Chicago Med/Chicago PD fic: Cold as Fear (3/5)

[faye_dartmouth]

PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE



-o-

Most of the time, during a trauma, time was of the essence. That critical period when a patient first came in, that limited window to get it right.

There was no way to rush this, though. Will’s core temperature needed to rise, and slow and steady was the only course to get Will back.

Natalie knew that; she did.

That didn’t make the wait any less agonizing.

She fussed around him, monitoring his vitals with unnatural diligence. She charted every change in his temperature, resisting the temptation to make inconsequential changes to the flow of his ventilator or the rate of his saline drip. She busied herself by adjusting his blankets instead, and she took the time to tend his hair, as if it was going to make any kind of difference when his heart wasn’t beating.

The nurses came and went in shifts, and if they thought anything of Natalie’s vigil, they wisely said nothing. Even Doris, who tended to be outspoken in her judgements, knew enough to leave her alone. Natalie appreciated the space.

For her sake.

And for Will’s.

He wouldn’t like the attention. For all that he was a doctor, he’d never been a particularly good patient. The fact that he didn’t have the ability to protest now -- well, that didn’t make this any easier.

In this context, time had little meaning. She measured it by Will’s temperature, which had climbed five degrees since she sat down. She was considering the rate of his progress when the door opened behind her.

She expected it to be another nurse change, but it wasn’t Doris who appeared. Instead, it was Maggie.

“Hey,” Maggie said softly, closing the door behind her.

Natalie sat straighter with alarm. “Jay--”

“Is fine,” she said quickly. “He needed to use the bathroom and was a little self conscious. I got Hank in there to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”

Natalie nodded vaguely, her hackles settling just enough to turn her concern back to Will.

Maggie came closer, coming up behind her. “Man,” she said with a dejected sigh. “I knew what to expect coming in here--”

Natalie bobbed her head in commiseration. “But it’s a lot harder when it’s someone you know,” she finished. “He’s on by-pass and the vent, and his core temperature is rising.”

Maggie glanced at the screen. They both knew it wasn’t high enough. “It’s just like him, though,” she said, moving around to the other side of Will. Natalie had kept her distance, but Maggie reached out, fiddling with his blankets. “You can’t talk him down when he thinks he can save a life. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t work in the field or he never would have survived this long.”

It was a joke; the quip was easy and familiar.

It hurt anyway.

Maggie reached up, straightening a few errant hairs that had dried awkwardly on his head. “I respect most of the doctors in this hospital, but Will’s one of the few I call a friend,” she said. She sighed again, drawing her hand away. “It just doesn’t seem real.”

Natalie had been sitting there for ten minutes now, but it didn’t seem real to her either. “I guess maybe I took him for granted,” she mused. “I thought -- I don’t know. I just never imagined anything without him.”

“And you don’t have to,” Maggie said, a little too quickly. “Natalie, hey. He’s still here. He’s still fighting.”

“Is he, though?” Natalie asked, looking at Maggie and allowing her composure to slip. “We say stuff like that, but you and I do this for a living. We both know that the only thing keeping Will alive right now are machines and technicalities. He might not come back.”

The fear had been there, undulating beneath the surface. It was gnawing doubt she’d felt the moment she saw Will on that stretcher, the one she hadn’t allowed herself to give voice to at all. She’d never tell Jay. She wouldn’t let on to Ethan. But with Maggie, the vulnerability of the doubt was too much to hold in.

And Maggie was too good of a friend to deride her for it. “Hey,” she said, quickly reaching across to grasp her hand. “The machines are doing a lot of the work, sure, but we also know that survival takes willpower. A patient has to choose to live; we can’t do that for them. And Will, he’s not gone yet. And I wouldn’t count him out. Not for a second.”

She was too good to blame her for her fear.

She was also too good to allow her to wallow in it.

“Natalie, I’m serious,” Maggie said. “I know Will Halstead. And he’s stubborn. He wants to live.”

The flood of emotions overwhelmed her for a moment, and Natalie inhaled tremulously, wiping at her cheeks as the tears slipped free. “It’s just a lot,” she said, trying to pull herself back from the brink. “I mean, it’s Will.”

The explanation was pretty insufficient, but Maggie understood. She drew her hand back, letting it rest on Will’s arm, still swaddled in blankets. “I know; it’s Will,” she said. “You two have always had something special. The boy trailed after you for years, and I thought you two were going to make it. You were going to have the happily ever after that made the rest of us believe in fairy tales.”

Maggie said it wistfully; she wasn’t trying to be mean.

Still, the idea of it, the memory of it, twisted in Natalie’s gut. She hadn’t wanted a dream wedding, but she’d tried hard. She still remembered, standing in her wedding dress, outside the church, when Will came out, covered in blood. She’d held him, just for a moment, before he’d been whisked away. It had been like holding him for the last time. She never got him back after that.

Maybe she’d thought there’d be time.

But here they were.

Out of time.

