Chicago Med fic: Redemption (1/8)
Title: Redemption
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: AU S7. Sequel to Restitution and Resolution. Unbeta’ed like all the rest. Fills my group support square for hc_bingo.
Summary: Will fell apart on his own. It takes a whole group to put him back together.
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
-o-
In truth, Will had been more afraid of telling Jay what happened than he was talking to his bosses. He had developed a certain aversion to power structures over the years, first by being defiant and then by being scared out of his mind by them. It wasn’t fear so much as it was healthy discomfort. The way Ms. Goodwin had fired him had left an indelible mark, and he wasn’t likely to forget that feeling any time soon.
He imagined Dr. Charles might lecture him about coming to terms with his emotions, about understanding his fear in a positive context, but Will wasn’t really heartened by the shift of perspective. As best he could tell, he deserved what had happened with Ms. Goodwin, and he didn’t want to spend time doing mental gymnastics to justify himself.
Of course, he also didn’t want to relive it.
When he got word that the board was ready to meet with him some three weeks after the incident and a few days after he was released from the hospital, he’d tried to get out of it, citing his recovery as evidence. However, Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho, the two board representatives assigned to his case, had made it clear that there was a mandatory review process for incidents of such nature, and, given his unique role, they wanted to discuss the matter with him in some depth.
There was nothing in the tone of the invitation that said Will was getting in trouble, but Will felt like he was getting in trouble. He had tried to maintain protocol. He’d done his best to stay true to policy during the evacuation. But he had let Dr. Dunst back in. He’d gotten himself shot and forced Dr. Dunst to break more protocol to save his life. Those were serious lapses, and Will had made them with the best intentions, but the best intentions weren’t always enough.
Maybe it was time to leave again.
He could skip out on it, get a plane ticket home and pretend like this didn’t happen.
Except it did happen.
And Will had to own it, mistakes and all. If he was going to finish what he started, then he had to stay right where he was.
No matter how much it terrified him.
-o-
The review was set to happen after his release from the hospital. He had thought that might buy him some time, but luck was not on his side. Soon after talking to Jay, his blood pressure stabilized. He was quickly upgraded to a regular recovery ward, and then he was released back to his apartment with strict instructions to rest and recover properly.
Against his wishes, a personal care nurse was assigned to his case, showing up twice a day to check on him, changes his bandages and help him with basic tasks and rudimentary physical therapy. Adam stopped by from time to time just to make sure he was following the rules, but mostly to keep him company. Will was grateful for it. He didn’t want to let on just how nervous he was.
Besides, if he was about to get fired, he wanted to spend this time with Adam.
They might not get the chance again.
Within another week, he was mobile enough to get around, and the visits were reduced to once a day.
That was when he got word that his reprieve was over.
He started it.
Now he was going to finish it.
-o-
He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but when Dr. Ho and Dr. Wexler offered to meet him in the bar at their hotel, he was a little taken aback. The venue seemed too public, so they had suggested a rented conference room instead.
Will wore a shirt and tie, but he didn’t have a sport jacket with him in Africa. He was hot and anxious while he waited, having been unable to sleep the night before. He was sweaty by the time it started, and he rubbed at his healing scar unconsciously as he tried to remind himself to breathe.
Once inside, he thought he might pass out. There was a chair for him to sit at across the table from Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho, but he found he couldn’t make his knees bend.
Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho greeted him warmly, but that just made it worse. Dr. Wexler was an older woman with a well maintained gray bob. She wore a suit with wire-rim glasses, and when she smiled, it was a motherly look. Dr. Ho, by contrast, looked like a grandfather. Round in the belly and short, he had darker features and a balding head. It wasn’t clear which one of them was actually in charge. All Will knew was that he wasn’t.
The first ten minutes consisted of a review of the attack, going over the steps carefully. They repeated several points diligently, and Will gave a faltering reply as best he could. His throat threatened to seize up each time he fumbled a detail, but Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho seemed to be scribbling notes too intently to notice.
When explaining his choice to let Dr. Dunst back in, he broke to apologize. When he had to explain how he’d been shot and why Dr. Dunst had performed surgery, he nearly lost his control completely.
Dr. Ho seemed to be too preoccupied to notice, but Dr. Wexler gave him a look of concern. “You’re distressed about this, aren’t you?” she noticed.
It was almost a relief to have it said. If he was going to be fired, then he wanted to get it over and done with. “I know it was a serious lapse of protocol, and my continued decisions put Dr. Dunst in an impossible situation--”
“And how terrifying that must have been,” Dr. Wexler said. “To have worked so hard and done everything right, just to find yourself bleeding to death with no support.”
Will stopped, the continued self-flagellation going still in his throat.
Dr. Wexler shook her head, looking genuinely sorry now. “And that is the real reason you’re here.”
Dr. Ho looked up as well now, taking off his glasses. “Your version of the events matches everything we know already. The debrief was just a formality.”
“I am willing to face any consequences,” Will said.
Dr. Wexler seemed not to understand him. “We wanted to see how you were doing in person, make sure that you’re well being isn’t slipping through the cracks after all you’ve done for us.”
Will was trying to make sense of that, but he came up short. “What?”
“This incident,” Dr. Wexler said. “It was quite traumatic. We’ve already had several people quit, and we’ve arranged transfers for a dozen more. These numbers are actually low compared to most incidents, but a lot of that can be traced to your safe and efficient evacuation of the ED.”
This sounded suspiciously like praise, but that didn’t make sense. None of this was making sense now.
“We have had incidents in the past, for sure, but what you have gone through in the last year is somewhat extreme,” Dr. Ho said, continuing for his colleague. He looked genuinely upset. “To have suffered serious injury in two incursions--”
“Only one was serious,” Will said, as if writing off a beating and exhaustion would actually make a difference. “And I knew what I signed up for. This is front lines kind of stuff. That’s why it matters. That’s why I’m here.”
“And that is admirable,” Dr. Wexler said with a prim smile. “But we are not soldiers here. We are very grateful for your service, but we would be remiss if we did not recognize the physical and psychological toll your past two postings have presented for you.”
“My recovery has been just fine--” Will started to explain.
“Your physical recovery is well documented, yes,” Dr. Ho said. “And while general psychological assessments say that you are coping, we are here today to talk more specifically about how you are feeling. Being okay is not the same thing as being well.”
“So, tell us, Dr. Halstead,” Dr. Wexler said. “How are you doing?”
That was a question, then. One he hadn’t let himself think about. Truthfully, he’d not thought of himself in that regard. What did it mean to be okay? What did it mean to be well?
Did he -- of all people -- have the right to differentiate?
He hadn’t come here to be well.
He’d come here to be okay.
His whole basis for understanding himself wasn’t at the level yet. He’d come to serve, not be happy. A form of penance, Jay had called it. A penance Will might pay for the rest of his life for all the good it did him. Nothing made the doubt go away. Nothing satisfied his self loathing. Suffering seemed like the only thing to make his existence worthwhile.
Of course, he couldn’t say that. That sort of thing was insane, and he knew it. Logically, he didn’t abide by it, but the emotions ran deep. He’d broken in Chicago, and the pieces of him were still lying disparate all around him. He didn’t know how to put them back together -- even now.
Especially now.
“I’m doing what matters,” he said finally. “And I feel good about that.”
Dr. Wexler smiled kindly at him, but her eyes narrowed on him keenly. “Yes, and that’s quite noble. But it’s not the question we asked.”
“But isn’t it the question that matters?” he said. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful -- to the contrary. I’ve been a doctor for a long time, and I know I’ve saved a lot of lives. But there’s something different about what I’m doing here. I know the dangers, I really do. I came to face them -- to face that part of myself that might run away otherwise.”
Dr. Wexler sighed, making a small notation on her paper. She glanced to Dr. Ho, who nodded his head. “Dr. Halstead, your service here has been exceptional. These questions are just designed to make sure you’re still wanting to make the commitment. We know that the challenges doctors and nurses face here are sometimes more than they are ready for. Given all that you have done and the sacrifices you have made, we would more than understand if you wanted to go back to Chicago.”
“No,” Will said, and this time he didn’t have to think. He didn’t hesitate. “I’m here to finish what I started.”
“Very well, then,” Dr. Ho said. “Then let’s talk about your next assignment.”
“Next?” Will asked, suddenly confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Based on our assessment from this incident, we have decided that it is important to provide new opportunities for the majority of the ED staff,” Dr. Ho explained. “Although we are currently operating the ED with a skeleton crew for limited capacity, we hope to rebuild with new staff and minimize the trauma for those who were on the front lines.”
“In other words, Dr. Halstead,” Dr. Wexler interjected. “Something quite terrible happened in that ED, and we agree with the assessment that the psychological welfare of staff should come first. We are offering hiatuses for all involved staff -- paid and with benefits -- but if you feel like you want to get back to work, there are certainly other postings available--”
Will found himself in protest. “But Dr. Dunst--”
“--is the one who was most insistent about you getting the support you need and the transfer you deserve,” Dr. Wexler explained. “That’s why we’re here -- by her request. She does not believe you should be back in that ED. Therefore, given the level of your service and your excellence in the field, we want to help you close out your last assignment and decide your future.”
Will felt his heart skip a beat in anticipation. The idea of leaving Dr. Dunst was something he hadn’t fully contended with, but he was here to serve. He was here to go.
That was what he’d told himself all along
For some reason, it was a harder pill to swallow today.
The fact that he might have to go was acceptable to him.
The fact that she didn’t want him, however.
Will could only bob his head in numb agreement. “Great,” he said without much intonation. “Then, wherever you want to send me.”
“Actually,” Dr. Wexler said, and she seemed to smile. “This time, we thought we’d let you pick.”
Will frowned just slightly. “But I don’t understand.”
“Your first assignment had you attacked by local gangs. The second was overtaken in a terrorist coup,” Dr. Wexler said, eyebrows going up. “Those are two lucks of the draw that didn’t go in your favor. If you want to stay on, you pick the next assignment.”
Will was already starting to protest once more. “But--”
Dr. Wexler held up her hand. “Just look at the options, Dr. Halstead,” she said. She reached for a pile of files and held it out. “I’m sure one of them will jump out at you.”
Reluctantly, Will stepped forward. “This really isn’t necessary.”
Dr. Wexler all but thrust the files out at him. Dr. Ho chuckled next to her. “This way, the next time disaster strikes, we will have plausible deniability,” he joked. “It’s been a long year for all of us, Dr. Halstead. We can’t control everything, but we all deserve a little say in our own fate, don’t you think?”
