Hey there.
Before I get into the second chapter of this story, I want to get something off my chest.
I received a lot of comments and PMs lately with inquiries about the status of my ongoing stories. Most of them are respectful and friendly, which I'm grateful for because I know that there are writers out there that have received PMs that weren't so nice, but some of the once I got were still demanding enough to leave a bad taste in my mouth.
Now, I know it's been a long time since I provided new chapters on a frequent and somewhat regular basis. There's a reason for that. Those of you who followed me on my journey for a bit know that I'm a nurse. It's a rewarding but frankly also a very demanding job, even more so with Covid continuing to rear its ugly head. I'm lucky enough to not have gotten sick yet, but I'm constantly covering shifts left, right and center for colleagues who did. I've been bouncing between facilities, sometimes I'm needed in both at the same time, and I have two armfuls of additional management and mentoring responsibilities on top of that. It's exhausting.
Writing fanfiction is my way to unwind. The time I spend writing is also the only time I get to do something for myself. But with the crazy schedule, or lack thereof, I'm often too tired to be productive. I still try. I sit down almost every night and try to get some writing done, even if it's just a single paragraph or even just a sentence, and I do it not just for myself but because I hate to leave you guys hanging for so long.
Being a reader just as much as I am a writer, I understand your frustration with the lack of updates. Believe me, there's no one more frustrated by that than I am. I appreciate you guys reaching out – by all means, do reach out because that tells me you're still interested in my stories – but please be considerate in doing so.
That said, there's going to be an update on all my stories eventually. I just can't give you any timelines right now because things are still hairy over here. But I assure you, I haven't abandoned a single one of my works. In fact, I've written a good chunk for the next chapters of each of my ongoing stories, even 'The Birth of Worlds'. Chapter nine of 'Nemo Resideo' is the closest to being done so that's what I'm going to focus on next. I can't promise an update before the end of January, but I'm sure as hell going to try. Please don't be disappointed if it's going to take me longer to post.
Okay, with all that out of the way, please enjoy chapter two of 'Riptide'.
Special thanks to Floopdeedoopdee who quite frequently talks me down from the ledge of writer's anxiety and manages to crack me up even on my moodiest days.
Ever since Jay Halstead had been a little boy, he knew that money was the master key that opened most if not all doors in life. Growing up in Canaryville, a blue-collar neighborhood in the tough South Side of Chicago, had taught him that early on. If he wanted something, he had to work hard for it because if he worked hard enough, it would earn him money and if he earned enough money, he would eventually be able to purchase what he wanted. Because – and this was something his father had inculcated him with for as long as he could remember –
"Nothing in life is free, you little spoiled brat. The sooner you learn that the better."
When he had heard his dad say those words for the first time, Jay had been too young to fully grasp their meaning, much less understand why his father was so angry with him. He'd been just a little child, excited to finally get a bicycle for his sixth birthday – one just like his older brother Will had gotten when he'd been the same age, one that he could race him to school with – and beyond disappointed when the only present he ended up receiving was a forest green hand-knit sweater with a white and orange bicycle motif on it.
Like any other upset six-year-old would have, he had naturally vented his frustration over the injustice of that over his breakfast cereal that morning and again later that night at the dinner table. But Pat didn't care about justice, at least not when it came to his sons. Moreover, he had no use for children or even a crushed child's heart. He wasn't known to be a sympathetic, considerate, or patient man in general, something that was unsheathed particularly with his youngest. So, when he came home that night, overwrought after a long and exhausting day at work, his irritation over Jay's alleged petulant behavior had burst out. A harsh reprimand and the slamming of a beer bottle onto the table had struck Jay with a good amount of awe, and quite frankly fear, thereby effectively muzzled any further pouting and whining from the little boy. Not just for a day or a week, but until doomsday.
However, there was another reason why he never dared to complain about missing out on a present from that day forward, a much more pleasant one. That night, when Saoirse Halstead read her boys their daily bedtime story and kiss them goodnight, she had stayed a little longer. Having sat down beside her youngest, she had explained to him in that ever-patient, angelic voice of hers why he didn't receive a bicycle for his birthday. His dad wasn't entirely wrong, she'd told him. Most things in life – and his desired bike was one of them – cost money and money was a bit tight for the family at that time. They just didn't have enough for extras, at least for right now.
