I put this in the forward only because it's important:

To all who read Extreme Ways, I desperately need your help- I need to know what else you would like see in this story, as I am kinda of at a wall in terms of moving forward with it. SO-in a review or a pm, please leave any suggestions, as well who's P.O.V. you'd like to see next. Because I honestly have no idea.

All up to you. Thanks guys.

Warning: if mentions of someone getting sick upsets you...um, skip to Erin's P.O.V. I guess. Also swearing.

Hold On by Alabama Shakes

Jays P.O.V.

It was like waking up in the middle of a firefight you don't remember engaging in. Something was happening around me, something that told me the milky darkness I floated in was simply a curtain. However making that shroud move was a whole different kind of difficult. It was like swimming in mud, unable to tell which way was up.

Only the voices helped me, indiscernible morphing sounds with deep undertones that I recognize as friendly, but no names come to mind. That is until one particular voice pops into the cacophony of sound, a raspy tone with anger in it. I can almost imagine her eyes blazing as she glares at whomever managed to bring on the wrath of Erin Lindsay.

The tension in the room subsides, although maybe it's more like the fear that leaves the room, as the apprehension is still there. Meanwhile, I'm still wondering what fuck is happening and trying so desperately to open my eyes.

I'm not dead right? This isn't some weird way of going to the afterlife or something? I mean I can't even remember what happened. Wouldn't a person remember how they died? And someone's touching me too, that doesn't happen when you're dead.

Right?!

Soft hands caress my face, finally giving me a way to the surface. I leave the milky darkness behind for a dim, blurry hospital room. And a stressed out Erin. She says...something. My name I think, and it's said fearfully, and I'm thinking now I am the cause of her anger.

I'm vaguely aware of the other two bodies in the room, both awkwardly standing but not yet wanting to leave. Erin is still staring at me, her hands holding my face, making me feel a scruff that has grown there.

"'M ok?" My tongue still has that heavy weight on it, making any words slurred and distorted. And that whole thought to word process in my brain seems completely disconnected so it's like any intelligent talk I planned on doing has flown out the window.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're okay. Do you remember what happened?" I shake my head 'no', not even beginning to really understanding all the signals coming from my body.

Still, there's something I'm missing, something in my brain that screams to be addressed.

"You 'k?" Erin nods, her curls bouncing with the intensity of it.

"Yeah Jay, I'm fine, everyone's okay." She bushes a hand through my hair, making me lean into the comforting touch. "It's you we're worried about." A frown, that thing still nagging me to address it. It's like two things actually. One from memory the other from my body.

"N't g'd." I slur out, huffing in annoyance at my inability to form simple words. Lindsay too, notices, but her brow furrows in worry, rather than anger.

"What?"

"N-not g-good." I mumble, the words sticking to my lips. A flash of panic shows in her eyes and I just don't know why. She gently places a hand on my forehead. It's cold and feels nice.

"Jay...are you...can you…" She pauses, clearly trying to figure how to word her sentence.

"Is it hard to talk?" She finally settles on the question, hitting the problem right on the mark. I nod, a whimper stuck in my throat. That black curtain has started to creep back into my vision but there's still that thing, that important thing I need to tell them. What was it again?

Erin turns her head to say something to the two blobs behind her that I think might be Alvin and Ruzek. They disappear outside my vision.

"'Rin." The hands are back, running through my hair and gently rubbing circles on my cheek.

"I'm right here Jay, I'm right here." She sounds close to crying. I don't want her to cry, but I'm tired I'm so tired and this feeling in me is getting worse.

"D'nt feel good." I moan, managing to roll my head away from her because really I'm going to puke and I don't want to do it on her. The hands stop and then my body and propelling me upright as I'm throwing up on myself but I can't stop heaving and it hurts, it hurts so bad. I'm basically sobbing and puking then sobbing harder because of the pain which then makes me puke more.

At some point I run out of stomach contents, but my throat still constricts with dry heaves that feel like someone stabbing burning needles into my internal organs. I cry out and there's someone yelling, telling someone else to do something, anything, because he's in pain and I think they're talking about me.

That black curtain seems to expand from my eyes and enfolds my entire body. I can just feel hands on my back, some holding my head as I let it drop forward. They gently lay me back into this soft cloud thing behind me, and then it's like a blessing from a higher being as I fall asleep.

