So I am going to say this right now- I am not happy with this fic. Not at all. I cannot tell you how many times I started, only to realize the plot was wrong or made no sense for this prompt. So (after literally writing the start of four new stories/oneshots) I gave up and this is all I managed to string together.
Really I am sorry, but see this threw me for a loop, because I've been planning on writing an actual AU in depth story about Jay and his Dad, so that made this all the more difficult.
Sorry…please don't murder me.
Prompt: Guest: Sick/hurt Jay gets a visit from his dad and it's not happy, but luckily Erin and the rest of Intelligence are there. Protective/comforting Erin and protective team feels please?
*im saying present time, so after season finale, but since we don't know what happens to Voight yet, I'm going to pretend he got out of it like he always does and we can all ignore it and move on.
*A/N 10/23/16- I WAS FUCKING RIGHT HE GOT OUT OF IT WITHOUT A SINGULAR BIT OF EFFORT FUCKING SHIT
"I met someone from your family."
"Didn't think that mattered to you."
Erin's P.O.V.
"So what happened."
"What?"
"Don't play stupid with me Erin I know something happened. And unlike Voight I know it has something to do with the way Jay looks like he's about to fall over." Al shrugs off my cryptic glare.
"I may be his oldest friend Linds but that doesn't mean I share his views on everything and trust me when it comes to you and Jay, we have differing opinions." I move to reach for my fries but he jerks them out of reach. I reach for them, grabbing pathetically and missing each time. Eventually I stop grabbing and sit back, both of us staring at each other with narrow eyes.
"Tell me what happened now and not a word will go to Voight."
I huff. He holds up the hand not holding my little fried potatoes.
"Pinkie promise." I glance out the window, then quickly snag my pinkie in his.
"Gimme." I growl, snatching them away from his hand the second they are close enough. I shouldn't have road with Olinski. He knows my weakness. Heard it from Jay, who figured it out one time we were both drunk enough that I managed to convince him to hit McDonald's at two in the morning just so I could get a large fry. And not share one singular bite in the five minutes it took me to eat them.
See? Don't ever get a boyfriend. They suck and simultaneously make you glad they're around.
As I tear into my fries I settle into my seat, staring at the building through my dash. Our guy is supposed to visit this bar every Wednesday afternoon to collect his cut from the owner, so while Jay, Ruzek and Atwater go to re-interview witnesses, I'm sitting here with my inherent uncle, talking about my love life. No, I'm not stupid either, I know Voight split us up on purpose, and I know the second he has a chance he'll be asking me a million questions, or better yet, he won't give me the time of day and do something stupid that will be uncalled for and just serve to piss me off more.
"First of all, this is ridiculous. We shouldn't be working right now, it's not fair. The commander made us stay for two nights straight."
"Technically one."
"Right and I got about four hours of sleep only because I walked into my apartment took my shoes off and passed out on the couch. Then my phone rang. At about one in the morning. Which is fine, it's our jobs, I get it, but Jay..." Al's gaze darkens slightly. I like to think he understands Jay a little better than me sometimes. Which is fine, but just once I'd like someone to tell me how to deal with his nightmares, or rather, someone have told he had them in the first place.
"...has a hard time falling asleep." I nod, knowing Al's seen Jay worse than I have. And believe it or not, he's good friends with Mouse too. They helped him after Terri.
"Thought he might. It was a rough one." My head bobs again, agreeing in time with the conversation. Our last case having involved two dead kids, not many of us could say we had an easy time stomaching it. I have to give it to Al, though. He's not fast or physically the strongest, but he sees everything, and his mind is razor sharp. He listens, and will only give up information when he sees it as the right or appropriate time.
He listens. He thinks. He's open about things. Unlike Voight, who can be so set in his ways sometimes you'd have a more fulfilling conversation with a brick wall than with him.
"I wasn't there but when I came in this morning asking if he got any sleep, he response was that 'birds evolved from theropod dinosaurs'." I say it with false enthusiasm and Al gives me the weirdest look.
"When he can't sleep he watches documentaries." I sigh, plopping the empty container into our designated trash bag. "They help him relax." O nods, looking slightly puzzled but relieved in a type of way.
"Well There's worse ways to deal with them." I swallow, deciding to ignore the way he talks about the nightmares, and ignore the way my stomach feels when I think about him having one. Or worse, a night terror.
Closing my eyes I swallow hard, forcing the feeling to go away.
'It hasn't happened in a long time, Erin, just get back to the story.'
Reopening them I respond.
"He hadn't slept at all, and I was so tired despite the short down time I got we just...clashed I guess. I was so mad, at him, at the commander, at everything. He was tired, but not horribly cranky like I was and that just pissed me off, because it wasn't fair that he could go three days no sleep and function the same as if it had only been one. Meanwhile I'm sitting in the driver's seat pissed at everything and so tired I..." Another sigh, this one guilty, passes my lips.
"By God I was such a bitch." I whisper, leaning my head in a hand with my elbow on the side of the door. "And he just took like usual. Never got mean back, never got mad, although I think that's because he was too exhausted to."
"Like usual?" My shoulders drop and I groan.
"It's not the first time I've completely unleashed petty teenage girl on him."
"Ah."
"Yeah." Alvin looks at me, then without a word hands me the rest of his french fries. The next few minutes are quiet save for my munching.
"So." The older man starts, cleaning up the various wrappers to shove together. "What's that got to do with why he limped up the stairs this morning." More guilt settles over my heart, making it heavy.
"Because I'm an idiot." I whisper, voice hoarse. "I've been a cop for twelve years now and I still can't clear a fucking building."
…
"Clear. Check the hallway, I got the kitchen." He whispers, flashlight kept low as the lights in the house are off. Four in the morning, most people are asleep. Like I want to be.
"Yes Dad." My voice is nasty, but my words don't elicit a reaction like I want it too. God why can't he be human for once?!
I float through the doorway, noting the closet door at the end of the hall as well an open bedroom to my right. I decide against waiting for Jay to move his slow ass and finish the kitchen. It isn't that big, he should've been here by now.
Some little part of me screams for me to wait, to shut up and get a hold of myself. I've been mean to him all morning, for no reason really, except that I am angry at the world, and he's part of it. I want him to be mad with me, I want him to show it, to say he's not okay. But no, God forbid he actually admits he feels.
I clear the bedroom, by myself, which is pretty dangerous considering the amount of blind spots the thing has. I call out a soft clear, then hear Jay's voice call the same thing. I walk back into the hallway, meeting him there. He gives me a wary look as I tell him no one's home. It peeves me.
"Did you clear that by yourself?"
"Yeah I did while you were busy admiring the refrigerator." He looks at me. I don't see the 'closet' door opening behind me.
"Erin what is up with you? I just-" suddenly his eyes shift to my right, widen and he opens his mouth to say something, probably my name, because I register a 'Er-!" before a shot sounds off. I duck to my left as Jay is twisted around. A second shot sends him flying to the floor while I turn. The man fires a third, but my gun was raised, and four bullets are already embedded in his chest when his finger squeezes the trigger, so the shot goes wide and destroys some expensive China.
It's quiet now as I drop to the floor, hand keying my radio.
"Lincoln fifty twenty one, shots fired by the police, suspect down at 25 Tolland street. Roll an ambo and additional unit, plain clothes officers on scene." My other hand squeezes Jay's shoulder while I talk, all anger gone. In its place is guilt and shame. I immediately know it's my fault. I should have waited, I should have looked.