She'd stressed that last part, repeated it multiple times because even at six years old Jay was too modest, and the last thing she had wanted was for her sweet boy to think that he was shunted aside or worth less than the rest of them. It had been incredibly important to her that her youngest knew that their situation was only temporary, that he would get his desired bike as soon as their finances allowed for it. And once she'd been sure he understood, she had taught him another valuable lesson, maybe the most valuable lesson of all: not everything could be bought with money. In fact, as strange as that might have sounded for a six-year-old, the most treasured things in life couldn't, one of those things being…
"My love for you, honey. Not everything in life is free, but my love for you is and always will be. Don't you ever forget that."
To emphasize her words, she had carded her fingers through his wavy hair ever so gently and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. Despite the poor circumstances the family lived in, at that moment, Jay had considered himself the luckiest and richest kid in the universe because his mom's unconditional love was the best gift anyone could ever ask for. And while he didn't understand yet just how precious a gift it really was, he hadn't hesitated to sit up in bed, scoot a little closer to the edge to wrap his tiny arms around her neck in a loving hug and tell her in return, "my love for you will always be free too, mom."
It was a declaration just as much as it was a promise. A solemn promise between mother and son that they would always be there for one another, regardless of the hardships either one of them or both would have to confront and regardless of any monetary issues that may arise along the way. Nothing and no-one would dampen their spirits. Not Pat Halstead's baseless yet visceral antipathy towards his youngest, and not the family's sheer endless financial struggles which had turned the patriarch into a bitter and miserable old man with a narrow-minded, overall negative conception of life. For the better part of nearly two and half decades, their strong bond helped them brave and weather every single one of the many storms sweeping over them. Be it Jay's harrowing deployment in Afghanistan and his nightmarish time readjusting to civilian life afterwards, or Saoirse's initial diagnosis with breast cancer and long hellish months filled with chemo sessions, scans, and prolonged hospital stays.
'Amor vincit omnia.' Love conquers all. The words were engraved in a small rectangular silver plate, one that Jay always wore on a chain around his neck ever since Saoirse had given it to him as she had seen him off for his first tour so that he wouldn't forget. Overseas, it had given him comfort when the horrors he saw threatened to overwhelm him, back home it gave him the strength to care for his mom the first time she got sick.
Lately though, it became harder and harder to find that same comfort and strength or even truth in that statement. Instead, the last months brought Pat Halstead's cutting words from way back when he was six years old to the forefront. Of all the things, it was his father's lecture that provided him with the only footing to prevent him from slipping and submerging in the raging currents his life had been subjected to recently. The irony wasn't lost on him. Nevertheless, he desperately clung to that tiny branch because if he let go, he'd lose the one thing he had always trusted to help him overcome the most formidable challenges in life.
While it pained him to admit that maybe his dad had been right all along – nothing in life was free, not even his mom's unconditional love – it pained him more that ultimately, it was that same unconditional love that cost him everything. But no matter the cost, he would pay it. Whatever price tag the universe decided to put on his mom's love, he would do everything in his power to pay for it because his mom, her love, was worth every cent of it and so much more.
…
November 2nd. That's when it all started to go downhill. On the day of Mrs. Halstead's biannual follow-up with her oncologist to make sure her cancer hadn't recured. One final round of blood panels, exams, scans, and whatnot, and if all of them came back clear, she wouldn't have to come back in a very long time. Jay had taken a rare personal day to go with her. There was no way he wanted to miss the moment when Dr. Murphy, the oncologist, cast the magic spell they'd been anxiously waiting to hear for five agonizing years.
"Congratulations, Saoirse, You're in complete remission."
Right after, mother and son would hug each other tightly for what would seem like an eternity, crying unashamed happy tears into one another's shoulders. And once they let go, Jay would take his mother out for lunch somewhere that wasn't too fancy but suited for a special celebration. That's how they had imagined the morning would go down. That's how things were supposed to go down. Unfortunately, it wasn't at all how things went down.