She wiped her cheeks again and took another breath with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

“Or the timing was just bad,” Maggie said. “I won’t lie. I sort of always thought you’d still get back together.”

Natalie looked at her with surprise now. “Will wanted out. I went back to him. He said no.”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Maggie said, and the sharpness in her voice was tempered by real affection. “All that he went through? Losing you in the first place? He hasn’t had his head screwed on straight since then.”

It was a candid assessment, one that Natalie had never really thought about. It made some certain kind of sense in retrospect, but she’d kept her distance. It had been easier that way.

It was still easier.

Because looking back, all she could do was make closure.

She and Will were over.

It was over.

The emotion roiled in her gut once more. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, focusing for a second on her breathing. “Will’s with Sabeena.”

“Yeah, we both know that’s not going to last,” Maggie said with a small scoff.

Natalie looked at her, feeling a little desperate. “Maggie, it’s been years. I’m with Crockett now.”

Maggie’s face hemmed in sympathetically. “I know,” she said. “And I’m not trying to cause trouble or make you doubt. If you and Crockett are happy -- if that’s what you want -- you know I support you 100 percent.”

She said it definitively enough, but Natalie knew Maggie. She wet her lips and tipped her head expectantly. “But?”

Maggie wasn’t one to beat around the bush, at least. “But is it?” she asked. “Is it what you want?”

They were close enough to ask that kind of question. And yesterday, Natalie thought she knew the answer. Yesterday, she’d been happy, content.

But today, she looked at Will.

They had come so, so close. The lies had been revealed. The mistakes had been rectified. The distance had been closed. There had been logic in staying apart to protect each other, but given the way her heart was breaking now, she wasn’t sure the logic held.

She wasn’t sure she held.

The intensity of this emotion was more than she’d expected. It was more than anything she’d ever felt with Crockett. That was what made Crockett safe and reliable.

She wasn’t sure what it made Will.

Maggie was still watching her, and Natalie couldn’t bring herself to look up again. Her throat was tight; her eyes burned. “I don’t know,” she admitted in a small voice.

Maggie reached across Will’s gurney once more, squeezing her fingers earnestly this time. “Well, you’ll have time to figure it out either way when Will wakes up,” she said, keeping her voice steady. She withdrew her touch and got up with a little sigh. “I’d stay, but I have to get back to Jay before he goes and starts giving the other nurses trouble.”

“Thanks, Maggie,” she said.

Maggie nodded back with solidifying resolve. “Thank you,” she said, gesturing to Will’s prone body on the gurney. “For keeping him on task.”

Natalie wasn’t sure, honestly. Did she still have that kind of relationship with Will?

What she was sure of, however, was that she kind of hoped she did.

-o-

Time was always relative, and Natalie knew that. While no more than ten minutes had passed, Will’s temperature had risen several more degrees. His oxygenation levels remained high while the bypass machine and ventilator did their job to keep Will’s body in functional condition. This was substantial progress, and each minute mattered substantially in the struggle to bring Will back from the brink.

That said, ten minutes had passed. Natalie had sat in this room, watching as machines kept Will alive for ten minutes.

And each one felt longer and more painful than the last.

When the door opened, she was both grateful and terrified for the reprieve. She needed someone else to ground her if she was going to fulfill her promise to Jay, but she had no idea how she was going to keep herself from falling into pieces the instant she opened her mouth to lie about how she was doing just fine.

She couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing that it was Dr. Charles this time.

No matter. He closed the door behind him and meandered inside. He kept a respectful distance, but his frown was pronounced as he looked at Will. “I hope I’m not intruding,” he said with an air of apology in his disposition. “If you’d rather be alone--”

Natalie shook her head quickly. None of this was about what she wanted. “No, please,” she said. “It’s not like Will’s not everyone’s friend.”

Dr. Charles nodded again, eyes scanning over Will’s monitors. “And how is he?”

Natalie swallowed. The question was expected, and she had the optimistic answer she’d been telling Jay all morning. “Temperature’s climbing, but he’s still not quite there,” she said. “Good oxygenation rate, bypass is doing its thing.”

She trailed off, shrugging a little.

“It’s as much as we can hope for,” she concluded lamely.

“That’s not always great consolation,” Dr. Charles said. “Even if it is true.”

“We’ve seen plenty of cases--” she started.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “I still wish he didn’t have to go through it. You know?”

Natalie let her gaze fall back to Will. It was hard to think about, what it would mean if this failed. How he might not come back; how Jay might be planning a funeral instead of a return to work. Or worse, if Will came back and he wasn’t Will anymore. If there was no light in his brown eyes, no sparkle in his smile.

“It’s hard when we’re reminded just how vulnerable we all are,” Dr. Charles continued.

Natalie tried to nod along, but the emotion was twisted inside her. “I just -- don’t know what he was thinking,” she said.

It wasn’t bitterness; it wasn’t anger, at least not in a traditional sense. She couldn’t blame Will for this, but it hurt her so much that she wasn’t sure what else to feel.