The dispatcher accepts my report and spouts a response while my fingers fumble with the straps of his vest. A sharp wheezing sound smacks my ears when I finally get the vest off him. It occurs to me that's his first breath since getting hit, which wasn't long, but the fact that it was that delayed scares me.
My hands cup his face and run through his hair, lips telling him to relax, focus and breath. He does, and five minutes later my hands are being used to push him down, try and keep him on the floor. He sits up anyway, wheezing diminished to a labored pant of sorts. I know how hard he's trying to keep his breathing in check, how much effort he's putting into keeping himself from hyperventilating.
By the time back up arrives with the ambulance he can talk again, has dawned his vest, and is standing. The paramedics confirm the guy's dead before coming over to check Halstead on my request. He squirms his way through the poking and prodding and the two guys aren't happy with what they see.
"Dehydrated, pupils are sluggish although he doesn't have a concussion, a slight fever although that's to be expected and should go away soon. I'm more worried about his blood pressure which is low even though his pulse is racing. He's exhausted, shouldn't even be put here-"
"I'm fine."
"Jay-" I start, but he hops off the gurney and walks outside, saying he needs air. The paramedics, without a patent to treat, pack up, telling me to keep an eye on him. The coroner arrives shortly after they leave alone with a pair of uniforms to secure the scene. I find Jay leaning on the car, bent over with hands on his knees.
"Are you okay?" I ask, tentative and sorrowful. Nothing like your partner getting shot to snap you out of a mood. 'Mood'. Hah. More like satan's wrath.
I wince as he sends me a look, shrugging off the hand I placed on his shoulder.
"Let's just get back to the precinct. That guy wasn't our perp, we need to figure out who he was."
…
"He was shot?! And you didn't bring him to the hospital?!"
"Oh come on you try to make Jay Halstead do something he doesn't want to! I got him in that situation the least I could do was let him deal with it how he wanted!" I scrub a hand down my face. "Besides, the paramedics said he was okay-"
"No, the paramedics said he was feverish and exhausted. Erin, if Voight heard that he'd send him home in a heartbeat."
"No he wouldn't, he's put him on desk because the commander wouldn't allow him to go home without a good reason and since I never called in a officer down, the only way Jay goes home is if I get in trouble, which is something neither he or Voight will do."
Quiet.
"Why'd you say it was your fault? We've cleared buildings before and we don't check closets. We should, but sometimes we don't."
"It wasn't a closet." God my voice is rough.
"What?"
"It was a bathroom. Tom Rogers, that guy I shot? He was sleeping there. Had he not decided to take a piss at the exact time we breached the house, when I walked into that bedroom he would have shot me with the gun he keeps under the pillow." Alvin's shakes his head.
"Lindsay..."
"The light was on. When he opened the door and shot Jay, the light was on. All I had to do was look at the ground and see the light coming from underneath the door. All I had to do was wait for Jay."
Alvin sighs in defeat. I go back to staring out the window.
"You know sometimes I really piss myself off."
I am guilty. I accept that and I've been working on an apology for the last hour, making my stomach turn with apprehension.
That said I am also Jay Halstead's partner, which means I am paranoid and I trust my gut about him because I'm normally right.
So I think it's rather interesting that on the day Jay hits one level above 'I am not able to work because I am so physically destroyed' does he get a visitor. It's even more interesting how we aren't there to listen upon the beginning or middle of the conversation. But after we get back, and are all taking off vests and shit in the roll up, I notice that despite Ruzek and Atwater existing next to me, my boyfriend, did not. So when I ask Ruzek about it and his response is-
"Burgess told him that Platt told her to tell Jay that he had a visitor waiting for him upstairs. Took off."
-I can not think of a decent reason for the dread ball in my stomach. Jay is human, he has friends, he is allowed to have visitors.
Or perhaps those emotions are centered around the apology I've been planning, I don't know.
Yet I still moved quicker than normal, just about shoving Kevin out of my way as I go for the door. The team, whether they'd admit it or not, I think is worried to. If they weren't, they wouldn't be right behind as I scurry my way up the steps, across the lobby, then up more steps to our bullpen. They would have been talking about something, anything even the case. Instead they are quiet like me.
I just top the last step, Voight right behind me, when the muffled yells reach my ears and my eyes are drawn to the break room, where I can just make out Jay and another man. Halsteads facial expression is deadly, precise, and enraged. Something else hides underneath the anger, but I can't make it out through the sound of my own breathing. The rest of the team floods into the pen, staring at the two men, looks of confusion spreading through the team.
My hearing comes back sharply, or maybe they just weren't yelling so loud until the end. The door is closed after all, so you can't hear much more than syllables until the very end of his sentence when Jay really raises his voice.
"...least I'm not like you and have the balls to actually respect her!"
The fist flies out, sharp and quick and practiced, to slam into Jay's cheek. His head snaps to the side, body moving slightly with the impact.
There's this second, a lingering selected part of time, that stretches just a little longer than usual. In that moment, the whole of intelligence, waits.
Everyone saw the punch, I know, because we all tensed, nearly simultaneously in anger. Our little protective gene we have, decided to rear its head, like it always does when he's in danger. We wait though, because we know Jay has that rage in him, and he most certainly can defend himself. So in that second, everyone hesitates, everyone watches, and waits for his own fist to move, faster than lightning, and hit the man back.
It doesn't happen.
The other man's fist snaps out again, this time hitting Halstead square in the jaw. The punches are extreme and even from here I can tell I'd be on my ass already. Which is why this time Jay's head flies to the left, and then another punch rains, right after the other, and he's on his knees.
By this time, I have started moving; we all have. But the punches don't stop just because we yell at them too. More flash, Jays on the ground now, there's blood now, and his team is enraged now too.
Several less than legal threats and more than likely plans for action rip their way out of the guys mouths as they rush forward, into the break room and onto the offending man. I stay quiet, my worry shushing my anger, at least for the moment.
See the man I love is on the ground, and something is wrong with him, because he didn't fight back, he didn't try to defend himself, not once. I don't get to look at him for long, only given the chance to kneel beside him and lay a hand on his shoulder. The commotion above me takes my attention, for no longer than a minute. It is enough.
The man is six two at least, and not a spark of good can be seen in his dark eyes. Atwater must've taken a punch, or possible an elbow, but he was the only thing holding this monster of a man. Without him, Ruzek and Dawson can't to much but get thrown into Al or Voight. For a second, this guy, (who honestly has to be on some drug to be his strong) is free. A yell passes through repulsive lips, and he lunged, towards me, or Jay more likely.
He doesn't get two steps before his wrist is broken.
The fist he lunged with is shattered instantly as Mouse brings down the night stick. His face of fury changes to one of surprise, but it doesn't last long, because this isnt Mouse, its Staff Sergeant Greg Gerwitz, and this man just threatened his best friends life.
The other fist is caught, then bent, fingers on pressure points. Mouse twirls the metal collapsible and pushes it underneath the man's chin, pulling with both hands to turn the man, so they face each other. A flash of rage breaks through the stone cold mask on the tech wizs face and then he ducks, twisting the hand in his while moving underneath the arm it's connected to. As he ducks behind the guy, the night stick flashing quickly to connect with the back of his right knee.
The man falls, his right leg giving out with a yell, his right arm twisted excruciatingly behind his back. I recognize the position, a memory flirting across the back of my eyes. Jay did that once. Did it with a guy who tried to go after me. A little pressure of Mouses part right now, and that shoulder pops right out its socket.