Erin's P.O.V.

"What the fuck was that?!"

"Erin-"

"No! You said he was okay! That-" I shoot a finger towards the room.

"-is not okay!" My chest is heaving, anger just barely masking my fear. Im so close to crying, to breaking down right here, because It's all crashing back to me, how close that first bullet was, the car accident, our freak decision to stop the team from witnessing a massacre and then...Voight saying he should go back…and then finding him in all that blood...

Oh god I'm losing him…

He was supposed to be okay. He was awake and he was talking even if he didn't remember what happened. But then...it was like talking to a little kid who was sick. He couldn't talk normally, which could have been an effect of the drugs except then he started getting sick. Jay sat up so fast I barely had time to move out of the way.

As doctors and nurses rushed in after hearing my yells, he started puking up blood. They pushed me out of the way where I was caught by Alvin who had to drag me from the room. I was yelling, screaming, begging them to do something. He was in pain, in so much pain. I could tell by the sobs wracking his body, the tears streaming down his face and the absolutely heart breaking cries of pain he emitted against his will.

They had promptly sedated him, gloved hands laying him back against the pillows while others pull away the soiled blankets and his gown that's covered in gunk. As we were pushed out I catch a glimpse of his chest, red seeping through the white bandages there.

"Listen, we're going to take him back down to the O.R. I'm pretty sure we know what's causing it."

"Pretty sure?!" I hiss, hand itching to slap the look of the doctor's face. The one that says 'I know more than you just calm down.' The expression changes to one of uncertainty and then finally he speaks.

"One of the bullets fragmented into multiple pieces. Some of These pieces pierced veins and traveled through the bloodstream until they got lodged in other areas. This created a lot of internal bleeding, which is why the first surgery took so long. Unfortunately, one of those pieces got lodged in the aorta. We couldn't touch it."

My knuckles actually crack, my fists are so tight.

"So let me understand this." I snarl. "You thought it would be a good idea to leave a jagged piece of metal two inches away from his heart."

"Detective he wasn't strong enough to-"

I have never slapped someone so hard before, and I doubt I ever will again, but my hand actually leaves a red mark on his cheek. I hope it bruises.

"Don't ever say that again! That man is the strongest patient you will ever have the privilege to work on! So don't you dare tell me that he isn't strong enough!" With that I'm just about crying, so I shoulder past the shocked doctor and the wide eyed faces of the team and rush for the stairs.

"Erin!" Strong hands grab my shoulders, stopping me at the end of the hallway. I try to twist away, my diaphragm already starting to spasm. I need to get away, to get some place where I can be alone to sob my eyes out or scream or punch something or just do anything to get ride of all this horrible emotion in me. But as I'm tugged close to his chest, I can't hold it back anymore.

Hank stands with his arms around me as I sob into his shoulder, trying desperately to stop while not wanting to at all.

"I'm losing him!" I sob, making Voights arms tighten around me.

"You not losing him Linds. Neither are we. Halstead isn't going anywhere." His hands gently peel me off his jacket, making me look at him. I stand there, staring at the man whom I can call my father, sniffling pathetically as pushes some of my messy hair from my face.

"Come on kid, you really think Jay has the balls to leave you? He knows you'd kick his ass." A shirt bark of laughter bursts from me at the statement. He pulls me back in for another hug.

"He's going to be fine, Erin. You need to believe that." I pull away, nodding and dragging a hand underneath my nose and sniffling loudly.

"Listen, I know you're eager to get back over there…" Not really. I think with raise of my eyebrows.

"...but I need you to know something." My eyes narrow, remembering the conversation we had in his office.

"I don't make mistakes often. And when I do, I have a hard time admitting them. But what I said to you and to Jay was wrong. I was out of line."

"You know it's not me you should be apologizing to."

"And I'll apologize to him too! But it's pretty clear you care for him, and what I said hurt you too. I don't want him to go back, not now, not ever. You gotta understand Linds it just…"

"Happened." I finish his sentence, clearly seeing how much he was struggling to get this out. I know Voight, and when it comes to apologies, he gets more lost than a guy in a Victoria's Secret. He nods, relieved.