Will accepted the files and stepped back once more. “I hadn’t thought about it, I guess.”
“Well, now is the time to start,” Dr. Wexler said. “Review the files, and take the night. Let us know what you decide in the morning.”
-o-
The hotel wasn’t far from his apartment, but his stamina was still sorely lacking. A private car had been arranged for him to go back and forth, and he felt conspicuous in it. He was relieved to finally make it back home, but the relief was short lived.
When he got back up to his apartment, Will laid out the file folders on his bed and forced himself to reckon with what had just happened to him. He was still confused how this had happened, how he’d gone from being the biggest screw up to this. Any posting he liked. He could sort through the hospitals by hand and forge his future to suit any whim he had.
That amount of freedom.
How had he earned it? Was it the scar on his chest? That was just another mistake.
He was a mistake. He didn’t want it -- not any of it.
Part of him thought about rejecting all of it, insisting on going back with Dr. Dunst. But the months of planning, administrative work -- he wouldn’t get to help patients. He needed to be getting his hands dirty, so to speak. Not sitting on the sidelines creating his perfect ED.
No, Will had come here to serve. He had come to put himself last. He didn’t deserve honors or awards. He wasn’t ready for accolades or privileges. He wasn’t even sure if he could handle the freedom being offered to him without completely imploding.
It had happened to him before.
It had happened to him repeatedly.
In Africa, the first time. In New York. In Chicago.
But these files.
These postings.
These hospitals.
Hospitals that served patients -- people. Real people in real need.
Big cities. Rural outposts. Coastal getaways. Desert hotspots.
Some were well established and well off. Others were still developing. He could serve anywhere -- he could.
He came back to one file.
One single file.
The hospital was small and understaffed. It was poorly funded and badly equipped. The Chief of Staff position had been open 10 times in the last three years. Clearly, it was the posting that no one wanted.
For a doctor that no one wanted either, it seemed to be the perfect fit.
-o-
Dr. Ho and Dr. Wexler had arranged to meet him for breakfast the next morning at one of the cafes near his apartment. He was early, already sipping a coffee by the time they arrived. He engaged in the necessary pleasantries, ordering himself some eggs whites and toast before he couldn’t wait any longer.
“So, I went over the files,” he said.
Dr. Ho took a sip of his juice. “Oh?” he said. “Let me guess. ED Chief in Nairobi. By far the most prestigious option.”
“But not the one with the most potential,” Dr. Wexler said. “I’m begging you for the coast. An attending at Freetown. Brand new facility. All the latest technology.
“Actually,” Will said, producing the file in question. “I was thinking this one.”
He handed it over, and Dr. Ho took it. He opened the flap and frowned. Dr. Wexler’s eyes went wide.
“This hospital?” Dr. Wexler asked, giving Will a skeptical look.
“That hospital,” Will said.
“If you can call it that,” Dr. Ho said. He gave Dr. Wexler a look. “I didn’t realize that was even still in there. I thought we weren’t sure it was going to stay open.”
“The operation budget will give it another two months -- max,” Dr. Wexler said. She looked at Will again. “You did read the file, didn’t you?”
Will nodded. “I did.”
“So you know that it is an extremely remote location for us, very disconnected from our supply lines,” she said. “The utilities are inconsistent, and frankly, the facility lacks sufficient cashflow. It is always close to shutting down for good.”
“I know,” Will said. “And it serves a low income community of nearly 50,000 people. Those 50,000 people don’t have enough money or insurance coverage to get treatment at the other hospital across the city. Without this facility, most of these people just won’t get the healthcare they need.”
“He did read the file,” Dr. Wexler said, almost to herself. She turned her gaze to Dr. Ho.
Dr. Ho sat forward, fingers crossed on the table. “You had the option of our very best facilities. We could have given you access to cutting edge medicine. Some of the postings would elevate your career substantially.”
“I told you, I’m here to serve,” Will said. “And I don’t know. I guess I’m attracted to lost causes right now.”
“And here’s to hoping they can all be found,” Dr. Wexler said. She extended her hand. “Congratulations, Dr. Halstead. You are now officially Chief of Staff of your very own hospital.”
He accepted the handshake, and nodded back at them. “Thank you for the opportunity,” he said. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
Dr. Ho went back to his breakfast with a little bemused sound. “With this posting? I’m not sure you could.”
-o-
It was a major life change, but, to be fair, Will had gone through a lot of those recently. This one, somehow, seemed anticlimactic -- despite being the most prestigious upgrade yet. He’d come to Africa in shame, and he didn’t know what to think of being the golden boy again. It wasn’t a distinction he found he wanted. If anything, it unnerved him.
And yet, there was something about this one.
This hospital. This posting. This chance.
He wanted to rebuild himself -- and he could do it here. He could rebuild his career as he rebuilt this hospital. He could remake himself as he remade his staff.
He was anxious. He was uncertain. He was hesitant.
And maybe he was hopeful?
And he was terrified to be hopeful, when he got right down to it.
Caught up in the myriad of emotions, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. So, naturally, he brought it up with his brother when he checked in with him later that day.
Because yes, daily check ins were definitely a thing. After getting beaten and then shot, he was pretty sure that if Jay didn’t hear from him multiple times a day, his brother was going to pitch a fit -- and probably with reason.
Though, he had to be honest. Talking to Jay wasn’t just for Jay.
So, he didn’t mince words. After exchanging pleasantries, Will put it out there.
“I got my new posting today,” Will said.
“That’s good,” Jay said. It sounded like he was busy, probably at work. “I mean, I’m hoping it’s good. Your last two were crap, so you’re bound to have a good one.”
“Actually, it’s a smaller hospital this time,” Will said.
“That could be good,” Jay said. “Less of a target.”
“It’s a pretty ragtag operation,” Will explained, leafing through the file again. “Understaffed, outdated technology, small operating budget.”
Over the line, Will could hear his brother’s incredulity. “So you did get a crappy one again. How is that even fair? You got shot.”
Will flopped back on his bed and looked at the ceiling. “It was my choice,” he said tiredly. “They gave me the choice of any posting I wanted.”
“And you picked the worst possible one?” Jay surmised, although he seemed at a loss for why.
“I’m not here for a vacation, Jay,” Will reminded him.
Jay actually laughed, a short and clipped noise that was garbled in the transatlantic furor. “And what part of this has been a vacation for you so far? The part where you were beaten by gang members? Or the part when you got shot?”
Will shook his head. “You’re really stuck on that, aren’t you?”
“Uh, yeah,” Jay said. “And you should be, too. You have to have at least a semblance of self preservation over there.”
“But this is what I came for,” Will said. “This is what I know I’m supposed to be doing.”
Jay was quiet for a moment. Then, he finally spoke. “But for how long? And, like, how much? You said you went there to finish something, but when will you know that it’s done?”
Those questions were probably valid. Honestly, Will hadn’t thought about them much. “I don’t know.”
“But you need to know,” Jay pressed, sounding a little concerned. “Will, the thing with penance, if that really is what this is, is that eventually it’s paid. Right? Eventually, you’re square or whatever.”
Will’s eyes trailed across the ceiling. He could still feel the raised scar on his chest from the nearly-healed surgical site. He tried to remember how long he’d been here. How long it’d been since he’d been in the same room as his brother. Since they’d sat down to watch a game or go out for drinks at Molly’s.
There were things he missed, of course. He didn’t think about them much because they made it too hard. It was hard to move forward when so much of what he loved was behind him.
He understood the distinction, of course. He had to. Happiness or satisfaction. Contentment or purpose. Will wasn’t at the point where he could do both. Will was still working on keeping both feet planting on the ground, right where he was.
“What’s the point, Jay?” he asked, quieter now. “I mean, what do you think happens when the penance is paid?”
“You come home, you get your ass back in Chicago where it belongs,” Jay said without even thinking.
“I don’t know if I can,” Will said. He shook his head, feeling lost at the thought. Where there was joy, there was also loss. Where there was success, there was also humiliation. Maybe part of him was running away. Maybe he had to finish this before he could even begin to think about finishing the rest. Maybe he’d never get there.
“Will,” Jay said, and he sounded quieter, too. “I would have thought that after all this time, all you’ve done, you’d be a little more at peace with things.”
“At peace with what, Jay?” Will asked. “I mean, maybe that was the ending for Chicago. Not the ending that I wanted, not the one I intended, but the one I deserved.”
“No, no way,” Jay said. “You act like you don’t get to make mistakes.”
“That mistake was pretty big,” Will reminded him.
“And?” Jay asked. “I just think you’re not seeing the full picture here, bro. I still go to Med, like, all the time--”
“But why would you--”
“Mostly investigations,” Jay assured him. “I haven’t been admitted.”
“And you would tell me if you had?” Will asked.
“You’re not exactly one to talk right now,” Jay countered. “And you’re missing my point. My point is that I still see all the people at Med, and every time I’m there, it takes me twice as long to get anything done because they’re always asking about you. Dr. Charles, Ethan, Maggie -- hell, even that guy I’m not supposed to like, Marcel. They all want to know how you are, when you’re coming back.”
Will sat up, face creased with skepticism. “That’s ridiculous.”
“But it’s not, Will,” Jay said. “They miss you.”
“They’re just being polite,” Will said, hedging.
“Maybe for the first month or two,” Jay said. “But they keep asking. Constantly.”
Will sighed, flopping back again. “I think you’re exaggerating.”
“Whatever,” Jay muttered. “I think for a guy as smart as you are, you’re really an idiot sometimes.”
Will laughed. “Well, at least some things haven’t changed.”
“No,” Jay agreed with a small smirking now. “I guess they haven’t.”
-o-
With this new placement, Will had expected another quick turnaround, but he was surprised by the leisurely pace of everything this time. Granted, he had just been shot, but his recovery was moving along nicely, and usually time was always of the essence.
Still, this time, Dr. Wexler all but insisted that he continue with his recovery, and promised him that he would retain his old salary with a few additional stipends to cover his unusual expenses right now. Then, only after he had been fully cleared and completed an extended round of physical therapy, he would take a train inland -- in first class, no less.
First class. With all the perks. And a transfer bonus.
It was surreal -- that was what it all was. It completely didn’t make sense.
Was this because he’d been shot? Were they feeling guilty? Was this some attempt to keep him from suing them?
Did he have a case to sue them?
Will hadn’t even considered it. Even now, he wasn’t sure why he would.
Maybe this was just what they did when you reached a certain level in the organization. Adam seemed to have a lot more freedom to move about -- and his salary was certainly better than Will’s had ever been. Maybe this was just career advancement, the perks of making it.
