Ho boy. This is going to be rough. Me doing fluff instead of action and whump?! Two chapters in a row?! ANARCHY!

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, sexual abuse, self harm, and depression.

Reykjavik- Brolin

Mouse's P.O.V.

"He was fifteen?!"

"Ya- no, no wait a sec. No this was before V, so he had to have been….uh...almost twelve." Erin nearly spits out her food in shock. Her wide eyes snap to me, maybe the second time in the last hour they haven't been glued to the hospital bed.

"Jesus." She whispers, leaning back into her chair and letting her dull brown orbs drift back to Jay. He looks so much better than he did with the tube down his throat, and even better now that he no longer needs the oxygen mask. If I look hard enough, I can even imagine that color has come back to his cheeks.

The doctor had said it was going to take a while. Oh excuse me, Rhodes. I'm on a first name basis with almost all the staff here. Especially Sharon Goodwin, which is funny, since normally I couldn't charm a goldfish, (sucks coming back from war doesn't it?) yet somehow I've managed to become close friends with the director of the hospital. She and Connor have personally walked me through every step, every procedure and every risk that came with them. They explained the infections, the signs of complications, led poisoning, delayed symptoms-everything.

I feel like I should have an honorary medical degree. Or maybe an appointment with Dr. Charles. Considering the first time they tried to make me leave I was literally a word away from stabbing medical personal.

"I'm not leaving him! You understand me?! I don't care if I have to shove a knife through my abdomen so I can be in the bed next to him! I'm NOT leaving!"

"Mr. Gr-"

"No! Shut up! You have no idea, no goddamn idea what he's been through. He doesn't deserve to be alone!" My hand tightens around the knife in my pocket. The one I will never go outside without, becuase its the last piece of my old life I can carry and because maybe I'm not quite past my PTSD.

I will use it. I will. If it keeps me from having to leave him, I will kill.

"He's not going to be alone sir-"

"Enough." The single word stops everything, the room silenced by the authority of the voice.

"Your Mouse?" My eyes flicker from the lady in front of me to the body lying prone under hospital sheets. I can't leave him. He can't defend himself and if some one came back to finish the job...no. I refuse.

"I'm...yeah." My line of sight moves back too the woman in front of me. I swallow as I meet her gaze, recognizing the same steel that is visible in Voights eye and in the eye of every soldier who'd seen combat. The one that comes from pain and loss and pure strength.

Jay has is too.

"I'm not leaving." Her head dips to look at her shoes for a second and she takes a deep breath, looking completely done at this point.

"Mr. Gerwitz, my name is Sharon Goodwin, I run things here at Chicago Med. The hospital's visiting hours are from nine AM to nine PM. It is well past that time. Transportation can be arranged-" My fingers tighten on the knife, eyes flicking around the room to asses the people who would be most of an issue for me.

"...although some of your team is still here if you need-"

"Mrs. Goodwin." My voice is impossible calm and immeasurably strong for my position. I am exhausted, an emotional wreck, and mentally strung out. Jay was shot, could never walk again, could never wake up, and this lady is trying to make me leave his side.

"Yes?"

"Jay Halstead is not just some patient."

"I never-"

"He's my brother. Do you understand that?! He is dying and you are trying to stop me from being with him."

"Sir-"

"THAT IS MY BROTHER!" I am screaming, I am sobbing, and I don't care anymore, I don't, because while he is here he is not, while he is alive, he may not be for long and I can't deal with that.

"HE'S ALL I HAVE LEFT!" My breath catches suddenly, and I gasp for air.

"Please...I can't...I won't…" Mrs. Goodwin's eyes have gone through a volley of emotions, but now they are dark and cold. I am ready to fight my way out of this, I have the plan in my head, my finger on the cool metal switch that will flick out the blade.

"Get Mr. Gerwitz a chair." Her voice seems as hard as her eyes.

"It's going to be a long night."

"Mouse?"

"Hmm?" I blink suddenly, my eyes burning slightly, though from memory or dryness I don't know. I move to look at Lindsay, forcing myself to look away from Halsteads prone body. I busy myself with adjusting my plate on my knees, catching my breakfast before it slides to the floor.

"This is really good." Erin gives me a flat look, probably because I talked with a mouth full of crepe and strawberry, but for a millisecond the action reverted her back to her old self, which counts as an accomplishment. That's been my goal lately, making sure Erin remember it's Jay lying in the hospital not her. Not that she'd forget something like that, but I made a promise to Jay long ago, that if something ever happened to him I would look out for Erin because she definitely wouldn't be looking out for herself.

Her smirk fades.

"When did he…"

"Find Will?" She nods. I shrug.