The black metal rod now resides underneath the man's chin, pulling him back against Mouse, as I blink, because the time that elapsed since Greg started his attack, hasn't been more than a couple seconds.
"I told you." The voice is cold, raw, and so full of an unbridled rage that it gives Voight a run for his money, and almost wins.
The hand holding the weapon moves, brushed away by the behemoths hand as he stand again and rounds on Mouse. For a tiny moment, (as everything seems to be happening in seconds, less than even) a fist flies out and I am afraid that Mouse will be beaten by this man. But once again I am wrong and worry not about the man made tiny by his attacker.
The other wrist is quickly dislocated by some complicated maneuver I can't even describe semi accurately, because I only saw a flash of skin and black and heard a pop, before knowing we were about to glimpse what protectiveness turkey looked like.
One of Mouse's hands gripped the outside of his victim's arm, the other twisting the metal to hit the man's jaw. The stick seems to get away from him, or maybe he drops it, but then his fist slams into his jaw, effectively disorienting the man so that when his arm drops, he doesn't raise them again.
Mouse's hand flashes out, a sharp 'thwick' as his fingers make contact with the throat of Jay's attacker. His left fist slam into his jaw, right first taking the air from his diaphragm with a swift undercut to the gut. The man bend over with a huff, hands still around his throat. Mouses knee makes full contact with his face and the guy flips backwards, landing on his side.
"I told you what would happen. If you came back." Greg is on him in an instant, flipping him on his stomach and then grabbing his head by the hair, lifting it, and slamming his face into our tile. Still tripping the semi conscious man by the head, his pick him up like this, the offender yelling out in pain. Mouse takes the man and throws him against the table, then, as he bounces off it, catches him with an open palm to the chest, a few pops heard and the ribs break.
The man slumps to the ground, only partially aware of what's happening to him. He does rouse slightly as Mouse wrap a hand around his neck and lifts the bloody face to its mere inches from his own.
"I told you what I would do." The growl echoes almost, dropping the room temperature a solid ten degrees. And then it starts. Hit after hit, Mouse's hands differ in technique and location, but they land, hard, painful, and without a single ounce of mercy in them. I suppose that's when everyone else recovered from whatever shock they had melted to in fear of the whirlwind of fury that was their stuttering friend who was only good with a computer.
Suppose we were wrong about that one.
Finally, the moment, the twenty five seconds, are over and Alvin and Dawson are talking, telling Mouse to stop, that enough buddy, he got the point, and finally before Atwater and Voight and Ruzek have to drag him off the man, a very sharp and slightly scared 'You're gonna kill him!" Which is responded to with a 'Good.' in a tone that embodies nothing less that the rage of the devil himself.
Then Mouse is deposited outside the break room, and Jay moans beneath my hand while Alvin looks at Hank to ask if we should call the medics. And while the moment is gone, the images are firmly imprinted in our minds and the emotions associated with them sealed within them, as sharp, traumatic memories tend to do.
"...damn it Erin, answer me! Does he need a hospital or not?!" Swallowing hard, I reply no automatically, not really looking at him, but realizing after I said it that he needed one four hours ago, he definitely deserves a visit to one now. Working up the resolve to look at my boyfriend involves looking up at the team and seeing the tortured look on Ruzek's face as he looks at his friend, then me, fear flashing before he takes the other side of the pulp faced man and drags him down stairs with Kev. Alvin stands in the doorway with Hank, a cold anger on his face similar to Voights when he shot Justin's killer.* Dawson is standing outside with Mouse, trying to calm him down.
Their protectiveness, their possessiveness and their worry manages to push me to look at him.
"Well….maybe." I mutter, my throat dry and voice cracking. Jay shudders underneath my hands. I close my eyes for a second, forcing a deep breath into my lungs as if to remind them of their responsibilities while I push my brain to start working again.
Just look at him. That's all I need to do right now. Look at him, make sure he's okay. Everything else doesn't matter, emotions can be dealt with later.
Forcing my eyes back open, I get low, my upper body only inches above the tile. I'm already on my knees, already hunched over, but Jay's face is hidden by his arms, his shoulders hitched up in a way that hides his face more. It's not lost on me how defensive the position is, especially since a fist or boot would have a hard time reaching his face this way. And the whole way his body is splayed too, to look defeated yet he's still protecting certain areas...like it's been practiced.
It really clicks however, when I gently move his hands from their awkward position. His arms are by his face and head, which leaves his chest and abdomen wide open.
You can't see bruises on someone's chest when they have a shirt on. You wouldn't be able to see them on their arms either, or back or legs or stomach.
You'd see them on a person's face though.
My stomach turns to rock as I think of every time I've seen him wearing a long sleeve shirt even when I thought it was too warm.
Is this what he was hiding?!
"Erin?"
"He's….I don't know." I glance up at Voight, hoping my pleading expression will do the trick. Hank nods, understanding, before turning to Alvin.
"I'll call Will. We won't put it out on the air." I nod, satisfied. As Alvin walks out he says something to Dawson and Mouse, the latter of which is looking visibly calmer, but still tense as he stares at Alvin. Voight stays in the doorway, but stands half in half out, as though guarding us.
A soft whimper brings my attention the slightly shivering body beneath my hands. Now that I'm close enough to see his face, I'm dismayed to see closed eyes.
"Jay." I whisper, taking in the blood flowing from a cut in his cheek and his split lip. My fingers brush through his hair, softly moving it away from his eyes. Idly I wonder if he's considered getting it cut soon. Its starting to look all curly.
"Jay, baby, wake up." A soft, incoherent mumble is my only response, reminding me of the way he'll talk in his sleep. "Come one sweetheart open those eyes. Look at me Halstead, please." A scrunched brow, a soft cough and then sure enough, his eyelids flutter, revealing a set stunning, although glazed and hazy, green eyes that always manage to say more than his mouth can.
He flinches rather violently once he sees me, his back slamming into the cabinets behind me.
"Woah man, easy there. It's okay, you're safe. He's gone, you're safe." My voice must click something into place, because he slowly focuses on me in the realization that I'm not his attacker.
"Lin's?" He slurs, sounding almost drunk.
"I'm right here Jay, I'm okay, we're all okay. Listen, we got that guy out of here, but we need to get you to a hospital, you're almost definitely concussed."
"No ambo." I give him a soft sort of smile.
"Wasn't planning on one. We do have to get you to a car though, so you're gonna have to stand up." He groans at the information. I smirk.
"I know, I know, having to sit up, oh the horror."
"Flo'rs c'mfy."
"The floors disgusting. Now come on, I'll help you."
"Mrpf." I grip is hard, he pushes a hands against the floor and in a smooth motion that requires a lot of effort on both parts, he's leaning against the cabinets, halfway to standing. His eyes roll a little bits, and his head sways a little before he finds it a good idea to lean it back against the woodwork.
"You good?"
"M'yeah….define...good…" My hand touches his cheek.
"Look at me Jay." It takes effort but he does. "Are you okay?" I ask, more sincere than anything else. Even in his slightly delusional state, he understands what I'm asking.
"He wasn't supposed to come back." He says softly, looking hurt and a little scared, but no where close to broken. His eyes float across the room.
"So you know him then?"
"Where's Mouse?" He mumbles, avoiding the question. "Thought I h'erd 'm." I bit my lip.
"You did…" Just then Ruzek and Alvin come back up, the former giving a soft knock on the door frame to notify us of their return.