Instead of a clean bill of health, Mrs. Halstead was imparted with the devastating news that the cancer was back, and it was back with a vengeance, way more aggressive this time. Whereas all scans from her last check-up in May had come back clear, in the few months since then a new tumor had developed and it had already grown to 5.3 centimeters and was already involving the lymph nodes. She had progressed to a stage three already, making this rodeo more serious than the first had ever gotten. Jay was so thunderstruck by the revelations that he didn't dare look at his mom right after the words left Dr. Murphy's mouth, knowing if he did, he would break down right then and there.
So, he'd blindly reached for his mom's slender hand, feeling the warmth and strength of a limb that would all too soon become frail and icy cold in his. He would hold it then regardless, to provide her with that same warmth and strength and comfort when her own body wouldn't be able to anymore. When…
No, he didn't want to go there yet. He didn't want to go there ever.
Firmly gripping her hand, he stroked his thumb over her knuckles ever so gently and lovingly to offer a different kind of comfort, all the while listening to Dr. Murphy as he explained the recommended plan of action. Time was of the essence, a strict and aggressive chemo regimen necessary and to be started on as soon as possible to prevent the tumor from metastasizing because at the rate it was growing the chances of that happening stood extremely high. And then maybe, if they were lucky and the medications did their job in reducing the size of the tumor, they might be able to consider surgery. But at this point it was still a faint blurry blob on the horizon.
Jay memorized every single word the doctor said, filed it away for later in case his mom couldn't comprehend it all. She may exude an air of calm and strength, but her youngest had a feeling she was only keeping up the appearance for his sake because she didn't want him to worry about her. And he didn't want her to worry about him either, so he tried his hardest to stay present throughout the conversation and just as strong for her. Mirroring her fearlessness and determination to face the terrifying uncertainty of what was to come as best as he could while his heart quietly shattered into a million tiny little pieces. And it would shatter again and again and again in the weeks and months that followed, leaving it in a shambles.
The first time his heart dived was just a few days after he had been sitting in that doctor's office with his beloved mother. Feeling the pressing need to be the one who dropped her off and got her settled in at the hospital for her first round of chemotherapy, Jay came by his parents' house in the wee hours of the morning of the fifth to pick her up… and stumbled straight into a heated argument between the two. Against all odds it was his mom's forceful statement that caused him to freeze on the doorstep and his blood to run cold.
Her voice was surprisingly steady when she declared that she wanted to cease all treatment before it even started. Not because she was afraid. Not because she was giving up on life. Her decision was much more rational than that, extraneous circumstances practically forcing her hand. Earlier that year, following a string of layoffs in his old job, Pat Halstead had taken a new one, and the health insurance he'd had to switch to was so cheap that it only covered a bare minimum of the enormous medical bills that would await them with Saoirse's treatments. More appallingly, even the ridiculously low pay Jay's father earned was still too high for them to qualify for state funded medical assistance. Thus, it was either get deep in the red or let fate run its course.
Neither option was acceptable to the youngest family member, though. The second he shook himself out of his shellshock over his mom's eager willingness to sacrifice her health and potentially her life to spare her husband the high road of financial ruin, the youngest Halstead offered to help with the payments. It was an offer that both his parents refused initially, by his mom because she wanted to protect him, and by his old man… Well, his wounded pride forbade him to accept his money because one, he wasn't a charity case, and two, it made him look like a wretched failure who couldn't even provide for his own wife and to him it felt like his son was rubbing it in on purpose.
Scalding tears in Jay's eyes as he begged and pleaded with his mom eventually sparked a rare moment of compassion from Pat as he realized that the offer to cover the costs was a proposition of love and not one to spite him, so he begrudgingly conceded and even helped his son in his quest to change Saoirse's mind. Because if there was one thing, the two of them agreed on it was that they both loved her more than anything and didn't want to lose her.
Father and son acting in concert just this one time in their life proved to be successful. However, convincing his wife was as far as Mr. Halstead's contribution went, the old man making it abundantly clear that he wasn't going to lift a finger to help his son cover the bills. As much as he wished for his dad's support to last longer than the fifteen minutes in his parents' parlor that day, Jay knew not to impose any more expectations on Pat, thus arranged for an appointment with the finance department of the hospital and attended it the following week by himself.
