Chicago Med fic: In for a Penny, In for a Pound

[faye_dartmouth]

Title: In for a Penny, In for a Pound

Disclaimer: I got nothing here.

A/N: Set in S7, focused on Will and Stevie. There are some elements of pining, but this is only marginally shippy. I like to think it can just as easily be set up for a friendship as anything else, but to each their own. No beta. We die like men. Fills my old injuries acting up square for hc_bingo.

Summary: Will had never been able to keep up. This time he wanted to.



-o-

Will’s phone pinged. In the break room, Will was nursing a cup of coffee and trying to get his charts updated. He clicked his phone open, wrinkling his nose when he saw the message.

Across from him, Stevie was scrolling through medical journals on her iPad. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him curiously. “Bad news?”

Will shook his head, pushing the phone away. “No news at all. Just a reminder.”

Stevie snorted. “To what? A colonoscopy?”

Will rolled his eyes, casting her a look of aspersion. “Hardly,” he said. “Just a commitment I made awhile ago. A commitment I will probably have to cancel.”

Her look was one of interest more than concern. “Canceling plans? Sounds like Will Halstead, although usually you don’t make it so formal,” she quipped.

He sighed, putting down his charts and looking at her. “You know, I have grown up a little bit since college.”

“A little bit,” she conceded, but only just. There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she almost smiled. “But not that much.”

“I’ll have you know I’m quite committed now,” he said, bolstering himself a little. He was more committed -- and he was just as prideful as ever.

“So committed that you’re going to blow this one off,” she observed, looking back at her screen coolly.

He’d walked into that one, to be fair. Stevie had always been able to best him. At, well, everything. He glared at her. “I really don’t have time for it as all. I signed up for this months ago, back when things were different. With work the way it is -- the way things have been -- I just don’t have the time.”

Back before he’d been fired, back before Goodwin had put him on an undercover operation that had him walking a fine line between blackmail and illegal activity. Between trying to out Matt Cooper and earn his way back into Goodwin’s good graces, Will was busy.

It was a practical position that Stevie -- being impeccably Stevie -- would never understand. “And what was it?” she asked, pursing her lips at him over the top of her work.

“A marathon,” he said. “I signed up for a marathon next month.”

He was hoping that admitting what it was would help her see how pointless it was. A marathon didn’t carry any professional weight, and he would be disappointing precisely no one if he didn’t participate. He’d signed up with Sabeena of all things, and he was pretty sure she had no interest in being his running buddy.

Not to mention, his training had fallen completely by the wayside. He’d run a lot during his time away from Med, but now that he was back, it was all work, all the time. When he wasn’t at work, he was thinking about work, and surely -- surely -- Stevie could appreciate this newfound dedication he had.

Stevie was impossibly contrary, however. “And you want to quit?” she asked, eyebrows going up. “Why? You chicken?”

“No,” Will said flatly, looking back at his charts. “Just busy.”

“Busy,” Stevie repeated. Then, she leaned forward. “Or just old?”

He scoffed at that, looking up once more. “Busy,” he said again, with more emphasis this time. “I will have you know that I have run marathons before. And, for the record, we are the same age.”

She made that face of hers, that little niggling of superiority while feigning something resembling sympathy. “But we all age differently,” she said, as if she were commiserating with him. “But you’re probably right. This is really just what you do. Starting things you don’t finish.”

Will groaned. She was being playful, and he knew it, but the familiar refrain wasn’t quite as amusing to him as it used to be. “You sound just like my brother.”

Stevie, naturally, managed to take that as a compliment. “And your brother sounds like the smart one.”

Will let his tablet sit on the table, and he looked at her fully now. “Wow. Really?”

She shrugged, indifferent as she pleased. “I’m just saying.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a hint of mocking in his tone. “I’m sure.”

She seemed to realize that she’d hit a sore spot, and she pulled back, even if only a little. “Look, I’ll tell you what,” she said, the sharpness in her tone softening somewhat. “I run all the time, so I know I’m already in shape for it. Why don’t I sign up and we’ll do it together? No more excuses?”

It was kind of thoughtful, really, and Will remembered that there was a reason he’d been friends with Stevie. She was tough and abrasive, and she never let up, but she was also incredibly loyal. Will had had a lot of antics in med school, and he could always count on Stevie to bail him out when things got rough.

While making fun of him at the same time.

He nodded. “Fine,” he said.

She smiled, seemingly contented by the idea. “Good,” she said, looking back at her work. “Then we can see just how old you really are.”

He rolled his eyes, going back to his work, too. “You’re on.”