" Okay, the car's outside. We the guys in a holding cell downstairs. Platt's with Atwater, said she'd take care of it. Is he ready?" My hands gives Jay's shoulder a squeeze, eliciting another indecipherable mumble.
"Yeah. He might need help…" I trail off, glad neither Adam nor Al take a second to listen to me babble. Instead they just walk right into the room, my feet moving me out of the way almost unconsciously as they crouch, grab an arm under the shoulder and lift in unison. Halstead's eyes roll back at the altitude change, head falling to rest lethargically on Olinski's shoulder. I hold up a hand, gesturing for the two to wait.
"Jay?" I step forward, trying to get his eyes to meet me, or get him to respond with words, I don't care, so long as whatever he does helps keep my heart from beating its way out of my throat.
"St'p the r'm please, I'd like ta g't off." I roll my eyes, suppressing a smirk.
"He's good." Alvin nods, passing by me with Ruzek who's trying hard not to laugh at the obscene comment. The trio take a left out of the break room, heading out the back way to shove Jay in a car, most likely piloted by Dawson as he has yet to make an appearance. Voight waits for me at in the doorway, keys already in hand. I expect the confusion as I brush past him instead.
"Where do you think you're going?!"
"To find out that bastard's name." I growl, hands already clenching into fists.
"The hell you are!" His hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around, making me stumble back a step to regain balance. I glare, angry at him for not letting me do this.
"Your partner is going to the hospital right now and you're going with him."
"Hank-"
"Erin I know what you're doing. It's not up for discussion. Take the car, meet them there and be there when he wakes up. God knows he isn't going to be conscious when he gets to Med and you're going to have to keep mouse in check; I can't have him back her until I know more."
With that my anger flows out of me, smooth and slow like water out of a stream. I want to be with Jay, I do, but there isn't much I can do there. Besides. It's easier to cover everything with anger because it's an easy emotion. Easy to control, easy to use, and much easier to deal with than the knot of worry and fear that's lying underneath it.
But I can't deny what Voight's implying either. He's just as enraged as everyone else, if not more. No one touches his detectives, and while I could probably calm Mouse done even further, he and Alvin can gets things done on the offensive from.
"Make him pay." I hiss, then snatch the keys from his hand and stomp my way down to the parking lot. The escalades gone, which I expected, but the three hundred sits right where I parked in, gleaming in the fading sunlight.
One of Voight's comments sticks in my head as I turn the car on, idly flicking the vents open to allow heat from the engine to warm the interior.
"...he isn't going to be conscious when he gets to med."
I can see it happening now- Dawson's driving, Alvin's in the back with Jay, desperately trying to keep Jay's eyes from closing while Ruzek is trying to do something to help, but there's nothing for him to do except look half panicked at Antonio, who'll flick on the lights and drive faster as Jay's body finally relaxes against Olinski.
I can see their car getting parked anywhere but a parking space, Ruzek jumping out early because he needs someway to help so he'll run ahead, yelling at anyone who'll listen and even those who won't.
Will would hear it, as would Rhodes and Maggie and Manning. They'd all come running, each one recognizing that it was Adam Ruzek and he's from Intelligence and while everyone else would be thinking about how to help their friends, Will would be realizing that Jays in Intelligence and I wonder where he is because Will is too naive to think that Jay would be the one hurt.
Until they would rush into the emergency department with his brother between them and then Will would freeze because this is intelligence and intelligence doesn't get worried for nothing and is he really in such bad shape they couldn't wait for a god damn ambulance?!
The situation would be made worse because Wills coworkers would come to the same conclusion, and since Rhodes wouldn't let Will see his brother die, they'd pull him away before someone could come to the conclusion that yes he's still breathing and no he's not currently dying actually.
But Will wouldn't see that. Neither would Antonio, who felt he didn't move fast enough in the first place, or Dawson who thinks he couldn't keep him awake and now he's gone, or Ruzek who hadn't felt that helpless since Burgess was shot.
And all Mouse would see is how he failed to protect the only friend that's been there for him through everything. You wouldn't be able to get a word out of him.
They'd be breaking down. Finally being forced to deal with events as Goodwin asks what happened they wouldn't be able to answer with any real type of truth because none of us know what really happened. And that would scare the living shit out of each and every one.
They'd be crumbling.
Then I'd walk in.
Will's P.O.V.
"Will we got this, alright? Maggie?" A soft hand lays on my arm and gently starts to tug me away from the room.
"Come on Will. It's okay."
He's not moving. Why is he not moving?! He's always moving, even when hes sleeping.
"Will, they're going to do the best they can. Let's go sit down for a minute okay?"
Is he even breathing?!
"Dr. Halstead?" A huge whoosh of air exists my lungs rather suddenly and I struggle to regain it as Charles appears next to Maggie who's managed to maneuver me away from the trauma room.
The one that houses my brothers body.
I can hear the shrill whine of the heart monitor, and I vaguely register that it's not a flat line, rather an alert of some sort, some rapid change in heartbeat. But my eyes are still fixed on his shoes, the only part of Jay I can still see. Even that small mercy disappears as Maggie promptly deposited me into the staff lounge. A few words are said between her and Dr. Charles outside, some quiet conversation that I can't concentrate on.
I can't concentrate on much, really, because the last two minutes keep replaying in my head. I didn't think it was Jay, more because it took me a second to identify the person yelling for help. Once I did, the fear for my brothers well being was quickly confirmed, as two more members of his rounded the corner with him between them.
Limp, bloody and unresponsive.
Was he shot? Stabbed? A car accident maybe?
"Will?" My breath catches in my throat but I don't move from where I sit, elbows on my knees, right at the edge of the small couch we have in here. So even though I do not look at him, I can identify the psychiatrist by his voice while my eyes stay fixated on the tile floor.
"How are you doing?"
"Do you know anything?" My voice isn't hoarse like I think it should be, in fact it's probably the crystal clear monotonous quality to it that puts the concerned look on Charles. I don't see it, but I know it's there. The atmosphere has changed, as it tends to do upon the first response to a loaded question.
"No."
"Then I need to be alone."
"I don't think that's the best idea right now."
"I don't give a shit what you think." I hiss, snapping my head around to glare at him. "Just get out and don't come back unless your name is Connor Rhodes and you know what the hell happened to my brother!"
I might have gotten a little loud at the end, but Charles doesn't startle or seem surprised or angry. He just nods and leaves quietly, face calm and placid. Another conversation is being had right outside the door again, this time most definitely on my behalf and probably between him and Manning. I don't care.
I'm to busy trying to convince myself this isn't happening.
Time passes rather rapidly I think. At some point I move, too agitated to stay perched on the couch. It's to open, to vulnerable. Because while I'm sure the team got the memo to stay out of the break room, I'm also sure they all want to come in here 'on accident' to see how I was doing.
Sitting on that damn couch would be to obviously easy. They could ambush me, a million questions that demanded hard answers and I'd have to say something to appease them. Otherwise would be involved more, he'd get in my head, make me say things too early, to raw. Say things I wasn't ready to say. I can't defend against that.
I decided my corner is much more suited for talking. Wedged between the wall and the side of the couch, I only have one open spot, the area I face being the rest of the room. The walls behind my back and at my side serve as stand ins, and I can pretend they'll protect me from what is surely coming. Even as I draw my knees to my chest and will my heart to slow, I know what will happen.
Rhodes will come in, quiet and slow and somber, because he's the only person I'll let talk to me. He'll start the normal spiel.
