Chicago Med fic: Suckerpunched (7/10)
Dec. 23rd, 2021 04:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
faye_dartmouthPART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
Somehow, despite the fact that Jay was a man of action, he found himself unable to move. They might call it irony. They might just call it shock.
Jay didn’t know what to call it except his brother was in surgery to remove more of his skull. It was a last ditch effort to save his life.
With that perspective, nothing else really mattered. Every time Jay thought about something he should do, he was greeted with the same, bleak reality. If Will died, what did it matter?
What did any of it even mean?
Hailey still wasn’t back from lunch, and Jay’s ass was numb from sitting hunched forward in the chair. He had stared at the same form for nearly ten minutes now, not having filled out anything except Will’s name and birthdate at the top.
He couldn’t get it out of his mind. The sound of the monitors; the bustle of the room.
And the utter stillness in his brother’s body, the laxness of his face.
Will hadn’t even known.
Live or die, Will had no idea.
Was Will fighting for his life? Or was this all just happening to him? Was Jay trying to save his brother, or was this like his dad all over again? Was he clinging hard to hope for his own sake -- and not for Will’s?
Was Will gone?
Had Will been gone since the second the punch was thrown?
“Detective Halstead?”
Jay looked up, momentarily startled. He had to force his eyes to focus, but that did nothing to jumpstart his brain. For a moment, he sat there, staring blankly at the large figure in front of him. He knew the guy, but his mind was blank at the moment.
Everything just felt blank.
He was blank.
The man smiled, taking Jay’s silence as an invitation to approach. “I’m Dr. Charles,” he said. “Head of Psychiatry.”
Jay balked, almost despite himself. “All of Will’s problems, and I wish they could be fixed by a shrink for once.”
Dr. Charles smiled lightly, even though they both couldn’t say that the joke was actually funny. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Jay glanced at the vacant seat, moderately indifferent. He’d almost forgotten that it was there.
Dr. Charles sat down anyway. He sighed. “I’m not actually here in an official capacity,” he said. “Will and I are friends. It’s just been terrible what’s happened, and I totally understand if you want your space, but I just wanted to show my support -- to you, to Will.”
Jay was sure there was a nice sentiment in there, but he couldn’t bring himself to make sense of it. He stared back at the half finished pile of paperwork. “Do they have this many forms for every surgery?” he asked, flipping through them absently once more.
Dr. Charles winced sympathetically. “It is a lot,” he said. “I’ve lobbied for less paperwork for years -- it stresses patients out -- but those damn hospital lawyers are adamant. Liability and whatnot.”
Jay smirked humorlessly as he put the papers aside. “They’ve got one in there about the measures Will would want to have taken,” he said. “They want me to make a list of appropriate interventions. I mean, I haven’t signed crap like that since my mom went into hospice.”
“They just want to be sure they’re respecting Will’s wishes,” Dr. Charles said, as if that somehow explained it -- or, more laughably, made things better.
He looked at the psychiatrist, shaking his head. “I just hadn’t let myself think about it. That we might be at that point.”
The point of no return. The point where his brother may be too far gone. The point where a beating heart was actually the cruelest fate.
Dr. Charles looked thoughtful. “Unfortunately, head injuries are especially difficult to predict,” he said. “But I know Dr. Abrams. He wouldn’t do the second surgery if he wasn’t sure there was a good reason to think it might work.”
“What? Remove more of his skull?” Jay said bitterly. “I mean, we’re going to pretend like he’s going to just come back from that? That everything’s going to be okay?”
He groaned, dropping his head down and rubbing his face tiredly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have okayed the surgery,” he said. “Will would never want to be kept alive on machines. And if Will’s not Will -- if he can’t do what he does now -- he’d hate that, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t want that.”
He looked up, almost bereft at the thought. The idea that he could be holding onto his brother for his own reasons -- and not for Will’s benefit. If Will couldn’t be a doctor anymore -- if he was reduced to needing constant care -- it wasn’t unthinkable.
“I can’t tell you for sure what decisions you should or should not make,” Dr. Charles said. “But Will understands better than most that brain injuries are funny. They can surprise you. It’s the finest line that separates brain death from full recovery.”
“But is full recovery really possible?” Jay asked. “They’re doing a second -- what is it called?”
“Decompressive craniotomy,” Dr. Charles provided. “And yes, it seems extreme, but it has worked very well in many, many cases.”
“And how many hasn’t it worked in?” Jay asked, a little sharper now. He pointed to the door. “What if I sent my brother to suffer through another surgery when he’s not going to be able to tie his own shoelaces, much less diagnose a patient?”
Dr. Charles seemed to lean back, as if sensing how precarious Jay’s mental state was becoming. And, to be fair, it was very precarious. He was being asked about signing a DNR and letting his brother die, so he wasn’t just on the edge. He was hanging from the damn cliff with nothing but his fingertips.
“That’s why I say they’re funny injuries,” Dr. Charles said. He gestured up to his own head with a little shrug. “Let’s say the surgery works. Let’s say that Will’s intracranial pressure goes down. Let’s say he regains brain function and wakes up. At first, it’s true, he might have some deficits. He might not remember everything. He might struggle with coordination or speech -- honestly, just lots of things. There is very likely to be different forms of physical and occupational therapy involved.”
Jay’s stomach roiled. He had to swallow back a swell of nausea.
Dr. Charles continued, though. “The point is the brain is remarkably good at recovering from trauma -- especially for someone in Will’s age and general health,” he said. “It’s likely that he’s not going to come back to work next month. But in six months? I mean, I think the odds are still decent if this goes well.”
The odds.
Jay had always watched the odds whittle away. When his mother was first diagnosed -- stage two breast cancer -- the odds had been good. Then, it had been aggressive. It hadn’t responded as well as they’d hoped. She was stage three -- and the odds had still been worth fighting for. And she had fought, until the damn thing became stage four, and they had to wait for her to die.
Her dad had defied the odds at first. Surviving a quadruple bypass -- and for what? To get smoke inhalation? And to crash? Brain death. A thousand to one had been the final delineation, and they had pulled the plug and watched him die.
It didn’t matter how they started. The odds always ended up the same for the Halsteads.
And now he was counting on the odds?
That Will would survive this?
“Look, Detective--”
“You can call me Jay,” he interjected warily, slumping back in his chair again.
“Jay,” Dr. Charles said. “I know there’s nothing that I can really say right now that’s going to help what you’re going through. I’m not here to burden you or make you contend with things you’re not ready to deal with.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked. It was cruel; it wasn’t unkind. But it was an unvarnished question.
And Dr. Charles seemed ready to provide an equally truthful answer. “Because I care about Will,” he said. “And there’s nothing I can do for him. But he cares about you -- a lot -- so if I can be here for you in anyway -- to talk, to listen, just so you don’t have to be alone -- that’s why I’m here. If you need anything, anything at all.”
The man’s sincerity was obvious, and Jay didn’t take it lightly. But he didn’t know how to take it at all. Because there was just one thing he needed.
One thing he wasn’t sure he was going to get.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just need Will to wake up. I just need him to get through this. I just need my brother.”
“Yeah, I understand that,” Dr. Charles said. “And if I could do any of that for you, I would -- in an instant. All the same. If you need anything -- even something silly like a change of clothes or a hot meal -- I’m here. Honestly, the whole hospital’s here.”
It wasn’t enough, of course -- but nothing would be enough.
All the same, it was heartening. Will had struggled with feeling like he deserved a place at Med after the mistakes he’d made. It would mean a lot to him to know they were rallying behind him. “Thanks,” Jay said. His demeanor softened, and he almost smiled. “I know that would mean a lot to Will.”
“Of course. You’re Will’s family,” Dr. Charles said. “And Will’s our family.”
“That was a huge part of why Will stayed after everything,” Jay said. “Even after he got offered his job back, he thought about leaving, making a fresh start. But being in Chicago -- being at Med -- that was what Will wanted. More than anything.”
“He’s said similar things to me,” Dr. Charles said. “And anyone who works with Will could see it. He’s always been a very good doctor in terms of his diagnostic ability, but his time on probation has really helped him focus on the other side of the profession. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been so impressive to watch him rebound after everything that’s happened in the last year. His entire attitude, his level of collegial respect, his use of sound medical ethics -- it’s really been a complete turnaround.”
“Yeah, well, Will can be an idiot, but he knew he screwed up this time -- in a big way,” Jay said. “He didn’t take any of it for granted, getting his job back. He was pushing himself for this. Like he had to prove himself.”
At that, Dr. Charles sat back. He looked pensive once more. “He has been trying to prove himself. That’s a really good assessment. I hadn’t even thought of it like that,” he said. Then, he wrinkled his nose. “So that just makes this all weird, doesn’t it?”
That wasn’t the description Jay would have used, given the current set of circumstances. “Weird?”
“Yes, how this happened. The fight,” Dr. Charles said. “No one seems to know the full story, but I can’t fathom it at all. Will has been so much better lately. Working harder, staying focused, keeping himself on track.”
“Yeah,” Jay said slowly, not sure what the psychiatrist was saying just yet. “I know that.”
“And I’ve been a part of his review team,” Dr. Charles said. “I mean, he’s hitting it out of the park, to put it simply. The review team had just recommended to Ms. Goodwin this week to take Will off probation and restore his full status.”