Because, of all the things between him and Stevie, the size of his ego was the only thing he ever had a chance of besting her at.

-o-

Unfortunately for Will, the size of his ego was not always connected to his actual ability. To be sure, Will was a competent doctor -- but, no doubt, Stevie was better. She worked harder, she studied more, all of it. And, Will was also pretty in shape. He took care of himself, and he ate healthy and exercised.

But, there was no doubt about this either, Stevie was better at this as well.

He had suspected this probably, and after one day of training together, he had realized it to be an incontrovertible truth. She had more stamina, and Will’s strength didn’t hold much of an edge over her. Stevie never did anything in half measures, and she never -- ever -- quit.

Compared to Will, whose interests could run hot and cold on a moment’s notice, she was the epitome of commitment. Even with Will’s personal evolution in recent years, there was no way he could compete.

Yet, that didn’t stop him from trying.

He never pretended to be the best doctor, but he stood up for his patients when he needed to. And he wouldn’t pretend like he was the faster runner, but damn it, he wasn’t going to let her see how much he was struggling.

She ran five miles like it was nothing.

He ran five miles and wanted to die.

The next day, he still wanted to die, he was so sore and worn out.

But every time he thought to quit, Stevie grinned at him and shoved his arm. “Ready for more, Halstead?”

He smiled back, almost despite himself. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Because Stevie had always -- always -- been the smarter one.

-o-

Even so, Will was better with her around. He struggled through their training, but it kept him motivated. With her around, he never wanted to quit, and on the days they weren’t running together, he took to running on his own. She inspired him to work harder, to be better.

It was a sense of progress, the kind he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.

It was a good feeling, in the end. Even with his body pushed to its breaking point and his spirit on the verge of collapse, it was a good, good feeling.

-o-

Jay observed this with detachment bemusement. “You must like this girl,” he quipped finally.

Will made a face. He knew he was protesting too much, but he didn’t know what else to do. “She’s a friend.”

“Uh huh,” Jay said, nodding. “And so was Natalie.”

Will glared at him.

Jay held up his hands. “Too soon, I know,” he said. “It’s just good to see you motivated. You’ve been pretty down lately.”

“I’m just staying active,” Will told him. “Healthy competition. Stevie’s good for that kind of thing.”

Jay shrugged. “Just make sure it stays healthy,” he advised.

Will made a face. “What?”

“You’re not as young as you used to be, is all,” he said. “And don’t you have a bad ankle? Something about playing rec basketball in college?”

Will gave his brother a plaintive look. “You conveniently forget every time I visited home and every phone call I made, but you remember that?” he said. “And that was like 15 years ago. My ankle has been fine.”

“But you said those things never totally heal,” Jay pointed out.

“Jay, I’m fine,” Will said. “Seriously, I am.”

Jay lifted one shoulder. “Well, with Stevie there--”

“And we’re done,” Will said, turning away from his brother abruptly.

Because old injuries, old failures, old feelings, old relationships.

Were things that were best left in the past.

-o-

And the thing was, when Will put his mind to something, he really could be successful. He could be tried and true. He could achieve great things. He was capable of commitment; he really was.

On the cusp of the race, Will and Stevie got a pasta dinner to carb load. Will was feeling loose and relaxed, on the verge of success for the first time in who knew how long.

He wasn’t stupid. He could be pigheaded and blind, he could be stubborn and obtuse, but Will wasn’t stupid. He knew that he hadn’t gotten here by himself, and he knew that she’d been the one to ground him.

He’d wondered, back then, what it’d be like to know her better. When he was hooking up with girls in bars, he often thought about her studying back at her apartment. Sometimes, he thought about joining her, but the fear of failure could be paralyzing.

After school, she’d gotten the best placement, and he had not. He told himself that his choice not to return her phone calls wasn’t the same thing as running away. It wasn’t the same thing at all.

Except maybe it sort of was, and maybe Will was here all over again, sitting next to her with the possibilities looming ahead of him. He couldn’t help him; he liked the way she looked when she was focused. If it made him believe that anything was possible, then that was probably okay.

“I’m glad you made me do this,” he told her, downing the last of his pasta with a swig of water. He beamed at her. “Because I wouldn’t have, not without you.”

He paused, looking at her.

“I’m just really glad you’re back,” he said.

And Will was tired. And he was near his breaking point, and he’d given all he’d had to give. Sitting there with her, sitting there with her, it all seemed to make sense.

It seemed worth it.

All the times he’d run.

And now this was what it was to stay.

He thought he could tell her more, then. He thought he could tell her everything.