'We did everything we could Will. But there was too much damage and after we lost him the second time...we couldn't get him back.'
What will I do though? Would I be numb? Angry? Fall into denial then scream my pain to everyone who's listen?
And Jesus Christ, what about Erin?! Would I have to tell her?!
Something sparks in my brain, a little whisper of information that I should have recognized sooner as important.
Intelligence brought him in.
Which means they were there. They know what happened. They would have seen it, or at least the aftermath. They'd know-
"Will?" Rhodes pokes his head into the room, looking around like he's surprised the room isn't destroyed. He takes a few steps into the small area, looking for me as he closes the door, something in his hand. I shuffle my feet closer to my body, arms still around me knees.
'Please don't start it. I don't want to lose him. Please Rhodes.' I plead, silently, my thoughts screaming to be heard somehow. The doctor turns his head toward the noise of my movement and his face morphes through several emotions before he takes a few steps closer to me and crouches infront of me.
He opens his mouth to talk, and that's about where I decide I need to do something because this can not play out like I think it will.
"Is he dead?" It's more of a statement than a question, I'm just asking for validation in the whispered sentence. Concern and surprise flits across my colleagues face.
"...no, no he's not. He's got a nasty concussion, two fractured ribs, another broken as well as a shattered wrist and a lot of bruises. Physically exhausted and running a bit of a fever but it should go down soon." He looks at me for a long moment.
"He's going to be okay, Will."
He's going to be okay?
"Will?"
My hands shake. I can't breath.
"Will it's okay. Jay's going to be just fine alright? He's going into surgery for his wrist, it won't take long and then you can see him. Alive." He adds the last part as an afterthought, looking uncertain.
"What happened." I whisper, feeling my heart ready to pound out of my throat as my adrenaline sizzles in my veins. I have to repeat it, over and over, but the relief is growing.
'He's okay. He's alive. He's going to be absolutely fine. He's okay…
Rhodes gives a small smile.
"How bout you come out of there and I'll tell you?" He holds out a hand, gesturing to the table, which would indicate that we wouldn't leave the break room. I swallow but grab the offered support. Sure enough, we both plop right down again, just on the couch instead. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. It's then I notice he still has the white thing in his hand, clearly a picture of some sort given the shiny quality to the thick material.
"He was unconscious when they brought him in, we did X-rays and a head CT to confirm just a concussion and see what was broken. Heart rate was good but his bp was low, so we pushed fluids and did an ultrasound of his abdomen. There was no sign of anything but bruising so we left it alone and sent him up to ortho."
I listen, nod occasionally, and slowly force my thoughts to come back to something resembling order. Questions pop up now that I'm not planning a funeral.
"That doesn't tell me what happened to him." Rhodes bits his lip.
"I don't know what happened to him. I just know what I treated him for. Some more people from intelligence are hear, they want to talk to you."
I stare at Connor, taking in the way he stares at my face but not my ears. He's nervous.
And he's lying.
"Listen Halstead…you should know...he dropped into Vfib after he got here. We almost lost him."
He's okay, he's okay, he's okay, he's-
"What's in your hand." My colleague seems generally confused at what I'm asking him, even resorting to looking down at his hand before remembering with a start.
"Oh. Um, they, uh, well, just-"
"Show me." I sigh. It's probably just a scar or someone that isn't on his medical file and need to ask about. He flips the picture around and hands it to me, a bloody face that takes me a minute to place because of the heavy bruising.
"Do you know him?"
"Yeah! What the hell happened to him?!" Rhodes just looks at me, that face of his, the one that's serious but not emotional at the same time, on full display.
"Who is he?" I glance between the picture and Connor, suspicious of the tone.
"That's my dad." I get the feeling I must clearly not be understanding something. Like I'm adding two and two and getting ten, while everyone else sees four.
Rhodes goes white.
"Come on."
"What?"
"Come with me, now."
"What?! Rhodes what the hell is going on?!" He grabs my arm and the picture, the slippery surface sliding out of my hands easily. I'm dragged out of the lounge, towed through savagely light hallways that I should recognize but can't. We move past a clock on the wall that tells me I'd been curled in a ball for almost two hours, then suddenly some elevator doors are opening (when did we get on?) and I'm being shoved into a conference room that houses everyone from Intelligence with the exception of Voight and Alvin Olinski.
Connor tosses the picture on the table, ignores the surprised faces staring at us, and turns back to me. When I say nothing, he prompts, out of breath but...angry?
"Go on. Tell them what you just told me."
He points to the picture, standing out brightly in contrast to the glass table.
"Tell them who that is." A tiny voice in the back of my brain tells me that I was right, Rhodes did know what happened, but CPD needed me to identify him first.
"That's my Dad." I croak, not ready for what comes next but wanting someone to spit it out already.
Someone makes a choked sound in the room, and I think it might have been Erin because her hands cover her mouth now in a manner that looks as though she's holding in a scream.
"Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?!" I yell, looking at each member for only a second before staring frantically back at Connor.
"Sit down."
"No." I glare at Ruzek who casually pulled out a rolly chair, even as I register how weak my response sounds. There's a unanimous decision made, because Rhodes stays but melts into the background while Antonio starts talking.
Argument. Things got out of hand. We got there just as it started.
This isn't right. My moms been gone for almost five years...this can't...my dad couldn't have…
Mouse moved fastest. Currently in holding. You're both safe.
He wouldn't have…
"Will?" People really need to stop saying my name like that.
I drop into the chair with a small portion of grace and attempt not to puke. There's a hand on my shoulder with a comforting squeeze, the owner talking in a low voice while I keep my eyes shut and a hand over my mouth.
This can't be happening right now. They'd get in arguments but never…
I recall the fear I felt when I saw him dragged in, the agony I had to go through while I waited for the news...thinking it was over just by the look on Alvin's face, because Al doesn't panic easily and he was done right scared shitless when he stumbled through my ER doors.
I think of the glimpse of my brothers face, bloody and bruised and pale with shock.
I look at the photo splayed innocently on the table.
He did this too him?! To his own god damn son?!
"Halstead...there's something else."
There's something else.
Connor's voice echoes in my ears, gentle like when he's trying to talk to a patient's family. A victim's family.
"We went into his medical file to...just to look. And we found a pattern." A file plops in front of me, pictures and reports spilling out dramatically. Photos of arms and legs and abdomens and chests, all at different stages of life.
All of them covered in bruises, or set in a cast or sling.
No. No this is not happening, this is not…
I stare at the different glosses, toddler, tweenie, teenager. Some things he most definitely didn't come in for, but were taken for reference. To build a case.
"No." I choke, my hand still covering my mouth, the other trembling as I poke at the pages, sifting through them to see the notes and recommendations.
'...advise DCS...psych eval...parent guardian situation unstable…'
"Will I know it's hard but…" The voice fades out. Things are moving too fast, like my thoughts and emotions are in time with my racing heart that pounds in my chest and makes my lungs heave with fear.
I may be stubborn and arrogant. I may be the stupidest person to ever walk this earth. And I am definitely going to win the 'shittiest brother of all time' award.
But even I can recognize the pattern. I can see the fists, the discolored skin that is shaped exactly in a hand. The belt marks, the burns. The concussions accompanied with cuts or bruises on his head.
And I didn't see any of this.
One of the horrible things about being a doctor, is that when something happens to someone you love, one hundred and ten percent of the time you understand every single finite detail, every implication and complication, every studied fact.