Dr. Charles looked at her. “I’m sure he was thinking what he was always thinking,” he said. “Just to save a life. He was trying to help a victim, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what Jay said,” Natalie said. “A car went out on the ice. They got the wife out, but had to go back for the husband. The ice gave out before they could finish, and Will went in.”

Dr. Charles looked back at Will with some regret. He was quiet for a moment, and the sound of the machines filled the room.

“You know, doctors get a bad rep,” Dr. Charles said. “This talk of God complexes, needing to control everything.”

Natalie forced herself to smile. “And that doesn’t sound like Will?”

Dr. Charles shook his head. “Not in the least,” he said. “I mean, it’s different for every doctor, and many of us do have control issues, but it doesn’t stem from thinking that we’re God. It comes from the realization that, given our skills and our knowledge, we have a unique position to help people that most don’t. It gives us a greater sense of duty, I think. A duty to put others first, no matter what.”

It made sense, and Natalie knew that. But she looked at Will, feeling a deep longing in the pit of her stomach seeing him in this condition. “Will’s always been so focused on saving people,” she said. “It’s always been the thing that gets him in trouble. Not just that he’s too proud or too blind to his own flaws. But he just wants to help.”

“For someone to be as trained as we are, sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing,” Dr. Charles agreed. “That’s what makes medical ethics so complicated. Even when we get it intellectually, it can be a hard thing to force ourselves into accepting it in our guts.”

Natalie let her gaze linger on Will a little longer. It wasn’t hard to recall the things Dr. Charles wasn’t saying. Will’s forced resuscitation of a cancer patient. Will’s inability to respect his mentor’s DNR. His insistence on believing in Hannah. Even the way he’d agreed to be a CI before botching it all by saving his mark.

Different situations.

The same moral quandary for Will.

“At any rate, I think we can all take comfort in knowing that Will did what he thought was best,” Dr. Charles said. “And let’s just be honest. He’s already taken on a lot in his life. A lot of it hasn’t been easy. My goal is to help him continue to tackle those obstacles, from big to small -- as a friend.”

Natalie nodded vaguely, not sure what to say to any of that. She wasn’t sure what she was thinking anyway.

Dr. Charles looked at her a little more keenly. “And what about you? How are you?”

Natalie glanced up at him, surprised. “What? I’m fine.”

Dr. Charles tilted his head knowingly. “We usually say we’re fine as a reflex, not because we actually are,” he said. “And let’s be honest. This is the kind of day where no one is actually fine.”

Natalie had to sigh. It was possible to lie to Dr. Charles. It just wasn’t possible to do so without him knowing. “It’s just...weird,” she admitted. “He’s been in my life so long, he’s been such a part of this hospital, maybe I just always expected him to be there.”

“And he is still here, Natalie,” Dr. Charles reminded her.

“I know,” she said. “But -- I expected him to be here.”

She wasn’t quite sure why the inflection mattered. She wasn’t even sure what she meant.

“We were friends first, and then we were getting married -- and when he betrayed my trust, it just got too hard,” she said. “I didn’t know how to make it work. He was in no position to be in a relationship, and he’d hurt me too bad that I couldn’t be there for him. It just never made sense after that, and I thought it was over.”

“It’s not uncommon to have thoughts of regret or second guessing in these situations,” Dr. Charles said.

“But it’s more than that,” Natalie said. He pressed her lips together and took a moment to breathe. “When I saw him come in today, when I realized what had happened -- that I might lose him -- it all changed. It brought everything into a different focus. Everything I thought mattered, suddenly didn’t. The things I had thought I counted on -- weren’t enough.”

She trailed off, not sure where she was going with it.

Embarrassed, she shook her head and laughed sheepishly. “I’m not sure what I’m talking about,” she said. “It’s just been a long morning.”

“Has Crockett been here?” Dr. Charles asked. “Sometimes help from the people we love most is exactly what we need.”

Natalie looked at Dr. Charles, and they both knew why he’d asked the question. This time, when she tried to smile, the effort didn’t do much. “He was,” she said. “But, um. That’s kind of what’s confusing. I’m pretty sure Crockett’s not the one I need right now.”

It felt like a lot, even if she had said so little. The admission was telling, and Dr. Charles was more than a trained professional. He was her friend. He wasn’t the type to leave well enough alone -- especially when well enough wasn’t well at all.

“It’s funny, because stressful situations are so far removed from normal life that we’re tempted to, I don’t know, pretend like they don’t matter,” Dr. Charles explained. “And sometimes we do make illogical decisions. Sometimes we feel things that don’t make sense. You can never hold a response against yourself when it’s made under real, psychological duress.”

Natalie nodded.

“But for what it’s worth, there are also times when stress reveals things to us,” Dr. Charles continued. “It can show us the truth that we’ve been trying to hide. For some people, in some cases, the stress provides a clarity because it strips away the guises.”

“And how do I know which it is?”

