Prompt: Greenleaf92: "the entire unit falls into an ambush. criminals want information, but Voight refuses to cooperate. The team try to escape, but but they didn't succeed. To get information, punish individual offenders take Jay and torture him in front of the entire unit. (You are wonderful in describing internal state of mind every members of the unit when something bad happens to jay :))finally unable to withstand Voight tells Mouse bring some files. Mouse comes, a moment of distraction and the team started act. scared out of concern Mouse and the entire unit saves Jay and they transported him to the hospital. (Mouse can also be with them all the time, He tells them stories that once he and Jay were in similar situation. The unit come up with some sort of a plan and happy ending :)"
I've been wanting to write this since forever...so this prompt was like perfect. This is going to use the original team. In fact most of my writing will until I deem otherwise. (Basically when I get over Antonio leaving. So possibly never.)
"The police standing next to you are your family."
...
Jays P.O.V.
"Breach."
Atwater slams the battering ram into the metal door, ripping the rusted thing off its hinges.
Antonio brings up his gun, my hand on his shoulder, Ruzeks hand on mine. We move into the abandoned building, what probably was an office of sorts for the old trade business on the river. The walls are water damaged white, the dirty paint chipped, tile a lifeless grey.
I swing the muzzle of my gun around, checking an empty room, then wait for Ruzek to pass me to take over cover for the back. The pattern moves, person in front always keeping their gun trained ahead of them. The back two constantly switch position as rooms are cleared.
Basic training. Perfected.
Also extremely mundane. I know that's a stupid thing to say, but this is the third empty little building we've searched in the same amount of days. Problem with tracking a criminal who's homeless. He moves a lot. And no one ever knows where he is.
Therefore: another day, another warehouse, another dead end.
"Drop it!"
Or not.
Ruzek, who's currently front, swings his gun around from where he was covering the hallway. I know the rookies intention. Provide back up to Antonio.
Problem: I was about to go into that hallway. By 'about to' I mean, 'am in the open entry way with no cover'.
Guess who turns and comes face to face with a shotgun.
My finger compresses the trigger the split second after his, and the definitely not homeless Peter Marks delivers a round of lead into my chest around the same time I put bullets into his.
Difference? I'm wearing a vest.
That does not mean I'm enjoying this.
The blast chucks me backward, cutting off my yell. I land flat on my back, and I'm sure that if there was any air in my lungs, it would have left pretty quickly upon impact.
There's a problem with my lungs I think, because getting shot in the vest shouldn't hurt this bad. I've had it happen to me before. Didn't make me want to die.
My vision wavers, everything going soft and maybe a little tilty. Somewhere far, far away, I can hear myself gasping, choking on air that won't stay in my lungs. There's yelling, and more loud pops that I'm gonna say were gunshots, but they sound so dulled, that maybe it's from Erin, Voight and Alvin, who came in on the other side of the building.
I might need a hospital.
Dawson's face appears in my vision (I only know from the dark hair, there no way I'm making out any facial features) and he's yelling something, something important maybe, but it's all so complicated and I can't figure it out.
Good god this hurts. Everything's to bright and to loud and damn it I still can't breath right. It feels like my chest is cracking open, like my ribs are breaking and Dawson's gone now but that's okay, because it's quieter without him and I can focus on not throwing up from the pain.
I'm moving I think, but my eyes aren't open anymore and that's okay, because the darkness is easier and it keeps thing so much more simple and if I could just relax for a little….
Olinski's P.O.V.
We're just done clearing the first hallway when the shots ring out across the building, followed by dreaded words over the radio.
"Ten one! Officer down! Requesting immediate assistance at-" Dawson's voice is cut off with a sudden static that echoes in all of our radios.
Cursing, Voight plows forward, Erin following in his wake with worry and fear on her face. I know what she's scared off, and I know that she has every right to be. Not that I'd be any less worried if Ruzek was hurt, but Jay has a tendency to attract trouble.
More shots are followed, spurring our feet to move even faster. There's yelling, voices that aren't our own. That plus the way I can hear Dawson and Ruzek yelling back, tells me we're about to be in a lot of trouble.
Before my warning can reach my mouth however Erin turns the corner with us on her tail.
And we come face to face with the barrel of a shotgun. Erin's hands instantly go up, while Voight points his gun at the guys head.
"Gun down old man." Voight snarls something in response, but I'm a bit preoccupied by the muzzle pressing into my back to fully pay attention. I raise my hands, and a guy takes the gun from my hand, before reaching over and taking Erin's as well. Voight never puts his hands up in surrender, but doesn't fight when they take his.
I never aimed my gun at anything, because unlike Hank, I was able to see the scene behind the guy pointing a gun at Lindsay.
Adam and Antonio on their knees with guns to the back of their heads, duck tape over their mouths and hands raised. They're both crouched over an unconscious looking Jay, glaring at their captors.
"Move!" A particularly tall guy shoves us against the wall, keeping our hands still raised. Ruzek and Dawson are dragged over to stand next to us in the same position, hands on the wall, back facing our captors. Same thing we do to criminals.
A door opens somewhere, and more feet are heard entering the room. Hands pat down my sides and legs, the gun at my ankle disappearing just as quickly as Erin's knife. All the guys stiffen as she is patted down, but the smaller guy that does it doesn't touch anything he shouldn't, intent on searching for weapons only.
Out cuffs are pulled from our belts and attached to our wrists behind our backs before we're finally allowed to turn around. One of the seven guys in the room removes the tape from the mouths of the other two guys, then steps back.
No one's said a word this entire time, but the way these guys stand, how disciplined they are tells me this isn't some random gang trying to do something stupid.
What the hell did we walk into.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing right now? Do you know who we are?"
Voights obligatory growl is ignored for the time being, although it seems to break the silence because Ruzek mutters something nasty under his breath and the team seems to collectively get over their shock and settle for anger.
"Check the other one." Something in my stomach flips as a couple of guys do a run down of Jay. Same thing except, ironically enough, the number of weapons they take off him is a less than all of us. Knowing the kid, that isn't because he doesn't carry them. It's because they couldn't find them.
Although I'm definitely having a talk with him about not carrying a back up.
His reason for unconsciousness probably has something to do with the buckshot in his vest, which (and I never thought I'd say this) is good. If he's unconscious he can't get into more trouble than we're already in.
Of course, the second I think that, he lets out a low moan, indicating that he is, in fact, going to be a stubborn bastard and wake up.
"Get this one up, then bring them upstairs."
Heads turn, faces of rage and defiance moving to glare at the boss of this operation. A young guy, no more than 35, white with dark brown hair and a clean shaven face and grey eyes.
"And to answer you question Sargent. Yes. I know exactly who you are. It's the reason why I'm doing this."
"What'd you do with Atwater." The grey eyes snap to me while we're ushered in a straight line to a stair well.
"He was hurt, so I let him go."
"He wasn't hurt, you just forced him away from us." The guy smiles, a twisted thing that holds a promise of pain.
"Well, he's going to be hurt by the time he gets to the hospital. Now move."
…
"Who's idea was this." Jay grumbles from his place besides me. We're all on our knees, hands still cuffed behind our backs. We're not gagged, but they haven't hesitated to get violent when we talked or asked questions. The blooming bruise on Ruzeks jaw and a cut on Jay's forehead is evident. Although it wasn't really Halstead's fault. We didn't get time to warn him before he woke up, snarling and swinging fists. He clipped one guys jaw good, got a pistol to the face for his trouble.
"Well Voight and I thought it'd be good exercise." I mutter back.
"Shut it!"
"Alright ladies and guy, now that I've taken care of that, let's get down to business." Mr. leader waltzes back into the room, full of the cocky asshole swagger that lets you know he believes he's the king of the world and no one can touch him.
I hate him.
"How you doin kid." I mutter, hopefully soft enough that they don't hear it. Ruzek managed to tell everyone what happened before he was made quiet, confirming my assumption of events.
"My chest is imploding. Never felt better." He murmurs back, the sarcasm doing more to ease my nerves than his actual response.
