even got through the bedroom door and without warning or fanfare, he stuck the needle in the large muscle of Jay's thigh the moment he reached the side of the bed. Jay was so far gone in the pain he didn't even wince.
He was wearing sweats and an unzipped hoodie that was twisted under his body, the bedding tangled in his legs. The horrible bruising registered but it was the skin scrubbed raw on his chest, face and neck that sucked the air out of his lungs; a blinking precursor of what was to come as Jay healed emotionally from this. He had no doubt the rest of his body looked the same.
Dropping to his knees, he put his hand on Jay's hair and stroked his forehead with his thumb, quietly begging the meds to kick in quickly. Within the minute, his little brother started to calm down, the writhing slowed and the moans tapered off as the trembling of his body relaxed like the slow roll of lava until finally he was out.
Leaving his hand on Jay's head, Will rested his forehead on the edge of the bed a moment, grateful that his little brother's bruised face looked peaceful before he gave Kevin a nod and the big man exited back to the living room.
The brother and doctor in him warred for control. He sat on the edge of the bed and provided stealthy comfort as he ran his hand through his unconscious little brother's hair. God knows when Jay would allow him to touch him again.
Finally the doctor in him won out. He cleaned Jay's face, removing the smeared blood from the cuts re-opened from the brutal scrubbing and added butterfly bandages where needed.
He pushed up the sleeves on Jay's hoody and removed the wet bandages from his wrists, fixed broken stitches, added antibiotic ointment and rewrapped them with water proof bandages; he knew they would be here again.
Will's last doctor duty was to change the bandage on Jay's side. The stitches were intact thank God. He added ointment and again used a waterproof bandage.
He straightened out Jay's hoody, zipped it up, and after detangling his brother from the sheets, tucked him in. Lastly he lifted Jay's head and switched out the pillow. The one he he had been laying on was covered with blood. When that was done, he slid back to the floor and leaned against the bed, the brother in him taking up the mantle. He pulled up his knees and crossed his arms over his chest and quietly wept.
XXXXXXX
The next morning, Will tried not to show pity but didn't quite pull it off. He tried not to see his brother as a victim, but he had a hard time getting past those feelings. He was devastated by what happened to Jay.
After a cursory exam of Jay, he left the apartment, his brother's care now in the hands of Kevin. He spent the hours before work with his head in Natalie's lap bawling over what happened to Jay. He was angry at himself for seeing his brother as a victim and he didn't know how not to. Jay was his baby brother and he had been brutalized.
He only made it two hours into his shift, before he was engulfed in a burning rage at Jay's unit. He ripped off his lab coat, told Maggie he was going to lunch, didn't wait for an answer and ran the eight blocks to the 21st.
He arrived sweaty and red faced from rage and exertion. He shot daggers at Platt to open the gate. When he reached the top of the stairs he started in immediately and raged at the unit for their failure, for what they let happen to his brother.
The Unit took it in silence. When Will took a breath, Voight explained what happened, not what happened in that room, but what happened to put Jay in that room. He explained it, not as an excuse, but because he thought Will had a right to know.
Again, Will raged and again they took it. There wasn't one of them who didn't think they deserved it, Adam most of all. He sat at his desk with his head down when he could no longer look at Will, but as much as he wanted to, as much as he wanted to run, he didn't…he deserved every word Will was throwing at them. They let Jay down…no, he let Jay down.
Will finally slumped against his brother's desk, spent emotionally and physically, his raging giving way to a steady stream of tears.
A hand landed softly on his shoulder, "Will…"
And that irked the fuck out of him. He pulled away, facing his brother's boss, "I don't need your fucking comfort….You know who needs comfort? Jay and he… he won't let me fucking near him because…" He opened and closed his mouth, "…I look…" He clasps his hands on top of his head, pulling down like he's trying to force his neck into his body, "…I look…at him…he…and…all I can see…what…she…I can't…" He can't spit out how he failed his brother, is failing his brother when Jay needs him most. He scans the room before he leaves in a cloud of his own guilt, "Never mind…"
XXXXXXX
The three days after Jay got out of the hospital were an emotional rollercoaster for Jay, starting with his early morning discharge and culminating in a return trip to med on day three.