The meeting with the billing officer was nothing short of daunting, the process of calculating the total sum of copayments for Saoirse's imminent treatments, baring his assets, and discussing available options to get the costs covered strenuous, stressful, and energy-sapping. In the end, the clerk was generous enough to give him a five percent discount because his mother wasn't eligible to state funded care, but even with that, Jay's bank account would be drained rather quickly. Deep down, he'd known from the moment he proposed the idea that he'd be looking at an enormous bill that might potentially bankrupt him. Nevertheless, seeing it in black and white made the gravity of the situation that much more real.
Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the constant feeling of anxiety once the payments started.
Meanwhile, the mountain of hospital bills rapidly burned through Jay's entire savings, including the combat pay from his time in Afghanistan as well as the disability pension he'd received along with his medical discharge from the Army. Before he met with the financial officer, he'd forgotten all about its existence. He'd never wanted to touch it because of the horrifying memories attached to it and because he'd never felt like he deserved that money anyway. His mother on the other hand did. She deserved every penny of it and so much more, for spending the agonizing four years her youngest fought overseas in fear, uncertainty, and doubt about whether he would make it back home alive. So, if there was ever a reason to dig into those reserves, now was it. They couldn't be invested better than in the battle against his mom's illness.
Right from the start, it had been clear to Jay that selling his pricier possessions was unavoidable If he wanted to keep his head above water in the months to come. Getting rid of his big flat screen TV and his personal car which he hadn't been using since he was driving the unmarked police-issued truck all the time anyway was an easily made decision, and so was terminating his gym membership and whatever expendable subscriptions he had carried around with him. Eventually, his running expenses were reduced to the bare essential living costs, but even with the major cutbacks, it was only a matter of time until he had to tap into his monthly wages.
Alas, it didn't take long for that to happen. And even his detective's salary was no more than a drop in the ocean of debts that steadily grew and accumulated around him, especially with his mom needing to be kept overnight more and more frequently after particularly rough chemo sessions.
It was by the end of December that Jay's heart plummeted once more. Just a few days before Christmas his mom developed a low-grade fever, and with her immune system already weakened by the cytostatic agents, what started as a minor infection soon evolved into something much more serious that her ravaged body wasn't equipped to fight on its own. There was no way around it; she had to be admitted and kept under close observation. The unplanned week-long hospital stay dropped a massive bill into the young detective's lap, sucking every last cent out of his pocket, leaving him unable to pay the monthly rent for his apartment, let alone more than a small fraction of the additional treatment and accommodation costs.
His landlord was surprisingly understanding about the delay of payments upon Jay's vague mention of a family emergency, so much so that he granted him a two-week grace period. But the man's unusual kindness did nothing to quench the growing panic nestling in the pit of his stomach, painfully aware that it was downright impossible for him to raise the wind in time. Nevertheless, he knew he had to try. He'd just have to work more, work harder, just like his father had preached all those years ago because that was the only way to make money and pay off the bills, especially since his old man wasn't following his own advice. Thus, he picked up patrol shifts whenever Intelligence wasn't working any cases, and because he didn't want anyone he worked or interacted with on a somewhat daily basis getting suspicious, he did it over in the 11th district, the deadliest beat of Chicago.
Overtime paid well, and for a fleeting second, Jay felt just a tad hopeful that with the additional money, things would get better. But the bitter truth was that it still wasn't nearly enough to make ends meet. When he failed to pay rent by the time February rolled around and confessed as much to his landlord, the man was no longer as generous and sympathetic as a month prior. A few days later, Jay came home to a bright orange eviction notice taped to his apartment door, demanding him to vacate the premises by Friday. His heart dropped through the floor, freefalling and splattering on the asphalt seven stories below, but he didn't have the luxury to even acknowledge the feeling of despair, much less panic because Friday was only two days away.
In the dead of night, he cleared out the one-bedroom as best as he could, packing up his scant belongings, for once glad that he had adopted a rather spartan life in the Army that allowed him to store everything he owned in the back of his truck for now. Only a lumpy old couch and his bed which hadn't come with the otherwise pre-furnished apartment were left behind. By the time, Jay stowed the final box, one which housed a handful of family photos, as well as his medals, in the back of the car at four in the morning, he was utterly exhausted.