"So then you understand why me and Jay didn't let you in that vault." He pauses at my sly tone, weighing his words.

"Not quite. Everyone's seen some pretty gross stuff I mean-"

"Voight that wasn't just gross it was disturbing. The crime scene photos didn't do it justice. Maybe it was adrenaline and nerves, but we didn't want you to see that. I basically had a panic attack after seeing it. Yes I understand that we probably handled it wrong but...we didn't want that on anyone else. Especially not the team we care about." Understanding passes through his eyes and when he nods I know we are back to even.

Or so I think.

"Then what was that whole 'trust' thing?" Anger instantly surges in me again, evident in my sharp retort.

"I don't know, what with the whole 'take five minutes to answer' thing?"

"He surprised me."

"Right, so that's your excuse for actually having to think about it."

"It wasn't something I think about ever day."

"Bullshit, you thought about every time you saw me and him together. Every time we walked out to go check out a lead you had that face, that look of judgment as you tried to figure out if I'd be safe with him backing me up! And yeah, eventually that look faded, because through everything we went through you actually started to know him, and then after Terri I thought you two were okay."

"Erin I-"

"No, I'm not done. The best part? He said 'us'. Not 'me.' Us. Even if you still didn't trust him, you had to think about trusting me?!"

"Erin!"

"What?!"

"When I say I was surprised, I meant it! We had just been shot at, Dawson had almost died, you two were in a car accident that should have killed you both and then we get wind of a crime scene that you two won't let us see and suddenly I have to scramble to try and understand how trusting you two has anything to do with anything! I was slightly caught of guard!" The last part is said extremely sarcastically, though I barely catch it, too caught up on the first part of his rant.

"Dawson was...what?!"

"A bullet went through the window, hit him in the vest." He sighs.

"Why didn't I know this?!"

"You were preoccupied. And he's fine." I swallow hard, trying to understand how I was so oblivious to everything but Jay Halstead that I didn't know Antonio had been hit.

Damn it I need sleep.

…

"How'd it go?!" Alvin raises his hands, silently asking me to slow down.

"In the nurse's words 'I don't know how, but he's alive and not in a coma.'"

"Jesus." I mutter, breathing out heavily. They had taken Jay down to surgery while me and Voight were talking, nearly two hours ago. Thier goal was to remove the fragment, which they deduced had somehow passed through the heart without killing him, then went to the lungs to do some damage. Hence the puking blood episode.

However, as Ruzek had informed me because everyone else didn't want to, they didn't think he had a chance. Me and mouse had sat for about five minutes before deciding the waiting room was just too confining. Instead we had walked around every available inch of space in the hospital that was available to the public.

We had returned only after receiving a text from Dawson, and the cryptic message sent us jogging down the halls to get the news.

"He's back on the ventilator, this time they plan on keeping him under for longer to give his body a chance to rest." I nod, remaining optimistic, telling myself that it's good, because this way I can go home, and shower and lay in my bed staring my ceiling trying to sleep. And Jay can rest. Get better. Be okay.

Be able to walk.

One of the many things I've had to deal with, but was put on the back burner, was Halsteads spine. The bullets didn't go through his back clean, and everyone is quite aware of the possibility that Jay might be wheelchair bound for the duration of his life. It's a weird concept for everyone I think, because we just can't imagine a Jay who isn't moving. At least I can't. I used to get on him about it. In the ar he'd be tapping his foot or drumming his fingers and a lot of the time it'd be both and he wouldn't realize he'd be doing it. In the bullpen he'd do something with his pen and on stakeouts?! Jesus, you had to watch him more than the object of observation otherwise you turn around and he's hanging from the ceiling or something. (True story.)

But to never move like that again? Never run ahead of me chasing a subject, never walk with me up the bullpen stairs, never carry me to the bedroom again. How could he live like that? Hell how would he even cope with that?!

Part of me knows the answer: he wouldn't. Jay wouldn't be able to move on from it. I mean for him to not be a cop...I don't know. I can't even think right now. I'm just going to focus on getting home in one piece.