But she beamed back at him, and then her nose wrinkled up. “You know,” she said. “I’ve been thinking?”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“About the race,” she continued, utterly and predictably undeterred.

“Okay,” he said, willing to listen, willing to stay. Willing.

She leaned forward, the light dancing in her eyes. “I was thinking about the route.”

“Five miles?” Will remembered. He’d memorized, mapped it out in his head along with the sound of her laugh when she spoke his name.

“There’s also a ten mile one,” she said.

Will stopped, starting to frown.

“Training has gone so well, we’re ready,” Stevie said, explaining her thoughts more clearly now. “Why don’t we go for the longer one?”

Will opened his mouth, and shut it. She said it so simply, like the whole thing was evident. Her straightforward assumption made him put his doubt in question, and he swallowed back his protest as best he could. “But we haven’t trained for it,” he said, reasonably as he could.

She shrugged, apparently indifferent. “It’s just five extra miles,” she said, as though that were utterly irrelevant. “I mean, if we’re going to do this thing, we might as well do it. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?”

Will stared at her.

In for a penny.

In for a pound.

He nodded, plastering a smile over his face. “Ten miles?”

She seemed eager at his acquiescence. “You up for it?”

Will shrugged, the pasta suddenly feeling sluggish in his gut even as he smiled. “Why not?”

-o-

There were plenty of reasons why not, and Will ignored each and every one of them. He ignored how his body wasn’t ready. Not just that, he ignored how his body was literally at its breaking point. Everything was sore, and his ankle felt wobbly. Every couple of paces, he took a misstep, and pain lanced up the back of his leg.

For five miles, he’d pushed himself through.

The thought of ten made the poor appendage throb.

At home, finally by himself, he nursed it gingerly, for all the good it would do. He could prop it up, ice it, anything he wanted -- there was no way in hell it would carry him 10 miles tomorrow.

It was insanity, that was what it was. Will was making promises he couldn’t come close to keeping, and for what? For what?

To save face? To keep a friend? To impress a girl?

Feeling frustrated, Will picked up his phone and pulled up Stevie’s number. All he had to do was text her. Tell her he was out. Of 10 miles. Of the whole damn thing. Hell, at this point, he could just call up Goodwin and resign. She was probably so tired of him that she’d let him go immediately, and he’d never have to see the look of disappointment on any of their faces ever again.

That was the easy way out, and it would be great if that was what he wanted. He didn’t, though. He didn’t want to quit his job, and he didn’t want to quit the race. He didn’t want to quit Stevie.

Almost on cue, his phone pinged. It was Stevie.

I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. Spending time with you has been the best, Will.

And it was Stevie.

The panic receded. The doubt faded. The truth was still impossible to ignore, but Stevie was a force of nature unto herself. All he could do -- all he could ever do -- was text her back in agreement.

I’m looking forward to it, too. See you then!

Her reply back is prompt. Good, then I can kick your ass properly!

His fingers are half numb as he messages her back. We’ll just have to see about that.

Putting his phone down, he massaged his ankle once more.

Maybe some things never did heal after all.

-o-

She did, for the record.

Kick his ass.

Properly.

And thoroughly.

Despite his rigorous training, he was a mess on race day. His pacing was all off, and his muscles were spent. He couldn’t keep his breathing under control, and only two miles in, he was ready to quit.

She cajoled him, though. She badgered him, encouraged him, mocked him, and all but dragged him, footfall after footfall across the pavement. He’d lost track of the race; he’d lost track of time; he’d lost track of himself.

He was just following her now.

All he could do was follow her.

-o-

It wasn’t enough, though.

Will wasn’t enough.

He never was, so it wasn’t like it was some kind of surprise. She kept widening the gap in front of him, and no matter how hard he tried, it was harder and harder to keep up

She turned back for him.

She turned back.

For her, he surged forward one last time. He’d put it all out there, at least. He’d give it -- he’d give her -- everything he had.

What was that Will was saying?

Oh yeah.

It wasn’t enough.

-o-

With a surge of adrenaline, Will summoned enough strength to put on a surge. Sprinting, he started to close the gap between himself and Stevie, but this was no longer a question of willpower. Will had reached his limit, and his exhausted muscles could no longer properly comply. His body locked up, and his ankle -- worn and overtaxed -- gave out entirely.

It rolled to the side, and his balance was thrown off kilter. With his general forward motion, the change in his center of gravity was dramatic and fast. He felt something snap in his ankle, and fire burned up his leg. He barely had enough wherewithal to put out his hands enough to block his face from the pavement as it rushed up to meet him.