This was what he’d wanted back at Med. He’d always fancied himself rising the corporate ladder, taking the role of Chief of Emergency Medicine -- and then more. He’d been ambitious once, to the point where failure had nearly poisoned what he had. He’d taken Ethan’s promotion hard, and he’d been such an idiot as to think he was wrong.
Getting fired less than a year later had set him straight on that front.
Which just made this all the more vexing.
He hadn’t come for this.
But this was what he was getting.
How, he wasn’t sure.
Why, was even more of a mystery.
What, though, now seemed to be utterly inevitable.
-o-
Inevitable, but slow.
Will’s recovery was right on track, but it was apparently a lot harder to recover from a bullet to the chest than a simple beating and exhaustion. He wasn’t sure how Jay managed all this, though he expected his brother had been allowed to cut a lot more corners than he was. Voight had likely been willing to overlook a few things in the medical file. Will’s bosses in the organization had made explicit notes that his recovery was to be granted the full amount of flexibility.
In other words, he wasn’t going to be cleared for duty prematurely.
Instead, he was going to be expected to meet every milestone in painfully slow acuity.
Granted, he was giving his body plenty of time to get together -- and there was something to that. The bullet had damaged his chest wall, and the lung damage had been significant. Although he was mobile and mostly pain free, his lung capacity was still recovery, which made it difficult to be on his feet all day.
He took his therapy seriously, however, increasing his physical capacity and overall flexibility. He preferred to do the work. When he wasn’t working on his physical therapy….
Well, he wasn’t sure what he was doing.
He lounged around. He watched some TV. He read some books and caught up with his medical journals. He was diligent in communicating with Jay, and he even took time to keep up with Maggie. Then, he packed his things. Dr. Wexler had offered a packing service, but Will had most of it done before they arrived. He just didn’t know what else to do.
Also, he still didn’t have much stuff.
So.
So….what?
Will didn’t know. He sat around, he rested, he recovered...and for what? To what end? How was Will this far removed from his life in Chicago and all its disasters and he still had no idea what he was doing.
He was more than a little relieved when he had his last scheduled surgical follow up. Although Dr. Dunst had performed his surgery, she had quickly transferred his care to another surgeon on staff. He did his best not to take this personally, but as with most things these days, he just wasn’t sure.
What was sure was that he was fit, healthy and fully recovered.
“At this point, it’s really a matter of preference,” the surgeon said with a shrug. “If you don’t feel ready, there’s really no harm in taking more.”
Will frowned at him, a little confused. “Why would I take more time off? I mean, I’ve been sitting around doing nothing for weeks now. Of course I’m ready.”
“You’ve been recovering,” the surgeon clarified for him gently. “And there are many reasons. You were shot. And before that -- by just a few months -- you were beaten, yes?”
“So?” Will asked.
“So,” the surgeon said slowly. “For many people, two traumatic events back to back? It can be hard. I’ve been advised to encourage you once again to pursue mental health support.”
Will drew a breath, and measured himself by it when he exhaled. “I’m really doing just fine with it,” he said. “No flashbacks, no anxiety -- I just want to get back to it. I know what I’m here to do.”
With a nod, the surgeon tapped a few buttons on her iPad and closed it with a smile. “Then, I see no reason not to let you do it,” she said. “Consider yourself cleared for duty. Good luck, Dr. Halstead.”
There were no more i’s to dot or t’s to cross. No one could justify dragging out his recovery one more day. With official documentation, Will was cleared for duty, and the next chapter of his life in Africa could begin.
Except this chapter wasn’t quite over.
At least, not yet.
Or maybe, this time, Will just needed to say goodbye.
-o-
Will stopped back at his office, organizing the last of his things. He put the paperwork in its proper place and filed what he could for the next ED Chief, and he collected what he had of his scant personal belongings into a box.
He wasn’t sure if he really intended to slip out of the ED without notice, but he was surprised when he found himself in the middle of an impromptu goodbye party while saying goodbye to a few friends in the doctor’s lounge. Someone produced a sheet cake they bought from the cafeteria, and there was a makeshift message of goodbye scrawled on the community whiteboard.
Hes was flattered by it, of course -- and mostly just embarrassed as person after person came up to him and thanked him. They would miss him, they said. They would never forget him.
“Oh, and don’t worry,” the charge nurse joked. “I checked with the policy code. Parties are definitely allowed on work days as long as no more than fifty percent of the staff is present at any given moment in order to allow for smooth operation in the ED. I made up a schedule and everything because we all wanted to say goodbye the right way!”
Will laughed, and he hugged people. He told the soccer team to keep playing. He made sure his residents knew they had to keep learning. He took time to tell his nurses how important they were. As for his attendings, he pulled them aside and insisted to each one to keep doing what they were doing, and they were going to be fine.
They were all going to be fine.
This place would go on without him, just as every other place before him. Would they remember him? Did they need to? Was his impact anything of actual note?
Or was it more about him? And how this place had changed him?
The doctor they were thanking wasn’t the doctor who had come to Africa. Will wasn’t sure who he was, or if it was real, but maybe he was. Maybe Will was.
The goodbye took longer than he’d expected, but after several hours he was able to disentangle himself from his ED. Perhaps the most satisfying moment of all was when he finally made his exit, and he took one look back.
A look to see that the ED was moving smoothly and efficiently.
This time, there was no disaster in his wake.
He wasn’t sure what success really was anymore, but the absence of failure seemed like the only place he knew where to start.
-o-
He’d said his goodbyes. He’d made his peace. But he still had one step left for closure.
This time, he walked up to Dr. Dunst’s office all by himself. Of his own accord -- with no summons. With no anxiety.
It wasn’t like Dr. Dunst was his friend. There would be no celebratory goodbyes here, no hugs and well wishes.
But he had done everything she ever asked of him.
And she had saved his life.
That deserved a moment, he decided. That warranted closure.
Despite showing up unannounced, he was able to get right in. She was seated behind her desk, half buried in her paperwork, looking almost exactly the same as when he’d first met her a few months ago. Prim, proper and to the point.
It had been unnerving once.
He had to admit: now, it almost made him want to smile.
He sat down without invitation, and she held up a hand as she scribbled a few more notes. Then, she put the paper aside and put her pen down, pausing to push her glasses back up her nose as she gave him the most perfunctory smile imaginable. “Dr. Halstead, I am surprised to see you here,” she said. “It was my understanding that you had left.”
“Just leaving,” Will said. “I was cleared to go back to work today. I stopped by the ED to clean out my office and say goodbye.”
She nodded with an air of trained indifference. “Of course, that seems reasonable. I received word that you would be transferred several weeks ago, but I have not yet heard about your replacement. The board can be quite inconsistent, I find. The lack of consistency across the system is deeply problematic in my opinion.”
He knew her well enough now that he could sense the distraction under her commentary. She was talking about something else in order to avoid talking about what was really on her mind. Confronting emotion wasn’t something that happened in a calm and orderly fashion, after all. It didn’t fit in Dr. Dunst’s approach to life.
Yet, Will knew too well, it could not be avoided.
Even when he was still trying to avoid it sometimes himself.
“I’m sure they’ll figure something out for you,” Will said. “But, I mean, if you’re really that unhappy with it, I could always talk to them. See about staying.”
Her face screwed up. “Staying?”
“Here,” he said. “If you wanted me to, I’d tell them I wanted to stay on as your ED chief.”
The suggestion appeared to make no sense to her. “But you already accepted another position,” she said. “I saw the update in your file. Some little hospital with a poor efficacy rating--”
“Sure, but I only took it because they insisted,” Will said. “I think they’re scared that I’ll sue them or something. If I insist on staying, I think they’ll let me.”
Her mouth opened, and she failed to speak for a moment. Then, she closed her mouth and regained something of her composure. “No. No, absolutely not.”
Her quick denial was probably something he expected, so he wasn’t sure why it still hurt a little to hear. With a pang of grief, he sat back, but he didn’t look away. If she was going to say this, she was going to say it completely. “You don’t want to work with me?”
The directness of his question seemed to take her aback. She recoiled once more, as if the insinuation offended her. “You are one of the best doctors I’ve worked with. Certainly, one of the best administrators I’ve known.”
“Okay,” Will said. “So then, why not? Why not push to see if I can stay on here? You don’t have a replacement. I haven’t started. It wouldn’t be that hard.”
“Because,” she said quickly, but fumbled the rest of her answer. She drew a breath and shook her head. “You have made a commitment. You cannot back out now -- that is irresponsible, and quite frankly, not the way I have trained you.”
But that answer was too easy. “I’ve done everything asked of me here. I’ve said yes to every request the board has made of me, no questions asked,” he said. “I could do this one thing for myself, and I don’t think I’d be wrong.”
As reasonable as Will was trying to be, Dr. Dunst looked aghast. “No. I will not allow it.”
It was an adamant response, and on its face, there was nothing more to it. Dr. Dunst wanted him to believe that this was entirely professional, and Will would have believed it a few weeks ago. But something had changed -- in him, in her, in this dynamic they shared.
Closure was a luxury, that much was certain.
But after giving so much of himself to this job, he thought it was one he might be entitled to this time around.
“But why not?” he pressed. “We get along. I think we make a good team. You help me be a better doctor, and I think I’ve run the ED the way you want. Why shouldn’t I try to stay?”
That was a question that mattered. All the time he’d spent looking for reasons to leave.
Here he was, grappling with the reasons to stay.
“Dr. Halstead, this is not an assessment of you or of the nature of our working relationship,” Dr. Dunst explained.
“Then, what?” he said. “I mean, I’ve been trying to figure it out all throughout my recovery. Why you wouldn’t fight for me? Why you didn’t come visit me? Why you didn’t request for me to stay? What’s the problem?”
The questions seemed to fluster her, and she drew back, disconcerted. “The problem is just what I said. You are one of the best doctors I have worked with -- that is the problem, quite simply. Your skills are wasted here.”
“But maybe they’re not,” he argued, because she had broken him of some of his fear. Her office didn’t intimidate him anymore. He was able to see her as a boss and see her as a friend. He liked to think maybe he’d earned her respect, just like she had ultimately earned his. “If you want me to stay--”
Her cheeks were turning red, and her eyes were hard on his. She shook her head, inhaling sharply before he could continue. “I think I am too fond of you,” she blurted.
It was so sudden, so unexpected, so pointed -- Will didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. Mouth still open from his last line of thought, he sluggishly recovered himself. “What?”