It was Jay’s turn to wrinkle his nose. He was too tired, too spent, too everything. “So what are you saying, then?”
“That it seems weird,” Dr. Charles said, letting the emphasis fall on the word more clearly now. “That Will would get into a fight after showing absolutely no signs of professional discontent or a lack of control. I’m pretty good at seeing when someone is faking it. Will wasn’t faking any of this. Which makes this whole thing very hard to understand. It’s weird.”
Jay went still, going a little bit stiff as his eyes narrowed. The man looked like an overgrown teddy bear, but there was something quite telling in his disposition. He wasn’t a pushover. He was anything but. He wasn’t the kind who would give someone a free pass, and his assessment of Will seemed spot on.
Which meant his assessment of the situation--
Well, what did that mean?
“And you think you have to tell me that?” Jay asked, cautious and careful.
Dr. Charles was equally careful, but not nearly as cautious. “Frankly, yes. I think I do.”
Jay was out of his element; his cop senses had been dulled by a lack of sleep and an overwhelming amount of stress. He needed to clarify, even if explicitly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Soft and careful, Dr. Charles still wasn’t pulling his punches. He held Jay’s gaze, sure and steady. “The only thing we’re basing this incident off of is Dr. Archer’s version of the events. With any thorough investigation of an altercation on staff, it’s helpful to know more, not less. That’s what I’m saying.”
“And how might I do that?” Jay asked. “Shouldn’t staff issues be handled internally? By the boss?”
Dr. Charles made a little frown as he nodded. “Yes, they should,” he said. “But in the absence of action, outside information certainly isn’t going to be rebuked.”
“What about Goodwin?” Jay asked. “I mean, I’ve been asking around, getting the details I can to make sense of this, but if this is a staff issue--”
Dr. Charles was still nodded, eyes narrowing somewhat. “Everyone has their blind spots, Detective. So, like I said, a little outside perspective -- well, it can’t hurt.”
Jay wasn’t sure what to make of that. By all accounts, Charles and Goodwin went way back. Will was back in surgery, and there were no witnesses. To say that he didn’t know what to do was an understatement.
“Anyway,” Dr, Charles said, easing back with a small, benign sort of smile. “If you need anything -- at all -- you know where to find me. I’m really pulling for the best outcome in this one. Sincerely.”
A hospital full of people who sincerely loved Will.
And all it took was one asshole to throw one punch.
Jay closed his eyes. “I can’t do these forms now,” he said as he opened them again.
“Then don’t,” Dr. Charles said. “I’m pretty sure they’ll finish the surgery no matter when you sign them.”
“Can you take me there?” Jay asked. “To the waiting room? I want to be closer, you know? In case….”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
Dr. Charles smiled kindly. “Of course,” he said, clamoring back to his feet. “Let’s go.
Jay got up, having no willpower to do anything more than follow.
-o-
Dr. Charles took him to the waiting room, going so far as to find a private room off the main area. It was close enough to see the doctors coming and going, but it allowed him privacy. Everyone seemed to think it mattered, as if Jay might not want the world to see him dealing with this.
Or, maybe it was preemptive.
If Will died, this way, he could fall apart without the whole world seeing him.
Either way, Jay took the room for what it was: the only comfort they could offer him for the time being. Dr. Charles offered to stay, but Jay declined. He promised to tell the nurse where he was so surgical updates could be provided. Jay thanked the man blandly, sitting down in one of the chairs and doing his best not to think too hard about Will’s open brain on the operating table.
How much skull would they take?
How long would his brain be exposed?
How much damage had already been done?
Maybe Jay should have stayed with the forms. Mindlessness might have been the better option.
As it was, he couldn’t bring himself to move, and he was more than a little relieved when Hailey showed up a short time later. She was carrying a bag of carryout, looking flustered as she came in. “I looked for you in Will’s room,” she said, a little out of breath. Her eyes were wide as she approached. “They said he was in surgery. How is he in surgery?”
The questions were fast and targeted. Her anxiety was at its breaking point, but Jay’s had been muted in his shock. “His pressure,” he explained. “In his brain. It got worse?”
She put the bag down between them on the table, the food all but forgotten as she sat down. “It got worse?” she asked, her voice almost breaking. “And the surgery is--?”
“They’re taking more of his skull,” Jay said, looking at her with a steadiness he didn’t feel. His eyes pricked, and his chest ached. “They’re going to evacuate the blood, try to give the brain more swelling. I don’t know. It’s bad, though. It’s really bad.”
She sat back soberly at the plainness of his grim assessment. Her shoulders fell, and she breathed a curse. “I’m sorry, Jay. I’m so, so sorry.”
He nodded, but he just felt numb now. He was shaking a little, just on the verge of composure.
Jay was numb.
Hailey was sorry.
And Will was in surgery.
All the reminders Jay didn’t need that things could always get worse.
-o-
This time, they waited in silence. There was no small talk to pass the time. There were no meandering conversations about nothing. There were no magazines to flip through. Jay sat, staring at the wall in front of him, oblivious to the passage of time. He could feel his own heart beating with a surreal clarity, and Hailey sat in the chair next to him, poised in a steady silence he could neither explain or justified. It grounded him, though.
With the rest of his life up in the air, it was the only thing left to ground him.
It could have been seconds. It could have been hours. It didn’t matter, really. Time existed in its own dimension here. Separate from the outside world. Vaguely, he thought of his team back at work, going about business like normal. He thought of all the people in this hospital, Will’s friends and colleagues who spared him a second of their thought and concern before getting back to treating patients.
Somewhere in Seattle, Natalie was rebuilding her life. She had no idea; just going about her day.
Jay wondered if he should call her. He might -- later. When there was something to tell her. Some kind of definitive diagnosis.
That Will was going to be okay.
That she needed to come back for a funeral.
Jay shook his head, and forced himself to swallow it all back. He inhaled, trying to pull the emotions back together, dragging his wayward thoughts from the brink. Time had no meaning, maybe, but he still did. And so did Will.
Because Will was still alive.
He needed that to count for something. It was all he had.
Will was still alive.
-o-
In the lapses of silence, Hailey was a steady presence. That was good. Jay had never felt more erratic in his life. One second, he was solemn. The next, the anxiety had him nearly crawling out of his skin. Numbed silence, fidgeting desperation: when it got to be too much, he thought about punching the wall just for fun.
Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and tried to remember how to breathe. When he looked up, Hailey was watching him. She was worried, which was funny. She was worried about him when Will was the one in an operating room with his skull open.
That whole breathing thing still wasn’t working out as well as Jay had hoped.
It almost made him want to laugh.
Or cry.
At this point, it kind of felt like the same thing.
Choking on it, he croaked, shaking his head. “Will’s not going to have any hair left.”
It was a random thought, but once it crossed his mind, he couldn’t let it go. If they were removing parts of the skull, then they were removing everything. Jay had always known that, but the implications had struck him just now.
Hailey stared at him for a moment, poised on the edge of a thought. “What?”
Jay sat up, gesturing up to his own head. “When they cut open his skull, you know,” he said. “They’re going to have to shave his hair. More of his hair. I don’t know how much they’re taking, but he’s not going to have much hair left.”
It was irrational, and Jay knew it. The problem wasn’t Will’s hair, of course. The problem was the missing chunks of his skull and the swelling of his brain. The hair wasn’t the relevant detail, but he tried to imagine Will waking up and seeing his buzzed head. He’d hate it.
“Oh,” Hailey said, and she took a slow second to collect herself. “Well, it’ll grow back.”
But Jay shook his head, adamant now. That wasn’t the point. Even if it wasn’t, it wasn’t the point he could deal with right now. “But he’ll hate it,” he said, almost imploring her to understand.
She had to understand, even if it didn’t make sense.
Because to think about Will’s skull being gone with his brain exposed -- that was too much. That was life and death, and the stakes were too high.
But the hair. Will’s hair. That was immediately. That was a problem that could be fixed.
Will would never know, after all. If he died, if the surgery didn’t work -- Will would never know.
But if he lived, he’d know about the hair. He’d care about the hair. He had to think about it. He had to think how hard it would be, how horrible Will would take it. Because Jay would bury a brother with his skull missing. But for one that sported an unruly buzzcut, he could be there.
The hair mattered, then.
The hair mattered.
He looked at Hailey, feeling almost bereft. “When we were kids, Dad used to give us these buzz cuts. Awful cuts,” he said. “You know, just let it grow out as long as he could tolerate it, and then just buzz it all off. And I didn’t care, but Will -- WIll hated it. Begged Dad not to do it every time, but it cost too much to take us to the barber.”
The memory was not quite sweet, but it wasn’t exactly bitter either. Jay wasn’t sure what it was, somewhere in between. He’d made his peace with it, as best he could. He’d accepted the good along with the bad. The history was what it was, and he had to take all of it if he wanted any of it.
Hailey smiled gently. “Well, Will does have pretty spectacular hair,” she said in commiseration. “I can’t say I blame him.”
Jay’s own smile hurt, and the words felt painful in his throat. “I think sometimes he grew it out just to spite the old man, I really do. His own little rebellion,” he reflected fondly, but he trailed off and shook his head. “He never was very good at standing up for himself in the family, but every time he came home with long hair, the old man cringed.”
“Well, we all find our ways,” Hailey said. She sat back, stretching her legs out a little. “We all figure out how to assert our independence, even when it’s hard.”
