Takes place before Chicago Snow (obviously) so early season 2? I think. Lexis alive, Antonio's still there, burgess hasn't come up yet, Roman is a thing I think.

Prompt: Lulu: In your story Chicago Snow you told us about one time that Erin and Al found Jay passed out in his bathroom. So I would love to read something about this.

You don't need to read that story to understand this one.

"Every sickness has an alien quality, a feeling of invasion and loss of control that is evident in the language we use about it." -Siri Hustvedt, The Shaking Woman.

Jays P.O.V.

It started off simple enough. A little bit of a stuffy nose, a need to use a tissue every once in awhile to rid myself of an abundance of snot. The first day, despite what everyone would come to disbelieve later on, was not that bad. I could function just fine, focus just as well, and my job was just my job.

Things went downhill so quickly, it was actually impressive.

Or it would have been, had 'it' not led to me almost dying.

…

So recently I've gotten into a nasty habit of doing things that I deem acceptable and that the team deems 'totally unacceptable and can you please never do that again you almost gave us a collective heart attack we thought you were dead and/or were about to die'. Which means I'm in for a rough day tomorrow when I show up to work looking like I got hit by a bus.

How do I know I'll look so horrible tomorrow? Same way I know sleeping tonight was going to suck. My immune system tends to fail exactly twice a year, and makes up for it in by being overactive in the spring and fall.

Which means twice a year I am either puking my guts up, or muddling through a cold. And then there's allergies to look forward to.

Still. Like every human being on earth, you get used to it. Everyone had their own way of marching through the very common disease.

Therefore, I knew from experience, and from the way my slightly stuffy nose had progressed to something attuned to a slightly open faucet running through cotton balls. Except the cotton balls were only on one side of my nose. And I had a slight headache. And I was running out of tissues. And my nose was raw from dabbing at it so much.

No, I knew the second I laid down in that bed, my nose would become either a) completely stuffed but still runny or b) stay half stuffed and start draining down my throat.

Still. I needed sleep. And my body didn't just yearn for the soft comfort of my bed, it called for it.

My cold remnants of dinner (peanut butter on toast) was dumped, plate tossed in the sink, glass of water poured out, rinsed, and refilled. It came with me into the bedroom, set on the nightstand in a way that if I blindly reached out for it I wouldn't knock it over.

Stripped. Clothes thrown in hamper. Lights off. Door locked. Phone plugged in.

I dove into that bed. The comforter was heavy just like my old blanket from when I was little. I had to have the presents of a blanket if I even hoped to sleep right and I found, despite the temperature, I really enjoyed the weight of a blanket. Had to have one.

And this one was warm.

I hummed into my pillow, switching off my lamp and curling into a comfortable position on my side, closing my eyes.

Then immediate opening them again.

It's not that I wasn't tired. I was. But my brain just wouldn't get with the program. I mean let's face it, the only thing worse than having a cold, is not being able to fall asleep because you're paying too much attention to it. Because it's fucking annoying to have to force breathe through one nostril.

Eventually though, I manage to drift off. Not three hours later, (it could have been less I don't know) I'm awake again. But I'm not. Not really.

It's too fucking hot in this room. So hot in fact, that my body felt the need to use actual conscious thought to remedy the situation. I groan into my pillow which has somehow become so damn uncomfortable, and kick the covers clean off.

I'm then sent scrambling after them as frigid air attacks my skin. But then with the comforter back on I'm just too hot again. And fuck, I cannot get comfortable, but I'm so, so tired I just want to go back to sleep-

What feel like not even ten minutes later, I'm pulled back again, body sweating with the furnace like heat trapped under the bedding. Once again I move to kick it off, but the legs is only so coordinated and it more of just flops out from underneath the heat zone, and instead is exposed to cold air outside. For a moment it feels nice.

Then my nose catches up with me, my neck and shoulders are full of knots, there's no comfy position in this bed, the pillows are messed up, and my skin is on fire while my left leg is like ice.