She inhaled again, but it was a shaky movement this time. She unclasped her hands, then clasped them again. “You -- scared me,” she said, the words cutting and jarring. “When you were shot. When I thought you were going to die--”
She stopped, seemingly unable to talk.
When she continued, her voice was trembling just so. “I was emotionally compromised.”
It wasn’t the kind of thing she had said before. Clearly, it wasn’t the kind of thing she’d experienced. When Will had been working with Adam, the depth of their bond had always been self evident. His connection to Dr. Dunst was different. It was harder to pinpoint, more difficult to deduce. But to pretend that their bond was strictly professional did not exactly do it justice, though Will did not know how to call it fondness. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he ventured softly.
Her face drew into a frown, one that she used to keep her emotions in check. “It’s nothing I know how to work with,” she said. She nodded almost to herself. “I was the one who insisted that you be transferred. I want you to do well. I want you to be safe and happy.”
The sentiment was well intended, and Will knew that. Somehow, it still chafed. “Just far away from you.”
At this, she looked nearly relieved that it had been made so plain. “I’m not pretending that the choice is logical. But it is -- frankly, the only way I know how to cope with this situation.”
Will had looked to her all this time as being the source of self control, but it turned out she was was just as human as everyone else. Just as human as him, as impossible as that seemed.
In their humanity, they were flawed and imperfect.
They were also stronger than they could ever be otherwise.
This was what she had taught him, then.
That protocol could help him stay true, but it would never, ever save him.
This was the way it was, then. There were no happy endings. Just the right endings, the ones you needed even if you didn’t want them at all. There were many ways to die, after all. And she had been right from the start -- some of them happened while you were still alive.
He smiled, because he understood.
He smiled, because he accepted.
He smiled, because in the end, it was right.
“Well,” he said with a long breath of his own. “Turns out that logic has its limits.”
For once, he was the one keeping it together. Across from him, still leaned forward, Dr. Dunst looked like she was the one about to crumble. “Dr. Halstead--”
He shook his head. “Will.”
The instinctual protest was evident on her face, but she bit it back. She understood, too. She accepted it just as much as he did. “Will,” she relented, and she dared to smile back. “I will never find another colleague who has served me better.”
He nodded, and the pressure in his chest was bittersweet now, both the best and the worst he’d felt. “Thank you, Karen,” he said. “For saving my life -- yes. But mostly for showing me how protocol should look.”
Her expression warmed, and the tension eased from her shoulders. She nodded, somehow eager now. “Thank you for following me until the end,” she said. “I am sincere when I say this. Please, do, keep in touch.”
Some promises were hard. Some decisions were impossible.
Some, though, really weren’t.
Sometimes, the right thing -- it felt right, too.
Will smiled. “I will,” he promised.
He did not wait for an order Dr. Dunst would never give. They both knew, anyway. Some things ran their course; some things came to an end.
For once, Will had seen something through, and he didn’t know what came next.
He just knew he was ready to face it no matter what.
-o-
Will had gotten good at not putting down roots. His reticence to leave had never been an attachment to the place. He’d felt at home at the hospital, but this place had never been home. His apartment had been nicer, but he still didn’t spend much time there. It was relatively easy to get himself ready to move again. Despite his protests, he’d always sort of know it was going to end up this way.
Will was always leaving, see.
He wasn’t sure where he’d end up.
Someday, he would make the choice to stay.
Someday.
Just not today.
-o-
Given that Will had been injured in the line of duty twice, the powers that were certainly seemed to be going out of their way to attend to Will’s needs during the transition. He’d already been given ample time off -- too much, if Will had a say in matters -- and a set of professional movers were hired to handle his things. This seemed like overkill given that his apartment was scantily stocked with used and mismatched furniture. For as much as he’d invested in his career, he had spent little effort on his personal life comparatively.
In other words, it seemed like a waste of money. He didn’t have that much to move.
They put him on a train this time, and upgraded him to a nice, private car. It wasn’t an overnight trip, but the journey did take the better part of a day. He had to switch trains at some point, going deeper into less developed countryside, until he wound his way through cities that looked increasingly more decrepit.
When they arrived at the destination, Will was pleased that this city wasn’t as bad as some of the ones he’d passed through. The downtown looked modern enough, with a few tall buildings and people in business dress milling up and down the streets. From here, he was directed by taxi to get to his hospital.
The taxi service was professional enough, and when Will gave the woman the address, she raised her eyebrows. “Here?” she asked, pointing at the card once more.
“Yes,” Will said. “That hospital.”
She looked like she had opinions about that, but she regarded Will once more, seeming to make a calculation about how much of a tip she wanted. Then she smiled, loaded up his bag, and asked him to climb in.
The hospital, as it turned out, was in one of the suburbs.
However, calling it a suburb was a generous description. Although it was geographically connected to the city, the quality of life there was greatly diminished, a fact Will had known from the paperwork and could now visibly see from the taxi window. As they left the tidy downtown, the neighborhoods quickly grew less and less kept. The infrastructure in these areas had not been maintained, and nice office buildings and tall apartment complexes gave way to haphazard slums -- for the lack of a better word.
Will had grown up in Canaryville. It was not a nice neighborhood in Chicago by any stretch of the imaginable.
This place looked significantly worse.
The hospital was actually one of the better buildings in the area, but that wasn’t saying much. There had been some effort to keep it upright, and the fact that it hadn’t been vandalized as much as the surrounding territory suggested that the local population respected it.
At least, that was what Will told himself.
In truth, no matter what the file had said, the reality of his situation was finally settling in. This hospital, in its rundown glory, was his. He was the one in charge. The decisions started and stopped with him. He had no structure to fall back on. He had no one else to turn to to make the hard calls.
The first hard call: going inside.
He couldn’t very well stand on the curb forever. And he certainly had nowhere else to go. His things were being delivered to an apartment that had been procured for him, but he couldn’t go to the apartment if he didn’t do the job. The job was why he was here.
He’d chosen this.
If he intended to see it through, he had to get his ass inside first.
Promptly, he paid the cab driver, giving her a hefty tip for her trouble. He hoped it could salvage her day since he wasn’t sure about that state of his own.
Resolved, though, Will went inside. As part of his acceptance paperwork, he’d been given a temporary ID pass for the hospital. He had been worried that the woeful paper copy he’d been given wouldn’t be good enough for the tight security he’d seen in his previous posting, but he quickly realized what it wasn’t a problem. While there was indeed a robust security presence, they didn’t have a lot of gadgets or tools. No, the security guy was still checking people in by name and ID number, thus making for a very slow but thorough checkpoint.
Will was admitted inside, and the security guard told him he could come back any time to make his official ID. This one, he was told, would be in color. It would even be laminated with his signature on the back to make it extra official.
It wasn’t clear to Will how that actually increased security, but that wasn’t an issue to worry about now.
The issue to worry about now was, well, everything else.
There were so many issues he didn’t even know where to start.
Inside the hospital, he was welcomed into a chaotic waiting area. It wasn’t exactly a welcome in a traditional sense -- no one greeted him or seemed to notice him at all. He made his way up to the desk where a weary looking man told him that it would be thirty minutes before a doctor could see him unless he was bleeding or having a heart attack.
“No, no,” Will said. “You misunderstand what I need. I’m not here to check in. I work here -- starting today. I’m trying to find my way up to my office.”
This warranted a second look from the man, who seemed to assess him more critically this time. “What job are you filling?”
“Oh,” Will said. “Uh, Chief of Staff. Chief of the ED, too, but you know.”
He shrugged for some reason, hoping that such an answer would be sufficient.
The man frowned, though, as if his straightforward response had left him lacking. “You’re the new Chief of Staff? What happened to the old one?”
“I couldn’t honestly tell you,” Will said. “But I have my paperwork here, and I have express directions from Dr. Ho and Dr. Wexler--”
Will produced his paperwork, hoping that might help clear things up.
It might have, but they would never know. They man didn’t even look at them. Instead, he wrinkled his nose. “Okay,” he said. “Administration is on the second floor. Normally, I’d tell you to take the elevator but it’s been shorting out all day. The staircase to the left is your best bet. Then, you can follow the signs.”
The answer was probably sufficient, but it seemed somewhat lackluster. As Will was Chief of Staff, he had possibly been expecting something else. Something more self explanatory. Something to suggest that they had been expecting him.
From behind the man, the door opened and a young woman bustled out. She saw him, and her face lit up. “Oh, you are here! I wasn’t given an exact time, and I checked the time your train arrived, but I got a little bit waylaid,” she explained as she approached.
It was a good thing she knew what was going on; Will, at this point, didn’t really have a clue.
At his confusion, she seemed to second guess herself. “You are Dr. Halstead, right?”
“That’s what his paperwork says,” the security guard added ever so helpfully.
Her smile brightened once more, and she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Mikayla.”
Will took her hand and shook it, not quite sure what to think. “And you are?”
“Your assistant!” she said, a little embarrassed that she had not said so already. “I had your schedule in hand today from Dr. Wexler, but I just got behind in a budget meeting.”
Will tipped his head to the side. “And you’re the assistant?”
“I know,” she said, and she leaned a little closer, wrinkling her nose. “It’s not strictly my job, but the department heads keep leaving me to do it, so I keep taking notes so you can finalize the forms when you’re ready. I would leave it to someone, you know, more experienced, but there’s just not anyone around, which is why I’m so glad you’re here.”
It was an extraordinary little tale, to be sure. Will wasn’t sure what part was more remarkable. That people were trusting Mikayla -- a young woman who couldn’t be older than 23 and clearly without medical or administrative training -- to handle the nuances of budget meetings, or that Mikayla -- who was young and clearly inexperienced in every possible regard -- was willing to step up and do a job she wasn’t really qualify to complete. Whatever they were paying her, Will deduced immediately that it wasn’t enough.
“Well, I’m glad to be here,” Will said. “I admittedly have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Oh, well, don’t worry about that,” she said, swatting her hand through the air. She held up the clipboard in her hand. “I know what you’re supposed to be doing -- and I know how long it hasn’t been getting done.”
Will hadn’t figured out yet if any of this was reassuring, or if each revelation was more disconcerting than the last. It was probably a bit of both, if he were honest.
“Anyway,” she said, glancing down at her sheet. “We should probably hurry. You are scheduled to meet with each department head late this afternoon. It was tricky to arrange it all, but I think I got it set up as per your request.”
“Oh,” Will said. “That’s great.”
She made a little face. “I guess we’ll see,” she said. She jerked her head to the doors. “Now, come on, Dr. Halstead. Let’s get you settled.”