Dr. Charles smiled sympathetically. “I can’t tell you that,” he said. “But I know you. I think if you follow your gut, you’ll figure this one out.”

She looked back to Will, the indecision churning inside of her.

Dr. Charles patted her on the shoulder. “If you need to talk--”

“I know,” she said quickly.

He didn’t insult her by lingering. He stepped to the bed, patting Will absently on the foot. “Let me know how it goes,” he said. “The next hour, right?”

Natalie peeked at the monitors again. “30 minutes, I’d guess,” she said. “His temperature’s pushing 75.”

Dr. Charles smiled. “Almost there.”

“Almost,” she agreed.

As he left again, Natalie couldn’t help but think. Almost had never seemed so far away.

-o-

As Will’s temperature rose to the 90s, the effect started to become more dramatic. Though still pale, his skin lost some of its translucency. Color returned to his cheeks, and when Natalie brushed his hair from his head, the skin was no longer icy. Cold, but not icy.

The saying went that you weren’t dead until you were warm and dead.

Will was rapidly reaching that point, the make or break moment.

At 88 degrees, Natalie couldn’t wait any longer. She adjusted Will’s blankets, tucking him in a little tighter. Then, she opened up the door and poked her head out. Ethan wasn’t far, doing charts at the main station. Across the room, their eyes met.

“He’s at 88,” she said. “I think it’s time.”

Ethan was already on his feet, rallying Doris and the other nurses with him. “Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s see what we got.”

-o-

Back in Will’s room, Natalie had to remind herself that she was just an observer here. Will was Ethan’s patient; she was emotionally compromised.

And yet, sitting there, standing back -- it was a lot harder than she’d anticipated.

The nurses fell seamlessly into place, and Ethan wasted no time in conducting a full assessment. Natalie watched as Will’s temperature climbed another degree, and as Ethan recorded his vitals, it ratcheted up one more time.

Ethan noticed almost as quickly as Natalie did, and his whole demeanor changed. “Okay, he’s at 100 percent with his oxygen, his core temperature is at 90,” Ethan said, going down the checklist. “He’s going to be as stable as he can be. If we’re going to do this, now’s the time to try.”

The team had assembled seamlessly, the contingent of nurses in place around Will’s bed. Natalie resisted the urge to move closer. She knew they would need all the space available to save Will’s life.

She had waited a full hour for this.

She couldn’t imperil the effort now that they were on the cusp of success or failure.

Ethan turned to the bypass technician. “Be ready to stop bypass.”

The woman nodded.

Ethan turned to Doris, who was behind the head of Will’s gurney. “I want to manually ventilate to maximize his O2 intake,” he said.

Doris gave a bob of her head.

“I want the crash cart ready, and let’s make sure his IV access is primed,” Ethan said to the other two nurses. “When we do this, we’re doing this. We get one shot.”

Ethan looked at each member of the team before giving a glance back at Natalie. Then, he looked at Will. “Okay,” he said. “Bypass off.”

The technician adjusted the settings, and the machine whirred down. “Bypass off.”

Almost immediately, the monitors began to wail. Doris switched to the manual vent, hyperventilating Will’s lungs as Ethan positioned himself over Will’s exposed chest and started compressions.

Compressions saved lives, Natalie knew this. But they were far more violent than most people realized. The force involved, the exertion needed -- it wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Natalie had done compressions countless times in her career.

Seeing them done on Will, however, shook her more than she knew how to admit. She was shaking, barely keeping her feet, while Ethan barked out orders over his effort on Will’s chest.

“Let’s get in a milligram of epi,” he said.

One of the nurses complied. “Drugs are in,” she reported.

“Keep ventilating,” Ethan ordered. Then, to another nurse. “Get me the paddles. Charged to 100.”

The crash cart was already in place, moved forward as the bypass machine was pulled back. The defibrillator whined to life with a familiar tone. “Charged to 100.”

Ethan stopped, reaching over to take the paddles. He expertly placed them on Will’s chest. “Clear.”

Everyone held their hands up, stepping back just slightly, and Ethan deployed the charge.

One paddle on his upper chest, the other on the lower portion of Will’s exposed torso, and the familiar sound felt like it hit Natalie square in the chest instead. She felt it course through her as Will arched upward and settled back down on the gurney with a limp thud.

Natalie couldn’t take her eyes away, morbidly transfixed, but Ethan was watching the monitors, fingers pressed to the pulse point on Will’s neck. “Nothing,” he said, and his voice sounded uncharacteristically tight. He immediately got back into position, resuming a rigorous round of compressions. “Let’s run another milligram of epi,” he said.

Doris was already ventilating again, righting Will’s head on the gurney with one hand while she squeezed the bag with the other. One of the other nurses had the syringe of epi, finding the line hooked to the crook of Will’s arm.

“Epi’s in,” the nurse said, glancing anxiously at Ethan.

Lips pursed, Ethan nodded curtly. “Give me a charge of 150,” he said.