While abusers often have more than one victim, in the tense of family settings with multiple children, a sort of bipolar victimology can be applied. The oppressive member will often latch onto a certain character, and that victim can see more or all of the abuse.
In other words, the smiling, caring father that bought me ice cream every time I got on base in elementary school , simply liked me better.
"...need to know if you'll testify."
I jerk my head up, my hand falling from my mouth as stare at Antonio.
"Testify?" I mumble, staring at him with burning eyes.
"It's the only way to get a-"
"Conviction." I turn my glare to Erin who won't meet my eyes. "You want me to testify against my father in open court because it's the only way you'll be able to charge him with abuse."
That last word stings as it leaves my lips, burning my chest, my skin, my brain. The room is too hot suddenly, the walls pressing together making the air thicker and acrid. I need to leave, I need to get out of here.
Erin raises her eyes to me, staring with unbridled pain and a raging desire for revenge the best way she knows how.
"Will. As his brother. Please."
I take a deep breath, the first all day it seems, and let it out slow in an attempt to calm down.
Somewhere in this hospital my brother is living with the fact that I didn't notice.
"I can't do this."
Erin's P.O.V.
"Hey we just moved him out of post op. Room two oh six if you want to see him." I swallow the last of my coffee abruptly, making a face as at the massive amount of undissolved sugar I get.
"Thanks Maggie." She nods, walking out of the room. I chuck the coffee cup in the trash then lunge after her, just barely catching the door before it closes.
"Oh hey, did you find Will?" The veteran nurse pauses in her steps, allowing me to catch up before walking towards the elevator. The doctor had promptly disappeared after our little ambush attack. The rest of the team disagreed, but I thought we should have told him differently. As in, I sit him down and tell him everything at his own pace, not just drop the fact that his brother was abused in his lap like a dead bird.
"Yeah, Rhodes talked to him." The elevator doors ding open and Maggie brushes past me with a sense of finality about the subject. Understanding something must have happened but I won't be getting any more about the subject, I am left thinking about how similar the hospital and the twentyfirst are.
We may not always get along, but we are family, and we sure as hell will protect that family.
The lift drops in silence, a slight wire of machine being the only noise that's audible. Right before we get off though, a warm hand fits into mine with a squeeze.
I kept my eyes forward even as a sudden surge of emotion makes them water.
The doors open again, and the hand pulls from mine without a word. I follow the strong willed caretaker through the mess of people and halls, until suddenly we're standing in front of a door. Her hands fiddle with the handle while I stare at the dimly lit room, trying not to show my nervousness but most likely failing miserably. Its not until I hear the telltale sign of a key entering a lock do I tear my eyes away from the lumps curled in the hospital bed.
"Why…" Maggie just twist the key, listening to the sound of a heavy bolt moving before answering.
"Voight figured it out first. And even if he didn't, we knew something was going on. There was no official order given, but only three people have access to this room."
"He's not in protective custody…"
"No. But he's one of us. And until that bastard is locked in a high security prison, I'm gonna do everything I can to make sure this-" She jerks a thumb towards Jay. "-never happens again." I nod, giving a watery smile to show my appreciation.
"Maggie...thank you." She looks at me for a long moment and I hope she picks up on the fact that I don't just mean for putting a lock on the door. Then she glances into the room.
"Don't give him pity. He doesn't want it and he sure as hell doesn't need it. This doesn't make him any different than the guy you fell in love with. Remember that."
With that the nurse pushes the door open for me, holding it with the clear expectation that I enter without the shocked expression I must be wearing.
My feet shuffle forward and the door closes, making the room darken dramatically as what little light that came from the hallway disappears. I cross the floor in two strides, sinking onto the side of the bed carefully after depositing my coat on the chair.
He stares at me for a little while, one eye black but not swollen, the other slightly dulled from whatever drugs they have him on but both are clear nonetheless.
I have to make the first move here and we both know it, he's just waiting for the hammer to fall. I know what I do and what I say right now is going to define our relationship for a long time. I just need to make sure I don't screw this up and we can figure the rest out later.
He doesn't want your pity.
A million things flash through my mind, a thousand questions and feelings that all range around what to do, but it's Maggie's words that really bring out the memories.
All the things we've been through. All the times he's rushed to protect me even if he might get hurt. All the times he didn't give a shit about Voight or the commander or the rules and kissed me anyway.
He doesn't want pity or anger from me, because he sure as hell doesn't deserve it. He is brave and reckless like me, and together we are strong, stronger than most. I met a man who was already shaped by what his father did.
And I fell in love with him.
So instead of yelling at him for not telling me (let's face it I never asked) or crying because he was hurt (he's going to be fine in a couple weeks, although he won't be firing a gun anytime soon) I decide to accept the fact that there is little i can do for him right now, except be here.
So slowly and carefully I lean forward, gently tuck myself into his shoulder and give him a hug.
The tension releases almost instantly from his body, it's like he melts as his muscles relax. Or maybe he finally picks up on the idea that I will never ever judge him for his past.
I pull away, just slightly so I can see his face, however battered and bruised.
"Are you okay?" I whisper, not willing to break the silence anymore than I have to.
"I'm…" He looks at me. Understands that I'm not talking about the physical aspect of his health.
"...yeah. I'm okay." He murmurs with an unconvincing nod. My lips press to his briefly, and I savor the feeling before pulling away and sliding down off his chest to simply lie next to him on the bed. It's squished but I don't care. Its home.
For the next twenty four hours anyway, until they release him.
"I'm sorry you had to see that." He mumbles into my hair, breathing shallow but slowly into my scalp.
"I'm not." His lips lift from my forehead as he stares at me rather incredulously. I stare right back, refusing to let my gaze be anything but rock solid.
"You know parts of my childhood...now I know yours. You said for this relationship to work, we had to be open with each other. And let me tell you right now, I don't give a flying fuck about what that man says about you, or what you think it means that he hit you. I'm going to run his ass into the ground for what he did, I can promise you that." He actually has the audacity to smirk.
"Little protective are we there Miss Lindsay?"
"You're damn right I am. You didn't deserve that. And while we're here...you didn't deserve what I did to you this morning either. It was uncalled for and hurtful and...I'm sorry about getting you into this."
"Getting me into...what?" I stare at him with wide eyes.
"I...you were hurt and exhausted and should have been home...and maybe if you hadn't taken two bullets three hours before he came up you'd have-"
"Fought back?"
I nod, tiny and insignificant, like what asking all these questions make me feel.
"Erin I...I'm not perfect. And yes I was tired, because I hadn't slept at all last night and when he hit me...I just...I froze. I feel back on instinct because I generally didn't know what to do. Me not swinging back had nothing to do with you."
Honestly, I deflate at the fact that he doesn't blame me, even though I knew he wouldn't. What I do catch though, is the way he talks with a sense of shame at his actions.
"Jay...I don't want you to be perfect. And completely normal for that type of response, I mean c'mon, you hadn't seen him in what- three years?!"
"Two and a half."
"Either way...this was a complete surprise. Falling back on instinct as you say, has saved your life countless times, and it's probably saved mine too." He nods. It's quiet.
"I just wish I'd been more prepared you know? I thought if I could just get him to leave, I'd be okay."
Anger floods through at his tone, the way he has this tone of disappointment in himself, like he failed. I have to put a cap on it, because I'm angry at the man who put it there, not the man I'm laying against. However I can't help but protest.
"What he did to you wasn't your fault Jay-"
"I know." It's too quiet, the cut off is too rushed and I stare at him, trying to tell if he's saying that because he want me to shut up or because it's true.