The gravity of the situation jolted him awake the moment he plunked into the driver seat. With no roof over his head and no money in his pockets, he was homeless.
And he had nowhere to go. Staying with his parents wasn't an option; while he would be embarrassed to admit failure to his contemptuous father, he'd gladly suffer his old man for his mom's sake, but he knew going back to his childhood home would riddle her with deep sadness and misplaced self-blame for accepting his help in the first place, and he couldn't put her through that. He couldn't ask any of his coworkers either because that would raise a ton of unwanted questions and ultimately involve telling them about his personal struggles, and he couldn't deal with the looks of pity he was sure to get. There wasn't even a friend he could room with because the only one he had outside of work currently fought at the frontlines halfway across the globe.
Sleeping and living in the car for a while came to mind, and ever so briefly he contemplated doing that. But it was the middle of winter, with temperatures hovering around zero during the day and dropping to double-digit negatives at night. He'd probably freeze to death. Jay needed someplace warm, someplace he could sleep, and while the sofa in the breakroom would suffice for a short while, it would only be a temporary fix because God knew with their unpredictable schedules, the chances of someone catching him there sooner or later were rather high.
And yet, it was the only option he had at that moment, so he braved it anyway. Kim busted him a couple days later when they caught a case in the middle of the night. With his phone still on his desk, he missed the call, and as Burgess stumbled into the breakroom to get the coffee started, she found him sprawled on the too small couch. Embarrassed about the situation, he merely excused himself to the bathroom, returning ten minutes later and answering his teams' questions with a fib about his apartment being fumigated. He felt guilty about lying to his colleagues' faces, but the humiliation and anxiety about them coming so close to finding out the truth far outweighed it. Nevertheless, he gladly took Kevin up on his offer to crash on his much comfier couch until the issue at his place was resolved because it gave him an opportunity to figure out another solution.
Lo and behold, one was presented to him when come Wednesday, he worked beat 1132 – the worst of the worst in West Garfield Park – with experienced Officer Kennedy, a nice enough but way too talkative beat cop. Jay's thoughts spun about his precarious living arrangements, or lack thereof, so he tuned in and out of the man's endless tales and mindless chatter, not really listening to anything he had to say. That was until he told him about 3933 W Gladys Ave. The three-story red brick row house was rather inconspicuous, one of many on that street, but there was a minor detail that caught the detective's attention.
According to Kennedy, the top floor formerly had been used as an undercover apartment before the CPD abandoned ship because of how unsafe, downright hazardous the location was these days. Nevertheless, the department still paid for it, hoping to get its last operation there back up and running again someday, but for now they weren't willing to risk it, the stakes too high to even try. For Jay, those were good news, the intel being a saving grace. While the apartment in the attic story was barely more than a rathole with no heating or warm water, he'd have a roof over his head and a bed to sleep in. So, he moved his bare essentials there the next day, hopeful that staying there would allow him to pay off his mom's piling hospital bills without having to worry about other expenses interfering with the payment plan. She was all he cared about at this point, even if it meant staying in those terrible conditions. If it meant seeking shelter in dangerous turf, so be it.
Just how brutal the neighborhood really was, Jay learned a week into staying in the old undercover apartment. A little over a month walking beat there had already given him a pretty good idea, so he wasn't stupid enough to park his truck right outside, knowing it would raise too much attention among the beaters lining the curbs. Instead, he left it near Independence Square and marched thirty minutes along Independence Boulevard every night. He safely locked his badge, credentials, and service weapon in the glove department as well because if anyone found out he was a cop, he'd be a dead man for sure. Despite all the precautions he took, he unwillingly caught the eye of a group of hustlers, his winter coat being just a tad too nice and clean for someone living in West Garfield Park.