Three days of anger, embarrassment, and sadness. Three days of Jay trying to pretend nothing happened, that it was nothing more than an 'on the job' injury, mixed with hours and hours and hours of isolation as he hid in his room.
Three days of Jay vacillating between shunning pain meds and welcoming them, a tool to shut out the emotional pain more than the physical.
Three days of Jay stalking around the apartment like a wounded animal and sitting like a statue on the balcony for hours, staring at nothing.
Three days of taking shower after shower, of not eating, of not sleeping and when he did sleep, three days of nightmares.
But there was nothing anyone could do but give Jay his space and then be with him when he allowed them to get closer.
Jay spent most of his time with Kevin or Adam. Will came over a couple of times as Dr. Halstead to check on Jay's physical wellbeing, but he didn't stay long. Jay was more agitated during Will's visits. The exception was the first one on the day he came home but Jay was in so much pain, he didn't even know his brother was there.
XXXXXXX
The night after Jay got home he noticed his wrists, really noticed them, cuts with their angry stitches, the bruising and rope burn a backdrop. He sat in the shower until the water ran cold…he hadn't remembered being tied up, but given the marks he had been and he had struggled…but he couldn't…remember it, that part of it, not clearly.
What disturbed him more than being tied up, was that fuzzy memory of it, making him wonder what else had happened that he didn't recall. He blanched when he thought of Roland. Voight told him he didn't touch him, but he thought back to the strip search and wondered if something happened… He stepped out of the cold shower and threw up. Did something happen when he wasn't in that room, before he even got to that room?
He woke up sometime later on the bathroom floor, remembering that it was a panic attack that sent him there. He couldn't have been unconscious long or Adam would be in here. His breathing picked up when he remembered the cause of the panic attack.
He stumbled out of the bathroom and collapsed on his bed, fumbling for his phone.
After two failed attempts, he hit three on his speed dial.
Almost immediately the call was answered.
"Jay…"
"Voight…" he gasped for breath, afraid he was going to tumble into a panic attack again.
"Jay…breathe…breathe kid…what's going on?"
He heard Jay take steading breaths and then finally get it under control. It was still a minute before Jay spoke and the fearful, anguished voice broke his heart.
"Voight…Roland…"
"Hey…I told ya kid…remember…he didn't touch you…"
He heard a slow steady breath through the line and thought the conversation was over, that Jay just needed to be reminded of what he saw. But he was mistaken when Jay's breath hitched and he continued in an almost pleading voice.
"But…he…Voight…"
Hank could barely keep the thickness out of his voice as he tried to talk around his heart currently residing in his throat, "Slow down Jay…take a breath and tell me what's going on."
"He…" A deep breath echoed through the line and he continued, "when I got there…they do…he did a strip search…" He cleared his throat and embarrassment taints the next words, "He…tou…was…got…he was handsy…had to strip again for the time out…"
"Jay…"
"What if…what if he did something before…that…the room?"
"He didn't kid. Trust me on this. We clocked his movements…he didn't have time…when he pulled you from group, until you got into that room, he didn't have time…we saw you in the elevator…when he knocked out…he didn't touch you kid…believe me on this…"
He could hear his detective breathing on the other end of the line, could hear the wheels spinning as Jay tried to reason out the truth of it…He was positive Jay didn't think he was lying…it was more that the kid was searching the bits and pieces of his memories to see if there was anything else he needed to know about.
Jay was quiet when he spoke again, almost embarrassed, "Okay…" he cleared his throat, "okay…thanks Sarge…sorry to wake you. Thanks…"
"Not a problem kid…you good? Need anything else?"
"I'm good…thanks Hank."
Hank laid back in bed and rubbed his face, feeling the sting in his eye that reminded him of the depths of his failure at protecting the kid.
XXXXXXX
On day three, he finally got everyone to leave him alone…he was fine…Christ, he was a grown man…he could handle being by himself for awhile.
He had been in the shower for 45 minutes and still didn't feel clean, wondered if he would ever feel clean again. He managed to get on his boxers and basketball shorts without seeing himself. It's been God knows how many showers and he's managed to dodge his reflection.