"Jay-"
"No, Erin I know. It took me a long time to accept that...but I know. What he did...what he used to say and do...its on him. Not my mom for marrying before she knew what he was like. Not Will for wanting to be a doctor. And sure as hell not on me for disagreeing with him."
My hand finds his while he talks and he holds onto me with dear life once they are folded together. I swallow hard, thinking about what to say next.
"So...what do you want...Intelligence to do about it?"
"I'll testify."
"I-...what?"
"Isn't that what you're going to ask me? If you bring up charges against him in court, anything besides assault against an officer you'd need at least one main witness to testify on a panel otherwise he'll only get about a year and then when he gets out it we'll do this all over again. Neither of us want that,, so we might as well put him in a cell."
Despite the strong words, I can hear the tremor in his voice. I know how hard this must be, to have all his dirty laundry aired out in front of us like that. And now to agree to do it in front of a judge. His testimony would be on record. People would know.
It isn't one of those 'it would make the abuse real' situations, no, he accepted that it happened a long time ago otherwise we wouldn't be able to have a conversation like this. It's more that they'll be lawyers, and jury if it goes to trial, and random strangers will see him spill his guts in front of a judge.
He never had to talk about it before. Now everyone (everyone that matters anyway) is going to know.
I squeezed his hand back, snuggling closer to him.
"I promise you, Jay Halstead, that I will be right by your side every step of the way. I don't care what he says or does. I won't leave. And I won't give up. No matter what."
His body shudders underneath mine, breath stuttering on it way out. I can't see his face, but I can feel the tiny drops of liquid as they land on my hair. As he finally lets go.
"I'll be here with you, forever and always."
…
An hour, a day, hell maybe even a few seconds later, I'm aware of my anger again as it grew with the passage of time. Slowly my body relaxes, leaving some tension as I prepare to get up. I thought was sneaky, but the second I get about an inch away from Jay's body, his eyes snap open, momentary disorientation making him panic.
I'm quick to calm him down again, but the fact that I'm on my feet with the intent of leaving brings questions.
"There's someone else who needs to talk to you." Upon a quizzical look, I take a deep breath and push the unwholly words out.
"Will knows."
I really don't like that shade of white on him, it's really not a good skin tone.
"Rhodes had him identify your father." A flinch at the last word, one I ignore in the hopes he'll say something.
"He's going to think it's his fault." Jay swallows hard. "Will never saw that side of my dad, you'll have a hard time convincing him."
"Trust me, we did."
"How?!"
"You medical records." He blanches, then runs his good hand through his hair. "He's not stupid Jay, we showed him the evidence, and he saw abuse before we even said anything."
"Damn it." He whispers, eyes staring at the ceiling like the answer to life sat up there waiting to be found if you looked hard enough.
"You should talk to him."
"I need you to find him and drag his ass down here then, because if I know Will, he won't want to walk onto this floor nevermind into my room."
"Jay...he thinks because he didn't see it-"
"Oh, trust me, I know what he thinks." I bit my lip against the outrageous laughter that bubbles inside me. Nope, they aren't close at all.
Some muffled conversation exists outside the door, reminding me of my vendetta.
"Where you going?"
"Something I gotta do.'
"Erin." He knows, especially by the warning tone of voice, but I ignore him, because I'm at the door anyway, and nobody is stopping me this time.
Besides as I slip out, I bump into Charles, who smiles at me as he just about pushes Will through the doorway behind me. Jay will be plenty occupied convincing Will it wasn't his fault, which he will eventually, because for all his stubbornness, Will is a oppositional carbon copy of Jay with the same guilt complex.
Difference is, Jay's been dealing with guilt and self loathing since he could walk. As horrifying as that is, it means he knows how to talk to his brother about this.
I'm walking down the hall when I notice Voight standing at the doors with the rest of the team. My feet speed up.
He hands me a pair of keys, a file, and some gloves.
"May want to wear those." He says, in that gravelly voice of his while I stare at him with barely suppressed malice. But then, he knows the rage isn't directed at him.
"I hear it gets pretty cold in Chicago."
...
"Did you have nice nap?" My voice has dropped a full octave lower with the amount pure undiluted rage.
The man in the box stirs suddenly. I analyze the face, every bruise and cut left by Mouse and most definitely Voight and Alvin.
The hatred I find I have for this man is on plane with what I felt for Yates.
"Who the hell are you?" My hands clench, fists tightening even more.
"Well I don't know Mr. Snow. Who are you?" The lights are off above me, shadows obscuring my form so all he sees are my boots and gloved hands. The use of his maiden name, as weird as it sounds, pisses him off like I hoped it would. That file I received from Hank was most useful.
Seems one thing Jane Halstead refused to let him take, was her name.
"Where'd you get that name?! And how dare you use it on me?! You have no-"
"Right?!" I hiss, standing up. "Answer me this then, Alan Halstead. What gave you the right to lay a hand on your son?! What gave you the right to abuse him, mentally and physically, just because he thought differently than you; because he had different opinions than you?!"
He stiffens, and seems to finally realize he's not lying in the cell Atwater threw him in, but instead, his hands are cuffed above him to the chain link behind his back. The boys thought the cage would be more comfortable for him to stay in before the truck came to get him for transfer tomorrow.
"What-who the fuck do you people think you are?! Do you know who you're dealing with?! I'm-" My fist cuts him off, a sharp right hook that I can proudly say has very nice form. A new cut instantly splits open, blood trickling down the left side of his face.
"You're a piece of dirty human filth not with more than a dead rat from the sewers of Chicago." I hiss, the hit him again, this time digging a knuckle into his thigh, leaving a bruise on bone. To hit him though, I had to step out of the shadows, which means he sees my face. A look of ice cold contempt crosses his features.
"Oh, You're that bitch he's gotten to fight his battles. Tell me sweetheart, you come here for a good fuck while your normal man whore is out of commission?"
I always thought the expression 'seeing red' was just that, an expression. But you mix together the implication that Jays the kinda guy who sleeps around with new woman every other day, that I'm the kind of girl who is into that, and that I'm some subsequent mild brained stripper, and then have it all come from this guy?!
It's not an expression.
When my head clear's a little and I can pull my hand back from beating the shit out of him, he's in a lot of pain, and much more new blood flows from his face. He moans in pain while I pant, a couple drops of red liquid smacking the floor as they drip off my gloves.
"You're gonna rot." He moans again. "And I'm going to enjoy watching you try to defend your actions at the hearing next week. But most of all-" I grab his chin and wretch his face to look at mine.
"-I'm gonna to love watching all that power you had be stripped away from you by your own son."
I step back and slam the cage door shut, ripping off my gloves as I walk out of the basement.
"Enjoy your stay at federal jackass. There's no one coming to save you this time."
The lights turn off just as he starts screaming.
Alvin's P.O.V.
"So you knew then."
"I knew...some of it. He wasn't very forthcoming and whenever I asked...I don't know. I pushed him once, just to see how far I could, and well...I learned a lot more than I needed to." Mouse's fingers dance on the wooden arm rests of the hospital chair while his eyes don't leave the sunset. It's been a couple hours since we got the 'hes going to be fine' speech from Rhodes and we are the only two who haven't left yet. Even Erin disappeared to go work off some anger back at the precinct. The rest are currently compiling every possible shred of evidence to use against the man who so viciously threatened our friend.