Jay chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, pensive at the memory. “I thought he was annoying about it, honestly. I never understood it,” he said. “I mean, Will hated Dad as much as I did, but he never fought with him. Never raised his voice, never talked back -- nothing. He just took it, every single time. Even when he was a senior in high school, he’d let the old man cut his hair and then go cry himself to sleep every time.”
Hailey settled into a more comfortable position, her brows drawing together. “We all handle it differently, I guess.”
Jay scoffed, as if seeing the pieces fall into place for the first time. “It’s no wonder he moved out. The guy never wanted to fight -- not with family -- and that was all Dad and I did. It was all we knew how to do. It was how we communicated -- and Will didn’t. Couldn’t. Leaving probably felt like the only way to breathe.”
“And grow his hair out,” Hailey quipped. She shrugged. “But then he came back, right? He still came back.”
All the years they’d spent as partners meant she knew him as a friend first. Back then, when he talked about his life, it’d been small talk, passing the time. She’d heard him rant about his brother more than once, going on about how thoughtless Will could be, how he could be trusted to be there.
She’d heard the other stories, too. She’d heard the fond ones, the silly ones. She’d been there at Molly’s when he and Will got going after a few beers. All the things he’d told her, and somehow she was sitting here, across from him in this waiting room, hearing the things he’d never said.
“He came back,” Jay agreed, and he had to smile now. “It took me a long time to forgive him for leaving, though. I don’t think I’ve ever even told him--”
Hailey’s face turned in sympathy. “He knows, Jay. He obviously knows.”
“You don’t get it, though. It wouldn’t have mattered. I told you, he always took it,” he explained. “I can count the times he defended himself on one hand. He always took the insults. He accepted the criticisms, whether they were fair or not. Don’t get me wrong -- he’s an asshole, and he’s made a lot of mistakes -- so many mistakes -- but I mean, so did I.”
He paused and looked down, nodding his head slowly as he thought about it.
“So did I,” he said again, knowing that Hailey wasn’t the one who needed to hear the admission, even if he was pretty sure he needed to make it.
“Hey,” Hailey said, reaching out and nudging him softly with her hand. She waited until he looked up at her. “So do all of us. Will knows how much you care about him. You’re the reason he stayed.”
This time, Jay sat back with a short, weary sigh. “Yeah, and now here we are.”
To that, Hailey had no reply. Her lips flattened, and she said nothing.
Jay shook his head, breathing in and out one more time. “He’s really going to be so pissed about his hair.”
“Yeah,” Hailey agreed. “He really is.”
-o-
Dr. Abrams had been in such a rush to get Will to surgery that they hadn’t gone over the basics. Usually, surgeons told you all about the surgery. They answered questions about the procedure and outcomes. Jay didn’t want to know about the procedure, at least, not anything more than he knew already. When you started to discuss cutting open the skull, Jay knew about as much as he needed to.
Moreover, the only outcome that mattered was Will not being dead. He knew it couldn’t be that simple, but the idea of going over every macabre degree of separation from that best case scenario was just going to be too much at this point.
But Jay didn’t even know how long the damn thing was supposed to take.
Was removing the skull a delicate job? Would it take hours of precision and care?
Or did they just hack it off, shove it in the freezer and hope for the best?
The only reason it mattered was because Jay had no idea if the long wait was good or bad. Were there complications? Was everything on track? Dr. Charles had said someone would provide updates, and April had told him that no news was good news--
But the not knowing.
It was hard.
It was really damn hard.
He’d been waiting on the edge of the impossible for a day now. There was only so much room in the human psyche for pent up anxiety, and Jay was pretty sure he’d maxed that out within one hour of arriving at the hospital and finding out that his brother was in brain surgery.
Feeling restless, Jay looked to Hailey again. She had stayed quiet, but responsive, waiting for him to take the lead. It would help if he knew where he was going, but this time the information he blurted actually had actionable purpose.
“Dr. Charles thinks I should continue the investigation.”
She stopped, looking up at him for a moment as she seemed to try parsing his words. “Dr. Charles?”
“A shrink. Works in the ED,” Jay said. “He’s known Will for years -- helped him out after the whole mess with witness protection.”
Hailey drew her face into a thoughtful look. “And he thinks there’s something to investigate? With Will’s accident? Did he see something? He never came up in my initial round of questioning.”
Jay shook his head. “He wasn’t there,” he said. “But the guy is good at people. He thinks I should keep asking questions. About Will and Archer.”
This tweaked the investigative mindset Hailey had. “He thinks there’s credibility to your assault theory?”
“It’s not a theory,” Jay said. He shook his head, refusing to get sucked down into that argument. “He just thinks it’s weird, just like everyone else. But more than that, he doesn’t think the hospital is going to pursue this.”
This one clearly caught Hailey off guard. “They’re just going to take Archer’s word for it? What about an internal review process? Disciplinary reviews?”
Jay shrugged. “He seems to think Goodwin buys Archer’s story. If anything, my guess is they’ll let Will take the blame.”
Now, she scoffed. “What does that even mean?”
“That Archer will get off clear,” Jay posited. “If anyone goes under review, it'll be Will.”
The notion seemed to offend her. “But they’d fire him. Given his recent history, they’d have to.”
He hadn’t followed it out that far. He’d been so obsessed with proving his brother’s innocence that he’d failed to really think about what his presumed guilt might entail.
That Will would go through all this -- the surgeries, the therapy, the recovery -- and still lose his job?
Or that he might lose it mid-treatment? And be left to go on disability, trying to cover the mountain of medical bills without a paycheck?
As if Jay needed to think about how things could actually get worse.
“There’s no way,” Hailey said. “We can’t let that happen.”
“Which is why we have to keep investigating,” Jay said, and he shrugged again at the self evident truth. “We have to find out what really happened, how Will really got here.”
She reached forward again, her hand warm on his knee. “And we will, Jay. I promise, we will.”
Neither of them said it as they sat there. They would.
They would investigate every angle, interview every witness, leave no stone unturned.
If Will survived.
-o-
When an update finally came, the nurse apologized for the delay. Her sorrowful disposition set entirely the wrong tone, and Jay was too busy trying to wrap his mind around the idea that Will wasn’t dead to hear anything else she may have said for better or for worse. As it was, her update was really just a precursor. By the time Hailey had talked him out of smashing windows, Dr. Abrams had arrived.
Jay wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he’d sort of lost track of any such distinctions. His existence seemed to be stuck in a pattern of bad to worse, and at this point, he just needed to know.
“Will,” he said, getting to his feet before the doctor had a chance to say anything. “How’s Will?”
Only after he’d asked the question did Jay take in the man’s countenance. Dr. Abrams was usually composed and cool, but this was as worn as Jay had ever seen him. The confidence from before had lost most of its sheen, and it was clear that the surgeon had not given himself a chance to recover from what was undoubtedly a grueling surgery.
It was as close to demoralized as he’d ever seen the guy. To think this was the same bastard who had heartless commented that their father’s ventilator could go to better use within a minute of pronouncing brain death.
And Jay was suddenly terrified.
“He came through the surgery,” Dr. Abrams said, and Jay realized dumbly that the surgeon was starting with the good news.
And if that was the good news now, then the bar was pretty low.
The bad news was--
Well, Jay wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
But he needed to know.
“And?” Jay pressed, almost vibrating as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Hailey was standing by his side, almost ready to draw him back should he need it. He would make no promises. It all depended on what the neurosurgeon told him next. “Did it work?”
The expression on the man’s face was tight. “That’s a crude way of making the assessment,” he said. “We were successful in removing a second portion of the skull, and there was some blood to evacuate. Both processes went without complication.”
There was a but. It wasn’t always what people told you. The important things were the bits they were afraid to say. Dr. Abrams wasn’t the kind to play coy, though. Jay just had to wait him out, his heart thundering in his chest with dread.
“The rise in his pressure has capped, which is good -- any ongoing spike would have killed him,” he explained. Then, he tilted his head to the side. “Unfortunately, these measures have not been as effective as we might have hoped. His ICP is still higher than I would like.”
“Higher? Like how high?” Jay asked.
Dr. Abrams drew a breath and sighed. “Not high enough that it’s going to kill him, but we’re flirting with permanent brain damage now,” he said. “It’s hard to say for sure, but if it goes up again -- at all -- then I think there’s nothing we can do to get him back.”
It wasn’t a rosy picture, so Jay couldn’t bring himself to think that the doctor was sugarcoating it for him. To think, Jay reminded himself, it could be worse.
Will could be dead already.
That resolve wasn’t as heartening as he might have hoped.
Dr. Abrams continued when he came up with nothing to say. “I am obviously going to be monitoring him very closely because his condition is very, very serious right now.”
“So what do we do?” Jay finally asked when he mustered up his voice. It sounded hollow. It felt like speaking in a tin box. “What do we do?”
“We’ll keep up with the medications, as much as we dare to give,” Dr. Abrams said. “And other than that, we just have to wait and watch.”
“But you said another spike would kill him,” Jay said, and he was struggling to catch his breath. “I mean, you said--”
Dr. Abrams nodded, somehow perfectly understanding Jay’s slightly incoherent inquiry. “The brain can be very resilient, especially in someone Will’s age, but there’s only so much it can take,” he said. “Another spike -- that much pressure -- will destroy whatever brain function he might have left at this point. We’re just out of options, I’m afraid. Either it gets better or it doesn’t. I wish I could tell you more, I really do, but that’s all I have.”