"Dunno. I think he was ten or so when he met his mother. Now that was a tear fest."

"I thought you weren't there."

"Oh I wasn't. But it was very hard listening to the story. I guess his mother saw the scar on his neck and said his name and he barely recognized her and then the next thing you know they're both bawling their eyes out next to the cheerios in a Walmart."

"Wow."

"Yeah. I felt like a teenage girl watching The Notebook while on her period when I heard it." This earns another half hearted smirk, one that doesn't reach her eyes. Her face has lite up more than once in the past couple of days, but her smiles never take away that fog that dulls her normally sharp eyes. I know only Jay can bring them back to life, can bring her back.

"So, uh…" She swallows hard, like she's forcing down the emotion in her voice."

"Who's V?"

I almost spit out my breakfast. I had really hoped she didn't catch that.

"Now that I can't tell you."

"Why? Because you don't know? Or because you won't?!" I catch her anger and steadily ignore it, instead staring at heart monitors attached to my friend.

"Maybe both….or maybe because it's not my story to tell." She shuts up, thank god, and instead remains focused inside her own head. Which is good because I am already dead for telling her about his past. Not even all of it either, just the easier parts, which is sad, especially if getting the shit beaten out of you by your father every day is considered the 'easy' part.

I had it coming though, saying that shit in the conference room. I was mad, I was so mad at Intelligence for not helping him, for blowing that take down to hell and almost getting each other killed.

I thought he was dead. When Erin called me, voice choked and broken, like someone had ripped out her lungs and talking required the very last of her air, exactly two options ran through my mind. Either he was dead, laying a morgue getting stitched up, or he was dying, and if I wanted to say goodbye I needed to get to the hospital like yesterday. Both my assumption were wrong of course, and once I wrapped my head around the severity of the situation, anger flowed freely through my veins.

They are his team. His 'family'. They were supposed to protect him. Care about him. Help him.

I didn't see much of any of that during the video. And then they had the audacity to act like they knew him and he somehow betrayed them by not showing off his fighting skills earlier.

I can usually control my temper, but the words just slipped out.

"You really think you know everything about Jay Halstead?"

Not a big deal for most. A huge problem for me.

See, it's not like Jay can just waltz around Chicago, completely destroying every single criminal he meets. His fighting style is so unique, so fast paced and adept; he's about as unstoppable as a lightning strike when he really tries.

The problem with being that skilled, is you make enemies. The criminals would talk to their bosses, their friends, and pretty soon he'd have well known street name. And then someone would find out his name, and then all of Intelligence would under constant threat because of him. That is something he refuses to allow to happen.

So he toned it down. Big time. He shut up about his past, made up lies when he was pressed to. Let himself get beat, just so he could quietly lick his wounds and blend in as an average cop. It kept him safe from others who might be looking for him. Because of what he is.

Because of what we did.

Erin's P.O.V.

"I...I don't know if I should tell you about that."

"Mouse, I need to know. There's a reason why we haven't seen either of his parents here. It's been four days for christ's sake, their sons been in a medical coma, and I have yet to see-"

"His mom is dead. She died of cancer while he was overseas."

That one. That one hurt. Like a full out punch to the gut. My breath had rushed from me and I can still easily recall the feeling of wanting to cry until I passed out.

Cancer. How ironic that my one and only's mother dies the same way mine did. Camille, my real mother. Not the druggie narcissist that calls herself my mom.

Except I was there to see her fall apart. Jay was off fighting a war while his mother was finding out what it felt like to die slowly and painfully. I wonder if he came home to see her last days, or if he only got leave after the notification came that she had passed. Without him.

How did I not see it? I spent so much anger and hatred to take Dr. Rible down, to stop him from killing any more woman. And the whole time Jay was holding me back, a hand on my shoulder, telling me to breath.

How did I not notice the way he barely talked? Or better yet, how is it that I always let him slip out of a conversation whenever his family came up?

Was I really too wrapped up in myself to not notice how much he struggled with it? How he still does? Jesus, he knows just about everything from my past, and I didn't know a single damn memory from his childhood?

"...but what about-"

"Erin he didn't live with his parents until he was in double digits."

"But...okay so...his dad…"

"Isn't his biological father. The man who is his father by blood created him by raping his mother. Will was only his half brother."

I was too shocked to respond to that one. To respond to most of it really, and what had come next hadn't helped me regain my tongue.

"He lived in Miami for most of his childhood, as a street rat, with a dad who not only didn't want him, but who would beat the shit out of him when he was drunk, and almost kill him when he was sober. He grew up believing that he was, by every definition of the term, a mistake."

That was when it kind of clicked.