All the same, the impact was jarring. He heard someone gasp -- other runners nearby, no doubt -- and there was a flurry of sound from the crowd. This part of the route wasn’t very heavily populated, but he was under no delusion that his fall had gone unnoticed.

Someone was there to help him sit up, and he tried to tell them that he was okay, that everything was fine, even as the fresh pain roiled over him in waves.

He wasn’t sure if he’d broken anything or not, but he knew just sitting there that there was no way he was getting up again. Someone was asking if he was okay; someone else was calling a race official for a medic; and Will clung to the meager saving grace that Stevie hadn’t seen what had happened.

“I’m okay,” Will kept saying, trying to put them off. It was too much commotion, and he couldn't stop them as someone stretched his leg out in front of him. His ankle was tweaked, and he gasped, darkness momentarily clouding his vision. “I’m okay.”

He staggered to breathe, still winded from the race, but when he looked up, Stevie was standing there, looking perplexed.

“Will?” she asked. “What happened?”

A reasonable question, probably. Sitting there, ankle stretched out in front of him, a crowd gathered around him, Will had no easy answer. “Stevie,” he said, still laboring for air. “Stevie, I’m sorry. You should finish the race.”

She looked at him, her forehead creasing. She didn’t look back as she shook her head and squatted down in front of him. “I said we’d do it together,” she said, meeting his gaze firmly. “And, unlike some people, I keep my word.”

-o-

Going down on a marathon route drew a lot of attention, none of which Will particularly wanted. His pride was taking a heavy hit this time, yet he would have endured it all willingly if it meant that he didn’t have to look Stevie in the eyes.

That was how it was for Will, though.

The best of luck.

Or the worst of luck.

And usually, the outcome was all his fault anyway.

Humiliated as he was, there was nothing he could do to curb it. Now that Stevie was here, she was taking full control. She helped guide him to the side of the course, where the crowd parted to make a small space for him. She agreed to have the medic come, just in case Will needed help moving for follow up care. Stevie made all of these decisions rapidly and without hesitation -- and without any input from Will whatsoever.

When things were finally squared away, she went to his foot and started examining his ankle in closer detail. At some point, someone had removed Will’s shoe and sock, revealing the bruised and swelling appendage with some clarity. Will knew just from sitting there that the sprain was bad, but he wasn’t sure if it was broken.

Unlike his pride, of course.

Which was going to be DOA after this incident.

She reached down to palpate it, and he winced as he braced him. “You don’t have to--”

He was about to tell her she didn’t have to test it, but she did anyway. She made the effort to rotate the limb, and Will’s fingers fisted tight as he bit back his scream.

“Limited range of motion,” she reported to him, as if he needed that update. She felt along his foot, checking his pulse and palpating for anything unusual. “Swelling is evident, but you’ve got good circulation to the foot. I don’t think it’s broken, but you could have a hairline fracture. We’ll need to x-ray it.”

Will was too busy trying not to cry to worry about how much he really didn’t want to show up to Med in this condition. He swallowed. Hard. “It’s okay,” he said, working through his breathlessness. “This isn’t the first time I hurt my ankle. Remember in college?”

She looked up at him, quizzical for a moment. “You mean that basketball game?” she asked, cocking her head. “When you sprained it?”

Will nodded, flattening his lips into something like a smile.

“But I thought it was just a sprain,” she said. “You got it looked at.”

He looked at her.

Her mouth fell open. “You didn’t get it looked at, did you?” she asked. “So you have no idea what lingering damage you might have done?”

“To be fair, I had no money,” Will said. “And, I mean, it healed okay.”

“It healed functionally,” she told him, a little terse now. “But if you’ve weakened the underlying structures--”

“I know--”

“And then you spend all this time training?” she asked, incredulous. “Will, that’s completely irresponsible.”

She had him pegged, at least. It was the truth they’d both known since the start, and Will felt somewhat relieved he didn’t have to pretend otherwise. “It hadn’t been giving me problems,” Will said, as if he could mount any defense. “I mean, not really. For five miles, I knew I could do it.”

She made a face. “Then why did you agree to ten?”

“Because you asked,” he said, plaintive about the answer now. He shook his head. “And you don’t take no for an answer. So it was either quit or go all in. This time, I don’t know. This time, I went all in with you.”

“With me?” she asked, jaw dropping open almost comically now. This hadn’t occurred to her -- at all. “What do I have to do with this?”

“You have everything to do with this,” Will said. “You’re relentless; you always have been. I’ve never been able to keep up, and I guess this time I wanted to.”