Jay’s breathing caught, the hysteria rising once more. “It gets better or it doesn’t?” he repeated, the incredulity threatening to unhinge him. “But -- we’ve got to do something. The surgery -- he can’t be--”
“And he’s not -- yet,” Dr. Abrams said. “We are out of treatment options, yes, but we’ve done a lot. If he can keep the pressure down, this can still turn around. I just don’t want to give you any false hope.”
“And the odds?” Jay asked, barely able to form the words. “What are the odds?”
Dr. Abrams drew back, pressing his lips together. “I would prefer not to speculate--”
“The odds,” Jay said, all but breaking now. “You told me the odds before. You told me when my dad was braindead. Tell me the odds.”
Dr. Abrams hesitated, as if gauging his options. He looked to Hailey, and then back to Jay again before he sighed with resignation. “It’s still not a thousand to one,” he said. His voice was low and quiet. “But we’re a bit lower than 1 to 10.”
Jay closed his eyes and tried to hold the emotions in check. “The odds,” he said again. “Just tell me.”
“A hundred to one,” Dr. Abrams said. He lifted one shoulder in a futile shrug. “Maybe two hundred.”
Hope, then, was dwindling.
Just like Will himself.
Dwindling, disappearing right in front of him.
Opening his eyes, Jay looked at the doctor and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”
It was calmer than he expected -- clearly calmer than Dr. Abrams expected. He hesitated for a moment, before reaching out and bracing Jay’s arm for a moment.
There were no apologies.
There were no promises.
Just an understanding of what it meant to be there.
To whatever outcome, to the end.
To be there.
Jay would have asked for more.
But it was better, for now, than settling for less.
-o-
Will had been transferred back to the same ICU room after leaving recovery, and Dr. Abrams was true to his word and oversaw the process, step by step, the entire time. He ordered the nurse to page him of any change, for better or worse, and he gave Jay his personal cell phone number, in case he had questions or concerns.
The gesture was nice, probably, but Jay was too numb to appreciate it.
Outside the room, Will was finally settled. Before going back in, Hailey held his hand. “Do you want me to go in with you?” she asked. She tipped her head, looking at him. “Or do you need some time? Just the two of you?”
She knew, somehow. She always knew.
“You’ll be here?” Jay asked. “You won’t go?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Right outside. Right here when you need me.”
He nodded, looking back to the room and swallowing. “I just need to see him,” he said. “I just -- I want to see him.”
Her fingers squeezed his once before she let go. Leaning forward, she kissed him. “Then go,” she said, whispering it against his cheek. “Let him know you’re not going anywhere if he’s not going anywhere.”
That was all it was, in the end. Staying when you wanted to go. Coming back when everything told you to run. It had taken Will longer to learn that, but he’d come to realize it before it was too late.
Jay just hoped, as he went back in to see his brother, that Will hadn’t forgotten it yet.
-o-
Jay had been here before, in all the ways that mattered.
It didn’t help.
Going back was just as hard.
Harder now.
Harder still.
Will had looked bad before, and in some ways, nothing had changed. His face was still slack; his body was still arranged in a facsimile of repose. The bandages around his head were bulkier than before, all but obscuring the blossoming bruise on his cheek. The original hit was an afterthought now, almost easy to forget with the amount of interventions now being used to keep Will alive.
Because Will was alive.
His heart was beating -- the pulse on the monitor was steady. And he was breathing -- the rise and fall of his chest was visible, along with the steady hiss and pump of the machines. The IVs, the monitors -- all of it. Interventions for someone who still had a chance. Someone who was still fighting.
It was hard to see it as a fight now.
On the bed, Will looked small. His pale features almost looked hollowed out, like he was nothing but a ghost of himself. There were still tufts of stark red hair, but they were hard to see.
It was all hard to see. Will wasn’t so much fighting at this point as he was holding on -- and even that seemed nearly impossible for the state his brother found himself in. Will had no more choices to make. It was no longer a question of volition or willpower. It was just a test to see how much his brother’s damaged body could bear before it quit functioning altogether.
Standing there, watching his brother cling to life, Jay was struck by the pointlessness of it. Who threw the first punch. Who provoked the violence.
Did it matter?
Did it actually matter?
If Will died, what difference would it make?
If Will never recovered, how could he pretend like placing the blame would matter?
There was no justice here.
There couldn’t possibly be justice.
And yet, in the bleakness of it all, that really was all Jay had. He couldn’t fix his brother. He couldn’t even come close. At this point, he wasn’t even sure that Abrams -- cocky asshole that he was -- could do it. The impotence wasn’t right, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair.
There was more, though. He knew what his gut had told him from the start. He knew what doubts the nurses had raised, and he knew what Hailey had found out. He could still hear Dr. Charles telling him, couched in gentle niceties, that he should keep pushing to find out the truth.
But the truth?
The truth was that Jay was this close to losing his brother.
Jay was this close to being the last Halstead.
Will was the only priority. Only Will.
Stepping forward, he trusted himself to approach his brother’s side. The chairs were still there, but he had to pull one back up so he could get close again. He sat down, perched tentatively as he leaned closer and cleared his throat, looking his brother over once more.
“This is a mess,” he said, and he tried to smile. His laugh was empty, and he felt it burn in his throat. “Even for you.”
Will’s face was turned toward him just slightly, though most of it was obscured by the straps holding the tube in place.
“You would be so pissed at me if the situations were reversed,” Jay told him, trying to keep a lightness in his voice. It was hard with how tight his throat felt. “You’re always telling me to be careful, and look at you.”
He said it in jest, but it all fell flat.
Jay’s eyes were burning, too, now.
“Look at you,” he said, voice no more than a whisper as his entire repose threatened to shatter. He breathed hard, catching on a sob. He shakily inhaled, sniffling wildly as he tried and failed to keep it together.
For a moment, it was too much. The next sob escaped him, and he cried hard and fast for a few moments. The pain of it was wrenching, and the loss was almost more than he knew how to calculate. It felt like more than he could possibly bear.
Except he did bear it.
On the other side of it, Jay wiped his cheeks and snuffled noisily again. His pride was gone now, and he had no energy left for pretenses. He knew that losing someone you loved was never easy, but the chance for closure mattered. He’d made peace with his mother’s passing long before she took her last breath. When his father had died, his last words had been coarse and unintended.
There was no reward for pretending.
He wouldn’t win a prize for composure.
If this was his brother’s last stand, then Jay would make it with him. For both their stakes.
Feeling stupid, the emotion overtook him now. He reached down, picking up Will’s limp fingers from atop the blanket and holding them in his own. He’d resisted these displays of emotion, but he couldn’t justify it now. What was a last stand for, then? You gave it all, and you held nothing back.
No energy. No fight. No pride.
It was all on the line.
The years of animosity. The untold resentments. The bitter fights.
And they were still brothers.
He looked from Will’s face down to his hands, where his fingers were wrapped around Will’s.
They were still brothers.
That was why they’d put aside the animosity. That was why they’d forgotten the resentments. That was why they’d still come together after every fight, big and small.
They were always brothers.
And he liked to pretend that it was all Will’s fault. He’d liked that narrative, one good brother, one bad. He’d held it against Will -- all of it. And he’d never let him forget.
But family was a two-way street, it always was. You always hurt the people you loved the most, and you always assumed the worst when you could have assumed the best. He’d never wanted to understand Will, even when he really did. It had been easier to blame him for the hard things instead of trying to see his brother’s hardships as well.
They were a pair of assholes, and they’d both found ways of protecting themselves.
“I’m sorry,” Jay said, even if he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. The tears were choking him again. “I just -- I’m so, so sorry.”
Another rush of tears overtook him, and he reached up his other hand, clutching at his brother more vigorously now.
“I don’t want you to go, okay?” he said, sparing a glance up to his brother’s face. “I really just don’t want you to go. I should have told you that from the beginning, because I don’t think you knew, but I just want you to stay. Please, Will. Just stay.”
He drew his brother’s hand up once more, almost despite himself. Sentimental as it was, he pressed his lips to it, squeezing his eyes shut as the sobs shook him once more. When the worst of the tears had passed, he gently lowered his brother’s hand again, moving to place it carefully back on the sheets where he’d plucked it in the first place.
That was when, even in his grief, he noticed something odd.
Will’s hand -- it wasn’t injured.
The knuckles weren’t cracked or broken. There was no sign of bruising.
Picking it up again, suddenly curious, he examined it more closely. He moved finger to finger, looking up and down the digit with a growing sense of dread.
Not a single mark -- anywhere.
And this was Will’s right hand.
If Will was going to throw a punch--
Just to be sure, Jay got up. He reached over his brother, picking up his left hand. It, too, was spotless. Not a mark or blemish anywhere.
He put the hand back down and stood back with a growing sense of horror, even though it was confirmation to what he’d always known. Will hadn’t started this fight.
But, more than that, Will hadn’t even been a part of this fight.
Based on the circumstantial physical evidence, Will had never seen the fight coming. He’d had no chance to fight back -- or even defend himself.
This wasn’t an accident.
This was assault.