I'm doing this new thing Mouse told me he does whenever Jays gets in trouble: take a deep breathe and calm the fuck down. See when we were walking, he shared his 'wisdoms' with me. Like how he tries his best to not focus on things in the future, or the 'what if's, especially when there are bigger problems to deal with. For example, Jays condition. As he told me, yes, it's tough, but the sheer fact Jay is alive is something pretty amazing. He was breathing on his own, he was conscious, and he remembered who he was and who I am.

Progress. Plus sides. Optimistic viewpoints.

"You hafta remember, this is Jay we're talking about. The guy once held a grudge for two years over a hockey game, he's way too fucking stubborn to die. Hell, there's been times I believe he's forced his body to survive by sheer will. Nothing else just- 'fuck you logic, heart you will keep pumping and lungs you will keep expanding or so help me I will take my hands, reach down my throat, and do it for you.'"

That was the point where Mouse got me to laugh. It was weird and foreign, like I was saying a new word for the first time. But it was still a laugh, and I made a mental note to hang out with the guy more often, he clearly has experience in the emotionally distressed area. That...and well, he's almost like Jay in some ways.

Needless to say, both of them were pressed on my mind as the city lights flashed in the passenger side window. Alvin volunteered to drive me home. I was thankful, knowing he wouldn't press me to talk, especially after I made it clear I didn't want to. Albeit it was also like three in the morning at this point, so we were both pretty exhausted. The rest of the team was leaving the hospital as well, save for Mouse and Voight. The latter told me he'd call if anything changed, which subtly let me know that staying was his way of working out his guilt, not only for Halstead getting shot, but for most of the day's events.

Mouse on the other hand, I knew was staying because it was the only was he would stay sane. Which I completely understand. The only difference being, I was craving a long shower and the left side of my bed still smelled like Jays cologne. Plus, some of the thinking I had to do involved Mouse and I didn't have the mental barriers to not ask my questions out loud to man.

So, as I stood fumbling with my keys, the huge ball of worry and anxiety was still bouncing around inside me, except now the pain was less pronounced. I suppose I had just gotten used to it, or maybe I had accepted the fact that at this point either he was going to get better and be fine, or he was going to die. The second option simply felt ludicrous, especially considering the fact that he shouldn't have made it this far, and by doing so, there is no way he's going to just give up now.

Like Mouse said. He's a stubborn smartass. But as I flop into my bed, still damp from my shower and half dressed in his Rangers T shirt, I am able to inhale his scent and give a small smile. He's my stubborn smartass. And he'll be okay. He has to be. It's impossible for him not to be.

Besides, when he wakes up, he has some explaining to do. Not just to me but to the team as well. Like where and when he learned to how to fight like that. And why someone would decide to sneak into his hospital room just to say hi, then have the skill to disappear off a two story roof afterwards. Or better yet, if he isn't being recalled to the Rangers, what the hell was in that letter that he was so scared off.

Groaning, I turn over in bed, staring at my phone on the nightstand and willing it to light up with Mouses number so I can chew him out. He obviously knows something. Especially from that 'You think you know everything about Jay?' line he threw out there in the conference room. I can almost picture myself cornering him in Halsteads room while Jay's asleep, asking him in a snarky voice: "Care to explain that one?"

Unfortunately, I feel like I won't ever get the chance. Probably because if we were in his room I'd be sitting there staring at Jay, going through the process of freaking out and calming down repeatedly in my head. But, another thing Mouse told me, is that you never get use to what it feels like knowing Jay is hurt.

Of course after he said that I told him he should have been a psychiatrist, to which I got the victory of making him laugh. We're one for one.

The clock blinks at me, mocking my overactive brain with its neon sign. I've been laying here for almost a half hour and it's felt like a lifetime. Sighing, I curl into a ball, stuffing my face into Jays pillow.

It's gonna be a long night.

Well...I mean it's an update right? Right?

I'm so sorry for making you read that. But A reviewer made a good point. Erin's mental state needed to be addressed. Plus, depending on what people want (COUGH COUGH REVIEW) depends on whether Jay wakes up next chapter or we see Jay in the hospital from other people's point of view. I.E. Alvin or Antonio or...whoever you people want.

Like peasant asking for food, I never stop begging-REVIEWS? ANYONE SPARE A MOMENT? GIVE A POOR GIRL SOME REVIEWS?

P.s. (give me a shout you Extreme Ways readers…)