"Alrighty! Well I'm sure you're all wondering what this is all about and really it's very simple." The guy's talking again, using that ridiculously smooth voice of his to make it seem like we're discussing the weather instead being held captive.
"My names Alex, and I have a very simple proposition for you. Before you get your hopes up, the detective I sent to the hospital isn't waking up anytime soon, but it isn't permanent or anything, he'll be fine. If you don't give me what I want however, the rest of you won't be."
Despite the threat there's a collective sigh of relief that Atwaters okay. Yes, his help from the outside would be greatly appreciated, but we still have Mouse, who I know for a fact is already trying to contact us. He's insanely protective of Jay, and I know the two of them have a deal that Halstead is to tell Mouse whenever a raid is over, just so Greg doesn't have to worry about if he's okay or not. Not that I blame the tech wiz.
"This is a very simple exchange. I need a little information, you want to live. Easy peasy yeah?"
"Depends on what you want." Erin speaks but doesn't get hit or threatened, her voice just as smooth and easy as his. Alex just nods.
"Yes. And it depends on how much you want to live. Or better yet, how much you want someone else to live."
"Alright then, what do you want to know?" Alex levels a crazed look at Erin, who kneels one the other side of Jay, next to Voight. Antonios to my left, Ruzek after him.
"I need the administrative login for the WPD." Jay does something of a gasp and laugh at the same time.
"The Witness Protection Database? Are you insa-" He jolts back suddenly with a cry, the guy behind him having done something.
Oh yeah small detail. To keep us contained and docile, we each have a guy behind us with a gun pointed squarely at our backs, but far enough away that if we were to move they'd have plenty of time to shoot us.
Problem- the team is protective of Jay Halstead. Me included. Don't ask me when or how or why. This guy isn't exactly weak or small or look like he needs to help defending himself. He's a retired Ranger for christs sake.
And yet when the guy behind him sticks a blade somewhere (I saw the flash of metal but couldn't see where it landed) almost all of us cry out either for him to stop or some form of threat. Me included.
"No-"
"Hey-"
"Stop it you-"
"-bastard-"
"Get the fuck off him!" The last snarl is from Voight and unfortunately it catches the attention of Alex. The guy pulls out the blade and Halstead jerks forward a little, coughing out a moan.
"I'm a fair man Sargent. So I'll give you one chance. You may not have the codes, but you are going to get them for me." He pulls out a cellphone. "Either you give me what I need to know, or you call someone and get it to me. But either way, you aren't leaving till I get it."
Voight does the predictable thing. He snarls a fuck you and spits in his face.
"Now Sergeant…" He whispers, wiping a sleeve across his face. "That wasn't very nice."
"You honestly think we can give you that information? There are thousands of people on that database that would die if you or anyone else had access to it." He turns his gaze onto Antonio.
"Yeah I think you can. In fact, I know you can. You just don't want to. But that's okay. I'll make you want to." His eyes shift up the line of people, scanning each and every person. Suddenly his eyes snap to the person on my right, making me tense.
"Take the pretty one." The room erupts up into chaos as two of his goons grab Jay under each arm, dragging him forward. The teams yelling, Alex is yelling back, the hired hands are yelling at us to stop moving and eventually it takes a gun pointed at Jays head and a extremely loud 'ENOUGH' from Alex to shut everyone up.
Erin's just about shaking beside me, from fear or anger I can't tell. Probably both. Alex is the one holding the gun to Jay's head and he's probably the calmest out of all of us.
I catch Jays eyes, and he stares back at me.
There's pain in them, obvious and foremost, almost like that's all he's allowing to show. But I can see the fear in them, the panic he's trying desperately to push back. I can see the sudden terror, as he fully realizes there's a gun to his head and his team is right in front of them but can't help him, and that he might actually die, right here on a dirty tiled floor.
It's contagious maybe, because once I see it, I understand his fear. And I feel it too, because what if he's right, what if this is different, christ Jay might die, we might not get out of this one.
That's not a concept any of us are used to, me included. We've always, always made it out of close calls like this. There's always been an option, a way out, another means to an end, one that didn't involve death.
But as the gun presses firmly to my back, I have to accept something. We're not getting out of this. Not without a few scars. Maybe not with everyone we came in with.
Jay is about to die in front of me because Voight thought that like any other criminal this guy could be pushed.
An indescribable amount of fear shoots through me, making my stomach turn to ice and my heart want to beat out of my chest. It feels like breathing is too loud at this point, and that any slight movement or noise will cause him to pull the trigger.
A part of me want to beg and plead and list the million reasons why killing him is wrong and won't help. The other part screams that if I talk it'll cause him to pull the trigger.
But panicking, does nothing positive in these situations, it never has. So I keep my eyes locked with Jay, and I try to exude as much calm as I possibly can. Halstead, at least doesn't make an effort to hide his fear from me.
"Wait! Wait please!" Erin (because she can't want her boyfriend die without at least trying to do something) pleads, and I wait for the inevitable gunshot that's going to destroy our lives.
It doesn't happen. The hammer uncocks and Jay doesn't do much, but the slight slouch of his shoulders tells me how he just deflated inside.
"Oh this? This was just to get your attention. Trust me, if you drive me to finally kill one of you, it won't be that quick." The gun is handed off to the guy he must have taken it from. His tone is ominous though and I get the feeling that what's coming might be just as bad, if not worse.
He pulls out a knife then starts to meander down the row. The tension in the room is at an all time high, and it seems the other members have realized just how serious the situation really is.
We might make it out of this. And we might not. They're just realizing how heavily the odds are stacked against the former.
"What is the login for the Witness Protection Database?" Again the voice is calm, and again the question is directed at Voight. He looks enraged, but actually replies with a calm answer.
"You know I can't give you that information, thousands of lives would be lost-"
"Could be." He corrects. "But you see Sargent, I'm not a greedy man. I only want one person on that list, and I only want their location. After that, I'm going to log out and disappear. No one else is ever going to know about it."
"Tell that to the ten other people in this room who're going to hear it."
Alex smirks.
"You can write it down if you want. Now one more time Sargent. What is the log in?"
It's quiet. Voight starts to shake his head.
"I can't give you that information and you know it."
The psychopath just crouches in front of Hank and smiles.
"No Sargent. You can. You just don't want to."
And then he stands.
And turns around.
And kicks Jay in the head so hard he gets thrown a few feet across the floor.
At some point he was uncuffed, so Jay actually get to move a hand towards his head in pain before Alex's boot slams down on it, breaking a few fingers and definitely his wrist. Jay cries out, adding to the din that is us once again yelling.
"You don't have to do this!"
"I don't?" He asks, rhetorical and innocent. He crouches in front of Ruzek and Dawson, holding a knife threateningly.
"You care about him, no?"
No one answers. The question catches us so off guard, so out in the open like that it's...unsettling. When have we ever openly admitted that we care about one another? That we care about him?
Why is it that we can't?
"Well, then….you really shouldn't have a problem with this."
He stands halfway, turns on a heel then slams the knife straight through Halstead's shoulder.
Jay screams.
The knife went all the way through, the tip poking out to hit the floor. He was lying on his stomach, so the knife probably shattered his collarbone. The blade is just as quickly yanked out, before the scream can even finish leaving his mouth.
It's so loud in here, so loud and everyone's yelling so much and Alex is just beating Jay, hitting him over and over again. I'm not though. I don't have anything to say. Telling them to stop isn't going to work, yelling out insults won't do much, and I can't physically stop the beating.
The only thing we could possibly do was shut up. If we somehow convinced Alex that hurting Jay wasn't affecting us, then he might stop. But that won't happen now, not without being obvious.
It isn't more than five minutes later when a howl, a desperate snarl makes everything still once more. Sort of. Even as Alex stands, knuckles bloody and glare focused on Erin, Ruzek and Dawson still spit out a couple of threats.
"What'd you say to me?" The calm demeanor is gone now, revealing a manic expression full of rage. Jay coughs feebly behind him, blood trailing down his face from multiple cuts, his nose and mouth. His chest must be on fire, what taking a shot then getting pummel to a pulp.