Moreover, if Will didn’t survive this -- if he couldn’t hang on long enough -- then this was murder.
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
Somehow, despite the fact that Jay was a man of action, he found himself unable to move. They might call it irony. They might just call it shock.
Jay didn’t know what to call it except his brother was in surgery to remove more of his skull. It was a last ditch effort to save his life.
With that perspective, nothing else really mattered. Every time Jay thought about something he should do, he was greeted with the same, bleak reality. If Will died, what did it matter?
What did any of it even mean?
Hailey still wasn’t back from lunch, and Jay’s ass was numb from sitting hunched forward in the chair. He had stared at the same form for nearly ten minutes now, not having filled out anything except Will’s name and birthdate at the top.
He couldn’t get it out of his mind. The sound of the monitors; the bustle of the room.
And the utter stillness in his brother’s body, the laxness of his face.
Will hadn’t even known.
Live or die, Will had no idea.
Was Will fighting for his life? Or was this all just happening to him? Was Jay trying to save his brother, or was this like his dad all over again? Was he clinging hard to hope for his own sake -- and not for Will’s?
Was Will gone?
Had Will been gone since the second the punch was thrown?
“Detective Halstead?”
Jay looked up, momentarily startled. He had to force his eyes to focus, but that did nothing to jumpstart his brain. For a moment, he sat there, staring blankly at the large figure in front of him. He knew the guy, but his mind was blank at the moment.
Everything just felt blank.
He was blank.
The man smiled, taking Jay’s silence as an invitation to approach. “I’m Dr. Charles,” he said. “Head of Psychiatry.”
Jay balked, almost despite himself. “All of Will’s problems, and I wish they could be fixed by a shrink for once.”
Dr. Charles smiled lightly, even though they both couldn’t say that the joke was actually funny. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Jay glanced at the vacant seat, moderately indifferent. He’d almost forgotten that it was there.
Dr. Charles sat down anyway. He sighed. “I’m not actually here in an official capacity,” he said. “Will and I are friends. It’s just been terrible what’s happened, and I totally understand if you want your space, but I just wanted to show my support -- to you, to Will.”
Jay was sure there was a nice sentiment in there, but he couldn’t bring himself to make sense of it. He stared back at the half finished pile of paperwork. “Do they have this many forms for every surgery?” he asked, flipping through them absently once more.
Dr. Charles winced sympathetically. “It is a lot,” he said. “I’ve lobbied for less paperwork for years -- it stresses patients out -- but those damn hospital lawyers are adamant. Liability and whatnot.”
Jay smirked humorlessly as he put the papers aside. “They’ve got one in there about the measures Will would want to have taken,” he said. “They want me to make a list of appropriate interventions. I mean, I haven’t signed crap like that since my mom went into hospice.”
“They just want to be sure they’re respecting Will’s wishes,” Dr. Charles said, as if that somehow explained it -- or, more laughably, made things better.
He looked at the psychiatrist, shaking his head. “I just hadn’t let myself think about it. That we might be at that point.”
The point of no return. The point where his brother may be too far gone. The point where a beating heart was actually the cruelest fate.
Dr. Charles looked thoughtful. “Unfortunately, head injuries are especially difficult to predict,” he said. “But I know Dr. Abrams. He wouldn’t do the second surgery if he wasn’t sure there was a good reason to think it might work.”
“What? Remove more of his skull?” Jay said bitterly. “I mean, we’re going to pretend like he’s going to just come back from that? That everything’s going to be okay?”
He groaned, dropping his head down and rubbing his face tiredly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have okayed the surgery,” he said. “Will would never want to be kept alive on machines. And if Will’s not Will -- if he can’t do what he does now -- he’d hate that, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t want that.”
He looked up, almost bereft at the thought. The idea that he could be holding onto his brother for his own reasons -- and not for Will’s benefit. If Will couldn’t be a doctor anymore -- if he was reduced to needing constant care -- it wasn’t unthinkable.
“I can’t tell you for sure what decisions you should or should not make,” Dr. Charles said. “But Will understands better than most that brain injuries are funny. They can surprise you. It’s the finest line that separates brain death from full recovery.”
“But is full recovery really possible?” Jay asked. “They’re doing a second -- what is it called?”
“Decompressive craniotomy,” Dr. Charles provided. “And yes, it seems extreme, but it has worked very well in many, many cases.”
“And how many hasn’t it worked in?” Jay asked, a little sharper now. He pointed to the door. “What if I sent my brother to suffer through another surgery when he’s not going to be able to tie his own shoelaces, much less diagnose a patient?”
Dr. Charles seemed to lean back, as if sensing how precarious Jay’s mental state was becoming. And, to be fair, it was very precarious. He was being asked about signing a DNR and letting his brother die, so he wasn’t just on the edge. He was hanging from the damn cliff with nothing but his fingertips.
“That’s why I say they’re funny injuries,” Dr. Charles said. He gestured up to his own head with a little shrug. “Let’s say the surgery works. Let’s say that Will’s intracranial pressure goes down. Let’s say he regains brain function and wakes up. At first, it’s true, he might have some deficits. He might not remember everything. He might struggle with coordination or speech -- honestly, just lots of things. There is very likely to be different forms of physical and occupational therapy involved.”
Jay’s stomach roiled. He had to swallow back a swell of nausea.
Dr. Charles continued, though. “The point is the brain is remarkably good at recovering from trauma -- especially for someone in Will’s age and general health,” he said. “It’s likely that he’s not going to come back to work next month. But in six months? I mean, I think the odds are still decent if this goes well.”
The odds.
Jay had always watched the odds whittle away. When his mother was first diagnosed -- stage two breast cancer -- the odds had been good. Then, it had been aggressive. It hadn’t responded as well as they’d hoped. She was stage three -- and the odds had still been worth fighting for. And she had fought, until the damn thing became stage four, and they had to wait for her to die.
Her dad had defied the odds at first. Surviving a quadruple bypass -- and for what? To get smoke inhalation? And to crash? Brain death. A thousand to one had been the final delineation, and they had pulled the plug and watched him die.
It didn’t matter how they started. The odds always ended up the same for the Halsteads.
And now he was counting on the odds?
That Will would survive this?
“Look, Detective--”
“You can call me Jay,” he interjected warily, slumping back in his chair again.
“Jay,” Dr. Charles said. “I know there’s nothing that I can really say right now that’s going to help what you’re going through. I’m not here to burden you or make you contend with things you’re not ready to deal with.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked. It was cruel; it wasn’t unkind. But it was an unvarnished question.
And Dr. Charles seemed ready to provide an equally truthful answer. “Because I care about Will,” he said. “And there’s nothing I can do for him. But he cares about you -- a lot -- so if I can be here for you in anyway -- to talk, to listen, just so you don’t have to be alone -- that’s why I’m here. If you need anything, anything at all.”
The man’s sincerity was obvious, and Jay didn’t take it lightly. But he didn’t know how to take it at all. Because there was just one thing he needed.
One thing he wasn’t sure he was going to get.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just need Will to wake up. I just need him to get through this. I just need my brother.”
“Yeah, I understand that,” Dr. Charles said. “And if I could do any of that for you, I would -- in an instant. All the same. If you need anything -- even something silly like a change of clothes or a hot meal -- I’m here. Honestly, the whole hospital’s here.”
It wasn’t enough, of course -- but nothing would be enough.
All the same, it was heartening. Will had struggled with feeling like he deserved a place at Med after the mistakes he’d made. It would mean a lot to him to know they were rallying behind him. “Thanks,” Jay said. His demeanor softened, and he almost smiled. “I know that would mean a lot to Will.”
“Of course. You’re Will’s family,” Dr. Charles said. “And Will’s our family.”
“That was a huge part of why Will stayed after everything,” Jay said. “Even after he got offered his job back, he thought about leaving, making a fresh start. But being in Chicago -- being at Med -- that was what Will wanted. More than anything.”
“He’s said similar things to me,” Dr. Charles said. “And anyone who works with Will could see it. He’s always been a very good doctor in terms of his diagnostic ability, but his time on probation has really helped him focus on the other side of the profession. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been so impressive to watch him rebound after everything that’s happened in the last year. His entire attitude, his level of collegial respect, his use of sound medical ethics -- it’s really been a complete turnaround.”
“Yeah, well, Will can be an idiot, but he knew he screwed up this time -- in a big way,” Jay said. “He didn’t take any of it for granted, getting his job back. He was pushing himself for this. Like he had to prove himself.”
At that, Dr. Charles sat back. He looked pensive once more. “He has been trying to prove himself. That’s a really good assessment. I hadn’t even thought of it like that,” he said. Then, he wrinkled his nose. “So that just makes this all weird, doesn’t it?”
That wasn’t the description Jay would have used, given the current set of circumstances. “Weird?”
“Yes, how this happened. The fight,” Dr. Charles said. “No one seems to know the full story, but I can’t fathom it at all. Will has been so much better lately. Working harder, staying focused, keeping himself on track.”
“Yeah,” Jay said slowly, not sure what the psychiatrist was saying just yet. “I know that.”
“And I’ve been a part of his review team,” Dr. Charles said. “I mean, he’s hitting it out of the park, to put it simply. The review team had just recommended to Ms. Goodwin this week to take Will off probation and restore his full status.”
It was Jay’s turn to wrinkle his nose. He was too tired, too spent, too everything. “So what are you saying, then?”