The covers are soon sandwiched in some weird position, allowing my leg to be comfortably normal temperature and somehow calm my body temp. I fall back to sleep.

And then half an hour later the whole experience begins again. My body goes from raging fire to extremely cold, never finishing an equilibrium, never bringing me close enough to consciousness to actually pull my ass out of bed and take some meds. No I only get close enough to wish that it was daytime, because daytime meant shower and coffee and medication.

But I was way, way too tired to take medication at night. No way was I moving from that horrible no good bed that was so painful to sleep in.

By the time my alarm went off, I was more exhausted than I had been last night. And I could barely move due to the rapid shots of pain that fired through my body anytime I attempted to fire a muscle. Neck and shoulders were the worst, and after a quick semi coherent peek at my pillows, both of which were bunched and out of place, I understood why. If I wasn't hunched over in misery, I was squished in a not nearly normal position on messed up pillows.

I generally felt bad for my spine. Which was definitely a pretzel at this point.

My stomach, unfortunately, pays extremely little attention to the rest of my body's resolve to not move.

Bathroom. Trash can, bucket, sink, whatever the fuck is closest, please just move.

I manage to drag the covers back, although really it's more of a flailing leg that shoved the covers away. The lights are off and my knees are weak, but I manage to stumble to the doorway of my bedroom, clinging to the wall while my muscles tremble.

The hallway is dark, which doesn't help my blurry vision. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I push off, slamming my shoulder into the opposite wall in the hallway. The bathroom is now the closest thing, and I hang onto the wall as I stumble and gasp my way towards it.

My knees give when I run out of wall, knocking harshly on the tile. I give some thought to the light switch, accept there's bile already in the back of my throat and my muscles decide I have bigger problems.

I crawl the last few feet to the toilet, retching before I manage to drag myself back into a kneeling position. Apparently, I have practice in this situation, so I don't miss. Idly, I give some 'thank you' to past me who left the toilet cover up.

The cold porcelain burns so badly against my arm I want to let go. Except that it would mean me no longer having a place to puke. Unless I wanted to be redecorating the floor. Soon, it doesn't matter because I really didn't have a lot to throw up. A sharp stabbing pain ricocheted through my abdomen, making my stomach continue to seize despite the pain it causes. Dry heave after dry heave and it hurts so bad there's tears flooding my face while I gasp and choke. The tile is cold like the toilet, burning my skin so bad my muscles automatically fire in response to the pain. I jerk backwards, desperate to remove my skin from the fiery agony I've descended into.

When it starts feeling like I might drown in the darkness surrounding me, I get scared. Everything just hurts, my head feels like a bowling ball, and I'm so dizzy and nauseas and more exhausted than I've ever been in my life. Somehow I'm laying down, and my throat and stomach are still working in tandem to try and expel whatever liquid is left in the latter.

When it starts feeling less like dry heaves and more like uncontrollable convulsions, complete with muscles spasms, the tiny part of my brain that houses semi-rational thought wonders if I'm having a seizure.

Luckily I don't get much time to contemplate it. The pale darkness around me turns thicker and harder, eyes closing without me noticing. My last thought before sinking into oblivion is a silent plea that whatever I have won't kill me before somebody can help.

Alvin's P.O.V.

"Hey." The voice travels quietly across the bullpen and I raise a hand with a quiet return greeting, silently wishing I was still in bed. Just because you get old doesn't make getting up early any easier.

The empty desk is a problem. Halstead's chair is void of any kind of jacket, and given the wet windy day that's currently gracing the Chicago streets with sleet and rain, he'd definitely need one. Ruzek and Atwater are out, a short conversation with Dawson informing me of their errand for Voight, leaving only him and Erin in the latter of which, looks like she's not in a good mood if the way she's glaring at her paperwork is any indication.

"Where's Jay?" Antonio shrugs, standing and pulling on his jacket.