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: AU S7. Sequel to Restitution and Resolution. Unbeta’ed like all the rest. Fills my group support square for hc_bingo.
Summary: Will fell apart on his own. It takes a whole group to put him back together.
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
-o-
In truth, Will had been more afraid of telling Jay what happened than he was talking to his bosses. He had developed a certain aversion to power structures over the years, first by being defiant and then by being scared out of his mind by them. It wasn’t fear so much as it was healthy discomfort. The way Ms. Goodwin had fired him had left an indelible mark, and he wasn’t likely to forget that feeling any time soon.
He imagined Dr. Charles might lecture him about coming to terms with his emotions, about understanding his fear in a positive context, but Will wasn’t really heartened by the shift of perspective. As best he could tell, he deserved what had happened with Ms. Goodwin, and he didn’t want to spend time doing mental gymnastics to justify himself.
Of course, he also didn’t want to relive it.
When he got word that the board was ready to meet with him some three weeks after the incident and a few days after he was released from the hospital, he’d tried to get out of it, citing his recovery as evidence. However, Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho, the two board representatives assigned to his case, had made it clear that there was a mandatory review process for incidents of such nature, and, given his unique role, they wanted to discuss the matter with him in some depth.
There was nothing in the tone of the invitation that said Will was getting in trouble, but Will felt like he was getting in trouble. He had tried to maintain protocol. He’d done his best to stay true to policy during the evacuation. But he had let Dr. Dunst back in. He’d gotten himself shot and forced Dr. Dunst to break more protocol to save his life. Those were serious lapses, and Will had made them with the best intentions, but the best intentions weren’t always enough.
Maybe it was time to leave again.
He could skip out on it, get a plane ticket home and pretend like this didn’t happen.
Except it did happen.
And Will had to own it, mistakes and all. If he was going to finish what he started, then he had to stay right where he was.
No matter how much it terrified him.
-o-
The review was set to happen after his release from the hospital. He had thought that might buy him some time, but luck was not on his side. Soon after talking to Jay, his blood pressure stabilized. He was quickly upgraded to a regular recovery ward, and then he was released back to his apartment with strict instructions to rest and recover properly.
Against his wishes, a personal care nurse was assigned to his case, showing up twice a day to check on him, changes his bandages and help him with basic tasks and rudimentary physical therapy. Adam stopped by from time to time just to make sure he was following the rules, but mostly to keep him company. Will was grateful for it. He didn’t want to let on just how nervous he was.
Besides, if he was about to get fired, he wanted to spend this time with Adam.
They might not get the chance again.
Within another week, he was mobile enough to get around, and the visits were reduced to once a day.
That was when he got word that his reprieve was over.
He started it.
Now he was going to finish it.
-o-
He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but when Dr. Ho and Dr. Wexler offered to meet him in the bar at their hotel, he was a little taken aback. The venue seemed too public, so they had suggested a rented conference room instead.
Will wore a shirt and tie, but he didn’t have a sport jacket with him in Africa. He was hot and anxious while he waited, having been unable to sleep the night before. He was sweaty by the time it started, and he rubbed at his healing scar unconsciously as he tried to remind himself to breathe.
Once inside, he thought he might pass out. There was a chair for him to sit at across the table from Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho, but he found he couldn’t make his knees bend.
Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho greeted him warmly, but that just made it worse. Dr. Wexler was an older woman with a well maintained gray bob. She wore a suit with wire-rim glasses, and when she smiled, it was a motherly look. Dr. Ho, by contrast, looked like a grandfather. Round in the belly and short, he had darker features and a balding head. It wasn’t clear which one of them was actually in charge. All Will knew was that he wasn’t.
The first ten minutes consisted of a review of the attack, going over the steps carefully. They repeated several points diligently, and Will gave a faltering reply as best he could. His throat threatened to seize up each time he fumbled a detail, but Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho seemed to be scribbling notes too intently to notice.
When explaining his choice to let Dr. Dunst back in, he broke to apologize. When he had to explain how he’d been shot and why Dr. Dunst had performed surgery, he nearly lost his control completely.
Dr. Ho seemed to be too preoccupied to notice, but Dr. Wexler gave him a look of concern. “You’re distressed about this, aren’t you?” she noticed.
It was almost a relief to have it said. If he was going to be fired, then he wanted to get it over and done with. “I know it was a serious lapse of protocol, and my continued decisions put Dr. Dunst in an impossible situation--”
“And how terrifying that must have been,” Dr. Wexler said. “To have worked so hard and done everything right, just to find yourself bleeding to death with no support.”
Will stopped, the continued self-flagellation going still in his throat.
Dr. Wexler shook her head, looking genuinely sorry now. “And that is the real reason you’re here.”
Dr. Ho looked up as well now, taking off his glasses. “Your version of the events matches everything we know already. The debrief was just a formality.”
“I am willing to face any consequences,” Will said.
Dr. Wexler seemed not to understand him. “We wanted to see how you were doing in person, make sure that you’re well being isn’t slipping through the cracks after all you’ve done for us.”
Will was trying to make sense of that, but he came up short. “What?”
“This incident,” Dr. Wexler said. “It was quite traumatic. We’ve already had several people quit, and we’ve arranged transfers for a dozen more. These numbers are actually low compared to most incidents, but a lot of that can be traced to your safe and efficient evacuation of the ED.”
This sounded suspiciously like praise, but that didn’t make sense. None of this was making sense now.
“We have had incidents in the past, for sure, but what you have gone through in the last year is somewhat extreme,” Dr. Ho said, continuing for his colleague. He looked genuinely upset. “To have suffered serious injury in two incursions--”
“Only one was serious,” Will said, as if writing off a beating and exhaustion would actually make a difference. “And I knew what I signed up for. This is front lines kind of stuff. That’s why it matters. That’s why I’m here.”
“And that is admirable,” Dr. Wexler said with a prim smile. “But we are not soldiers here. We are very grateful for your service, but we would be remiss if we did not recognize the physical and psychological toll your past two postings have presented for you.”
“My recovery has been just fine--” Will started to explain.
“Your physical recovery is well documented, yes,” Dr. Ho said. “And while general psychological assessments say that you are coping, we are here today to talk more specifically about how you are feeling. Being okay is not the same thing as being well.”
“So, tell us, Dr. Halstead,” Dr. Wexler said. “How are you doing?”
That was a question, then. One he hadn’t let himself think about. Truthfully, he’d not thought of himself in that regard. What did it mean to be okay? What did it mean to be well?
Did he -- of all people -- have the right to differentiate?
He hadn’t come here to be well.
He’d come here to be okay.
His whole basis for understanding himself wasn’t at the level yet. He’d come to serve, not be happy. A form of penance, Jay had called it. A penance Will might pay for the rest of his life for all the good it did him. Nothing made the doubt go away. Nothing satisfied his self loathing. Suffering seemed like the only thing to make his existence worthwhile.
Of course, he couldn’t say that. That sort of thing was insane, and he knew it. Logically, he didn’t abide by it, but the emotions ran deep. He’d broken in Chicago, and the pieces of him were still lying disparate all around him. He didn’t know how to put them back together -- even now.
Especially now.
“I’m doing what matters,” he said finally. “And I feel good about that.”
Dr. Wexler smiled kindly at him, but her eyes narrowed on him keenly. “Yes, and that’s quite noble. But it’s not the question we asked.”
“But isn’t it the question that matters?” he said. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful -- to the contrary. I’ve been a doctor for a long time, and I know I’ve saved a lot of lives. But there’s something different about what I’m doing here. I know the dangers, I really do. I came to face them -- to face that part of myself that might run away otherwise.”
Dr. Wexler sighed, making a small notation on her paper. She glanced to Dr. Ho, who nodded his head. “Dr. Halstead, your service here has been exceptional. These questions are just designed to make sure you’re still wanting to make the commitment. We know that the challenges doctors and nurses face here are sometimes more than they are ready for. Given all that you have done and the sacrifices you have made, we would more than understand if you wanted to go back to Chicago.”
“No,” Will said, and this time he didn’t have to think. He didn’t hesitate. “I’m here to finish what I started.”
“Very well, then,” Dr. Ho said. “Then let’s talk about your next assignment.”
“Next?” Will asked, suddenly confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Based on our assessment from this incident, we have decided that it is important to provide new opportunities for the majority of the ED staff,” Dr. Ho explained. “Although we are currently operating the ED with a skeleton crew for limited capacity, we hope to rebuild with new staff and minimize the trauma for those who were on the front lines.”
“In other words, Dr. Halstead,” Dr. Wexler interjected. “Something quite terrible happened in that ED, and we agree with the assessment that the psychological welfare of staff should come first. We are offering hiatuses for all involved staff -- paid and with benefits -- but if you feel like you want to get back to work, there are certainly other postings available--”
Will found himself in protest. “But Dr. Dunst--”
“--is the one who was most insistent about you getting the support you need and the transfer you deserve,” Dr. Wexler explained. “That’s why we’re here -- by her request. She does not believe you should be back in that ED. Therefore, given the level of your service and your excellence in the field, we want to help you close out your last assignment and decide your future.”
Will felt his heart skip a beat in anticipation. The idea of leaving Dr. Dunst was something he hadn’t fully contended with, but he was here to serve. He was here to go.
That was what he’d told himself all along
For some reason, it was a harder pill to swallow today.
The fact that he might have to go was acceptable to him.
The fact that she didn’t want him, however.
Will could only bob his head in numb agreement. “Great,” he said without much intonation. “Then, wherever you want to send me.”
“Actually,” Dr. Wexler said, and she seemed to smile. “This time, we thought we’d let you pick.”
Will frowned just slightly. “But I don’t understand.”
“Your first assignment had you attacked by local gangs. The second was overtaken in a terrorist coup,” Dr. Wexler said, eyebrows going up. “Those are two lucks of the draw that didn’t go in your favor. If you want to stay on, you pick the next assignment.”
Will was already starting to protest once more. “But--”
Dr. Wexler held up her hand. “Just look at the options, Dr. Halstead,” she said. She reached for a pile of files and held it out. “I’m sure one of them will jump out at you.”
Reluctantly, Will stepped forward. “This really isn’t necessary.”
Dr. Wexler all but thrust the files out at him. Dr. Ho chuckled next to her. “This way, the next time disaster strikes, we will have plausible deniability,” he joked. “It’s been a long year for all of us, Dr. Halstead. We can’t control everything, but we all deserve a little say in our own fate, don’t you think?”