The attack was quick and efficient: the baseball bat to the back of his thighs came out of nowhere and instantly brought him to his knees, targeted punches to his chest, back, and stomach send him flying to the ground and left him gasping for breath, and a single swift kick to the temple rendered him unconscious. By the time he came to a few minutes later, his assailants were long gone, so were his jacket, the former content of his wallet strewn around him. For a moment, he just laid there, trying to process what had happened, but dampness and cold already seeped through his clothes, forcing him to move. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, assessing the damage and deducing at least a couple bruised ribs and a sprained wrist and knee. With his head throbbing in sync with the rest and amplifying tenfold once he was vertical, he was sure to have a concussion too.
Nothing, however, compared to the deep heartache that came with the realization that the little bit of cash he'd stashed in his wallet was missing. A measly fifteen dollars he'd put aside to buy his mom's favorite pastries – key lime pie and rosemary caramel apple pie from her favorite pastry shop over at Logan Square – and sneak them into the hospital the next morning for her birthday. Because not only would he come empty-handed now, but because he'd also break the tradition they had started when she'd gotten sick the first time: pie instead of cake to celebrate and cherish her life. And breaking from it felt like he was giving up on her, like he was sealing her fate.
For the first time since this had all started, Jay felt at a loss. Utterly overwhelmed by the humiliation that came with financial ruin, and the constant anxiety and endless heartbreak that came with the fear of losing the one thing he didn't want to lose, couldn't lose. The one person whom he was willing to go through hell and back for, whom he was willing to die for as long as it meant she got to live.
He wanted to give in to the tears of shame and hopelessness, but he was still out in the open in a ruthless neighborhood, vulnerable and defenseless, an easy prey for the predators lurking in the shadows at every corner, and he couldn't risk much less stand his ground against another criminal getting the drop on him. So, he swallowed his groans and hisses as he picked up his things with trembling hands and stifled cries of physical and mental pain as he hobbled the remaining half mile to his shelter. Shaking from the cold just as much as sheer enervation, he shlepped himself up the three flights of stairs to his stuffy hideout. Only then, once he was wrapped in layers and layers of clothes and blankets, did he allow himself a moment of weakness, releasing a single muffled sob into the musty pillow of the lumpy sofa bed.
Jay didn't get a wink of sleep that night, the aftershock of the attack and the resulting despair over failing his mom keeping him wide awake. At the crack of dawn, he was beyond exhausted but also acutely aware of the many aches and ailments: his wrist was tender, his ribs sore, and his knee swollen. Each of the injuries was painful and causing enough discomfort to make him pray for an easy day in the warmth and safety of the office, but thankfully none of them were serious enough to keep him from doing his job. Because as much as he wished to just lay down and lick his wounds, he couldn't afford to miss any work. Hell, he couldn't even afford to take half a day off to bear his sick mom company in the hospital on her birthday.
Not that anyone could stop him from dropping by before shift in the wee hours of the morning long before visiting hours officially started. Dressed in one of his warmer black lined zip-up hoodies with no more than a thin summer jacket on top, he limped his way to her room on the oncology ward, deeply grieved by the fact that he came without the promised pie. He muttered happy birthday wishes along with an 'I love you, ma' as he enveloped her in a loving hug, immediately following it up with a heartbroken, teary-eyed apology. Instead of worrying about the lack of pastries though, she only worried about his stiff movements, mute winces and the purple bruise blossoming on his left temple that he hadn't even been aware of up until then.
Refusing to worry her more by telling the truth, he brushed off her concern with a fib, claiming his injuries were the result of tackling and wrestling an uncooperative suspect and that it was "just another day on the job mom. It looks worse than it is, I promise." And because he couldn't use the same excuse with his coworkers for obvious reasons, he made up another white lie on his way into the district. A fairytale about a friendly boxing session with an old Army buddy getting a little too out of hand, a little too competitive. He laughed it off by adding how said buddy "packs a mad punch" then left the team alone with the little nugget because whenever he revealed a rare detail about his past, they darted for it like starved street dogs for a bone, thereby getting off his back for a while.