Erin repeats the filthy sentence, a nasty comment about his Dad that I don't think I'll ever repeat. Of course his response, it probably worse. He hits her, screaming whore and slut and cunt and he's yelling at her and then suddenly in a moment of clarity you can hear Jay-
"Don't talk about your mother like that." It's a mutter, a cute little comment that Alex hears.
His face freezes in anger, then slowly melts into an uncontrollable rage. He stands, letting go of Erin. I stare at Jay pleading at him to shut his mouth. He doesn't.
"Because when she tried to sell herself to me the other night I thought she was much worse than that."
His voice is quiet and broken, hushed from the pain. But the nasty edge to it is most certainly audible, and it hurts to hear.
I know what he's doing. By keeping the attention on himself, he keeps everyone else safe. To do that you poke and poke and then push where it hurts. And he knows that parents must be a sore spot, since Erin's comment mentioned them and it stopped his beating.
Oh kid. I plead like he can somehow hear me. You don't have to do this.
"Keep them quiet." The tape comes back out, a strip placed harshly over each of our mouths. I don't jerk away from the guy like some of the others do, knowing full well that it'll bring more punishment. Which it does.
Alex spins the bloody knife threateningly in his hands as he gazes predatorily at Jay, stalking forward with barely contained rage.
This isn't about the codes anymore.
Erin's P.O.V.
The second floor is much like the first, rooms on each side, a wide hallway in the middle with smaller, more narrow hallways running perpendicular on either side. We're planted in the wide hallway. Just us, guys with guns to our back, the ring leader and a table.
I let out a muffled sob as Jay is thrown onto said table, bloody, half conscious, and in the process of having the life beaten out of him. He lets out a cough that sounds like gravel scraping on sandpaper, but before he can do more than inhale, Alex grabs him by the throat, squeezing. He lifts him up, using that single hand and adrenaline (and possibly some drugs), and pins him against the wall. I watch my love choke and struggle for air that won't come.
I want to panic. To scream and cry and beg until this nightmare is over. But I already did that. I've been panicking since the first punch hit, and now my brain is realizing that panicking and blanking out from fear is not going to help anyone.
Simple fact. If we don't do something, Jay will die. We'll probably all die, but I'll have to live knowing he's dead, if only for a little while. I imagine the feelings that will come with that. It'd be like Nadia, only a thousand times worse.
The thought stills me, makes me force my mind into action, force myself to think.
There's a way out of this. There is. One thing Jay always tells me, is that people want something. If you can figure out what they want, or something close to it, and give them a solution that gets you what you want as well, all you have left to do is convince them they need you to get it.
I have tape over my mouth. Everyone does so we're forced to watch Halstead get beaten (it's been five minutes, and he's broken multiple ribs, his jaw, his opposite wrist and shoulder, as well as given Jay definite internal bleeding) in a mute quiet.
We hear everything.
Hear.
The word suddenly triggers an idea, a metaphorical light bulb as it were. I just need his attention.
Alex slams Jays head into the edge of the stainless steel table top, and the only thing that says he's still alive is the wheeze he makes from the floor when he starts breathing again. Alex starts kicking him, in the chest, stomach, legs, and he doesn't stop.
He'll kill him. Literally beat him to death. It's officially now or never.
I scream out behind my gag, but unfortunately so is everyone else, so I simply add to the din.
Oh yes. Intelligence won't be silenced. Even with duct tape over our mouths, the yells and threats and curses are merely muffled. Which is a problem Because they won't shut up so Alex can't hear me.
Halstead's arms are near his face, maybe in an attempt to cover his head, but I can still see his eyes. Dull, glassy, and confused, I know he's fluttering on the edge of consciousness. I know the comment he made earlier was so the only thing I walk away with is a headache from being knocked around a little.
I'd like to be mad. Really I would. But I've been there when he wakes from the nightmares about us, I've heard him tell me why he's so reckless sometimes. He believes this is his last chance, this team. We're all he has left and he refuses to lose us if he has the option to do something about it.
Even if it means dying for us. Which is what will happen if I don't stop this right the fuck now.
A particularly savage kick leaves an audible 'crack' on my ears. Jays breath hitches violently, his whole body spasming. My heart and soul cries out, my body moving forward in a desperate attempt to reach him.
Only after I'm back handed to the floor do I realize how lucky I am that I wasn't shot.
"Let me talk!" I yell into my gag. The deranged man barely blinks, still standing over me. Then his hand reaches over and pulls off my tape, grabbing my arm and pulling me back up to my knees.
"What. Do. You. Want?!" He hisses. I glare at him, forcing myself to maintain eye contact despite the urge to look away from the insanity in his storm grey eyes.
"I can get you what you want." My voice is shakier than I'd wanted it to be, but I suppose it goes along with the 'I'm giving up' cover.
There's a pause. Then the man straightens, squaring his shoulders and slipping his face effortlessly back into the calm business man look we saw earlier. His eyes narrow though, and he looks increasingly suspicious.
"How would you know the login?"
I narrow my eyes back at him, keeping anger and fear on my face. It isn't hard.
"I don't. Neither does he. But I can get it for you." Alex glances at Voight, who I know is only glaring back, giving away nothing.
"Why won't your boss do it."
"You said you know who we are? Well we aren't stupid. We have a guy, a tech guy, that could get it for us, but it's illegal for him to do so, and it's illegal for a commanding officer to ask without a bunch of authorized paperwork."
The guy leans back, taking a couple steps to lean against the table.
"Why would he give it to you if it's illegal?" I raise an eyebrow seductively. Time to sell it.
"Lets just say I know him. Really, really, well. See when my prude Sargent over there found out I was dating my partner-" I nod to Jay's limp form. "-he said either stop or get fired. So after we broke up, I was a little desperate, and on a lot of tequila and maybe a pill or too we ended up at the same place at the same time and well...you get the picture."
The picture I might add, has me almost throwing up in my mouth it's so disgusting. But the more details, the more likely someone is to believe your story.
The sick smile on his face tells me he buys it.
"You get one call."
"Done, but he's going to have to call back. Those passcodes change hourly." Alex shrugs.
"Tell him to hit redial. And if you say anything sweetie, I'll make you watch as I cut your boyfriend's eyes out. Got it?" The guy behind me comes forward to uncuff me, then presses his semi auto against my back. Just a reminder.
My fingers fly over the buttons, number memorized. They took our phones along with our radios and dropped them into a nice bucket of acid after smashing them. Alex raises an eyebrow, and I put it on speaker. The phone rings three times instead of two, and I know he's already on our scent.
"Hello?"
"Hey Mouse, it's Erin. Sorry, my phone is completely destroyed, got slammed against a wall. Listen, our guy wasn't here, but we found something pretty interesting. You have the codes for the WPD right?"
"Yeah why, what'd you find?"
"There's this computer room thing, screens everywhere, a giant server...one of the screens had something on it before it went dark, and now in order to see who they were looking at, we have to log back in."
"Yeah I know the WPD interface is a bitch. Look I'll need some time to get them…"
"You really gonna make us wait here till you're done dicking around? Come on I know you can get them quick."
There's an audible pause, then I add a slightly dirty comment to keep with the story I told our schizoid captor. Mouse quickly gets the hint.
"I'll call you back in like five minutes. Same number?"
"Yeah."
"Who's phone are you using anyway?" This is the hard part. I feint a look of panic on my face, visible to Alex before replying, sounding only slightly unsure.
"Oh uh, I just snagged a shitty one from Teds. I'm gonna throw it out once I get a replacement phone but until then I'm stuck in the world of pay as you go."
Mouse laughs as I look at Alex who nods in approval. Teds is a convenience store on the opposite side of Chicago, so if any normal person went looking, they'd be almost an hour away from us.
Fortunately, Mouse isn't any normal guy.
He hangs up with the promise to be in touch, then tape is back over my mouth and cuffs back on my wrist. I'm dragged back to my spot in line.
"Still." The man ponders. "You did try to attack me. And since I was so kind as to not have my guys shoot you, I'm sure you'll be okay with me finishing what I started with your boy here?"