"Couldn't tell ya, but he's late if you find him. Voights pissed, he wanted him to go with Adam and Kev. I gotta go talk to a CI, I'll see you later."

Which leaves me with Erin.

"No." She's buried in paperwork, not even taking the second to look up at my face before speaking. Which is peeving. To say the least. I haven't even had my coffee yet, so I'm stuck between being too tired to be pissed off, and extremely annoyed.

"Oh so you know what I was gonna say now?" She clenches her jaw and lifts her head, staring at the break room so to not look at me as she breathes through her nose in apparent anger.

"Al, it was not a good night."

"So you fought?"

"No." She growls, gripping her pen.

"Then I don't care. Did he text you? Let you know anything?"

"I said no!" She snaps, looking more and more like the cranky teenage girl she's acting like.

"Well then where is he?"

"Fuck if I know! I'm not his mom, I don't keep tabs on him twenty four seven."

"Erin." I growl, patience worn thin. She sighs, raising her hands in defeat.

"Last place I know he went was his apartment. Last night. At least, that's where he told me he was going when we left Molly's."

Sighing I walk past my desk, having not even gotten the chance to take my coat off.

"Yeah." Hanks gruff voice answers my knock on his door. Not really entering I poke my head through the opening.

"I'm gonna take a ride, go make sure the kids alright."

"He hasn't answered Erin?"

"No. Just gonna look at his apartment." The sergeant nods.

"Good. Take Lindsay. And Al, if he slept in…" I glance at my watch.

"Till nine thirty? Hank, Jay couldn't sleep past eight to save his life." Voight just shrugs.

"Just make sure he's not there before we really start looking for him."

…

The floor is quiet, not many people, if any, still home at ten in the morning. At least we won't be pissing off any neighbors with our pounding.

Or rather, Erin's slamming her fist against the wooden door in a way that makes me think she'd rather be slamming it into someone's face.

"Jay, open the damn door!" Erin whacks her knuckles against the door in rapid succession once more. Again, there is no answer.

"Swear to god, if he's passed out drunk or something, I'm gonna…" Lindsay's angry mutterings trail off as my key slips into the lock. She stares at me a while, confused and surprised, like I know she'd be. Just like the reason she's so pissed at Jay is because he's worrying her (read: us) with this sudden 'disappear off the map' bullshit.

"Why do you...you know what? I don't think I want to know." Smirking I push the door open.

The apartment is dim, no lights on, the curtains drawn. What light that does filter through shows off his tidy little flat. And by tidy, I mean military style obsessively clean. Nothing is out of place, no signs of a any kind of struggle or duress. We walk in quietly, the door closing just as noiselessly behind us.

Something, is quite wrong here. There's no clues, nothing visually off. There's no sound either, no weird smells, nothing that would alert one to danger. Nothing except the ominous tension in the air that makes me want to reach for my gun.

I slip forward silently, Erin breaking off to my left to check the kitchen and living room. The bedroom is void of life, although peering at the extremely messy covers, he clearly didn't get out of bed in any coordinated manner. I'm about to leave, to tell Erin about my observations (it is possible that he was kidnapped, if the attackers took him straight from his bed, but knowing Jay, there'd be much more of a struggle) when there's a small noise from the bathroom.

Turning on a heel, I walk towards the slightly open door. The light is off, and I give the door a gentle kick to open it more, body instinctively behind the wall for protection should there be a threat. The light from the room behind me is more than enough to identify the source of the sound.

Spitting out a curse, my hand slams against the wall, fumbling for a switch.

"Erin, get in here!" Flipping on the lights, I careful step over the prone body to get close to his head before kneeling down.

"What- oh shit." She hisses, quickly dropping to one knee. I press an ear to his chest, and the second I'm reassured he's still breathing, I bark at Erin to help me roll him over into the recovery position taught to all cops in the academy.

"Find a thermometer. And call Will!" She nods, hesitating only for a second before tearing her hands away from their position on Jay's legs. My right hand is gently rubbing Jay's back through a sweat soaked t-shirt, and my left catches the slim thermometer as Erin tosses it to me. She stands, gripping a fistful of her hair with a phone to her ear.