“That it seems weird,” Dr. Charles said, letting the emphasis fall on the word more clearly now. “That Will would get into a fight after showing absolutely no signs of professional discontent or a lack of control. I’m pretty good at seeing when someone is faking it. Will wasn’t faking any of this. Which makes this whole thing very hard to understand. It’s weird.”
Jay went still, going a little bit stiff as his eyes narrowed. The man looked like an overgrown teddy bear, but there was something quite telling in his disposition. He wasn’t a pushover. He was anything but. He wasn’t the kind who would give someone a free pass, and his assessment of Will seemed spot on.
Which meant his assessment of the situation--
Well, what did that mean?
“And you think you have to tell me that?” Jay asked, cautious and careful.
Dr. Charles was equally careful, but not nearly as cautious. “Frankly, yes. I think I do.”
Jay was out of his element; his cop senses had been dulled by a lack of sleep and an overwhelming amount of stress. He needed to clarify, even if explicitly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Soft and careful, Dr. Charles still wasn’t pulling his punches. He held Jay’s gaze, sure and steady. “The only thing we’re basing this incident off of is Dr. Archer’s version of the events. With any thorough investigation of an altercation on staff, it’s helpful to know more, not less. That’s what I’m saying.”
“And how might I do that?” Jay asked. “Shouldn’t staff issues be handled internally? By the boss?”
Dr. Charles made a little frown as he nodded. “Yes, they should,” he said. “But in the absence of action, outside information certainly isn’t going to be rebuked.”
“What about Goodwin?” Jay asked. “I mean, I’ve been asking around, getting the details I can to make sense of this, but if this is a staff issue--”
Dr. Charles was still nodded, eyes narrowing somewhat. “Everyone has their blind spots, Detective. So, like I said, a little outside perspective -- well, it can’t hurt.”
Jay wasn’t sure what to make of that. By all accounts, Charles and Goodwin went way back. Will was back in surgery, and there were no witnesses. To say that he didn’t know what to do was an understatement.
“Anyway,” Dr, Charles said, easing back with a small, benign sort of smile. “If you need anything -- at all -- you know where to find me. I’m really pulling for the best outcome in this one. Sincerely.”
A hospital full of people who sincerely loved Will.
And all it took was one asshole to throw one punch.
Jay closed his eyes. “I can’t do these forms now,” he said as he opened them again.
“Then don’t,” Dr. Charles said. “I’m pretty sure they’ll finish the surgery no matter when you sign them.”
“Can you take me there?” Jay asked. “To the waiting room? I want to be closer, you know? In case….”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
Dr. Charles smiled kindly. “Of course,” he said, clamoring back to his feet. “Let’s go.
Jay got up, having no willpower to do anything more than follow.
-o-
Dr. Charles took him to the waiting room, going so far as to find a private room off the main area. It was close enough to see the doctors coming and going, but it allowed him privacy. Everyone seemed to think it mattered, as if Jay might not want the world to see him dealing with this.
Or, maybe it was preemptive.
If Will died, this way, he could fall apart without the whole world seeing him.
Either way, Jay took the room for what it was: the only comfort they could offer him for the time being. Dr. Charles offered to stay, but Jay declined. He promised to tell the nurse where he was so surgical updates could be provided. Jay thanked the man blandly, sitting down in one of the chairs and doing his best not to think too hard about Will’s open brain on the operating table.
How much skull would they take?
How long would his brain be exposed?
How much damage had already been done?
Maybe Jay should have stayed with the forms. Mindlessness might have been the better option.
As it was, he couldn’t bring himself to move, and he was more than a little relieved when Hailey showed up a short time later. She was carrying a bag of carryout, looking flustered as she came in. “I looked for you in Will’s room,” she said, a little out of breath. Her eyes were wide as she approached. “They said he was in surgery. How is he in surgery?”
The questions were fast and targeted. Her anxiety was at its breaking point, but Jay’s had been muted in his shock. “His pressure,” he explained. “In his brain. It got worse?”
She put the bag down between them on the table, the food all but forgotten as she sat down. “It got worse?” she asked, her voice almost breaking. “And the surgery is--?”
“They’re taking more of his skull,” Jay said, looking at her with a steadiness he didn’t feel. His eyes pricked, and his chest ached. “They’re going to evacuate the blood, try to give the brain more swelling. I don’t know. It’s bad, though. It’s really bad.”
She sat back soberly at the plainness of his grim assessment. Her shoulders fell, and she breathed a curse. “I’m sorry, Jay. I’m so, so sorry.”
He nodded, but he just felt numb now. He was shaking a little, just on the verge of composure.
Jay was numb.
Hailey was sorry.
And Will was in surgery.
All the reminders Jay didn’t need that things could always get worse.
-o-
This time, they waited in silence. There was no small talk to pass the time. There were no meandering conversations about nothing. There were no magazines to flip through. Jay sat, staring at the wall in front of him, oblivious to the passage of time. He could feel his own heart beating with a surreal clarity, and Hailey sat in the chair next to him, poised in a steady silence he could neither explain or justified. It grounded him, though.
With the rest of his life up in the air, it was the only thing left to ground him.
It could have been seconds. It could have been hours. It didn’t matter, really. Time existed in its own dimension here. Separate from the outside world. Vaguely, he thought of his team back at work, going about business like normal. He thought of all the people in this hospital, Will’s friends and colleagues who spared him a second of their thought and concern before getting back to treating patients.
Somewhere in Seattle, Natalie was rebuilding her life. She had no idea; just going about her day.
Jay wondered if he should call her. He might -- later. When there was something to tell her. Some kind of definitive diagnosis.
That Will was going to be okay.
That she needed to come back for a funeral.
Jay shook his head, and forced himself to swallow it all back. He inhaled, trying to pull the emotions back together, dragging his wayward thoughts from the brink. Time had no meaning, maybe, but he still did. And so did Will.
Because Will was still alive.
He needed that to count for something. It was all he had.
Will was still alive.
-o-
In the lapses of silence, Hailey was a steady presence. That was good. Jay had never felt more erratic in his life. One second, he was solemn. The next, the anxiety had him nearly crawling out of his skin. Numbed silence, fidgeting desperation: when it got to be too much, he thought about punching the wall just for fun.
Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and tried to remember how to breathe. When he looked up, Hailey was watching him. She was worried, which was funny. She was worried about him when Will was the one in an operating room with his skull open.
That whole breathing thing still wasn’t working out as well as Jay had hoped.
It almost made him want to laugh.
Or cry.
At this point, it kind of felt like the same thing.
Choking on it, he croaked, shaking his head. “Will’s not going to have any hair left.”
It was a random thought, but once it crossed his mind, he couldn’t let it go. If they were removing parts of the skull, then they were removing everything. Jay had always known that, but the implications had struck him just now.
Hailey stared at him for a moment, poised on the edge of a thought. “What?”
Jay sat up, gesturing up to his own head. “When they cut open his skull, you know,” he said. “They’re going to have to shave his hair. More of his hair. I don’t know how much they’re taking, but he’s not going to have much hair left.”
It was irrational, and Jay knew it. The problem wasn’t Will’s hair, of course. The problem was the missing chunks of his skull and the swelling of his brain. The hair wasn’t the relevant detail, but he tried to imagine Will waking up and seeing his buzzed head. He’d hate it.
“Oh,” Hailey said, and she took a slow second to collect herself. “Well, it’ll grow back.”
But Jay shook his head, adamant now. That wasn’t the point. Even if it wasn’t, it wasn’t the point he could deal with right now. “But he’ll hate it,” he said, almost imploring her to understand.
She had to understand, even if it didn’t make sense.
Because to think about Will’s skull being gone with his brain exposed -- that was too much. That was life and death, and the stakes were too high.
But the hair. Will’s hair. That was immediately. That was a problem that could be fixed.
Will would never know, after all. If he died, if the surgery didn’t work -- Will would never know.
But if he lived, he’d know about the hair. He’d care about the hair. He had to think about it. He had to think how hard it would be, how horrible Will would take it. Because Jay would bury a brother with his skull missing. But for one that sported an unruly buzzcut, he could be there.
The hair mattered, then.
The hair mattered.
He looked at Hailey, feeling almost bereft. “When we were kids, Dad used to give us these buzz cuts. Awful cuts,” he said. “You know, just let it grow out as long as he could tolerate it, and then just buzz it all off. And I didn’t care, but Will -- WIll hated it. Begged Dad not to do it every time, but it cost too much to take us to the barber.”
The memory was not quite sweet, but it wasn’t exactly bitter either. Jay wasn’t sure what it was, somewhere in between. He’d made his peace with it, as best he could. He’d accepted the good along with the bad. The history was what it was, and he had to take all of it if he wanted any of it.
Hailey smiled gently. “Well, Will does have pretty spectacular hair,” she said in commiseration. “I can’t say I blame him.”
Jay’s own smile hurt, and the words felt painful in his throat. “I think sometimes he grew it out just to spite the old man, I really do. His own little rebellion,” he reflected fondly, but he trailed off and shook his head. “He never was very good at standing up for himself in the family, but every time he came home with long hair, the old man cringed.”
“Well, we all find our ways,” Hailey said. She sat back, stretching her legs out a little. “We all figure out how to assert our independence, even when it’s hard.”