No, that is most definitely NOT okay-
Jays unconscious behind him, or maybe just barely awake I can't quite tell.
"Go fill the bucket." Another faceless goon walks off to the right, and the sound of water running is heard shortly after. He doesn't touch Halstead, but I know what's next. To attempt to calm my nerves I start thinking about this rescue that's coming.
There was barely a part of that phone conversation that didn't have a hidden meaning.
First of all, there's no reason for me to not have called using someone else's phone from the team, or for someone from the team to have called themselves.
Second, he knows that I know about him and Jay's little texting deal. It's been over an hour. So the first words out of my mouth should have been the reason why Jay hasn't called or texted. And since it's been an hour, he's already checked with the hospitals and since Jays not there, and Atwater is (although he might not know that, odds are he's labeled as a John Doe right now, because Alex has proven himself to be smart enough to remove credentials) Mouse is well aware we are in distress.
Also, I know he recorded the conversation. And since Jay would have been the first thing I'd talk to him about, what I said about my phone applies to him. So he knows Jays hurt badly, and he knows that it wasn't expected.
Then, telling the truth about our original suspect and what we found, he knows that we (not 'I' if it was just me that was kidnapped) are being held. But I didn't say anything about having to go somewhere else, and the fact that I went straight to WPD lets him know that's what they're after.
His agreement to the five minute deadline means whatever rescue he's got planned is coming in that same time. The reason why he asked about the phone is partly because anyone with a brain would wonder if he didn't, and partly because the convenience store I gave him is a clue. Choose an iconic landmark and know that side of the city is where we aren't. Thus confirming we're still at the original building.
See these things happen after three beers and a hockey game with two retired Rangers. We made shit up, and now we use them as codes, because the inevitable happened. Somebody caught up with us, and it's life or death.
Five minutes. All we have to do, is not get killed for five minutes. Which for the people kneeling is easy. The hard part will be not getting shot when they raid.
The hard part for Jay will be staying alive. For the next...allotted time it's going to take before he gets out of surgery at Med. After that staying alive's a piece of cake. Hopefully.
Alex makes a motion with his hand, two of his hired hands drag Jay up by his arms, towing him over to where a rather large in diameter plastic bucket holds water.
Fear shoots through me, renewing my terror and adrenaline.
They're going to drown him. Oh Jay, sweetie, no…
Alex grabs Jay's chin, slaps his face a few times. The two men who dragged him over now hold his damaged arms behind his back, him on his knees, just barely conscious.
"You know, sometimes detective...you should really keep you mouth shut."
Oh please please tell me it's been five minutes.
He grips the back of Jay's head, snarling his fingers in blood matted hair much to tightly, then shoves downward, pushing Halstead face into the water completely.
I scream out, despite the muzzle across my mouth. He thrashed slightly, but the movements are small and desperate. I don't know what hurts me more. The fact that he's actually drowning in front of me, or that he's so beaten he's too weak to protest his own death.
I hear the team beside me, hear Alvin call out for the first time, hear Voight promising a slow death for them all, Ruzek begging them to let him go, Antonio yelling something in spanish that would probably make me want to wash his mouth out with soap.
None of it helps him. It's all that's happened today, us yelling in fear and anger because we can't do anything else, but we can't do nothing.
It has yet to stop my heart from racing, to stop the racy feeling in my gut that comes every time he gets hit again, or to stop the nearly insatiable urge to be simultaneously incoherent with rage and preoccupied with worry and guilt.
Five minutes have to be up they have to because Jay isn't moving any more and-
Tink.
There's the sound of a body dropping, sounding uncoordinated and very close to me. The sound cuts off as everyone, myself included, twist around to see my guard dead on the floor with a little hole in the middle of his forehead.
Then there's another sound, not unlike that of an arrow flying through the air, another little 'tink' and the poor bastards holding Antonio and Adam fall to the same bullet, because they decided to stand perfectly next to each other.
Sniper rounds. How elegant.
Suddenly the room becomes chaos, Alvins guard dropping to the same fate as the police or some agency flood the room. I say some other agency because I didn't know S.W.A.T. killed people by throwing knives.
These people, dressed in all black with face masks that cover their mouths and noses, take the room with chaotic precision. The first two guards die by bullets then a girl with braids does a somersault across the floor to avoid the gunfire from Voights guy, coming up on one knee with a hand pointing at the man. He falls and I get really confused seeing as I never even saw the knife until it was six inches deep in the dudes eye.
The other guard in the hallway dies by a bullet (I can only assume) and then two guys, both of which are easily as tall as Jay and twice as built rush forward, lunging for the last two men standing that aren't Alex. They both had let go of Jay and stood, but in the few seconds that passed they weren't coordinated enough to actually get their weapons ready.
The first bad guy gets a broken wrist and a jab to the throat before he's kicked backwards into the wall. The second bad guy is taken out with a beautiful right hook that throws him to the floor, unconscious.
Two guns are leveled at Alex's head, one to his face, the other to the back of his head.
"Stand up." His eyes flick around for a second, and the two men simultaneously flick off their safety's. A part of me really wants him to make a move, because these guys clearly don't care if they have to kill.
Unfortunately Alex stands. In a practiced way, the two separate, one gun still trained on him but far enough away so that he could shoot before Alex tried anything. The other slams him against the wall, hard enough that he gets a bloody nose before jabbing him in the kidney area and kicking out one of his knees. He falls to the flood with a satisfying yelp of pain and the guy goes about searching and cuffing.
At least, I assume he does. I'm not focusing on them anymore.
Without anyone to hold Jay, he's slipped to the floor in a soggy lump, little rivulets of pinkish water flooding off him. He hasn't moved, hasn't moaned, hasn't gasped for air. Nothing. I struggle against my bonds, jerking awkwardly in an attempt to draw attention to him or myself.
I barely get a glance. Instead the guy holsters his gun, eyes shooting across the room.
"Jess." He nods towards Jays body. The girl, Jess, moves to trade places with him, but instead of retaking his post she kneels next to him. The guy walks behind the line as she rolls him over, two fingers going to his neck.
"Cut her loose first, I need her." Her hand goes to a radio on her shoulder. "Fifty twenty one squad, Ten one, officer down at 57 Addison street, second floor. Requesting an ambulance and additional squads to my location, plainclothes officers on the scene. Shots fired at the police, two offender down, multiple offenders in custody, I'm gonna need a coroner's unit as well."
"Copy squad. All units stay off the air, ambulance 61 responding, will be at your location in less than five minutes."
"Is he-" I gasp the second the tape is removed from my mouth. The guy angles my wrists up awkwardly, a clicking noise indicating a key being used.
"I got a pulse, but I need you to breath for him. Grayson, check the others, Adams-"
"I got it." The Adams guy slams a fist into the back of Alex's head, then moves towards the other offenders who are still alive. There's a click then both my hand whip in front of me, helping push my body up off the floor. I'm dizzy for a couple seconds, but I manage to make it over to Jay, even if my descent to my knees isn't that intentional.
Some of the blood came off in the water, so his face at least shows enough skin to see the lacerations clearly. The large cut above his temple, the gouges on his checks, the split lip and flowering bruises on his jaw line.
"-hey, either you breath for him or I drag one of your team mates over here and they will!" Her yell snaps me back from my staring. I bend down, pressing my lips to his and try to ignore the lack of response from him.
Two breaths and I raise my head with burning eyes. It's not like I haven't cried yet, tears fell down my face while he was first being hit, and I'm really not ashamed of it. I dare anyone to see the love of their life beaten in front of them and not get emotional. I had stopped though, because I knew I had to be in the right character when I called Mouse. So I brought forth my anger, and got the job done.
But now we're rescued. And I really don't know if he's going to make it this time.
"Again." I lean down, deliver the two breaths to his cold lips, then lean back. The girl presses her knuckles against his sternum, rolling them in small tight circles. Jays body jolts, and a little bit of water gurgles its way out of his mouth. I quickly tilt his head to the side, and a few more mouthfuls of water are coughed up.
He's breathing again, albeit very harshly and with hell of a lot of effort. The girl feels around his neck and throat.