"Jay." I gently shake the unconscious man's shoulders. "Hey kid, wake up." To my surprise, there's actually something of a response, a tiny, almost inaudible whimper. There's a curse behind me, and then Lindsay is rooting around in the sink cabinet again, muttering obscenities under her breath. She pops back up with a washcloth, phone back under her ear.

"Damn it Will, pick up the fucking phone." She growls, handing me a now wet towel and hurriedly pressing redial. I'm about to press the damp fabric to the back of his neck when something makes me hesitate. I drape the thing against his forehead instead, then pull down the neckline of his shirt.

Red, blotchy rashes across his skin great my vision, and upon further movement of his shirt, it's found to spread in random patches down his spine and across his abdomen.

"Oh, what the hell kid." I murmur, dropping the grey fabric to pool on his fevered skin. "Halstead, come on. Wake up." This time I receive an actual moan, and my stomach about jumps into my throat.

"That's it Jay, come back. Let me see those eyes." I press the formerly cool cloth against his forehead some more, dabbing at his face and back of his neck, hoping the shock of water against the dry skin will bring him further around. It does, but slowly, and after a few minutes of him lying just underneath the surface of consciousness, I order Erin to abate her fruitless efforts to call Will, and to get an ambulance here. She complies, looking almost as white as Jay, eyes wide with fear.

Finally Jay manages to pry open his eyes, although he shuts them with a cry of pain the second he does.

"Easy, easy kid. Just stay awake." I shove the thermometer in his mouth, making sure he gets it under his tongue before shielding his eyes from what is apparently the harsh light of his built in ceiling fan.

"What is it?" Lindsay asks, still on the phone with an emergency operator.

"One-oh-three point nine." I read once the thing beeps. She goes back to her conversation while I go back to trying to keep Jay awake. Which is difficult, seeing as every time I tap his cheek or jolt him back into awareness, his eyelids seem too heavy for him to keep up, and inevitably, slid shut again.

"What are his-"

"Fever, vomiting, rash, drowsy and semi conscious, borderline incoherent." I pinch the skin on the back of one his hands, watching as it sluggishly falls back into place. "And he's dehydrated." My words are relayed back to the dispatcher, and with a few parting words, Erin hangs up the phone.

"What are you doing?" I call, not caring to look away from Jay's face. I can hear her rooting around in the cabinets again, as well as the sound of water running. I hit Halsteads face again.

"Stay awake Jay."

"She said to put these on him until the ambo arrives. Armpits, back of the neck, groin." Two more wet washcloths splat down next to me. "It should at least help keep his temperature from climbing anymore."

Dropping to her knees, she goes about stuffing the cool clothes around previously mentioned areas as best she can with him on his side and me crouched over his shoulders in tiny bathroom.

"How long for the ambo?"

"Less than five minutes."

"You hear that Jay? We're gonna get you help." The younger man only moans, starting to tremble slightly with his eyes closed once more. Erin stops moving, on both her knees by his waist, facing me.

"What the hell happened?" She whispers, almost like a inquiry to the man in front of her. She snags one of his hands, gently rubbing it. "I've never seen him so sick."

Sighing I run a hand through the sweat soaked mop of hair on his head. I'd say something like 'me neither, except I've never seen anyone this sick, or I might know what to do.' However I feel that attitude may not be the best way to go about pointing out the flaw in her logic, especially since she has a clear right to be worried. Seeing her partner like this...well. I know I won't forget it for a very long time.

Skin whiter than the tiles he lays on, body limp like a ragdoll, Jay look so bad when I came into the bathroom I honestly thought he might've been dead. His face was tinged sickly greyish-green except for the bright red blush of fever on his cheeks. The way he was splayed on his back combined with the smell of vomit made me fear that he might has passed out while throwing up, which, lying flat on his back, would've almost guaranteed he inhaled whatever his stomach was throwing out.