The third nurse had almost complied without being ordered. When she produced the paddles, Ethan stopped the compressions. “Clear,” he announced.

Doris put down the bag, holding her hands up. Will was left, vulnerable and still, on the gurney as Ethan placed the paddles once more.

The increase in the charge produced a more dramatic effect, and Will’s head lolled to the side as he thudded back down. There was no change; no movement; no rhythm.

Doris started ventilating, and Ethan cursed. “Still nothing,” he said, getting back into position. His compressions were even more pointed now, a sign that he was getting tired -- or losing control of the code.

Because it wasn’t working.

Will was off bypass. Will’s core temperature was high enough.

And he wasn’t coming back.

His heart wasn’t converting.

Will was--

Natalie couldn’t even form the thought, much less acknowledge it.

It was the oppressive force, lurking in the corners of the room. The niggling doubt that none of them could speak as the seconds ticked on.

Ethan’s face was pale; Doris looked pinched as she held Will’s head steady. One of the other nurses was on the verge of tears.

They were doctors, medical professionals. They had limitations. Sometimes, people couldn’t be saved. Sometimes, good people couldn’t be saved.

Sometimes, people you cared about couldn’t be saved.

Natalie had to close her eyes, feeling sick.

“Come on, Will. Work with me here,” Ethan said, thrusting his hands against Will’s chest more vigorously still. He was barking the orders now. “Another round of epi. Now.”

“Drugs are in,” the nurse announced.

Ethan stepped back. “Charge to 200,” he said, reaching for the paddles. He positioned them on Will’s chest, face set hard. “Clear.”

Everyone stepped back.

The shock was delivered, and Will’s body arched up again. He hit the gurney harder still, limbs falling pliantly by his sides even as Doris was already reaching for the bag. This time, Natalie’s eyes were on the monitor, her breathing hinged as she waited for some change for the better.

They were running out of time.

They were running out of chances.

She feared that the moment had passed, that Will had--

But this time, it worked.

The chaotic rhythm on the monitor evened out, a few erratic spikes before it fell into a normal rhythm.

“We got sinus rhythm!” Doris said, the relief in her voice evident.

Ethan nearly collapsed under the weight of the announcement, dropping back visibly and putting the paddles away. Natalie didn’t miss how his hands were shaking. One of the nurses caught herself on a sob, and the other cheered a little.

On the gurney, Will’s chest was rising and falling more regularly now, and the monitor continued to beep out a renewed, steady rhythm once more.

Heart beating.

Air moving in the lungs.

Natalie’s breathing staggered under the weight of it, the slow realization. Will was alive.

Will was alive.

Natalie was frozen in place, but the trauma room moved without her. Back on point, Ethan was ordering a full round of blood tests. “And get the vent hooked up again, we need to keep him stable,” he said to Doris, who was already reaching for the tubes. “I want to watch for fluid in the lungs; he’s at high risk for pneumonia, so if there’s even a hint of congestion, I want a chest x-ray immediately.”

The nurses scuttled about, tending to the room.

Ethan moved around them, coming up alongside Will. “It’s too early to check for neurological response,” he said, as though he was resisting the idea to check. “But page neuro. I want a full consult sooner rather than later.”

Then, once he seemed satisfied with Will’s condition and care, he turned back to Natalie.

If any of them could handle this -- treating one of their own in such dire straits -- it was certainly Ethan. Ethan was cool, calm and collected; he was the consummate professional.

But as he looked at Natalie, she could see the toll it was taking on him. The strain in his expression was subtle but evident, moreso as he attempted to smile for her sake. “We got him back,” he said. “For now, he’s stable.”

She’d never considered it before, the words they used and what they meant. If Will was back, where had he gone? If he was stable, did that mean that each heartbeat was a given? What did it take to throw it all off balance?

All of them?

Natalie did her best not to shudder.

It didn’t take much.

“Natalie,” Ethan said. “This is good news.”

She looked at him, but only managed the vaguest of nods. Her own balance was badly skewed. Her self control was faltering. Will’s heart was beating, but she wasn’t so sure about her own anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I just need a moment.”

For a split second, Ethan looked worried, but Natalie didn’t stay to indulge his question why. She turned abruptly, away from Ethan, away from Will, and turned out of the room with tears burning so hot in her eyes that she couldn’t hardly see.

Blindly, she groped at the door and let herself out into the passageway. The daily bustle confronted her, and she turned hard away from people. She didn’t want to talk. She couldn’t.

She worked on autopilot, circumventing the desk and ducking her way around the other trauma rooms. Moving quickly, she avoided a few curious gazes before finally opening the door to the doctor’s lounge and letting herself inside.

This wasn’t the plan, of course. None of this was the plan.

Not a single bit of it.

She had promised Jay she’d check back with him. She’d promised straight away, no delays. First things she did.

But Natalie needed a minute.

She knew what she had promised Jay, and it was a promise she intended to keep, but Natalie needed a minute.