"Was he choked?" I nod automatically, feeling the first tear slip down my face.
"I think he crushed his larynx." She mumbles, although more to herself. Well, that would explain the wheezing.
"What can I do?" I blink harshly against Alvins voice, mentally berating myself for falling apart now when he needs me most. She hands him a flashlight.
"Check his eye function." Olinski does so, reporting fixed and dilated pupils. She cringes, but continues working on his shoulder.
"How long for the ambo?" She snaps, taking Olinskis hands and placing them on his shoulder. He gets the message and pushes.
"They're here." Looking up I see Brett and Dawson running in, both shocked when they see the condition of intelligence. Before either can open their mouths Jess is rattling off stats, ending with a command to get the backboard ready.
"We need to-"
"Clearly you aren't hearing me." She snarls. "If you want him to live, which I think everyone here can agree that they do, you are going to help get him into that ambo right the fuck now." Gabby blinks, eyes wide, then gives a jerky nod.
"Somebody get her out of here!" It takes me a couple seconds to realize the 'her' is me. Somebody wraps hand around my middle section, lifting me to my unsteady feet and turning me away from him. I don't struggle, and when I'm a few yards away I turn to find Hank is the one standing there.
"Erin." He whispers, trying to find my eyes. I look over at the crowd of people as they get ready to move him, then look back to Voight, seeing the worry on his face and knowing it's not all meant for me.
The tears start to fall more steadily and I let out a sob, then another and another and then I'm pressing my face into my father's chest, soaking his shoulder with tears as I break.
It's like a knife, red hot and razor sharp, is burying itself in my chest while my stomach turns to ice and does somersaults. I can't breath, I'm crying so hard because it hurts, it hurts so bad. Voights arms are around me, keeping me there as they take him. I don't actually care, I knew I wasn't going in the ambo anyway.
"He h-hurt him b-becaus-se o-of me!" I sob, diaphragm spasming to make my speech stuttered and hard to understand.
"No, no they didn't. They hurt him because they're bad men, that's all." I cry harder at his soft words.
"H-he w-was trying to…p-pro-otect me-e."
"Erin." He grabs my shoulder and pulls me away from him. I look at him, sniffing and crying still.
"Listen to me kid. Maybe he was. Maybe he was protecting all of us. But that's just who he is. He loves you so much that he couldn't bare to see you hurt when he could do something about it. That's not your fault. None of this is your fault. If it's anybody's fault, it's mine. He's my detective and this team is my responsibility.
"This shouldn't have happened. And I'm going to make sure we get to the bottom of it. But for right now, we're gonna go to the hospital and make sure he's gonna be okay. Okay?" I nod, slowly, still sniffling, still hurting, still scared. But maybe feeling a little bit better, I pull him into a hug. He hugs back, murmurs something in my ear that I don't quite catch but understand the meaning of.
Pulling away he wraps an arm around my shoulders and guides me to the staircase. I notice the lack of people up here and realize it must've been longer than I thought. Or maybe they were just efficient. The team probably booked it out of here while I was crying, and now only patrolmen and guys from the coroner's are up here. A couple of paramedics pass us on the stairs for the still alive perps.
"Hank." I call before we get in the car. He stares at me. "What if...what if he doesn't…." That crushing fear returns.
Voight just levels a stare at me, the most even, trustworthy look on his face I've ever seen.
"He will."
I get in the car.
Antonio's P.O.V.
"But he's alright?"
"Yes Detective, once the sedative wears off, he'll be just fine." I nod my thanks to the nurse, glancing at the closed door. Reaching for my phone I speed dial Voight.
"Yeah."
"Just talked with a nurse at Lakeshore, Atwater will be fine. Looks like Alex just wanted him out of the picture, sedated him and gave him a couple bruises before dumping him outside the hospital with no ID. That's why Mouse couldn't find him. Ruzek's going to stay here, see if he saw anything once he wakes up."
"Alright keep me posted."
"Sarge...is-"
"We don't know anything yet. He's been in surgery since we got here. Last I knew they got him stabilized to the best of their ability. He's definitely got a severe concussion but other than that there's not much they can tell us until they're done."
"Alright keep me posted." I joke.
"Actually Dawson, get Mouse then coming over here. I gotta meet with a C.I. Who might know something."
"Sure. See you in an hour." I hang up, choosing not to dwell on the possible lie he just told me. If he's about to go beat the shit out of and/or go kill someone responsible for this, I really don't have any problem with that. Not after what they did to Jay.
Not after what they did to us.
…
Mouse is waiting for me, standing outside the precinct, white as a ghost and shivering.
"You good?" I ask, slightly put out by the condition of the tech wiz. He nods but doesn't meet my eyes.
The car ride is quiet, as are the greetings and hugs that occur when we meet Erin in the private waiting room Sharon was kind enough to give us. It's awkwardly quiet for a couple seconds, Voight and Al having already left, when Erin says something to Mouse who shakes his head.
"I know." His smile looks more like a grimace. Erin raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing him.
"It's...it's not the first time he's done this Erin. I know what it feels like." We both stare at him, our silence serving as a plea for more information. Mouse shifts, looking unsure.
"I...we were captured...our team anyway...on this mission outside of Kandahar. And Jay was...is...a lieutenant so he was in command. But it wasn't his fault, there was no way he could have known, the intel was skewed and those guys were going to attack the first group that came through. It just happened to be us. And they...well basically did the same thing. Except that Jay wasn't the one getting tortured he was the one watching. And if I thought he had a slanted perception of himself before…"
His eyes flick up to flit across of us.
"You didn't get this from me." Erin nods quickly.
"His dad was really… he abused him, but never laid a hand on him. Once he found out Jay wanted to go into the Rangers he...just everything about him was wrong. He used to tell Jay that he wasn't strong enough, that he couldn't handle war, and that he sure as hell couldn't handle coming back from it. That was one of the hardest things he's ever done, having to get over what his dad thought of him. His dad though he...Jay always internalized everything. When he failed, he'd brush it off on the outside, then memorize every detail and blame himself for it.
"So when we finally got out of there with one less guy and another two out of commission he...all he saw was that it was his fault. He hated himself for it. And two years later when the convoy he was leading was attacked...he didn't hesitate. He was taken so that the rest of us might escape."
The man goes quiet, clearly done and Lindsay reaches over and grabs his hand in hers. I sit in silence, shaken by his words.
I've always known Jay had bad memories of Afghanistan, and I knew he struggled with them when he first came home. I didn't know he felt like that, or that...well shit what did I know about his past in the first place? What did I really know about him? It took two and half years before we even learned he had a brother.
Not that I expect to know every detail about everyone's lives, but I know about Erin, I've meet Al's family, I knew about Camille, I love Atwaters little sister and I'm good friends with Ruzeks dad. He's the only person that I couldn't tell you shit about.
Yup he has a brother. And he served. That's it. I brought the kid up to Intelligence, fuck, he dated my sister and I had no idea what happened to his parents, what happened to him overseas.
At the same time, you don't just go around asking veterans 'hey what's the worst thing that happened to you while you were overseas protecting us?" And you also don't go around asking the people you care about 'hey did you have a shitty childhood or a decent one? Why'd your brother leave anyway? How come you never talk about your mother and whenever there's a case of child abuse or bullying that leads to suicide you always shut down and stop talking?"
I'd also like to know why only just now I put all this together.
I scrub a hand across my face, hating how shitty today's been. We all could have been killed, Jay could've not even made it to the hospital, Alex could've put a bullet in a different somebody's head every time Voight refused him those logins. Which, by the way, he never had access to.
'Stop it. Focusing on the what if's only distract you from what is. Concentrate your energy on what's in front of you.' Mentally berating myself I stand, intent of doing something useful.
"You need anything Linds? Mouse?"
"Coffee." They answer at the same time. I nod, but walk to the cafeteria fully intent on getting anything but. The last thing any of us need is a stimulant. Erin frowns distastefully as the distinctly 'not cups of coffee' I carry when I return, but her frown turns to a small smile when she sees what I have for her.
"How'd you know?" She whispers, cracking open the bottle of pink lemonade while Mouse manages a small chuckle at his weird can of watermelon flavored sugar water.