Jay chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, pensive at the memory. “I thought he was annoying about it, honestly. I never understood it,” he said. “I mean, Will hated Dad as much as I did, but he never fought with him. Never raised his voice, never talked back -- nothing. He just took it, every single time. Even when he was a senior in high school, he’d let the old man cut his hair and then go cry himself to sleep every time.”
Hailey settled into a more comfortable position, her brows drawing together. “We all handle it differently, I guess.”
Jay scoffed, as if seeing the pieces fall into place for the first time. “It’s no wonder he moved out. The guy never wanted to fight -- not with family -- and that was all Dad and I did. It was all we knew how to do. It was how we communicated -- and Will didn’t. Couldn’t. Leaving probably felt like the only way to breathe.”
“And grow his hair out,” Hailey quipped. She shrugged. “But then he came back, right? He still came back.”
All the years they’d spent as partners meant she knew him as a friend first. Back then, when he talked about his life, it’d been small talk, passing the time. She’d heard him rant about his brother more than once, going on about how thoughtless Will could be, how he could be trusted to be there.
She’d heard the other stories, too. She’d heard the fond ones, the silly ones. She’d been there at Molly’s when he and Will got going after a few beers. All the things he’d told her, and somehow she was sitting here, across from him in this waiting room, hearing the things he’d never said.
“He came back,” Jay agreed, and he had to smile now. “It took me a long time to forgive him for leaving, though. I don’t think I’ve ever even told him--”
Hailey’s face turned in sympathy. “He knows, Jay. He obviously knows.”
“You don’t get it, though. It wouldn’t have mattered. I told you, he always took it,” he explained. “I can count the times he defended himself on one hand. He always took the insults. He accepted the criticisms, whether they were fair or not. Don’t get me wrong -- he’s an asshole, and he’s made a lot of mistakes -- so many mistakes -- but I mean, so did I.”
He paused and looked down, nodding his head slowly as he thought about it.
“So did I,” he said again, knowing that Hailey wasn’t the one who needed to hear the admission, even if he was pretty sure he needed to make it.
“Hey,” Hailey said, reaching out and nudging him softly with her hand. She waited until he looked up at her. “So do all of us. Will knows how much you care about him. You’re the reason he stayed.”
This time, Jay sat back with a short, weary sigh. “Yeah, and now here we are.”
To that, Hailey had no reply. Her lips flattened, and she said nothing.
Jay shook his head, breathing in and out one more time. “He’s really going to be so pissed about his hair.”
“Yeah,” Hailey agreed. “He really is.”
-o-
Dr. Abrams had been in such a rush to get Will to surgery that they hadn’t gone over the basics. Usually, surgeons told you all about the surgery. They answered questions about the procedure and outcomes. Jay didn’t want to know about the procedure, at least, not anything more than he knew already. When you started to discuss cutting open the skull, Jay knew about as much as he needed to.
Moreover, the only outcome that mattered was Will not being dead. He knew it couldn’t be that simple, but the idea of going over every macabre degree of separation from that best case scenario was just going to be too much at this point.
But Jay didn’t even know how long the damn thing was supposed to take.
Was removing the skull a delicate job? Would it take hours of precision and care?
Or did they just hack it off, shove it in the freezer and hope for the best?
The only reason it mattered was because Jay had no idea if the long wait was good or bad. Were there complications? Was everything on track? Dr. Charles had said someone would provide updates, and April had told him that no news was good news--
But the not knowing.
It was hard.
It was really damn hard.
He’d been waiting on the edge of the impossible for a day now. There was only so much room in the human psyche for pent up anxiety, and Jay was pretty sure he’d maxed that out within one hour of arriving at the hospital and finding out that his brother was in brain surgery.
Feeling restless, Jay looked to Hailey again. She had stayed quiet, but responsive, waiting for him to take the lead. It would help if he knew where he was going, but this time the information he blurted actually had actionable purpose.
“Dr. Charles thinks I should continue the investigation.”
She stopped, looking up at him for a moment as she seemed to try parsing his words. “Dr. Charles?”
“A shrink. Works in the ED,” Jay said. “He’s known Will for years -- helped him out after the whole mess with witness protection.”
Hailey drew her face into a thoughtful look. “And he thinks there’s something to investigate? With Will’s accident? Did he see something? He never came up in my initial round of questioning.”
Jay shook his head. “He wasn’t there,” he said. “But the guy is good at people. He thinks I should keep asking questions. About Will and Archer.”
This tweaked the investigative mindset Hailey had. “He thinks there’s credibility to your assault theory?”
“It’s not a theory,” Jay said. He shook his head, refusing to get sucked down into that argument. “He just thinks it’s weird, just like everyone else. But more than that, he doesn’t think the hospital is going to pursue this.”
This one clearly caught Hailey off guard. “They’re just going to take Archer’s word for it? What about an internal review process? Disciplinary reviews?”
Jay shrugged. “He seems to think Goodwin buys Archer’s story. If anything, my guess is they’ll let Will take the blame.”
Now, she scoffed. “What does that even mean?”
“That Archer will get off clear,” Jay posited. “If anyone goes under review, it'll be Will.”
The notion seemed to offend her. “But they’d fire him. Given his recent history, they’d have to.”
He hadn’t followed it out that far. He’d been so obsessed with proving his brother’s innocence that he’d failed to really think about what his presumed guilt might entail.
That Will would go through all this -- the surgeries, the therapy, the recovery -- and still lose his job?
Or that he might lose it mid-treatment? And be left to go on disability, trying to cover the mountain of medical bills without a paycheck?
As if Jay needed to think about how things could actually get worse.
“There’s no way,” Hailey said. “We can’t let that happen.”
“Which is why we have to keep investigating,” Jay said, and he shrugged again at the self evident truth. “We have to find out what really happened, how Will really got here.”
She reached forward again, her hand warm on his knee. “And we will, Jay. I promise, we will.”
Neither of them said it as they sat there. They would.
They would investigate every angle, interview every witness, leave no stone unturned.
If Will survived.
-o-
When an update finally came, the nurse apologized for the delay. Her sorrowful disposition set entirely the wrong tone, and Jay was too busy trying to wrap his mind around the idea that Will wasn’t dead to hear anything else she may have said for better or for worse. As it was, her update was really just a precursor. By the time Hailey had talked him out of smashing windows, Dr. Abrams had arrived.
Jay wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he’d sort of lost track of any such distinctions. His existence seemed to be stuck in a pattern of bad to worse, and at this point, he just needed to know.
“Will,” he said, getting to his feet before the doctor had a chance to say anything. “How’s Will?”
Only after he’d asked the question did Jay take in the man’s countenance. Dr. Abrams was usually composed and cool, but this was as worn as Jay had ever seen him. The confidence from before had lost most of its sheen, and it was clear that the surgeon had not given himself a chance to recover from what was undoubtedly a grueling surgery.
It was as close to demoralized as he’d ever seen the guy. To think this was the same bastard who had heartless commented that their father’s ventilator could go to better use within a minute of pronouncing brain death.
And Jay was suddenly terrified.
“He came through the surgery,” Dr. Abrams said, and Jay realized dumbly that the surgeon was starting with the good news.
And if that was the good news now, then the bar was pretty low.
The bad news was--
Well, Jay wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
But he needed to know.
“And?” Jay pressed, almost vibrating as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Hailey was standing by his side, almost ready to draw him back should he need it. He would make no promises. It all depended on what the neurosurgeon told him next. “Did it work?”
The expression on the man’s face was tight. “That’s a crude way of making the assessment,” he said. “We were successful in removing a second portion of the skull, and there was some blood to evacuate. Both processes went without complication.”
There was a but. It wasn’t always what people told you. The important things were the bits they were afraid to say. Dr. Abrams wasn’t the kind to play coy, though. Jay just had to wait him out, his heart thundering in his chest with dread.
“The rise in his pressure has capped, which is good -- any ongoing spike would have killed him,” he explained. Then, he tilted his head to the side. “Unfortunately, these measures have not been as effective as we might have hoped. His ICP is still higher than I would like.”
“Higher? Like how high?” Jay asked.
Dr. Abrams drew a breath and sighed. “Not high enough that it’s going to kill him, but we’re flirting with permanent brain damage now,” he said. “It’s hard to say for sure, but if it goes up again -- at all -- then I think there’s nothing we can do to get him back.”
It wasn’t a rosy picture, so Jay couldn’t bring himself to think that the doctor was sugarcoating it for him. To think, Jay reminded himself, it could be worse.
Will could be dead already.
That resolve wasn’t as heartening as he might have hoped.
Dr. Abrams continued when he came up with nothing to say. “I am obviously going to be monitoring him very closely because his condition is very, very serious right now.”
“So what do we do?” Jay finally asked when he mustered up his voice. It sounded hollow. It felt like speaking in a tin box. “What do we do?”
“We’ll keep up with the medications, as much as we dare to give,” Dr. Abrams said. “And other than that, we just have to wait and watch.”
“But you said another spike would kill him,” Jay said, and he was struggling to catch his breath. “I mean, you said--”
Dr. Abrams nodded, somehow perfectly understanding Jay’s slightly incoherent inquiry. “The brain can be very resilient, especially in someone Will’s age, but there’s only so much it can take,” he said. “Another spike -- that much pressure -- will destroy whatever brain function he might have left at this point. We’re just out of options, I’m afraid. Either it gets better or it doesn’t. I wish I could tell you more, I really do, but that’s all I have.”