Dodging himself wasn't on purpose at first or at least not consciously but it was more than purposeful now. He remembered the glimpses he had that day in the ER…that was enough…that was too much. He was avoiding himself at all costs…for as long as he could…until someone forced him to see.
That's why, on the third day he was home, he froze when he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Not able to avoid the damage, the outer damage. He'd had black eyes and split lips before, he'd had cuts on his face and stitches here and there, it wasn't his face that bothered him.
He stared at his shoulders, chest and abdomen. At first his eyes took everything in as a whole, seeing the whole picture. Black and blue bruises against a pale freckled backdrop. Bruises running into each other but still separate in their various shapes and colors. The few tints of green and yellow made his body look like a fucked up painting of a garden.
Eyes refocusing, the garden disappeared and he saw the sick flowers… each of them. He looked at everyone of them, they each had an almost black center, that once upon a time, was a dent in his skin, the shape of a crescent moon made by her finger nails, black surrounded by varying degrees of purples and blues. Some larger that others, all individually planted with care and malice.
He felt them. The echos of them…he needed to look away but he couldn't. His mind reverberated with sound, the panting, groans, hisses in pain, screams…her laughter…his right hand slid against his stomach to his side. He felt the edges, the stitches. There was a dull ache, the stitches itched but there was a sharpness at the core of the wound. He wasn't sure if that pain was real or a phantom of when she bookmarked his shame. His shame…he should have…he shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind but they filled every inch of space, like a hoarder's personal prison, banishing the other thoughts that used to live there, work, friends, Will, Hailey…Hailey.
Looking himself in the eye, he saw his failure, saw who he was and is. A tear slipped out, only one, mourning the loss of what could have been. One. One tear. That's all he gets. All he deserved. His hand still lingers over the stab wound. He pressed gently, the ache is over run by the sharpness.
There you are.
Sucking in a breath, he closed his eyes only to be met with the memory of her, on top of him, leaning over him, kissing him, touching his split lip with her tongue. He gasped…
I knew you'd like it.
He stumbled backwards, away from her, slamming hard into the wall. He opened his eyes and she isn't there, but he is…he is…
His fist slammed into the mirror and unlocked the door in his heart…releasing the tornado within him. Again and again his fists slam into the mirror until there is nothing left. He ripped off the towel rack, swinging it like a baseball bat into his refection in the glass of the shower door, shattering it, the glass cutting and scraping as it flew.
It's nice right?
Stalking down the hall, he tore pictures off the wall, then redecorated with a holes from flying fists. Stepping into the living room, the first to go was his bookcase, the books were swept off, thrown against the wall, the TV, the door. When he ran out of books, the shelf itself goes down with a primal scream, crashing to the ground, the empty space on the wall takes on the look of a strainer then, holes litter the wall, curtesy of desperate fists.
He grabbed the coffee table flipping it half way across the room. The one leg that breaks off hits him with a dull thud in the face, re-splitting his lip and surely blackening an eye that had started to yellow. His destruction finding its way back to him.
I knew you'd like it.
He upended the couch, tipping it backwards landing askew, pillows and cushions scattered, only to be picked up and thrown in a frenzy. The pictures on the walls are next, each jerked from the wall with a growl and thrown like frisbees into whatever is in their path, leaving punctured walls and broken lamps in their wake.
The stitches rip, he felt it but the sharp pain is still there, never leaving, always there, he felt the blade puncturing his skin.
It's nice right?
Energy depleted, destruction complete, body aching, he ran out of steam at the dining room. He sat at the table and put his head down on his arms. He could feel the nicks and cuts, but they are muted by the sharpness of the blade, her blade. He tried to focus on the blood running down his side, meditate on it, lock everything else out, tried to find the pain of torn stitches but he only finds the blade, the puncture, the twist.
He put his right hand over it again and pushed, not to stem the blood but to stem the memory. Banish the punctuation of his failure, his shame.
I knew you'd like it.
But the sharpness remains. He pushed harder and the sharpness pushed back. He gave up…again…and brought his bloody hand up to rest on his arm, dropping his head against it.
That's where they found him, all of them, guns drawn, all charging through the door that now barely hung on its hinges. He had lifted his head when the door was kicked open, then put it back down on his arms. He doesn't want to see their shock of what he looks like. He doesn't want to see them seeing him.