Will accepted the files and stepped back once more. “I hadn’t thought about it, I guess.”
“Well, now is the time to start,” Dr. Wexler said. “Review the files, and take the night. Let us know what you decide in the morning.”
-o-
The hotel wasn’t far from his apartment, but his stamina was still sorely lacking. A private car had been arranged for him to go back and forth, and he felt conspicuous in it. He was relieved to finally make it back home, but the relief was short lived.
When he got back up to his apartment, Will laid out the file folders on his bed and forced himself to reckon with what had just happened to him. He was still confused how this had happened, how he’d gone from being the biggest screw up to this. Any posting he liked. He could sort through the hospitals by hand and forge his future to suit any whim he had.
That amount of freedom.
How had he earned it? Was it the scar on his chest? That was just another mistake.
He was a mistake. He didn’t want it -- not any of it.
Part of him thought about rejecting all of it, insisting on going back with Dr. Dunst. But the months of planning, administrative work -- he wouldn’t get to help patients. He needed to be getting his hands dirty, so to speak. Not sitting on the sidelines creating his perfect ED.
No, Will had come here to serve. He had come to put himself last. He didn’t deserve honors or awards. He wasn’t ready for accolades or privileges. He wasn’t even sure if he could handle the freedom being offered to him without completely imploding.
It had happened to him before.
It had happened to him repeatedly.
In Africa, the first time. In New York. In Chicago.
But these files.
These postings.
These hospitals.
Hospitals that served patients -- people. Real people in real need.
Big cities. Rural outposts. Coastal getaways. Desert hotspots.
Some were well established and well off. Others were still developing. He could serve anywhere -- he could.
He came back to one file.
One single file.
The hospital was small and understaffed. It was poorly funded and badly equipped. The Chief of Staff position had been open 10 times in the last three years. Clearly, it was the posting that no one wanted.
For a doctor that no one wanted either, it seemed to be the perfect fit.
-o-
Dr. Ho and Dr. Wexler had arranged to meet him for breakfast the next morning at one of the cafes near his apartment. He was early, already sipping a coffee by the time they arrived. He engaged in the necessary pleasantries, ordering himself some eggs whites and toast before he couldn’t wait any longer.
“So, I went over the files,” he said.
Dr. Ho took a sip of his juice. “Oh?” he said. “Let me guess. ED Chief in Nairobi. By far the most prestigious option.”
“But not the one with the most potential,” Dr. Wexler said. “I’m begging you for the coast. An attending at Freetown. Brand new facility. All the latest technology.
“Actually,” Will said, producing the file in question. “I was thinking this one.”
He handed it over, and Dr. Ho took it. He opened the flap and frowned. Dr. Wexler’s eyes went wide.
“This hospital?” Dr. Wexler asked, giving Will a skeptical look.
“That hospital,” Will said.
“If you can call it that,” Dr. Ho said. He gave Dr. Wexler a look. “I didn’t realize that was even still in there. I thought we weren’t sure it was going to stay open.”
“The operation budget will give it another two months -- max,” Dr. Wexler said. She looked at Will again. “You did read the file, didn’t you?”
Will nodded. “I did.”
“So you know that it is an extremely remote location for us, very disconnected from our supply lines,” she said. “The utilities are inconsistent, and frankly, the facility lacks sufficient cashflow. It is always close to shutting down for good.”
“I know,” Will said. “And it serves a low income community of nearly 50,000 people. Those 50,000 people don’t have enough money or insurance coverage to get treatment at the other hospital across the city. Without this facility, most of these people just won’t get the healthcare they need.”
“He did read the file,” Dr. Wexler said, almost to herself. She turned her gaze to Dr. Ho.
Dr. Ho sat forward, fingers crossed on the table. “You had the option of our very best facilities. We could have given you access to cutting edge medicine. Some of the postings would elevate your career substantially.”
“I told you, I’m here to serve,” Will said. “And I don’t know. I guess I’m attracted to lost causes right now.”
“And here’s to hoping they can all be found,” Dr. Wexler said. She extended her hand. “Congratulations, Dr. Halstead. You are now officially Chief of Staff of your very own hospital.”
He accepted the handshake, and nodded back at them. “Thank you for the opportunity,” he said. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
Dr. Ho went back to his breakfast with a little bemused sound. “With this posting? I’m not sure you could.”
-o-
It was a major life change, but, to be fair, Will had gone through a lot of those recently. This one, somehow, seemed anticlimactic -- despite being the most prestigious upgrade yet. He’d come to Africa in shame, and he didn’t know what to think of being the golden boy again. It wasn’t a distinction he found he wanted. If anything, it unnerved him.
And yet, there was something about this one.
This hospital. This posting. This chance.
He wanted to rebuild himself -- and he could do it here. He could rebuild his career as he rebuilt this hospital. He could remake himself as he remade his staff.
He was anxious. He was uncertain. He was hesitant.
And maybe he was hopeful?
And he was terrified to be hopeful, when he got right down to it.
Caught up in the myriad of emotions, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. So, naturally, he brought it up with his brother when he checked in with him later that day.
Because yes, daily check ins were definitely a thing. After getting beaten and then shot, he was pretty sure that if Jay didn’t hear from him multiple times a day, his brother was going to pitch a fit -- and probably with reason.
Though, he had to be honest. Talking to Jay wasn’t just for Jay.
So, he didn’t mince words. After exchanging pleasantries, Will put it out there.
“I got my new posting today,” Will said.
“That’s good,” Jay said. It sounded like he was busy, probably at work. “I mean, I’m hoping it’s good. Your last two were crap, so you’re bound to have a good one.”
“Actually, it’s a smaller hospital this time,” Will said.
“That could be good,” Jay said. “Less of a target.”
“It’s a pretty ragtag operation,” Will explained, leafing through the file again. “Understaffed, outdated technology, small operating budget.”
Over the line, Will could hear his brother’s incredulity. “So you did get a crappy one again. How is that even fair? You got shot.”
Will flopped back on his bed and looked at the ceiling. “It was my choice,” he said tiredly. “They gave me the choice of any posting I wanted.”
“And you picked the worst possible one?” Jay surmised, although he seemed at a loss for why.
“I’m not here for a vacation, Jay,” Will reminded him.
Jay actually laughed, a short and clipped noise that was garbled in the transatlantic furor. “And what part of this has been a vacation for you so far? The part where you were beaten by gang members? Or the part when you got shot?”
Will shook his head. “You’re really stuck on that, aren’t you?”
“Uh, yeah,” Jay said. “And you should be, too. You have to have at least a semblance of self preservation over there.”
“But this is what I came for,” Will said. “This is what I know I’m supposed to be doing.”
Jay was quiet for a moment. Then, he finally spoke. “But for how long? And, like, how much? You said you went there to finish something, but when will you know that it’s done?”
Those questions were probably valid. Honestly, Will hadn’t thought about them much. “I don’t know.”
“But you need to know,” Jay pressed, sounding a little concerned. “Will, the thing with penance, if that really is what this is, is that eventually it’s paid. Right? Eventually, you’re square or whatever.”
Will’s eyes trailed across the ceiling. He could still feel the raised scar on his chest from the nearly-healed surgical site. He tried to remember how long he’d been here. How long it’d been since he’d been in the same room as his brother. Since they’d sat down to watch a game or go out for drinks at Molly’s.
There were things he missed, of course. He didn’t think about them much because they made it too hard. It was hard to move forward when so much of what he loved was behind him.
He understood the distinction, of course. He had to. Happiness or satisfaction. Contentment or purpose. Will wasn’t at the point where he could do both. Will was still working on keeping both feet planting on the ground, right where he was.
“What’s the point, Jay?” he asked, quieter now. “I mean, what do you think happens when the penance is paid?”
“You come home, you get your ass back in Chicago where it belongs,” Jay said without even thinking.
“I don’t know if I can,” Will said. He shook his head, feeling lost at the thought. Where there was joy, there was also loss. Where there was success, there was also humiliation. Maybe part of him was running away. Maybe he had to finish this before he could even begin to think about finishing the rest. Maybe he’d never get there.
“Will,” Jay said, and he sounded quieter, too. “I would have thought that after all this time, all you’ve done, you’d be a little more at peace with things.”
“At peace with what, Jay?” Will asked. “I mean, maybe that was the ending for Chicago. Not the ending that I wanted, not the one I intended, but the one I deserved.”
“No, no way,” Jay said. “You act like you don’t get to make mistakes.”
“That mistake was pretty big,” Will reminded him.
“And?” Jay asked. “I just think you’re not seeing the full picture here, bro. I still go to Med, like, all the time--”
“But why would you--”
“Mostly investigations,” Jay assured him. “I haven’t been admitted.”
“And you would tell me if you had?” Will asked.
“You’re not exactly one to talk right now,” Jay countered. “And you’re missing my point. My point is that I still see all the people at Med, and every time I’m there, it takes me twice as long to get anything done because they’re always asking about you. Dr. Charles, Ethan, Maggie -- hell, even that guy I’m not supposed to like, Marcel. They all want to know how you are, when you’re coming back.”
Will sat up, face creased with skepticism. “That’s ridiculous.”
“But it’s not, Will,” Jay said. “They miss you.”
“They’re just being polite,” Will said, hedging.
“Maybe for the first month or two,” Jay said. “But they keep asking. Constantly.”
Will sighed, flopping back again. “I think you’re exaggerating.”
“Whatever,” Jay muttered. “I think for a guy as smart as you are, you’re really an idiot sometimes.”
Will laughed. “Well, at least some things haven’t changed.”
“No,” Jay agreed with a small smirking now. “I guess they haven’t.”
-o-
With this new placement, Will had expected another quick turnaround, but he was surprised by the leisurely pace of everything this time. Granted, he had just been shot, but his recovery was moving along nicely, and usually time was always of the essence.
Still, this time, Dr. Wexler all but insisted that he continue with his recovery, and promised him that he would retain his old salary with a few additional stipends to cover his unusual expenses right now. Then, only after he had been fully cleared and completed an extended round of physical therapy, he would take a train inland -- in first class, no less.
First class. With all the perks. And a transfer bonus.
It was surreal -- that was what it all was. It completely didn’t make sense.
Was this because he’d been shot? Were they feeling guilty? Was this some attempt to keep him from suing them?
Did he have a case to sue them?
Will hadn’t even considered it. Even now, he wasn’t sure why he would.
Maybe this was just what they did when you reached a certain level in the organization. Adam seemed to have a lot more freedom to move about -- and his salary was certainly better than Will’s had ever been. Maybe this was just career advancement, the perks of making it.