I snuck up the beer, Mouse stole the waiting room chairs and together we camped out on the roof, where it had been deserted in the later hours of the day. We didn't talk until we'd each gotten some alcohol in our systems, and by then the sun was already making its descent and turning the sky some brilliant colors while a breeze ruffled our clothes.
"What tipped you off." Mouse finishes his second bottles and goes for a third.
"Afghanistan. Two weeks in he got a concussion from an explosion that left him quite disoriented. Some radical had started beating on him and tried to choke him, only because his gun was out of bullets. But when I got to him, instead of getting up or trying to find his gun, he...he was begging for him to stop."
"So how'd you know that wasn't Jay just being…"
"Weak? Scared?" I shrug.
"It's not like you knew him then. Said it yourself, it was early in your tour."
"True. But this guy had tackled me off a landmine our second day in before I could even register the 'click'. And after we were both blown twenty feet in the air he laughed. And then proceeded to state the fact that said explosion was the best way he'd woken up in a long time."
"Little adrenaline junkie." I smirk. Mouse chuckles, but there's no humor in it.
"Yeah. He wasn't afraid of getting hurt and if it meant someone else didn't have to, he'd gladly welcome pain. He wasn't weak by any shot and fear was something he readily ignored." He pauses.
"Besides...you don't call an extremist 'dad'." I let out a sigh, snagging the last bottle from the pack. Ignoring Mouses frown, I reach to my right and move the other full case of beer to sit on my left side, between me and my companion.
"But you must've met him right?" I inquire, trying to remember his exact words from earlier today.
'I told you what I would do if you came back.'
Mouse nods.
"When we came back...he walked into our apartment one night, stone cold sober while Jay was trying to drown himself in a bottle." I can see the pain spark in his eyes, to remember Jay that way. I knew the kid had a hard time coming home...just never worked up to asking him. Because asking him would give him the right to ask about me and well...it's been almost twenty five years and I'm still not okay with it.
"I found him, pointed a gun at his head, and promised to do much more than pull the trigger if he ever came back. He left and I dragged Jay to Lakeshore to make sure he wasn't going to die from a punctured lung given the number of ribs that broke."
"Will didn't know?" A look of anger and disgust crosses the man's features, an ugly sneer on his face at the mention of the Doctor.
"Will was off partying in New York making six figures while his mother was dying. He sure as hell didn't give a shit when his brother came home ready to put a bullet in his brain just to shut his thoughts off. So no, his brother didn't know."
Touchy subject then. I understand it, I mean Mouse is still dealing with his PTSD and Will wasn't there when Jay needed him. Since Jay is Mouse's best friend...well he probably knows just how bad that hurt Jay. I'd be peeved too, if I didn't understand that Will never came back because he was scared shitless of seeing his mother dying and because he had probably convinced himself that if he came back he wasn't going to be able to help his brother and in turn would just make things worse.
Still, Mouse has a right to be mad.
It's quiet for a while, each of us melting in our own thoughts as we stare out at the sky line. Only as the sun finally drops below the horizon do I speak.
"He didn't deserve this."
"Jay gets a lot things he doesn't deserve." I nod vaguely, remembering the car ride over here.
The way he clung to my jacket as we sat in the back seat, Dawson looking in the mirror more than the road. Every bump made his hands tighten just a fraction more in pain, then the pressure would drop off randomly as he'd lose the battle with consciousness for a second before I'd do something subtle to wake him up.
I remember how terrified Ruzek looked sitting on the other side of Jay, a hand on his shoulder without a seat belt on so that when we screeched to a halt at the hospital he could jump out faster.
I can think about how enraged Voight was as we dug a name out of the man, how satisfied Atwater was afterwards. How Erin was fully prepared to assist Mouse in burying the body should it have come to that.
It takes little effort to recall the worry and the urge to defend against anything that try to hurt him.
"Well." I murmur, slowly standing and stretching my limbs.
"It's a good thing he has so many people looking out for him them." Mouse looks at my outstretched hand for a moment before taking it, looking me in the eye for the first time all night as he stands.
He gives me a strange look.
"Yeah I guess it is."
A silent meaning between us and the air. A better understanding.
A promise.
*Two weeks later*
Jay's P.O.V.
"Jay?"
"Bedroom!" I call, hearing the door slam shut. I smirk, struggling to put my shirt on but nonetheless still amused by my girlfriend. We haven't talked about it yet, but given she hasn't stayed at her own apartment since it happened, I'm thinking its about time we officially moved in together.
There's some shuffling in the kitchen as I emerge from the dark room, barefoot and comfy in my old sweats. I watch from the corner as she digs out some plates and starts unpacking chinese food to put onto them.
"How'd it go today?" I shrug, watching with a critical eye to make sure she doesn't hog all the lo mein.
"Good. I think I've finally managed to convince him that there was nothing he could have done, which, according to Dr. Charles, is good, because now he might realize that it wasn't his fault."
"Oh you saw Will before your session."
"The hearings tomorrow Erin. I had to talk to him." Her head pops up, concern on her face.
"I wasn't saying you shouldn't talk to him, but I thought he asked for space."
I stare at her, raising an eyebrow.
"He didn't ask for space to deal with things Er." She thinks about it for a second then nods.
"Is he going to go then?"
"To the hearing where his brother is going to explain how his father beat him every other day?" She flinches, eyes leaving mine to drop back to the food. I let out a sigh.
It's hard to remember that this is new to her. To everyone really. I've had my whole life to deal with what happened. Erin and Will have had fourteen days.
"What if he's called to be a witness." I shrug again, ignoring the twinge of fear at the implication.
"It wouldn't do anything good for the case if that's what you're asking." Another nod from her as she opens two beers. I walk forward and grab a plate and the forks. Together we plant ourselves on the couch in front of the TV. For a few minutes we just eat and search for a movie. It isn't until we're ten minutes into Dead Poets Society does she talk.
"Are you worried?" She asks, voice low and hesitant as it's been for most of our recent conversations about the past.
"It wouldn't throw the case." I respond in an equally quiet tenor. Erin glances at me, scared to ask.
"Even if they did put him up on the stand and had him testify that he saw nothing it wouldn't matter, because we have enough evidence to constitute abuse and with my testimony and my mother's medical history and his own track record...we'll have him."
She takes a swig of her beer, choosing to fiddle with her food instead of look at me.
"...and no...I don't want to put him through that." Lindsay gives a nod, relaxing slightly at my confession.
A little later in the movie we've both finished eating and Erin's curled into my side half asleep. And I'm thinking that maybe this is it.
When I was small and my mom still alive she used to tell me that there was happiness out there waiting for me. That there was love. And the only way to find it was to know what truly know what pain was, what sadness and hatred were. Without that, you couldn't possible understand what it felt like to be cared for, you couldn't appreciate the devotion someone would have to you.
In most ways, I agree. That got me through a lot, the hope that carma's a thing, and that eventually all the bad would give way to good.
It was a concept that got me through the nasty words and criticisms, the drunken fists and sharp boots. That this wouldn't last forever and maybe, eventually, I would find someone who would like me.
Amazingly, I found a whole group of people who would do much more than that. Dysfunctional yes, more terrified of their own emotions than the people who shoot at them-absolutely.
They are the giant dramatic end of this great irony that is called my life.
Because it is only possible that through the struggle of letting go of my old family, can I finally find a new one.
"Saw dad today. Said you two haven't spoken in over a year."
"Probably two.
Readers: *angrily raise pitchforks and torches*
Me: *screams and hides*
Do I dare ask...
Yes, yes I do.
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