The way I sometimes caught him staring at his body in the mirror, eyes clouded and lost, a look of self loathing and pain vividly evident on his face. How somedays it was as if he could barely get out of bed, never mind hold a full conversation. And then other days he couldn't seem to look at me, or anyone else for that matter, eyes constantly trained on the floor in the most submissive, nonthreatening way possible.

The nightmares.

Not the ones from the war. No those I can help him with. I mean the ones that end with him screaming like someone's slowly, excruciatingly, tearing his soul in two. Ones that have me up at three in the morning, holding him like a child, as he sobs into my shoulder, his pain making my own eyes water and tears to stream down my cheeks.

The ones he never remembers in the morning until someone touches him, and he flinches unconsciously like he was hit. I know Antonio and Al have caught on to it. I especially know Voight hasn't forgotten the time Ruzek poked a sleeping Halstead and almost got a shattered jaw in return. Adam definitely hasn't forgot the dark bruise that showed up not ten minutes later either.

But it doesn't happen often enough for us to really address it, because while we were suspicious, individually we attributed it to various reasons.

Or maybe it does happen more often than not, and we- I just didn't notice it.

It wouldn't be the first time I'd deluded myself into thinking something wasn't there when it was.

I wonder if they found them at some point during one of his surgeries. I imagine Dr. Charles would be coming into the picture at some point then. I know I wanted him to be when I found out.

"What the fuck is that?!"

"Erin please just let me explain!"

"Explain WHAT exactly?! Why you felt the need to drag a blade across your skin? In the place no one would ever see unless they were literally about to fuck you?!" His skin is whiter than snow, his hands are trembling as he tries to back away from me, as if the pillows behind him can shield him from my anger.

"Explain why they are on the inside of your upper thigh, so that even when you are wearing boxers I couldn't see them?!"

"Linds-"

"NO! Just...did you think I wouldn't find out?! I'm your fucking girl friend you jackass!" He seems to shrink some more, his whole body shaking now, while his breathing turns ragged.

"Erin please." Ultimately it's his voice that cuts through my fury and cools my temper. It's a soft voice, a weak one, full of fear. It's a voice that doesn't belong coming out his mouth. One that I've caused.

"How long." He doesn't answer, instead drawing his legs closer to himself.

"How long have you been cutting."

What an idiot I was. I couldn't think past the fact that he had scars to realize that they were scars. Old, fading, nearly nonexistent. Which meant they had been anything but recent. I was so blinded by anger that I didn't see how he was collapsing in on himself, on the verge of a panic attack. I just kept yelling and then, when I finally lowered my voice, I just said something to make the whole situation ten times worse.

"I don't judge you for your past!"

"Maybe because my past didn't include me thinking I was such an irrelevant piece of shit I dragged a knife across my skin like a fucking ingrate!"

I had instantly shut up. My eyes had widened as I realized what I said, but before the guilt even had a chance to set in, Jay was off the bed, across the hall and slamming the bathroom door shut with a click as he turned the lock.

Yeah, go Erin.

I spent the rest of the night outside the door, sobbing, apologizing, begging him to come out. I even offered to leave, to never come back, never talk to him again, so long as he didn't hurt himself. I had heard glass shattering, which led to me screaming at him to open the door, all while apologizing profusely between my tears. I honestly thought I was going to lose him that night and would it have been solely my fault.

The irony of it all was that Jay had been angry. He told me later how, yes, he had been out of it and afraid when I was yelling at him, but as I refused to listen, his anger broke through, and he started to defend himself when I dropped that little bomb. He went to the bathroom to calm down, maybe take a shower.

He then slipped on one of the wet towels he always leaves on the floor, smacked his head on the sink, and ended up unconscious on the floor. He broke the mirror with his hand on the way down, trying to stop his fall. So all my screaming and sobbing had been on deaf ears.

He woke up to me cradling his head in my lap and weeping into his scalp while I held cloth to one of his arms that had been cut by the glass. Although he must have heard some of my hysterics, because the first thing out of his mouth was a playful banter that let me know he was past it.

"You broke my door." He whispers in a weak voice. I sniffle, suddenly gasping for air to speak with.

"You were bleeding and unconscious."

"That was mahogany." He voice sounds of mock outrage, small and shaky, but there nevertheless.

"I'll buy you a new one. Just stay awake okay? The ambulance is almost here."

"I don't-"

"Shut up. You're going to the hospital." He blinks sluggishly, before nodding slightly. My free hand skims his face, brushing away some of the blood there. My thigh has acted as a third arm, sandwiching a hand towel to the wound on his forehead.

"M' cold." He slurs.

"No, you're in shock. There's a difference." Jay huffs in indignation, what would be an amusing gesture if he wasn't bleeding on the floor.