This was what he’d wanted back at Med. He’d always fancied himself rising the corporate ladder, taking the role of Chief of Emergency Medicine -- and then more. He’d been ambitious once, to the point where failure had nearly poisoned what he had. He’d taken Ethan’s promotion hard, and he’d been such an idiot as to think he was wrong.
Getting fired less than a year later had set him straight on that front.
Which just made this all the more vexing.
He hadn’t come for this.
But this was what he was getting.
How, he wasn’t sure.
Why, was even more of a mystery.
What, though, now seemed to be utterly inevitable.
-o-
Inevitable, but slow.
Will’s recovery was right on track, but it was apparently a lot harder to recover from a bullet to the chest than a simple beating and exhaustion. He wasn’t sure how Jay managed all this, though he expected his brother had been allowed to cut a lot more corners than he was. Voight had likely been willing to overlook a few things in the medical file. Will’s bosses in the organization had made explicit notes that his recovery was to be granted the full amount of flexibility.
In other words, he wasn’t going to be cleared for duty prematurely.
Instead, he was going to be expected to meet every milestone in painfully slow acuity.
Granted, he was giving his body plenty of time to get together -- and there was something to that. The bullet had damaged his chest wall, and the lung damage had been significant. Although he was mobile and mostly pain free, his lung capacity was still recovery, which made it difficult to be on his feet all day.
He took his therapy seriously, however, increasing his physical capacity and overall flexibility. He preferred to do the work. When he wasn’t working on his physical therapy….
Well, he wasn’t sure what he was doing.
He lounged around. He watched some TV. He read some books and caught up with his medical journals. He was diligent in communicating with Jay, and he even took time to keep up with Maggie. Then, he packed his things. Dr. Wexler had offered a packing service, but Will had most of it done before they arrived. He just didn’t know what else to do.
Also, he still didn’t have much stuff.
So.
So….what?
Will didn’t know. He sat around, he rested, he recovered...and for what? To what end? How was Will this far removed from his life in Chicago and all its disasters and he still had no idea what he was doing.
He was more than a little relieved when he had his last scheduled surgical follow up. Although Dr. Dunst had performed his surgery, she had quickly transferred his care to another surgeon on staff. He did his best not to take this personally, but as with most things these days, he just wasn’t sure.
What was sure was that he was fit, healthy and fully recovered.
“At this point, it’s really a matter of preference,” the surgeon said with a shrug. “If you don’t feel ready, there’s really no harm in taking more.”
Will frowned at him, a little confused. “Why would I take more time off? I mean, I’ve been sitting around doing nothing for weeks now. Of course I’m ready.”
“You’ve been recovering,” the surgeon clarified for him gently. “And there are many reasons. You were shot. And before that -- by just a few months -- you were beaten, yes?”
“So?” Will asked.
“So,” the surgeon said slowly. “For many people, two traumatic events back to back? It can be hard. I’ve been advised to encourage you once again to pursue mental health support.”
Will drew a breath, and measured himself by it when he exhaled. “I’m really doing just fine with it,” he said. “No flashbacks, no anxiety -- I just want to get back to it. I know what I’m here to do.”
With a nod, the surgeon tapped a few buttons on her iPad and closed it with a smile. “Then, I see no reason not to let you do it,” she said. “Consider yourself cleared for duty. Good luck, Dr. Halstead.”
There were no more i’s to dot or t’s to cross. No one could justify dragging out his recovery one more day. With official documentation, Will was cleared for duty, and the next chapter of his life in Africa could begin.
Except this chapter wasn’t quite over.
At least, not yet.
Or maybe, this time, Will just needed to say goodbye.
-o-
Will stopped back at his office, organizing the last of his things. He put the paperwork in its proper place and filed what he could for the next ED Chief, and he collected what he had of his scant personal belongings into a box.
He wasn’t sure if he really intended to slip out of the ED without notice, but he was surprised when he found himself in the middle of an impromptu goodbye party while saying goodbye to a few friends in the doctor’s lounge. Someone produced a sheet cake they bought from the cafeteria, and there was a makeshift message of goodbye scrawled on the community whiteboard.
Hes was flattered by it, of course -- and mostly just embarrassed as person after person came up to him and thanked him. They would miss him, they said. They would never forget him.
“Oh, and don’t worry,” the charge nurse joked. “I checked with the policy code. Parties are definitely allowed on work days as long as no more than fifty percent of the staff is present at any given moment in order to allow for smooth operation in the ED. I made up a schedule and everything because we all wanted to say goodbye the right way!”
Will laughed, and he hugged people. He told the soccer team to keep playing. He made sure his residents knew they had to keep learning. He took time to tell his nurses how important they were. As for his attendings, he pulled them aside and insisted to each one to keep doing what they were doing, and they were going to be fine.
They were all going to be fine.
This place would go on without him, just as every other place before him. Would they remember him? Did they need to? Was his impact anything of actual note?
Or was it more about him? And how this place had changed him?
The doctor they were thanking wasn’t the doctor who had come to Africa. Will wasn’t sure who he was, or if it was real, but maybe he was. Maybe Will was.
The goodbye took longer than he’d expected, but after several hours he was able to disentangle himself from his ED. Perhaps the most satisfying moment of all was when he finally made his exit, and he took one look back.
A look to see that the ED was moving smoothly and efficiently.
This time, there was no disaster in his wake.
He wasn’t sure what success really was anymore, but the absence of failure seemed like the only place he knew where to start.
-o-
He’d said his goodbyes. He’d made his peace. But he still had one step left for closure.
This time, he walked up to Dr. Dunst’s office all by himself. Of his own accord -- with no summons. With no anxiety.
It wasn’t like Dr. Dunst was his friend. There would be no celebratory goodbyes here, no hugs and well wishes.
But he had done everything she ever asked of him.
And she had saved his life.
That deserved a moment, he decided. That warranted closure.
Despite showing up unannounced, he was able to get right in. She was seated behind her desk, half buried in her paperwork, looking almost exactly the same as when he’d first met her a few months ago. Prim, proper and to the point.
It had been unnerving once.
He had to admit: now, it almost made him want to smile.
He sat down without invitation, and she held up a hand as she scribbled a few more notes. Then, she put the paper aside and put her pen down, pausing to push her glasses back up her nose as she gave him the most perfunctory smile imaginable. “Dr. Halstead, I am surprised to see you here,” she said. “It was my understanding that you had left.”
“Just leaving,” Will said. “I was cleared to go back to work today. I stopped by the ED to clean out my office and say goodbye.”
She nodded with an air of trained indifference. “Of course, that seems reasonable. I received word that you would be transferred several weeks ago, but I have not yet heard about your replacement. The board can be quite inconsistent, I find. The lack of consistency across the system is deeply problematic in my opinion.”
He knew her well enough now that he could sense the distraction under her commentary. She was talking about something else in order to avoid talking about what was really on her mind. Confronting emotion wasn’t something that happened in a calm and orderly fashion, after all. It didn’t fit in Dr. Dunst’s approach to life.
Yet, Will knew too well, it could not be avoided.
Even when he was still trying to avoid it sometimes himself.
“I’m sure they’ll figure something out for you,” Will said. “But, I mean, if you’re really that unhappy with it, I could always talk to them. See about staying.”
Her face screwed up. “Staying?”
“Here,” he said. “If you wanted me to, I’d tell them I wanted to stay on as your ED chief.”
The suggestion appeared to make no sense to her. “But you already accepted another position,” she said. “I saw the update in your file. Some little hospital with a poor efficacy rating--”
“Sure, but I only took it because they insisted,” Will said. “I think they’re scared that I’ll sue them or something. If I insist on staying, I think they’ll let me.”
Her mouth opened, and she failed to speak for a moment. Then, she closed her mouth and regained something of her composure. “No. No, absolutely not.”
Her quick denial was probably something he expected, so he wasn’t sure why it still hurt a little to hear. With a pang of grief, he sat back, but he didn’t look away. If she was going to say this, she was going to say it completely. “You don’t want to work with me?”
The directness of his question seemed to take her aback. She recoiled once more, as if the insinuation offended her. “You are one of the best doctors I’ve worked with. Certainly, one of the best administrators I’ve known.”
“Okay,” Will said. “So then, why not? Why not push to see if I can stay on here? You don’t have a replacement. I haven’t started. It wouldn’t be that hard.”
“Because,” she said quickly, but fumbled the rest of her answer. She drew a breath and shook her head. “You have made a commitment. You cannot back out now -- that is irresponsible, and quite frankly, not the way I have trained you.”
But that answer was too easy. “I’ve done everything asked of me here. I’ve said yes to every request the board has made of me, no questions asked,” he said. “I could do this one thing for myself, and I don’t think I’d be wrong.”
As reasonable as Will was trying to be, Dr. Dunst looked aghast. “No. I will not allow it.”
It was an adamant response, and on its face, there was nothing more to it. Dr. Dunst wanted him to believe that this was entirely professional, and Will would have believed it a few weeks ago. But something had changed -- in him, in her, in this dynamic they shared.
Closure was a luxury, that much was certain.
But after giving so much of himself to this job, he thought it was one he might be entitled to this time around.
“But why not?” he pressed. “We get along. I think we make a good team. You help me be a better doctor, and I think I’ve run the ED the way you want. Why shouldn’t I try to stay?”
That was a question that mattered. All the time he’d spent looking for reasons to leave.
Here he was, grappling with the reasons to stay.
“Dr. Halstead, this is not an assessment of you or of the nature of our working relationship,” Dr. Dunst explained.
“Then, what?” he said. “I mean, I’ve been trying to figure it out all throughout my recovery. Why you wouldn’t fight for me? Why you didn’t come visit me? Why you didn’t request for me to stay? What’s the problem?”
The questions seemed to fluster her, and she drew back, disconcerted. “The problem is just what I said. You are one of the best doctors I have worked with -- that is the problem, quite simply. Your skills are wasted here.”
“But maybe they’re not,” he argued, because she had broken him of some of his fear. Her office didn’t intimidate him anymore. He was able to see her as a boss and see her as a friend. He liked to think maybe he’d earned her respect, just like she had ultimately earned his. “If you want me to stay--”
Her cheeks were turning red, and her eyes were hard on his. She shook her head, inhaling sharply before he could continue. “I think I am too fond of you,” she blurted.
It was so sudden, so unexpected, so pointed -- Will didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. Mouth still open from his last line of thought, he sluggishly recovered himself. “What?”