Another month passed by with no considerable change much less improvement to Jay's dire financial situation. In fact, things gradually went further downhill. With his mom's health rapidly declining and her being in the hospital more often than she was outside of it, it barely even mattered that he didn't have to worry about paying rent anymore. To stay on schedule with his terms of payments as well as the accumulating costs for her frequent overnight stays, he took on even more patrol shifts whenever Intelligence was off rotation or got off at a decent time. He worked tirelessly, sometimes up to fifteen hours a day, and still somehow managed to visit his mom in the early mornings and late afternoons whenever he could. Only ever going home – if one could call the rathole that – to catch a few much-needed hours of fitful sleep every night.
That was until none other than Trudy Platt caught wind of the massive amount of overtime he pulled when the monthly paychecks came across her desk on the last day of February. Confused by the numbers printed on there she called around to make sure there wasn't a mistake made because she knew she hadn't sanctioned the extra hours. It wasn't a mistake, though. Waving him over to the front desk the minute he walked into the district that morning to ask him about it, it took her all but one glance at his haggard features to put the kibosh on his patrol shifts at the 11th district, or any other district for that matter, indefinitely.
Just a few days later, Jay received a call in the middle of the night. Saoirse Halstead was rushed to the hospital because she had trouble breathing. As it turned out, her lungs were full to the brim with fluid and she was in desperate need of an emergency thoracostomy, an invasive procedure to insert a chest tube to drain it. He had no clue how to pay for the staggeringly expensive surgery but gave them his okay anyway because if he didn't, she would inevitably die, then rushed straight to the hospital as fast as he could.
He barely had any time to process it all before his phone chimed once more, this time with an urgent alert to units on the citywide about a hostage situation in the very hospital he was currently awaiting news on his mother in. And as much as he didn't want to leave the waiting room right outside the OR, he felt a strong desire to do something. Something that would give him a sense of accomplishment in helpless situation that he had literally no control over and answering to that call was something he could control. Moreover, it was his obligation to protect the citizens of Chicago, even more so with him already at the scene. There was nothing he could do to help his mom right now, but he could do something to help an innocent soul just a few floors down.
It was no surprise that he was the first officer on scene, but backup was close behind. Of all the cops in the city who could have responded to the call, however, it was Sergeant Kramer, a self-important, insufferable sleazeball with connections in high places, and as luck would have it, Jay's former partner from when he was just a rookie fresh out of the academy. Kramer had never liked the astute and talented Army veteran much, never had any problem letting him know that either. Therefore, the degrading orders barked out at Halstead to stand down and let real police handle it were somewhat expected. The young detective was used to it and having already assessed the situation he had seen an opportunity to take down the offender that would get the hostage to safety and wouldn't get anyone else at risk, and he wasn't going to let it pass. Not with his mom being a patient just upstairs, not when it was so easy to imagine she was a hostage instead.
Without thinking about the consequences, he leapt at his chance, snuck up on the criminal and tackled him to the ground hard, kicking the weapon out of the stunned man and kept him down until one of the other uniforms shook himself out of his palsy and put cuffs on the man. With the threat eliminated and the hostage safe, Jay's thoughts instantly circled back to his mother. He was only vaguely aware of Kramer getting into his face about defying direct orders from a superior, and he was only vaguely aware of the dull twinge in his ribs and the ache in his wrist, both of which had just recently healed but reawakened by the rough take-down. He ignored the jabs and insults the older man spat at him, merely shook his head in resignation and walked away, determined to get back to the OR waiting room in case someone had news for him.
Before he knew it though, a meaty hand grabbed him by the shoulder to physically prevent him from leaving. Jay flinched and pun around, and instinctively shoved Kramer away, sending the unsuspecting man stumbling backwards. It wasn't a reaction to the higher-ranked officer's deliberate provocation, and even if it were, it would have easily passed as self-defense. But it wasn't. Instead, it was a reaction caused by a conglomeration of physical pain, anxiety induced by the recent attack, and raw fear of losing his mom. And yet, it was enough to get him to where he was now, stranded on a park bench outside the 21st district, suspended until further notice wand with little hope of getting his job back anytime soon. And as he cradled his phone in a white-knuckled grip, pressing it to his ear as he waited for Carly's reply, he couldn't help but fear for the worst: that he had failed his mom once and for all.
Comments are vastly appreciated but please don't be disappointed that I don't reply to each and every one of them anymore.
Stay safe and healthy!