"Still owe me a door."

"Who the fuck has a mahogany bathroom door anyway? Especially considering the rest of your apartment barely has doors in general."

"I did work at a weed shop."

"I thought I told you to shut up." His smile lights up the room. So despite our situation, and the foot step in the hallway signalling the arrival of the paramedics, I lean over him, pressing my lips to his, an upside down kiss.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. He just blinks, already forgiving me.

"I love you." He responds.

"Erin." A hand on my shoulder tears me from my thoughts, my body jerking upright in the chair as adrenaline shoots through me, like tiny needles under my skin. I blink to clear my vision, exhaustion clouding my brain. Had I been asleep?

My eyes narrow on Mouse, whose hand covers his mouth with barely contained laughter.

"I'm going to calmly disregard the fact that you just tried to give me a heart attack and go get some more coffee." I grab my reusable cup, then stand, pulling off the lid and turning towards the door.

"Erin." I can literally hear the laughter in his voice. Gritting my teeth I spin on one heel.

"What." I grind out. There's a smile on Mouses face and his shoulders shake with silent laughter. That's when I realize he isn't looking at me rather, but instead his hands are gripping the rail at the foot of the hospital bed. And he isn't laughing to himself, no, he is laughing with someone.

Quiet green grey eyes blink up at me, cheeky laughter glinting in them through the haze of drugs. He smiles. My heart freezes.

"You hit Skinny Pancake and didn't get me any." I think my mouth opens to do something, maybe scream or sob or laugh, but I just end up moving my lips in soundless motions.

It's like someone took a vacuum and sucked all ability to form rational thoughts right from my head. I can't move. I can't breath. I can't even think.

"That's like a criminal offense."

My heart stutters, then starts beating like a bass drum, pounding in my ears, pulsing in my fingers and lighting my skin on fire. Or maybe it's his voice that elicits this reaction. It's raspy and weak from lack of use and the tube that was down his throat. But it's his voice. Jay's voice.

The smile slides off his face, replaced by a concerned frown and a furrowed brow.

"Erin? Are you okay?" A crazed laugh bursts from my mouth, sounding almost hysterical. Am I okay. He's lying in a hospital bed, three bullets holes in his back, and he's asking if I'm okay.

My mouth finally snap shut and I press a hand to it, nodding mutely. I'm okay. I'm okay. I am.

"Then why are you crying?"

It all comes in a rush. I register the wetness on my cheeks and neck just as my lungs expand, drawing in breath that I had been unable to find only seconds ago. My feet start moving forward on their own, my brain barely registering the sound of my metal coffee mug hitting the floor.

My knees make small indentations on the bed, even though I am so very careful not to jostle him as I climb on the bed. My hands find his cheeks and before the surprise can even really register on his face my lips are pressed against his, a long, deep, and passionate kiss that I use to convey every emotion, every speck of pain and affection that resides inside me. I pull back only for the need of air, but keep our lips centimeters apart, my forehead pressed to his as I gasp.

"I love you."

He's breathing as heavy as I am, but meets me a second kiss, just as tender and intense as the first. When I pull back the second time, I pull away more, giving him space. I don't leave the bed though, instead sliding down to sit next to him on the bed ( I was kind of straddling him.) I move painstakingly slow as to not hurt him. He shifts marginally as I finally come to rest besides him, but only to give me a tiny bit more room.

I rest my head on his shoulder, curling into his side. He moves, sluggishly at best, but almost as if he's being purposely cautious. Like he hasn't felt pain yet and he doesn't want to move the wrong way and touch on those sensations.

He drapes his arm around my shoulders, and I fist the flimsy nightgown covering his chest before burying my face into his collar bone. Theres the sound of a door shutting, most likely Mouse leaving.

"It's okay Erin." I nod into his shoulder, still crying but able to breath, despite my body clinging desperately to his.

"We're gonna be okay." He whispers, each word weaker than the rest as he drops back into sleep. I stay, laying next to him, snuggled close to his side. Just like when he would convince me to sleep at his place, or he at mine. Just like all those nights, where I lay alert. This is how we stayed. My body molding perfectly to meet his, our chests synchronized in their rise and fall.

And as my tears started to dry, the last few days of pure stress starting to catch up with me making my eyes droop, I know this is how we are supposed to be. Cracked but not broken, using each other to heal. Leaning on each other when we need to. It's been true for a long time now, but I guess this is how I finally figure it out.

I am him. He is me.

We are one.

Wow. I actually choked on the amount of fluff there at the end. Don't know if you noticed, but I am not very good at that kind of stuff. That said I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and perhaps things are starting to come into view a little bit more, especially concerning Jay's past.

Review?