"Oh you learn the darndest things when people get drunk." Mouse looks at me quizzically.
"I've never been drunk around you." I smirk, settling back into my chair with only a water.
"Who says I learned it from you."
"So what you're saying is, when Jay's drunk he randomly gives out drink preferences of people."
"...I mean, what else do you think we talk about?"
…..
"Grade two concussion, six broken ribs, four fractured and the rest are almost definitely bruised. His wrist was shattered, part of the surgery was to fix the pieces of his radius and ulna that had broken as well as his carpals. His shoulder wasn't actually damaged to the same extent, at least bone wise. The clavicle was broken, but the knife didn't hit anything else except for muscle and blood vessels, which accounted for the bleeding."
Erin holds up her hand, stopping Rhodes explanation for a second.
"Was there nerve damage?" A very good question. Both of those injuries put Jay out for weeks, as it'll take a long time before he can fire a gun again.
"We won't know until he wakes up. The knife went through clear, but it could have severed important ties and the bones in his wrist were so fragmented its certainly possibly that he might lose functionality of both his arm and hand."
I put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. She grabs it, holding it there for support.
"What else." Mouse gives the low growl. Rhodes looks between the three of us, clearly shaken himself by the whole experience.
"In relation to his throat, we're going to monitor him really closely for delayed symptoms. Right now he's on a ventilator to help his lungs, so we've been keeping him under with a careful mix of drugs. When he came in, we almost had to trach him because his airway was so swollen. I don't know who choked him but he just about crushed his larynx."
"His lower jaw is fractured, and he's got multiple lacerations on his face. There were multiple spots of internal bleeding, most of which wouldn't have been a real problem on their own, but combined with each other and the loss of blood from his shoulder, it was really taking a toll on his blood levels, which was taking its toll on his Blood Pressure, which was making his heart work harder, which was making him bleed out faster."
"Is he-"
"Internally, lungs aside, his organs sustained no major damage, all have equal blood floor and none are showing any discoloration that could indicate death or failure. He isnt bleeding anywhere anymore. Basically he's just one giant bruise right now."
Erin relaxes a little, her unspoken question abated. Or at least, it was until I asked about his comment about Jay's lungs. The doctor shifts, frowning.
"That's...well that where this all comes together. We put in a chest tube to help drain his lungs of the fluid built up from both drowning and the minor bleeding they had. Really, it's a miracle his ribs didn't puncture a lung."
"If one had?" Connor looks pained. I know he wasn't close to Jay, didn't know him really except that he's Will's brother and one of intelligence. I suppose that was enough for him though. His eyes drop, and his voice lowers when he speaks again.
"Look Erin I...I wish I had something better to tell you but I can't lie. There's still a chance he might not make it through this. The trauma to his body is enormous, and it wouldn't be hard or...unexpected if he were to...to…" The pained expression returns before being chased away by a doctors mask of determination.
"He's young, he's strong, and is he's anything like Will he's stubborn as hell. I won't be surprised if he makes it through, but you can't be unprepared if he doesn't." He catches Erin's eyes, who has a hand pressed to her mouth in an effort to not start crying or screaming or something.
"Tonight's going to be the hardest. If he makes it to tomorrow, we'll know a lot more and his chances of surviving will be a lot greater."
Erin inhales roughly, sounding almost like she had to force the breath to not sound like a gasp. Squeezing my hand she lets go finally, giving me a watery nod in thanks.
"What room?"
"Two twenty six. End of the hallway on the left." She murmurs a thank you then brushes past him. I follow, leaving Mouse to discuss further with Connor.
Erin doesn't hesitate to sweep into the room. She drops her jacket onto a chair, then moves to the side of his bed, leaning over the edge of it and gently running a hand through his hair. She's crying, but doesn't seem to mind the tears steadily dripping down her cheeks.
"You're okay." She whispers to him, her other hand coming up to carefully cup his cheek, wary of the tub running out of his mouth, breathing for him. "You're gonna be okay baby. You're gonna be okay."
Her bottom lip trembles but she doesn't sob. Instead she leans forward and presses her forehead against his, hands still touching him.
Quietly I back from the room, my throat tight. Laura used to do that, when I first got shot. I know love when I see it.
Jay's face was surprisingly normal, only a growing black and blue on the right side of his face and cut on his cheek disrupting the peaceful expression. Excluding the fact that his face was void of all color and there's a fucking tube going down his throat, he looked like he was sleeping.
I slam the bathroom door open, moving quickly to the sink. I ignore the shaking in my hands, turning on the water and letting the cold run over my wrists.
'This isn't Jules. This isn't Nadia. You aren't losing him. He's still here.'
Angry, at what I don't know, I push away the reassuring thoughts and slam the tap closed. My hands are still wet, but I grip the edge of the counter painfully tight, pushing air through my lips in the effort to calm down.
Just tonight. Make it through tonight. If Erin can do it, so can I.
It's been hard. The last twenty four hours have brought emotions and thoughts to be present that haven't previously been acknowledged. The whole situation has forced the team to re-evaluate how they look at Jay, and I'm not excluded.
We now have to sift through what we felt, and figure out what it means.
For me, that means understanding the thrumming ball of worry and panic that has yet to leave my stomach. I'd love to blame it on adrenaline and say I'd feel like this about any of my teammates were they in this position.
Unfortunately, both me and the tired, unfamiliar face that stares back at me in the mirror, know it's that's not true.
I care about him. That much is clear. Somewhere between a friend and a kid brother is about where I feel about him. When it happened, when I started becoming more protective of him, when I started worrying about him more, is indiscernible. I'm sure now, if you ask any of us we'd be able to tell you all about Halstead's knack for quietly worming his way into your heart and then staying there.
Shit, if he could get Voight to care (and don't ever let him deny it, Hank's got a soft spot for the kid) then he sure as hell got to the rest of us.
Closing my eyes, I drop my head and breath deep, trying to get my heartrate under control. If Jay doesn't make it, if he doesn't make it back to the unit...it just...it won't be the same. Not that any things really the same, but without Jay I...I need him to be there. To stay in Intelligence and to keep Voight and Al in check so that they can keep him in check too. They need each other. We all do.
Maybe it wasn't true when he first said it, but now, it most certainly is. This team is a family. And we've lost to many people.
Family. The word triggers some thought process and suddenly my eyes snap open with realization.
Oh shit.
Alvin's P.O.V.
"...didn't think of him till now but I asked Maggie and neither did she because the girl at the front desk assumed since we brought him in all his contacts had been notified and nobody can get ahold of him and-"
"Tony. Relax. Give me his address and I'll go knock on his door. For all we know he might be sleeping."
There's a pause, and then when he replies there's a note of embarrassment in his nearly frantic voice.
"Right, right, yeah. Uh...146 Cranmore, apartment thirty two. Thanks Al."
"Dawson."
"Yeah."
"He's gonna pull through."
"...yeah." He whispers, then hangs up with an audible 'click'.
'Oh kid you better..' The silent prayer goes unnoticed, and I turn to Hank who's looking rather pleased at the current treatment our friend Alex is getting.
"I have rights!" The piece of shit screams, tied to a chair with bruises and blood covering his almost naked body. The girl in front of him just smiles, a twisted angry thing, that reflects everyone else's reaction to the words.
"No. You don't." She says, amusement carrying a satisfied lilt to her voice.
We weren't aloud to do much to the guy, but after walking into the precinct to find the bastard gone, Voight was ready to spill blood to find him and I was right behind.
Turns out, the team that had rescued us was a very highly classified special ops team out of the US government. As in, their boss is the Secretary of Defense. And they had been looking for Antony Markcov for a very long time. The guy is a huge player in the illegal arms trade, but he also dabbles in human trafficking, drugs, extortion, blackmail and his personal favorite: murder.
Oh yeah. He's personally killed over fifty people, twelve of them cops. And when I say personally, I mean he pulled the trigger. If you include all the people he's arranged to have 'accidents' or 'health issues' your looking at over two hundred.