Jay’s breathing caught, the hysteria rising once more. “It gets better or it doesn’t?” he repeated, the incredulity threatening to unhinge him. “But -- we’ve got to do something. The surgery -- he can’t be--”
“And he’s not -- yet,” Dr. Abrams said. “We are out of treatment options, yes, but we’ve done a lot. If he can keep the pressure down, this can still turn around. I just don’t want to give you any false hope.”
“And the odds?” Jay asked, barely able to form the words. “What are the odds?”
Dr. Abrams drew back, pressing his lips together. “I would prefer not to speculate--”
“The odds,” Jay said, all but breaking now. “You told me the odds before. You told me when my dad was braindead. Tell me the odds.”
Dr. Abrams hesitated, as if gauging his options. He looked to Hailey, and then back to Jay again before he sighed with resignation. “It’s still not a thousand to one,” he said. His voice was low and quiet. “But we’re a bit lower than 1 to 10.”
Jay closed his eyes and tried to hold the emotions in check. “The odds,” he said again. “Just tell me.”
“A hundred to one,” Dr. Abrams said. He lifted one shoulder in a futile shrug. “Maybe two hundred.”
Hope, then, was dwindling.
Just like Will himself.
Dwindling, disappearing right in front of him.
Opening his eyes, Jay looked at the doctor and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”
It was calmer than he expected -- clearly calmer than Dr. Abrams expected. He hesitated for a moment, before reaching out and bracing Jay’s arm for a moment.
There were no apologies.
There were no promises.
Just an understanding of what it meant to be there.
To whatever outcome, to the end.
To be there.
Jay would have asked for more.
But it was better, for now, than settling for less.
-o-
Will had been transferred back to the same ICU room after leaving recovery, and Dr. Abrams was true to his word and oversaw the process, step by step, the entire time. He ordered the nurse to page him of any change, for better or worse, and he gave Jay his personal cell phone number, in case he had questions or concerns.
The gesture was nice, probably, but Jay was too numb to appreciate it.
Outside the room, Will was finally settled. Before going back in, Hailey held his hand. “Do you want me to go in with you?” she asked. She tipped her head, looking at him. “Or do you need some time? Just the two of you?”
She knew, somehow. She always knew.
“You’ll be here?” Jay asked. “You won’t go?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Right outside. Right here when you need me.”
He nodded, looking back to the room and swallowing. “I just need to see him,” he said. “I just -- I want to see him.”
Her fingers squeezed his once before she let go. Leaning forward, she kissed him. “Then go,” she said, whispering it against his cheek. “Let him know you’re not going anywhere if he’s not going anywhere.”
That was all it was, in the end. Staying when you wanted to go. Coming back when everything told you to run. It had taken Will longer to learn that, but he’d come to realize it before it was too late.
Jay just hoped, as he went back in to see his brother, that Will hadn’t forgotten it yet.
-o-
Jay had been here before, in all the ways that mattered.
It didn’t help.
Going back was just as hard.
Harder now.
Harder still.
Will had looked bad before, and in some ways, nothing had changed. His face was still slack; his body was still arranged in a facsimile of repose. The bandages around his head were bulkier than before, all but obscuring the blossoming bruise on his cheek. The original hit was an afterthought now, almost easy to forget with the amount of interventions now being used to keep Will alive.
Because Will was alive.
His heart was beating -- the pulse on the monitor was steady. And he was breathing -- the rise and fall of his chest was visible, along with the steady hiss and pump of the machines. The IVs, the monitors -- all of it. Interventions for someone who still had a chance. Someone who was still fighting.
It was hard to see it as a fight now.
On the bed, Will looked small. His pale features almost looked hollowed out, like he was nothing but a ghost of himself. There were still tufts of stark red hair, but they were hard to see.
It was all hard to see. Will wasn’t so much fighting at this point as he was holding on -- and even that seemed nearly impossible for the state his brother found himself in. Will had no more choices to make. It was no longer a question of volition or willpower. It was just a test to see how much his brother’s damaged body could bear before it quit functioning altogether.
Standing there, watching his brother cling to life, Jay was struck by the pointlessness of it. Who threw the first punch. Who provoked the violence.
Did it matter?
Did it actually matter?
If Will died, what difference would it make?
If Will never recovered, how could he pretend like placing the blame would matter?
There was no justice here.
There couldn’t possibly be justice.
And yet, in the bleakness of it all, that really was all Jay had. He couldn’t fix his brother. He couldn’t even come close. At this point, he wasn’t even sure that Abrams -- cocky asshole that he was -- could do it. The impotence wasn’t right, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair.
There was more, though. He knew what his gut had told him from the start. He knew what doubts the nurses had raised, and he knew what Hailey had found out. He could still hear Dr. Charles telling him, couched in gentle niceties, that he should keep pushing to find out the truth.
But the truth?
The truth was that Jay was this close to losing his brother.
Jay was this close to being the last Halstead.
Will was the only priority. Only Will.
Stepping forward, he trusted himself to approach his brother’s side. The chairs were still there, but he had to pull one back up so he could get close again. He sat down, perched tentatively as he leaned closer and cleared his throat, looking his brother over once more.
“This is a mess,” he said, and he tried to smile. His laugh was empty, and he felt it burn in his throat. “Even for you.”
Will’s face was turned toward him just slightly, though most of it was obscured by the straps holding the tube in place.
“You would be so pissed at me if the situations were reversed,” Jay told him, trying to keep a lightness in his voice. It was hard with how tight his throat felt. “You’re always telling me to be careful, and look at you.”
He said it in jest, but it all fell flat.
Jay’s eyes were burning, too, now.
“Look at you,” he said, voice no more than a whisper as his entire repose threatened to shatter. He breathed hard, catching on a sob. He shakily inhaled, sniffling wildly as he tried and failed to keep it together.
For a moment, it was too much. The next sob escaped him, and he cried hard and fast for a few moments. The pain of it was wrenching, and the loss was almost more than he knew how to calculate. It felt like more than he could possibly bear.
Except he did bear it.
On the other side of it, Jay wiped his cheeks and snuffled noisily again. His pride was gone now, and he had no energy left for pretenses. He knew that losing someone you loved was never easy, but the chance for closure mattered. He’d made peace with his mother’s passing long before she took her last breath. When his father had died, his last words had been coarse and unintended.
There was no reward for pretending.
He wouldn’t win a prize for composure.
If this was his brother’s last stand, then Jay would make it with him. For both their stakes.
Feeling stupid, the emotion overtook him now. He reached down, picking up Will’s limp fingers from atop the blanket and holding them in his own. He’d resisted these displays of emotion, but he couldn’t justify it now. What was a last stand for, then? You gave it all, and you held nothing back.
No energy. No fight. No pride.
It was all on the line.
The years of animosity. The untold resentments. The bitter fights.
And they were still brothers.
He looked from Will’s face down to his hands, where his fingers were wrapped around Will’s.
They were still brothers.
That was why they’d put aside the animosity. That was why they’d forgotten the resentments. That was why they’d still come together after every fight, big and small.
They were always brothers.
And he liked to pretend that it was all Will’s fault. He’d liked that narrative, one good brother, one bad. He’d held it against Will -- all of it. And he’d never let him forget.
But family was a two-way street, it always was. You always hurt the people you loved the most, and you always assumed the worst when you could have assumed the best. He’d never wanted to understand Will, even when he really did. It had been easier to blame him for the hard things instead of trying to see his brother’s hardships as well.
They were a pair of assholes, and they’d both found ways of protecting themselves.
“I’m sorry,” Jay said, even if he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. The tears were choking him again. “I just -- I’m so, so sorry.”
Another rush of tears overtook him, and he reached up his other hand, clutching at his brother more vigorously now.
“I don’t want you to go, okay?” he said, sparing a glance up to his brother’s face. “I really just don’t want you to go. I should have told you that from the beginning, because I don’t think you knew, but I just want you to stay. Please, Will. Just stay.”
He drew his brother’s hand up once more, almost despite himself. Sentimental as it was, he pressed his lips to it, squeezing his eyes shut as the sobs shook him once more. When the worst of the tears had passed, he gently lowered his brother’s hand again, moving to place it carefully back on the sheets where he’d plucked it in the first place.
That was when, even in his grief, he noticed something odd.
Will’s hand -- it wasn’t injured.
The knuckles weren’t cracked or broken. There was no sign of bruising.
Picking it up again, suddenly curious, he examined it more closely. He moved finger to finger, looking up and down the digit with a growing sense of dread.
Not a single mark -- anywhere.
And this was Will’s right hand.
If Will was going to throw a punch--
Just to be sure, Jay got up. He reached over his brother, picking up his left hand. It, too, was spotless. Not a mark or blemish anywhere.
He put the hand back down and stood back with a growing sense of horror, even though it was confirmation to what he’d always known. Will hadn’t started this fight.
But, more than that, Will hadn’t even been a part of this fight.
Based on the circumstantial physical evidence, Will had never seen the fight coming. He’d had no chance to fight back -- or even defend himself.
This wasn’t an accident.
This was assault.
Moreover, if Will didn’t survive this -- if he couldn’t hang on long enough -- then this was murder.