She inhaled again, but it was a shaky movement this time. She unclasped her hands, then clasped them again. “You -- scared me,” she said, the words cutting and jarring. “When you were shot. When I thought you were going to die--”
She stopped, seemingly unable to talk.
When she continued, her voice was trembling just so. “I was emotionally compromised.”
It wasn’t the kind of thing she had said before. Clearly, it wasn’t the kind of thing she’d experienced. When Will had been working with Adam, the depth of their bond had always been self evident. His connection to Dr. Dunst was different. It was harder to pinpoint, more difficult to deduce. But to pretend that their bond was strictly professional did not exactly do it justice, though Will did not know how to call it fondness. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he ventured softly.
Her face drew into a frown, one that she used to keep her emotions in check. “It’s nothing I know how to work with,” she said. She nodded almost to herself. “I was the one who insisted that you be transferred. I want you to do well. I want you to be safe and happy.”
The sentiment was well intended, and Will knew that. Somehow, it still chafed. “Just far away from you.”
At this, she looked nearly relieved that it had been made so plain. “I’m not pretending that the choice is logical. But it is -- frankly, the only way I know how to cope with this situation.”
Will had looked to her all this time as being the source of self control, but it turned out she was was just as human as everyone else. Just as human as him, as impossible as that seemed.
In their humanity, they were flawed and imperfect.
They were also stronger than they could ever be otherwise.
This was what she had taught him, then.
That protocol could help him stay true, but it would never, ever save him.
This was the way it was, then. There were no happy endings. Just the right endings, the ones you needed even if you didn’t want them at all. There were many ways to die, after all. And she had been right from the start -- some of them happened while you were still alive.
He smiled, because he understood.
He smiled, because he accepted.
He smiled, because in the end, it was right.
“Well,” he said with a long breath of his own. “Turns out that logic has its limits.”
For once, he was the one keeping it together. Across from him, still leaned forward, Dr. Dunst looked like she was the one about to crumble. “Dr. Halstead--”
He shook his head. “Will.”
The instinctual protest was evident on her face, but she bit it back. She understood, too. She accepted it just as much as he did. “Will,” she relented, and she dared to smile back. “I will never find another colleague who has served me better.”
He nodded, and the pressure in his chest was bittersweet now, both the best and the worst he’d felt. “Thank you, Karen,” he said. “For saving my life -- yes. But mostly for showing me how protocol should look.”
Her expression warmed, and the tension eased from her shoulders. She nodded, somehow eager now. “Thank you for following me until the end,” she said. “I am sincere when I say this. Please, do, keep in touch.”
Some promises were hard. Some decisions were impossible.
Some, though, really weren’t.
Sometimes, the right thing -- it felt right, too.
Will smiled. “I will,” he promised.
He did not wait for an order Dr. Dunst would never give. They both knew, anyway. Some things ran their course; some things came to an end.
For once, Will had seen something through, and he didn’t know what came next.
He just knew he was ready to face it no matter what.
-o-
Will had gotten good at not putting down roots. His reticence to leave had never been an attachment to the place. He’d felt at home at the hospital, but this place had never been home. His apartment had been nicer, but he still didn’t spend much time there. It was relatively easy to get himself ready to move again. Despite his protests, he’d always sort of know it was going to end up this way.
Will was always leaving, see.
He wasn’t sure where he’d end up.
Someday, he would make the choice to stay.
Someday.
Just not today.
-o-
Given that Will had been injured in the line of duty twice, the powers that were certainly seemed to be going out of their way to attend to Will’s needs during the transition. He’d already been given ample time off -- too much, if Will had a say in matters -- and a set of professional movers were hired to handle his things. This seemed like overkill given that his apartment was scantily stocked with used and mismatched furniture. For as much as he’d invested in his career, he had spent little effort on his personal life comparatively.
In other words, it seemed like a waste of money. He didn’t have that much to move.
They put him on a train this time, and upgraded him to a nice, private car. It wasn’t an overnight trip, but the journey did take the better part of a day. He had to switch trains at some point, going deeper into less developed countryside, until he wound his way through cities that looked increasingly more decrepit.
When they arrived at the destination, Will was pleased that this city wasn’t as bad as some of the ones he’d passed through. The downtown looked modern enough, with a few tall buildings and people in business dress milling up and down the streets. From here, he was directed by taxi to get to his hospital.
The taxi service was professional enough, and when Will gave the woman the address, she raised her eyebrows. “Here?” she asked, pointing at the card once more.
“Yes,” Will said. “That hospital.”
She looked like she had opinions about that, but she regarded Will once more, seeming to make a calculation about how much of a tip she wanted. Then she smiled, loaded up his bag, and asked him to climb in.
The hospital, as it turned out, was in one of the suburbs.
However, calling it a suburb was a generous description. Although it was geographically connected to the city, the quality of life there was greatly diminished, a fact Will had known from the paperwork and could now visibly see from the taxi window. As they left the tidy downtown, the neighborhoods quickly grew less and less kept. The infrastructure in these areas had not been maintained, and nice office buildings and tall apartment complexes gave way to haphazard slums -- for the lack of a better word.
Will had grown up in Canaryville. It was not a nice neighborhood in Chicago by any stretch of the imaginable.
This place looked significantly worse.
The hospital was actually one of the better buildings in the area, but that wasn’t saying much. There had been some effort to keep it upright, and the fact that it hadn’t been vandalized as much as the surrounding territory suggested that the local population respected it.
At least, that was what Will told himself.
In truth, no matter what the file had said, the reality of his situation was finally settling in. This hospital, in its rundown glory, was his. He was the one in charge. The decisions started and stopped with him. He had no structure to fall back on. He had no one else to turn to to make the hard calls.
The first hard call: going inside.
He couldn’t very well stand on the curb forever. And he certainly had nowhere else to go. His things were being delivered to an apartment that had been procured for him, but he couldn’t go to the apartment if he didn’t do the job. The job was why he was here.
He’d chosen this.
If he intended to see it through, he had to get his ass inside first.
Promptly, he paid the cab driver, giving her a hefty tip for her trouble. He hoped it could salvage her day since he wasn’t sure about that state of his own.
Resolved, though, Will went inside. As part of his acceptance paperwork, he’d been given a temporary ID pass for the hospital. He had been worried that the woeful paper copy he’d been given wouldn’t be good enough for the tight security he’d seen in his previous posting, but he quickly realized what it wasn’t a problem. While there was indeed a robust security presence, they didn’t have a lot of gadgets or tools. No, the security guy was still checking people in by name and ID number, thus making for a very slow but thorough checkpoint.
Will was admitted inside, and the security guard told him he could come back any time to make his official ID. This one, he was told, would be in color. It would even be laminated with his signature on the back to make it extra official.
It wasn’t clear to Will how that actually increased security, but that wasn’t an issue to worry about now.
The issue to worry about now was, well, everything else.
There were so many issues he didn’t even know where to start.
Inside the hospital, he was welcomed into a chaotic waiting area. It wasn’t exactly a welcome in a traditional sense -- no one greeted him or seemed to notice him at all. He made his way up to the desk where a weary looking man told him that it would be thirty minutes before a doctor could see him unless he was bleeding or having a heart attack.
“No, no,” Will said. “You misunderstand what I need. I’m not here to check in. I work here -- starting today. I’m trying to find my way up to my office.”
This warranted a second look from the man, who seemed to assess him more critically this time. “What job are you filling?”
“Oh,” Will said. “Uh, Chief of Staff. Chief of the ED, too, but you know.”
He shrugged for some reason, hoping that such an answer would be sufficient.
The man frowned, though, as if his straightforward response had left him lacking. “You’re the new Chief of Staff? What happened to the old one?”
“I couldn’t honestly tell you,” Will said. “But I have my paperwork here, and I have express directions from Dr. Ho and Dr. Wexler--”
Will produced his paperwork, hoping that might help clear things up.
It might have, but they would never know. They man didn’t even look at them. Instead, he wrinkled his nose. “Okay,” he said. “Administration is on the second floor. Normally, I’d tell you to take the elevator but it’s been shorting out all day. The staircase to the left is your best bet. Then, you can follow the signs.”
The answer was probably sufficient, but it seemed somewhat lackluster. As Will was Chief of Staff, he had possibly been expecting something else. Something more self explanatory. Something to suggest that they had been expecting him.
From behind the man, the door opened and a young woman bustled out. She saw him, and her face lit up. “Oh, you are here! I wasn’t given an exact time, and I checked the time your train arrived, but I got a little bit waylaid,” she explained as she approached.
It was a good thing she knew what was going on; Will, at this point, didn’t really have a clue.
At his confusion, she seemed to second guess herself. “You are Dr. Halstead, right?”
“That’s what his paperwork says,” the security guard added ever so helpfully.
Her smile brightened once more, and she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Mikayla.”
Will took her hand and shook it, not quite sure what to think. “And you are?”
“Your assistant!” she said, a little embarrassed that she had not said so already. “I had your schedule in hand today from Dr. Wexler, but I just got behind in a budget meeting.”
Will tipped his head to the side. “And you’re the assistant?”
“I know,” she said, and she leaned a little closer, wrinkling her nose. “It’s not strictly my job, but the department heads keep leaving me to do it, so I keep taking notes so you can finalize the forms when you’re ready. I would leave it to someone, you know, more experienced, but there’s just not anyone around, which is why I’m so glad you’re here.”
It was an extraordinary little tale, to be sure. Will wasn’t sure what part was more remarkable. That people were trusting Mikayla -- a young woman who couldn’t be older than 23 and clearly without medical or administrative training -- to handle the nuances of budget meetings, or that Mikayla -- who was young and clearly inexperienced in every possible regard -- was willing to step up and do a job she wasn’t really qualify to complete. Whatever they were paying her, Will deduced immediately that it wasn’t enough.
“Well, I’m glad to be here,” Will said. “I admittedly have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Oh, well, don’t worry about that,” she said, swatting her hand through the air. She held up the clipboard in her hand. “I know what you’re supposed to be doing -- and I know how long it hasn’t been getting done.”
Will hadn’t figured out yet if any of this was reassuring, or if each revelation was more disconcerting than the last. It was probably a bit of both, if he were honest.
“Anyway,” she said, glancing down at her sheet. “We should probably hurry. You are scheduled to meet with each department head late this afternoon. It was tricky to arrange it all, but I think I got it set up as per your request.”
“Oh,” Will said. “That’s great.”
She made a little face. “I guess we’ll see,” she said. She jerked her head to the doors. “Now, come on, Dr. Halstead. Let’s get you settled.”