Like I said. They've been looking for him for a while now. How Mouse knew who it was, or knew to call these guys, I don't know and I don't care. I don't have to write a report about it either, because (and I quote) "All the paperwork will be taken care of. As far as the commanders and rest of the force is concerned, there an incident where Halstead got separated from his team and a guy hopped up on some crazy drugs went at him. Not a word otherwise is to be breathed to anybody."
Antony "Alex" Markcov is about to disappear from existence. I sincerely doubt anybody will loose sleep over it.
I clap a hand on Hank's shoulder.
"I gotta go do damage control. You should get to Med, talk to Erin. Reassure her you aren't getting arrested." He smirks, but the fear in his eyes stays put, hidden to all those except who know him well.
"You really think she'll believe this?" I smirk.
"Probably not, but she'll want you next to her anyway." He nods, and one of the super swat guys promises to give him a ride.
The streets are less crowded now that it's about eight, so it doesn't take long to reach the street. I don't meet anyone on my way up, and the few calls I've placed have ended in voicemail. A text from Dawson said that Rhodes informed him that he had just gotten off a twenty four hour shift, so the theory of him being dead to the world is looking more and more likely.
I call him again once I'm outside his door, and a slight vibrating noise inside confirms that at least his phone is in the apartment. I pound, open palmed, on the wooden door, calling his name a few times before remembering other people live on the floor.
Well, either I start calling out 'police' and kick his door down or…
"Yeah?"
"Hey Maggie, can you get uh...what's her name. The girl Will is rooming with."
"Keys under the neighbors door mat. To the left."
"I don't even want to know."
"You really don't. Try not to tell him to much okay? He'll get all freaked out and won't listen to a word Rhodes says."
"Got it." The key slides easily into the lock as I hang up, slipping the phone into my jacket pocket.
"Will?" I call, breaking the dim silence that shrouds the flat. Finding a light switch I make my way around the furniture and search for the bedroom. Sure enough, just past the bathroom there's a nearly pitch black room complete with a bed and splayed lump of blankets on top of it.
"Hey. Kid." I poke his shoulder and the ginger head burrows further into the pillow. Sighing, I find a lamp. That gets him up.
"The fuck?!" The half asleep complaint is answered by a shirt being thrown at him.
"Get dressed I'm driving you to the hospital." Bleary eyes squint at me.
"Al?"
"Yup. Let's go."
The doctor almost trips over his feet on the way to the car, still half asleep, too exhausted even question 'why'. It's a bit obvious though. There are very few reason's I would show up at his apartment with a good enough motivation to make me actually go into his apartment and wake him up.
The drive is quiet, a radio station playing soft music while Will presses his forehead against the passenger window. He's not asleep, but not far from it either, if the barely open eyes are any indication.
That all changes the second we get to the hospital.
Will is out of the car before I can park it, as if he suddenly realizes it's his brother who I'm taking him to see. I catch up with him right as he gets the room number from some nurse.
Rhodes calls out down the hallway as his colleague sprints past him. I jog forward, slightly worried that he'll pass out by the way he goes dead white the second he sees his brother. The door is still closed but the window offers a clear view. He sags, one hand raising half heartedly towards the door.
"No." He whimpers, just barely above a whisper. He's gasping, not quite crying but close too.
"What…." He heaves a breath, looking close to a panic attack. "What happened to him?!"
Connor gently guides him away from the room, and I follow to the staff room.
Will sits, staring at me with wide, uncomprehending eyes as I explain. The gasping slowly diminishes, and by the time Rhodes starts his explanation on Jay's health, Will has shut down. Not a word is said, and no eye contact is made.
When it's over, we stand, and I guide the shell shocked older brother into the room. Erin raises her head when we enter, her eyes bleary and red. Slowly she stands, dropping the limp hand she held and embracing Will without hesitation. He reciprocates, just as heartfelt and real. Then they separate, and without a word, settle into chairs on opposite sides of the bed.
Erin twines both her hands around the unbroken one, drops her head again and lays it on the edge of the mattress, slowly tracing the skin with her fingers. Will just slouches, one hand on his respective arm, gently laying on the small bit of skin not covered in cast or bandage.
I plop down in the corner, where somebody was smart enough to leave an extra chair.
No one says a word. What is there to express? Nothing we do now, will change the outcome.
Slowly the rest of Intelligence slips in, Voight first giving Erins shoulder a squeeze before coming to stand next to me, leaning against the wall for a bit. Antonio comes in with Ruzek, who silently nods to assure us of Atwaters well being. The two claim the small couch at the end of the private room, and Hank silently slips into a chair next to me.
There's is no clock, nothing to measure the length of our internal agony. It makes the waiting nearly surreal, like the dark room and soft breathing could last into eternity, and none of us would be the wiser.
If I were to testify to the fact, the only thing harder than death, is waiting to see if it will occur or not. There's a constant knot in your throat, your stomach is a block of ice, sending chills across your body. Some desperate half of you just wants it to happen already, to get it over with, while the other is silently praying with everything you have for it to skip you, and just once, have death walk by without taking anything.
More than once, I find myself fighting the urge to leave, to stand up and run, to get away from this so I don't have to keep hearing the hiss of the ventilator and the beep of the heart monitor, constantly reminding me that this is real, Jay is dying, might be dead in a few hours.
I've known the feeling before. To not want to have the memory of that last little 'beep' that was your loved ones last second of life.
The minutes crawl, the hours move so differently that everything sort of blends, until I don't notice the nurses quietly slipping in and out anymore, I don't notice the lightening of the sky. It's numbness and soul crushing agony, timeless and to slow. The feeling is wrong, the tension is impossible, and nothing makes sense. Until suddenly Rhodes comes in, surprised as all hell.
"Have any of you slept?" And just like that the silence is shattered, the stillness is gone. The feeling of standing on the line between life and death disappears, and we all start, blinking, dazed, and confused, just noticing the light coming through the window.
"Take that as a no…" He murmurs, walking over to check on Jay. A spectacular bruise has covered the left side of his face, an indicator of his fractured jaw, but other than that, no color has returned to his skin.
"Is he-" The doctor cuts Ruzek off, looks pointedly at a passed out Will, then motions for the rest of us to go outside. We do, apprehension and agitated energy making us fast but hesitant. Erin even carefully disentangles herself from the blanket gifted to her over night, taking the time to arrange it over the eldest Halstead before following.
"Have...all of you been here all night?"
"Where else would we be?" I challenge, no sleep and stress making his optimistic attitude extremely annoying. Connor raises an eyebrow but wisely doesn't retaliate, instead moving right into his report.
"Well, go home. It's ten in the morning, I've gone home, had fourteen hours off, and now I'm back on shift." His gaze intensifies as the younger two start to protest. "His vitals have stabilized, blood pressure is coming back into healthy ranges, there's no sign of infection, and his reflexes have improved with his brainwaves, so coma is less likely. The only reason he's still under right now is that the meds are keeping him that way so he doesn't do something stupid like ask when he can go home. Now-"
The gaze turns to steel and I can just tell he's dareing another cop to mouth off to him.
"-go home. Visitors are restricted to Will, April, Maggie, and me anyway."
"Woah what?! Why?!" The angry gaze gets confused for a second.
"...he's in protective custody for the time being? The order came down from someone above Goodwin so, I dare you to challenge it. Now get out of my hospital, you'll be notified if anything changes."
Nobody moves for a second and Rhodes gives a small smile.
"Guys. He's going to be fine. Stubborn son of bitch couldn't die if he tried." The last part is muttered under his breath as he reenters the room, focusing more his pager than his words.
There's a small pause, and then Ruzek hesitantly smirks.
"He's got a point."
Jay's P.O.V.
Two weeks later
The team is crowded once more in my hospital room, only this time there's no tube keeping my lungs moving (which is great), and my chances of living are much higher (also great). I'm being stubborn and refusing to sleep while they chatter, while Atwater and one of the 'federal agents', the girl with the braides who has an affinity for knifes, are in the room with us. Her names Jess, but they don't know that.