Voight said something, Kim and Vanessa answer and he shuddered. He rested his forehead on the table, covering his head, biceps squeezing against his ears to block out all conversation.
A soft voice broke through his bubble of shame and embarrassment, Voight. A question was asked and he shook his head 'no' not sure if he got the answer right. Another question was asked, this one with a tinge of an order.
He put his head up and it's just Voight and Ruz in the room. Adam handed him a zip up hoodie and resigned, he followed Voight out the door. If he had glass in his bare feet…he didn't feel it. Cuts on his arms or face? Numbed by the
stabbing pain in his side. He put his already bloody hand to it, wanting a different sensation.
Okay, since you asked so nicely.
He choked out either a laugh or a sob as he pushed again, his hand trying to wipe away the stabbing pain. But his body tells him no. No. You deserve to feel this…you deserve this reminder of your failure, of your surrender to her. This is your own doing, so feel it and live with it because it won't be undone.
I told you I would make you feel good.
XXXXXXX
The ride to med was silent, his ears turned off, only the white noise of the engine was heard. He watched the world go by, indifferent to it. His bloody hand was on his thigh not the wound, he'd given up, of course he had, on trying to undo that pain.
He didn't want to see Will, people he knew. He should have asked to go somewhere else. God he's fucking stupid, to have his shame exposed, for them to see the aftereffects of his failure. He sighed and wondered if this was how it will be, he's not sure what this is or what it is in reference to, but right now it was hollow, devoid of anything else but what rattles through his brain, void of anything else but her.
They got to the ER and Will was there with a wheelchair. He released an angry breath through pursed lips and walked by him, slower than what he would like. He is sore…so he walked faster to hide it. He didn't see the silent exchange of the mother hens behind him, just followed Will when he passed him and led him into a room.
His body tensed when he crossed the threshold of the ER, a throng of hurt and healers, chaos and crescendo. It was too loud.
He sat on the edge of the gurney, feet dangling, avoiding everything, wishing he could feel the cuts on his feet or the rope burns and bruises around his ankles that he was only now noticing.
Tensing when someone came in the room, he relaxed an iota when he realized it was Voight. He looked at him briefly, saw the pain in his boss's eyes, the care, concern, whatever.
He felt bad for putting his boss through that. He let his eyes and thoughts wander to the man he considered a friend, mentor, father figure, and physically hurt for the pain he's caused the man…but that didn't work either…the sharpness of the blade is still there.
Jay huffed. Will didn't talk to him, didn't ask questions, he'd obviously been filled in on his crazy. That said, Will also didn't look at him like a victim. He didn't know what happened, how that happened, but he was grateful for it. He sighed. He desperately needed his brother…just not right now.
Will glanced at him, then Voight. He closed his eyes and let Will go about his exam on his bruised and bloody knuckles, his bloody wrists from popped stitches and the new cuts until he got to his side.
Being trapped in his head, he didn't realize Will was there, but when he noticed him, he flinched away, waking up all of the pain in his body. But that one pain, that one shameful pain gave the others their one moment, then took over, reducing them to background noise.
"Sorry bud."
Jay sucked in a breath and leaned further away from his big brother. He knew he looked like a deer in headlights. He can feel the expression on his face as he tried to calm down.
He felt the sweat run down his back, felt it at his hairline. "It's fine."
It sounded like an echo in his head and he wondered if he actually said it out loud. He strung 'I'm fine's' and excuses together like blinking Christmas lights on a dead tree. The tree was dead and the lights wouldn't change that, couldn't hide that.
"Jay, it's bleeding. I need to take a look and restitch it…probably just the outer layer of stitches, shouldn't take long."
He tried to calm his breath, splitting his focus between his lungs and anyone moving closer…and that fucking laugh…is she here?
"No…it's good. Are we done here?"
He felt the air move, or thought he did, when Will and Voight turn their heads to look at each other.
"Jay…"
"No Will…am I gunna fucking die?!"
He can tell his brother is startled at the question but he didn't care. He needed to get the fuck out of dodge. Everything is too loud but her voice still pierces through.
This is my special cocktail. It will help you have fun and remember our time together.