She’d just seen Will nearly die.

She’d just witnessed CPR on a man she’d once envisioned spending the rest of her life with.

She’d just watched Ethan cardiovert the man Owen had almost started calling daddy.

Natalie just needed a minute.

She caught herself on the table, leaning against it to keep herself upright as she tried and failed to remember how to move air in her lungs. Her stomach was in knots; her head was pounding. She could hear the sound of the paddles charging; she could see Will’s body falling limply back to the gurney.

What even was the plan again?

Did Natalie even have any idea?

The door opened behind her, and Natalie was vaguely cognizant that she needed to get herself together. She turned out of instinct, trying to compose herself enough to make another hasty exit, when she dully recognized who had entered.

Crockett.

Her boyfriend.

It was her boyfriend, Crockett.

“Just finished closing my appy,” Crockett said with an appropriate level of concern. “I came down as fast as I could. How are you doing?”

At this point, there was no way to hide it, and she wiped her eyes even as fresh tears began to fall. She tried to speak, but nothing coherent would come out.

Crockett reached out to her. “Hey,” he said, brow creased in obvious concern. “Is he--?”

“Alive,” she said, barely getting the word out this time. She inhaled sloppily and caught herself on another sob. “Ethan got a pulse back.”

His hand was on her arm now, and he moved into position to hug her. “That’s good,” he said, bending lower to smile at her. “Natalie, that’s good.”

She tried to nod, to acknowledge him, but she found herself at a loss. Her breathing still felt strained, and the tears wouldn’t stop. He went to finish the hug, but she kept herself stiff, inching out of his grasp. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“No, it’s okay,” Crockett said. He rubbed a hand on her back this time. “It’s never easy. Seeing one of our own--”

She was already shaking her head, looking up at him through her tears. “It’s Will, though,” she said, and there was no way to keep the emotions back. “It’s Will--”

It was all she could say.

It was everything to say.

As the emotion overtook her, the sobs ratcheted up once more. This time, when she dissolved into them, she could not stop Crockett from embracing her, his steady arms around her while she cried. For several moments, she sobbed wrenchingly, gulping in air as the tears refused to stop. The violent onslaught left her spent, and the tears receded.

In their wake, she was weak and unsteady. Sniffling, she pulled back and smiled awkwardly at Crockett. “I’m so sorry.”

“Natalie, I just want to say, I get it, I do,” he said before she had a chance to say anything else or offer some kind of explanation. “When we care about people, when we let them into our hearts, they never really leave. If anything happened to my ex, I know I would feel just as devastated as you’ve felt today.”

Natalie drew a shaky breath, pulling in her emotions a little better now. The intensity of losing Will had dulled her senses, but it hadn’t eliminated them fully. Dr. Charles’ words made sense now, because Natalie’s heart ached, her mind reeled, but her gut knew.

Just like it had when she first said yes to Will.

Just like it had when she gave Phillip his ring back.

Just like it did now, face to face with her boyfriend.

She was weak, unsteady and somehow completely aware of what she needed to do.

It almost made it worse that he was being kind and supportive. She wet her lips, willing herself to have the courage to do this. “You have been so amazing,” she started. “You are such a wonderful person, and being with you -- it’s just been more than I could have asked for.”

“Well, I’m your boyfriend,” he said, as though that was a self evident sort of truth. “It’s my job to be here for you.”

And it should have been.

It really should have been.

But as Natalie stood there, face to face with him, the starkness of the juxtaposition of her feelings became impossible to overcome.

“Crockett,” she said, the words quiet but unwavering. “I think we need to talk.”

He stared at her earnestly for a moment, but as their eyes met, understanding beginning to dawn across his face. He seemed to hesitate, studying her for a moment longer, but when her expression did not change, something in his collapsed. “Talk,” he repeated, hemming himself in soberly. It was a question he clearly didn’t want to ask, and it was also a question he couldn’t avoid any longer. “About?”

She sighed, the tears at bay now. For Will, there had been tears. For Crockett, all she had was regret.

And the apology that would never be enough.

“It’s just -- when I saw Will today, when he was wheeled into this ED and I realized that he might die -- that I might -- I might lose him -- I don’t know,” she said. She faltered a little, shrugging her shoulders at the helplessness of her revelation. “I mean, I had thought it was over between us. We both moved on. I’ve seen him be happy with other people, and I’ve certainly been happy with you. But I have to be honest with you, Crockett. And I have to be fair.”

“You still love him,” Crockett said, stating the conclusion that she’d been avoiding all day. He was kind and sympathetic, but Crockett wasn’t a passive bystander in this. Something tensed in his jaw and he nodded stiffly at her. “You love Will.”

She made a small, helpless expression. “I don’t know -- maybe?” she said. “I have no idea, and I don’t even know if he has any interest in giving things another go, but it’s not right, me being with you, when I can’t give you my whole heart.”

“And if I said part of your heart was enough?” he asked softly.

She smiled sympathetically. “It’s not for me,” she admitted.