"Okay so, explain this to me again. Why didn't he just kill Kevin? Why'd he let him live? Why was he even separated from us in the first place?" Ruzek glances at his partner. "No offense." The larger man just shrugs. 'The girl' as Alvin calls her (not really a girl, she's got bigger muscles than I do and is in her late twenties) shifts, the small stool she's on wobbling dangerously. Not quite as decked out as she was when she rolled into that second level room a few weeks ago (I got to see the live cam footage from her belt) but her black combat gear seems to perpetually be attached to her skin. Combat boots planted firmly out in front of her, she's got one elbow on a thigh, her other hand holding a cup off coffee. She enjoys showing off.
"Well, like I said, you never saw his face. One of the problems we had in catching him, was nobody knew what he looked like. Either you worked for him, or you were dead. You three-" She gestures to Hank, Erin and Olinski. "Came barging in as he came down the stairs, so you were instantly part of the equation, ignoring the fact that he did his homework and knew what the sergeant, his oldest friend, and his surrogate daughter looked like. Dawson and Ruzek probably would have been given the same treatment had they not been so keen on staying with Jay."
"Makes sense." Atwater speaks, one hand massaging his shoulder while he stares at his own foam cup of liquid. "I remember having enough time to turn around and watch Jay go down before somebody grabbed me from behind."
"Still, wouldn't it have been easier to just kill him then drive him to a hospital and dump him?"
Ruzek and Kevin look at each other before dramatically turning to look at Linds, who's in her designated seat next to me, one hand in mine.
"You got something you want to tell me there Linds?" The sassy little shit just looks him up and down and smiles, all teeth and no mercy. Atwater's eyes widen, while Ruzek lets out a cackle.
"You better sleep with one eye open there buddy." Kev nods before going to sip his coffee. He thinks better of it, looking at the cup, then at Erin, who just raises an eyebrow, before dropping the container into the trash.
It earns a laugh from the group, even a small huff of amusement from the stone cold lady in the corner.
"To answer your question, yes, it might of been, but you have to remember this isn't your everyday criminal. There's a reason he went twenty years without getting caught."
"So we're all set?" She glances at Voight, and seems to take note of his relaxed demeanor before answering.
"Unless you have any more questions, yes, we should be fine. You all know the cover story by heart, the staff have been briefed and there's no current underground order for your deaths, so that's pretty nice."
"Okay, but if say, one happens to pop up in the near future…" I don't have the energy to comment, but I second the exasperated glare Olinski sends his former protege, who just raises his hands in an innocent 'what?' type of gesture. This time Jess actually smiles. Standing she crosses the room and she speaks.
"Well, if you happen to find yourself in that situation…" She hands him a metallic card looking thing. "...call me."
With that she sweeps out of the room, just as powerful and serious as she came in. Ruzek stands there, staring at the card tucked between his pointer finger and thumb, hand still raises with exaggerated surprise. Blinking rapidly he turns to me, taking not of my smug smile. Oh if only he knew.
"Where did you say you knew her from?" I just smile wider.
"I didn't."
"That's so not fair! They come barging in with guns a blazin and you and mouse totally know them and like do you have connections else where too because I'd really love a break on my taxes-"
"Bothering my patient again are we?" Rhodes waltzes in, interrupting the sure to be long and annoying rant coming from Adam's mouth. I instantly groan, dropping my head back onto a pillow.
"Noooo, you're gonna make me move."
"Yup." He glances at the team, who's already grabbing their things. "You know the drill. Out. Don't come back till tomorrow either. Visiting hours are over." There's some grumbles but they shuffle out, Voight already in a conversation with Antonio about a case. Erin stays, having a conversation with Connor about something or other.
I could care less. Now that the teams gone I allow my body's fatigue to be acknowledged, and let me tell you, the tiredness that steadily seeps from my bones doesn't like to be ignored. Both Will and Rhodes tell me it's normal- this much trauma to one's body and it's going to take a while to recover- but it still sucks, going from running five miles every morning to not being able to get to the bathroom alone.
There's a hand on my shoulder, stalking me back to awareness. Blinking, I see Erin's disappeared, and it just me and my doctor.
"What?" I rasp, speech a mess of pain from being strangled and having a broken jaw.
"I thought I said don't talk, yet here you are, chatting away like you weren't only just extubated two days ago." I grunt, focusing more on keeping my breathing even as he palpitates my abdomen, feeling around the multiple incision sites before changing the bandages and checking the stitching. He makes me wiggle my fingers, which hurts way more than I ever thought it could, then moves to my throat.
Concussion check, poking my bruises, feeling around my jaw and making me answer with nods or a shake of the head. It's become pretty routine. At least I'm told.
"How do you feel?"
"Like shit on a cracker." He smirks.
"I'm sure. Now how do you really feel?" I pause.
"Tired."
"I know. Any pain?"
"Always." His eyes flick to the monitors while he presses around my shoulder.
"I can't give you anything for a little while longer. If you can sleep without meds it will be better."
Finally he leans back, and forces eye contact. I'm exhausted by our little conversation, and have zero ability to interpret facial expressions right now, so I really can't tell what's coming.
"You scared the shit out of them you know. I wouldn't be surprised if you're on the receiving end of a lot of anger once your better." To this I raise an eyebrow.
"Of course. I save their lives and they'll find a way to hate me for it." I growl, angry at the whole situation.
"That's not what's happening here and you know it."
"Why do you care?" I snap. "Once I leave, you'll never see me unless I'm on a case, so there's no need for you to worry your little head off."
"Maybe because I was elbow deep in your blood for six hours!" He snaps back, more angry than I thought he'd be. "Maybe because I've had to watch you struggle just to exist for two weeks while lying to your team about how you were doing! Maybe, it's because I've watched them struggle with emotions they didn't know they had, and I don't want you to fuck it up!"
"You-" I cut off, a cough ripping through my body as my throat seizes in pain. Struggling for air around my spasming lungs I try to sit up, but in my current state all I can manage is a weak arch off the bed. The pain spikes, ripping my control from me until all I know is wheezing, gasping for air that won't come around the pain in my throat and my weakened lungs.
Eventually the fit subsides, and I'm left gasping and shaking, a cold sweat breaking over my body. I peel my eyes open to find a penlight flicking across them, and only then am I aware of the oxygen mask on my face and the voice in my ear
"-eed you to say something Jay. You with me?" I nod, chest aching something fierce while my throat throbs with agony.
There's a sigh that makes me pull my sight line over to him.
"I didn't mean it like that." He says, like a child being scolded.
"So...there's...a nice...version?" I gasp, voice barely above a whisper and if we're being honest, pretty slurred. My jaws extremely sore, which tends to happen when it's fractured and you use it.
"Yes. What I'm saying is, they're going to be different. Not more clingy, but maybe more protective. Your probably won't notice it at first, but I mean it. This...thing forced a lot out of them. Remember how hard it was for them to see you like that. Don't get angry at them for being scared of losing you." I blink, he words slowly sinking into my fuzz filled brain. He must have given me pain mess anyway, despite his earlier words.
"They're your family Jay and they've been through something tramtic, but so have you. You just have figure out where this leaves you, without ripping it out of them. It'll be easier on everyone if you just ask, instead of throwing yourself back in without a thought towards them."
"This...work?" He pauses for a second, clearly trying to understand what I'm asking about.
"They think you don't care about what happens to yourself. If you try to go back before you're ready, you're just going to prove them right. And that'll piss them off more than anything."
Well, since we're playing doctor Phil here…
"Do?" I manage, sleep wrapping its claws around me and pulling harder by the second.
Rhodes pauses. Then-
"Stay alive."
Easier said than done.
...
"And to me, theres nothing more important."
Finito.
Yes, the ending was maybe a tad rushed but he survives and goes through physical therapy and gets back on the job. This also, is my transition piece, and has been my mental therapy, so Dawson will not appear in my next ones unless I feel like it.
Also, I tried to stay away from Will on this, because I feel like I piss people off when I talk of Jay whump and then spend a ton of time on Wills reaction. But I love their relationship.
Review your prompts and I shall eventually get to them, I swear. This one is long, and has been worked on since the end of January. At least one person be proud of me.