Luckily, (in addition to knowing he was breathing,) when I listened to his lungs they seemed to be only moving air, not struggling around fluid.

There's a distant knock and a yell, making Erin dash out of the small space to greet the paramedics. She shows them in and I list the symptoms off once more as they set up an I.V. and maneuver Jay onto a backboard.

"What's his name?" A girl with black hair tied in a messy bun asks without any other introduction.

"Jay. Uh, Jay Halstead." Lindsay answers immediately, my mouth suddenly dry as I stare at the kids completely lax face, one hand still on his neck feeling the intense heat radiating from his skin like a furnace.

"Has he hit his head in the last forty eight hours?"

"No. I don't think so? At least not at work." I let Erin continue to answer for me, one of the paramedics handing me the saline bag and telling me to squeeze.

"Is he on any medications?"

"Not that...No. I don't believe so.

"Does he have a history of drug or alcohol abuse?"

"No." His partner answers once again, anger lacing her tone this time. I hold my tongue, because yes, Jay does have a history of alcohol abuse. Except I've worked with alcoholics before, and there is something I can always tell about them, even when they hide it really well from others. You notice real fast what an alcoholic does and doesn't do and from what I've seen and know about the kid, Jay hasn't been back to his old habits since he walked into the police academy.

"He went out for a beer last night, but he left by nine thirty. He only had one drink."

"That you saw? Can anyone confirm he went right home after?"

"Hey." I catch the unknown paramedics arm, my tone as sharp as Erins. "I know it's your job and all, but we've worked with him for two years now. Of all the people in his unit, we're the ones who know him the best, so believe me when I tell you he wouldn't be that fucking stupid."

The girl has lines on her face that betray all shes seen, and while I wonder how many people have told her the same thing, the 'I know him, he wouldn't do that' bullshit that comes with denial, one thing Jay can't do very well is hide his emotions. Ironic, seeing as he was in the Rangers, but when he's upset, you know it.

At least, that's what I'm counting on here.

"Is there anything else you can tell us? Any other symptoms, anything he said to you?"

"No-"

"His hands were cold." Erin blurts, running over my words, cheeks turning red with embarrassment the second she says it, probably because she thinks it isn't really helpful. The paramedics nod, and then we're moving him out of the bathroom where there's more room. The female's partner, an older guy with no hair, takes a second to pry open each of Jay's eyes, flicking a penlight across each.

"Detective Halstead? Can you hear me?"

There's no response. We resume our positions and carry him down to the ambo.

…

"Just take the car! I'll go with him on the ambo."

"Al-"

"Erin don't worry about it. Just go to the hospital and we'll figure this out okay?" She nods, smearing a hand down her face.

"Yeah. Yeah okay. Al, he-"

"Detective we need to go!"

I toss the keys to her and climb into the ambulance.

They don't have him on oxygen, and the man seems to be reluctant to administer anything more than a slight fever reducer without knowing what's going on with him.

It gets a little terrifying right before we get to the hospital when Jay wakes up.

"Al." The name is whispered, barely more than a breath of air, and I'm next to him, hoping to keep him calm as his eyes flutter open a fraction of an inch.

"Hey kid. You're in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. You're safe." The paramedic shoots me a sharp glance at my last reassurance, but screw him. I said I knew the kid. I meant it. Waking up in an ambulance confused and disoriented is not a fun time for anyone, especially not a cop and former soldier.

"Hurts." He rasps. I squeeze his hand (the one that somehow found its way into mine on the way over) trying to keep him awake once more.

"What? What hurts Jay? Talk to me."

"Head. Neck." He whispers, the pitch black of his pupils almost swallowing his irises as they dance around the ambulance, unable to focus on anything through the haze that clouds the normally sharp blue and green pigments.

The bus comes to a stop and then we're moving, walking fast into the Emergency Department.