"Jay…"
"…didn't think so…"
He slid off the table but the second he did, he saw her outside the room, laughing with April and Maggie…they know her?
His knees buckled. Voight reached out to catch him but he jerked away so instead of going to his knees he landed on his ass.
What the fuck.
He stared at Voight, could feel the look of betrayal that landed on his face and could see Voight's reaction to it.
"Kid…"
He barely choked out the words, "I…she was dead…Ruz said she was dead…" His eyes flicked to the nurses station and back.
"You said she was FUCKING DEAD!"
In his escalating freakout, Will realized what was happening, slid the door shut, and jerked the curtain closed.
All sound had left the room in a vacuum and he stilled, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead.
Voight crouched down in front of him, "She's dead Kid, she's dead…"
Pulling in a breath, he slowly released it, trying not to look as scared as he was, trying to pretend it's perfectly normal to be sitting on the floor in the exam room instead of the bed. Trying to pretend he wasn't bat shit crazy.
He knew he wasn't pulling it off and its pissing him off that he's scared and the fear isn't going away because he's not sure he believes Voight.
He closed his eyes and there she is, laughing, the knife touching his neck causing him to jerk his head away. He felt the weight of her and pulled a leg towards his chest.
I told you I would make you feel good.
Then there's a hole in her head and her evil rains down on him. He feels her, feels the bounce of when she falls on top of him, her head not as heavy as it should be when it bounces off his chin and comes to rest against his ear.
Her weight disappears and she is on the ground winking at him but doesn't get back up. She never got back up.
Letting out a breath, he opened his eyes. Goddammit.
He hated seeing the concern on their faces and wanted to close his eyes again but instead allowed Voight and Will to help him up, holding his breath so he didn't drown.
Releasing the breath, he found himself sitting on the gurney, legs dangling like the last five minutes didn't happen and was all in his head. He looked at Voight and realizes that it wasn't just in his head.
"Jay…"
"Can we…can we just leave it, just put a bandage on it…" He hated how his fucking voice sounds. He's not so indignant now, has turned his asshole mode to a lower level.
"It's gunna scar if we don't put some stitches in…"
That cranked asshole back to 11. "IT'S ALREADY A FUCKING SCAR! You think a couple of motherfucking stitches are going to change that?!"
"Jay…" Voight used his dad voice.
"Okay…let me look at it, I'll see if it can go without stitches."
Will stood beside him…"Gunna touch ya…okay."
He tilted his head down in agreement, closing his eyes, mumbling a quiet, "Sorry…"
"It's okay bud…here we go…"
As much as he tried to relax, his whole body stiffened then loosened into an earthquake of a tremor. He heard Will and Voight talking in the distance, saw the black dots that danced around the room and tried to breathe, calm down. But then she showed up again and took him with her into darkness.
I knew you'd like it
When he woke up, he was unaware of how much time had passed, but Will wasn't there and Voight was sitting in the corner texting.
He felt his side and Voight answered his silent question, "Just a bandage, no stitches."
Sitting in a puddle of embarrassment and shame, he hung his head.
"How ya doin Kid?"
He doesn't really know what to say so he just nodded his head, then, "…I getting out of here soon?"
"Ya, few minutes. I'll take ya home. Will's doing something, getting something…"
Dr. Halstead made his entrance just then, not Will, although Dr. Halstead looks an awful lot like he's been crying. He's all business. No stitches equals antibiotics…yada yada yada. Jay knew the drill.
They say nothing the entire drive home. As soon as they get in the door, Jay made a beeline to the bathroom barely noticing that the team had cleaned up his apartment.
Voight heard the shower turn on a moment later and called Will who assured him it was fine, he had put a water proof bandage over the regular bandage knowing this was going to be the drill.
Jay found a shower curtain hung haphazardly where the door to his shower should be, grateful for it, a cocoon he could hide in and get clean…try and fail to get clean.
I knew you'd like it.
He wasn't sure if he was losing his mind or had already lost it…Maybe it wasn't lost as much as stolen…it was hers now. The thought made him sick, the taint of truth to it. She took it, and he didn't think he could get it back…
XXXXXXX
Thanks for reading party people! Stay safe out there!
And once again, big thanks to ChinVilla for her constant support!