She shook her head. “I just like to push myself. And I like to push people around me. I like to push you.”

He nodded back, even more earnest than before. “And it’s good for me. It is,” he said. Then he shrugged, nodding down to his ankle. “But I have limits.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you stop?” she demanded. “Will, if you couldn’t do the race, you should have told me.”

“How?” he asked. “And disappoint you? To see you leave me behind?”

She looked offended somehow. “You weren’t supposed to do this for me.”

In response, he scoffed outright now. “Oh, I wasn’t?”

Her brow darkened even more than before. “Will--”

He shook his head, still struggling to catch his breath. The throbbing in his ankle was unabated, but it didn’t matter to him now, not as he looked at her and willed her to understand for once. “Stevie, I’m just saying. We’re not all as good as you.”

“But you could be,” she said.

Will sat back, giving her a withering look. Between his sweat-soaked shirt, red face and swollen ankle, she seemed to see him, almost for the first time. It took her a moment, taking him in, before the anger on her face eased. Before the confusion dissipated.

In its place was a tentative compassion.

Sitting back as well, she drew her mouth into a line. “Okay,” she said quietly, somewhat chagrined. “So maybe I come off as a little intense.”

He didn’t yield the point. Laid out as he was, he still recognized his slim advantage here. “A little?”

She sighed. “Do you really feel like you have to do this -- all this -- to impress me?”

“Impress you,” Will said, repeating the words facetiously. “Try just being worthy of you. Why else would I literally try to kill myself just so you liked me?”

It was a stupid thing to say, maybe. It was a stupider thing to feel.

But Stevie looked at him, and then she nodded. “Will, I do like you.”

“Do you?” he asked, and the quip was biting as it barely concealed his doubt.

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation. “If I didn’t, why would I literally spend the whole month with you? I wanted to spend time with you, that’s all. I just am really bad at doing things halfway, you know?”

“I do,” he said. “At least, in theory. I know what it’s like to want to prove yourself, and how nothing feels like enough. The only difference is I’ve actually failed, and you haven’t.”

It was her turn to scoff, eyes going wide. “I’ve failed.”

Will’s look in response was incredulous. “You’ve failed? Really?”

She nodded, suddenly adamant. “Yes. Of course, Will.”

He still wasn’t buying it. “Stevie--”

She was flustered then, quickly shaking her head. “Well, a little,” she said, sounding a bit more conciliatory now as the color rose in her cheeks. “But I guess the thought of failure -- it was just too much. Like, if I failed, if I wasn’t the best, everyone would know I didn’t belong.”

To that, Will nodded back. “We all have to find our coping mechanisms,” he said. He gave a small, half hearted smile. “It scared me, too, so I just kept running away so no one would have a chance to figure out just how disappointing I was.”

She chuckled now, somewhat bittersweet. “That would go better without a bum ankle.”

She had a point, and Will gave her his most sardonic laugh. “Very funny.”

Drawing herself up, she nodded at him once more “Look, Will, we can be friends with no pressure. Like, there’s nothing to live up to. With me, you don’t have to prove anything. I like you as you are.”

“Even if I can’t run marathons?” he asked, quizzical.

“Let’s x-ray your ankle before we rule out your future as a marathoner,” she said.

“My ankle is fine,” Will told her.

“You can see this through, Will,” she said, a little more serious now. “And I’ll be here for you on the other side, either way.”

He considered that.

He considered her.

Then, he smiled. “Okay.”

-o-

Will’s ankle hurt like a son of a bitch, and it wasn’t much fun getting up and making his way back to Med. The trip wasn’t as arduous as a marathon, but it was sobering none the less as he hobbled into his own ED. But Stevie stayed with him every step of the way, keeping pace with him as he struggled forward.

They made it together, in the end. X-rays revealed that nothing was broken, and the orthopedic consult couldn’t say whether or not his college injury had played a factor or not. “It’s just impossible to know for sure,” she explained with a shrug. “But if I had to guess, I’d say yes. The things we’ve done before inform who we are now. But it doesn’t have to dictate everything else.”

A brace was recommended, and Will was advised to use it whenever he was doing strenuous exercise. Will felt slightly embarrassed by the whole thing, but Stevie rolled her eyes and shoved him in the arm. “It’s just a little extra support,” she said. “We all need it from time to time, right?”

Because Stevie kept Will going.

He was starting to suspect he was already returning the favor.

“I guess I can’t argue that,” he agreed. “Can I?”

Her smile widened and her eyes brightened. “You can,” she said. “But you’d lose.”

And that, Will figured with some satisfaction, sounded just about right.