"Al?!" I'm clinging to the edge of the gurney, watching as Jay's head lolls back and forth, eyes rolling around erratically while he gasps for breath. Jerking my head up at the voice I almost run into Connor Rhodes, his form forcing me to let go of the metal gurney so to not be dragged into him. He disappears in near seconds though, confusion turning to a mask of professionalism as the medics start listing off stats.

They transfer him to a bed, fitting him with an oxygen mask as the paramedics exit the room. I stand outside the trauma bay, barely understanding what's going on. They talk gibberish, random numbers and urgent calls for tests and xrays and so many things that I don't even have an inkling to whether they're good or bad.

"Hey! Al!" A sharp voice snaps my gaze up from the barely conscious man on the bed to the doctor working on him. "Did he say anything to you?! Tell you anything else?"

"He, uh, he said his neck and his head hurt. In the ambulance." Connor's face turns a shade grimmer, and his voice changes to be louder and the more urgent. I hear words like 'blood test' and 'hemorrhaging' before an alarm goes off and someone shouts out Jay's loss of consciousness.

Someone closes the curtain, and the last image I get of the room is someone shoving a tube down Jay's throat as his body starts to shake.

….

The waiting room is quiet. Nurses and orderlies quietly walk back and forth, but for a waiting room in Chicago, it's surprisingly empty. Which is welcome in the sense that I can talk to Erin without her using the 'I don't air my dirty laundry in public' excuse she normally does. Plus, Voight wants a reason why she's being so cold to the guy (because despite what the younger members think, Hank is very perceptive of this shit), and despite what Jay thinks, when Hank told him to stay away from his girl, it was because he didn't want Jay hurt. Voight loves Erin, but he knows how she reacts sometimes. Many a good guy has had his heart broken by her, and she'll never know or understand why.

He genuinely didn't want that for the kid, nor did he want it in his unit. I didn't want it there either. And normally I don't do this thing, except it's been an hour since I watched Jay have a seizure, and about fifty six minutes since I was just about dragged away from him by Maggie so they could take him wherever they take life-threateningly sick people.

Erin sighs moodily for the fiftieth time, and it looks like I'm starting this conversation.

"So."

"So."

"What happened last night?"

"Al, I really don't need to be discussing my personal life with you." I raise my eyebrows in mock acceptance.

"No you're right, because walking around with an attitude worse than your mother is totally acceptable especially because last time you didn't tell anyone about something that you thought you could handle yourself you almost lost your badge and Jay almost ended up dead. So how about you get off your high horse, and tell me what's going on?!"

Because really, there's only so much bitchiness I can take, and I sure as hell don't need to be getting from a grown woman like Erin. I have a teenage daughter for that.

She sighs.

"You're right. I'm sorry, I've been an ass all day I just, I didn't get any sleep last night because my mother she's...she's just- ugh!"

"Yeah?" I snark, fully prepared for the venting session we're about to embark on that's going to be mostly her talking. She explains about her mother getting married, and having to pretend to be her daughter again, and how some part of her, despite the fact that she knows her mother will never change, always hopes that it'll be different this time around.

"Look that's all well and good-" I interrupt before she can move on to her next problem. "-except that it doesn't give you a reason to be that way around us. You're not your mother Lindsay, don't start acting like her. You have a partner and a team that can help you. Lean on us."

"Yeah." Her voice is rough. "Yeah I know I…" She sighs again. "Jay told me exactly what I didn't want to hear last night when I told him. I just wrote him off. And if I hadn't then...well. We wouldn't be here."

"Oh yeah we would." I scoff. "Jay would've complained enough that you wouldn't have called Will until he passed out, in which case we'd have still end up in a hospital."

"True."

"Detectives?" My feet slap themselves onto the tile same as Erin, both us standing almost instantly to greet Rhodes.

"Is he-"

"He's stable." Connor answers before I can get more than two words out. "We got fluids in him and brought his fever down."

Erin takes a deep breath while I blow out the air in my lungs, running a hand across my thinning hair as a reflex.