Crockett stood, lips pressed together. He seemed to hedge for a second, but he finally bobbed his head in what she had come to recognize from him as inevitability. “Okay,” he said. “I mean, you’re a smart woman. You’ll make your own choices.”

She felt torn, but not as torn as she thought she would. She’d liked being with Crockett. She liked him. He was fun, thoughtful, charming and interesting. He would be a great match for her. She could be happy with him.

But he wasn’t the one.

That was what it came down to, in the end.

Dr. Charles had been right: some feelings did pass.

Others just didn’t.

Natalie knew the difference now.

She’d had a broken heart once.

She wouldn’t let it happen again, not while Will was still alive.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” she said. “I hope we can still be friends.”

Crockett smiled, but the action seemed forced. “Friends, sure,” he said. “But you know me well enough. You know I’m not big on going back. So if this is your choice--”

She nodded. “It is.”

“--then this is it,” he said. “We’re not hedging our bets here.”

“Crockett, you deserve so much,” she said. “And if you open yourself up--”

He drew back now, the polite smile looking pained. “Friends, maybe” he said tautly. “But not that close.”

She stepped back, nodding apologetically. “Sure, of course,” she said. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

He stepped back again, shrugging one shoulder. “Probably not as sorry as I am,” he said, before turning away once and for all. He let himself out of the room, and Natalie watched as the door closed behind him and he disappeared down the hall.

She could go after him; she could take more time, do this better.

But she found herself transfixed on the spot.

Because going after Crockett was one thing.

It just wasn’t the thing she wanted.

She knew what she wanted.

And this time, she wasn’t afraid to fight for it.

-o-

For all that Jay’s been through to do, you wouldn’t think that waiting is the hardest part. He’d been treated for hypothermia; he’d been watched like a hawk for pneumonia. He literally dragged his brother out of a freezing river. And here he was: complaining about waiting.

But seriously.

The waiting.

It was hell.

Because he wasn’t just waiting. It wasn’t like sitting through Mom’s treatments. It wasn’t like waiting for Dad to get out of surgery. Hell, it wasn’t even waiting to take Dad off the vent or waiting for the doctors to tell them that it was time for hospice.

He was waiting to see if his brother would have a heartbeat again.

Everyone kept trying to sound optimistic, and Jay tried to appreciate it -- he really did.

But he couldn’t get his head off the more pressing, more salient fact that Will was, for all intents and purposes, dead. He wasn’t breathing on his own. His heart wasn’t beating. So this whole optimism thing was a little hard for Jay to buy.

And it doesn’t help that he had this stupid IV, these dumb leads, and he was sitting with his ass out in a hospital room.

Was he being petty?

Yes.

But being petty was better than being serious. He’d prefer worrying about needles than whether or not Will was going to survive this.

For a cop, pursuing the truth was everything.

But Jay didn’t feel like a cop today.

Just a brother.

As helpless, as scared, as completely invested as a brother.

So he was naturally surprised when one of his coworkers came through his doors.

Though, she wasn’t just a coworker.

The exact nature of their relationship was yet to be fully defined. As he was currently experiencing one existential crisis today, he wasn’t really ready for another.

Just like he wasn’t ready for her.

In the doorway, her eyes were wide and there was something frantic in her disposition. “Jay, thank God,” she said, and she managed to sound both relieved and pissed. She probably didn’t even know which one she was favoring, but she looked like she might throttle him and hug him all at once. She crossed to the bed and settled on top of it by his side and ultimately didn’t do either. “Why didn’t you call?”

It was a logical question, asked with a hint of accusation, and Jay surely had a logical answer. If he could just remember it.

Or anything really.

“My phone -- I don’t even have it,” he said, looking blankly around the room. His personal belongings were probably around somewhere, but he hadn’t thought to ask. “And I mean -- my phone’s probably toast anyway.”

He scanned the room again, a feeling of vague distress occurring to him. He hadn’t even thought to check for his phone, but somehow he was skeptical that it had survived his subzero swim this morning.

The thought was errant and really pretty unimportant. He looked at Hailey again. “How did you even know I was here?”

Her response was rushed with the anxiety she hadn’t quite checked. “Please. Everyone knows you’re here. The uniforms on the ground didn’t talk to you, but Casey and the rest of CFD passed it along to Voight,” she explained. “The whole precinct knows by now. You know how it is with any officer involved incident.”

He groaned. As if he needed this day to actually get worse. “Great. That’s not really what I need right now.”

She ignored his qualms. “But you’re okay?” she asked, looking him over again with fresh vigor. “I mean, you’re okay?”

“Fine,” he said, resisting her doting as best he could while gowned and hooked up to monitors. He was already uncomfortable. He didn’t need her to remind him of it. “Like, mild hypothermia or something stupid, but I’m fine.”

“Just FYI, mild hypothermia is still hypothermia.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but I’m fine now. Back to temp or whatever. I’m under observation, that’s all.”

She seemed visibly relieved and marginally mollified. “You’re impossible, you know that? It’s bad enough worrying about you on the job, but now you’re getting into trouble during your off time, too?”

Jay slumped backward, shaking his head. “This wasn’t even my fault.”

Her expression was tight. “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better,” she said. She hesitated, looking around. She hedged for a moment before continuing in a gentler tone. “CFD also said your brother was involved.”

She was clearly looking for some sign of Will. Finding none, she seemed to sense the reality in Jay’s countenance.

“Is Will okay?” she asked, almost like she didn’t want to. “They said someone got pulled from the water--”

Jay nodded, blinking hard against the emotion he couldn’t quite articulate. “That was Will,” he said stiffly. “He’d gone under, rescuing one of the other vics. When I got him out, he wasn’t breathing -- he wasn’t--”

Hailey stepped forward, her hand on his. “He’s here? At Med?”

Jay nodded again, even more dumbly than before. “Yeah.”

“They’re working on him still?” she prompted.

He was almost grateful for her filling in the gaps. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, it’s been -- what -- 45 minutes? And still nothing. Last I heard, he didn’t have a heartbeat, but something about hypothermia--”

She was nodding now as well. “The cold can preserve brain function--”

She said it helpfully, but it made Jay twitch. He didn’t have the heart to listen to her reasoning, sound though it may be.

Hailey noticed and squeezed his fingers again. “Hey, look, I’m sure he’s fine,” she said. It was obviously the kind of promise she couldn’t keep, but it came from the right place. “I mean, I know Will. He’s your brother, right?”

He understood the sentiment, and truly he did appreciate her effort, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond in kind. At best, he managed a weak nod.

Hailey’s own expression turned guarded again. She withdrew her hand, looking uncomfortable. For a moment, she fiddled with her fingers, head turned down, but before she looked up at him again behind her hair. “Do you want me to stay?”

The offer was soft, and Jay found that he couldn’t tell if she wanted him to say yes or no. Part of him knew he should figure that out for her sake -- he did love her, after all -- but it was too much to deal with now. He couldn’t do this thing with her -- whatever it was or wasn’t at this point -- when he was still figuring things out with Will.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. All his lecturing to Will about the stabilizing influence of a good woman -- and here he was, fumbling through relationships that he never quite managed to realize. He’d blown it with Erin. And if he didn’t make the right steps with Hailey, there was no way she’d stick around either.

That was just all the more reason, though. Jay couldn’t have Hailey stay. If he was trying to keep it together for Hailey, then he wasn’t going to be focused on Will.

He couldn’t do both, and right now, he needed to be a brother first.

She would get that. She would.

This time, he was the one who reached out. His fingers were light on the top of hers. “Nah,” he said. “You can go, tell the precinct I’m fine. I’ll check in with you when I have something to actually report.”

Something turned to resolve in her expression. “I can stay,” she said. “I will.”

“Come on,” he said, offering her the easiest out he could for both their sakes. He withdrew his hand with a forced shrug. “You have work.”

It was a piss poor excuse, though, and they both knew it. “I’m pretty sure I can get it off.”

Her offer was sincere, and Jay knew her well enough to know that. And maybe there was part of him that wanted to take her up on it, to let her be the strong one this time around.

But he had no business falling apart.

He couldn’t.

And if he gave her that part of himself right now?

He’d have nothing left for Will when it counted.

He shook his head, throat feeling tight. “If you stay, everyone will come down.”

Hailey scoffed slightly at that, shaking her head almost in disbelief. “And maybe they should.”

Jay shook his head, feeling almost indignant at the insinuation. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he insisted. “They’re just keeping me here for observation, and the only reason I agreed was because of Will. You know how I feel about hospitals.”

His voice faltered on his brother’s name, and Hailey’s vigor diffused immediately. “Okay, okay,” she said, fully relenting now. “But I am checking on you later. Do you want me to keep the others away?”

For all that he was pretty sure he was being a little bit of an asshole, he was relieved she seemed to understand. “For now, if you could,” he said, his tone much more conciliatory now. “I just -- can’t yet. Not until Will...”

He couldn’t finish the thought. He didn’t know how.

Or he did -- and that was the problem.

When she smiled this time, it was a little sad, but she seemed to understand. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do what I can, okay?”

And his smile in return was grateful. “Thanks, Hailey.”

She bent over, kissing him. “It is quite literally the least I can do,” she said. “Call me, though, when Will’s awake. Or all bets are off.”

“I will,” he promised. “I swear.”

She hesitated again, but leaned forward and kissed him one more time. “I’m glad you’re okay. I love you.”

They’d said those words before, of course, but damn it all if it didn’t still send shivers down his spine. “I love you, too.”

He watched her go, thinking about the way she proved all things true. If he needed evidence that cold hearts could come back to life, then all he needed to do was look at her.

She’d brought him back.

It was proof enough that miracles were still possible.

If only the universe had one more left today.