"Okay so...what the hell is wrong with him? Because correct me if I'm wrong, but a hundred and four degree fever and passing out in your bathroom isn't something that comes with normal illnesses." The tired doctor shakes his head, lips pursed face drawn. I know Erin's about to regret asking that question.

"At first we thought he might have had something wrong with his brain or spinal column but some of the symptoms didn't fit with a brain bleed or severe concussion. So we ran a couple of tests, and confirmed he has bacterial meningitis. It was text book really. Vomiting, high fever, headache and neck pain, rashes, confusion, difficulty waking, photosensitivity — the paramedics even said you told them his hands were cold?"

Erin just nods, face back to that shade of white it adapted in the bathroom.

"All classic symptoms. We have him on some pretty strong antibiotics and corticosteroids, as well as a couple of antipyretics."

"Anti-whats?" She quips.

"A fever reducer." I supply before tilting my head towards Rhodes. "Are the antibiotics not working?" Again he looks pained, but doesn't seem hesitant to answer.

"They are...but more slowly than we'd like. The disease was pretty far along by the time we got him, and the fever doesn't seem to want to break its hold on him. It's holding at one-oh-three right now, but it had escalated to a hundred five earlier. We don't want to take any chances."

God damn it kid, can you do anything in halves?!

"Can we see him?" Erin asks as I scrub a hand down my face. Connor nods, then gives us directions on how to get to the Intensive Care Unit where they're keeping Jay sedated.

"I have to warn you guys, they're going to make you wear masks and gloves if you go in. And you won't be able to stay for long, no more than five minutes." Erin nods then takes off down the hallway. I hesitate a second longer, glancing at Rhodes.

"Have you been able to get in contact with Will? We called him first but…"

"It went straight to voicemail?" I nod. Rhodes looks grim.

"I know, we got the same thing. He isn't on for another three hours though, so it's likely he's still sleeping. I'll deal with him don't worry. But you may want to tell your sergeant, I don't think the nurses called anyone since you two are his emergency contacts."

"Thanks Rhodes."

"Of course Al. He's one of us. Normally they don't let people visit period where he is right now but...I made an exception. Erin looked pretty shook up. I heard you found him?"

I purse my lips nodding.

"Take my advice...you don't want to see him. Not right now. It'd be better." And with those wonderful words he leaves, slipping into the doctor's lounge at the end of the hall.

Sighing, I pull my phone out of my jacket, and heed the doctor's advice. Erin could use some alone time with him anyway.

…

"Is he gonna be alright?" Ruzek's voice carries a heavy note of worry in it that dances with fear. I'm at the precinct informing the team of what happened. Everyone's back, working on paperwork or chasing down new leads.

"Erin's still at the hospital but when I left they said he was starting to respond better to the treatment."

"Will?"

"He knows. Pretty freaked out and guilt tripping himself, but he's fine." The team seems to relax at this, Adam sinking back down into his chair.

"So he'll be okay?" I glance at Dawson, the only one who has yet to relax.

"Barring no complications, yes. He'll be fine in a week or so."

"Do they know anything? Like how he got it?" I shrug.

"Don't think they really went that far. Rhodes just seemed pretty happy he was still alive to be honest. It was close." Dawson just stares at me, deflated.

"That doesn't help, Al."

"My bad." He mutters something in Spanish that suspiciously sounds like a string of curses while I resituate myself at my desk.

"Well. There's something get to learn from this experience."

"Yeah? And what's that." I mutter, half heartedly browsing through all the paperwork and reports I need to get done. Adam grins cheekily over the mound of files and dividers that separate our desks.

"Whenever Jay doesn't show up for work, we'll know he's either dead, dying, or kidnapped."

Hehe you damn right he is. Sorry the ending is mad shitty but honestly I'm tired of making all my one shots thirteen thousand words long. Really. It takes me such a long time to get them out. And editing them is hell.

Hope you enjoyed! Leave a review on your way out if you want :)