Chicago Med fic: Resolution (7/7)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
He could feel it somehow, the bullet as it tore through his body. He could feel it shatter one of his ribs, driving through the soft tissue of his lungs. Veins ripped; arteries tore, A thousand synapses fired at once, and Will felt blissfully numb for one surreal second.
His heart took a tenuous, stilted beat, and he felt the air in his lungs back up. His legs could no longer hold his weight, and the impact of the close range bullet dropped him hard on his back.
In a split second, he thought about Jay back in Chicago.
What was he doing right now?
Was he okay?
Had he set a wedding date yet?
Jay wanted Will to come back, to come home, but--
Will blinked, his heart staggering for a new beat. The air exhaled from his lungs and pain erupted across his chest, lancing up and down his spine with an intensity that momentarily blinded him.
But Will was shot, and he was an ocean away, and even when he tried, sometimes Will just didn’t, just couldn’t finish what he started.
Unfinished stories.
Half lived lives.
Open ended questions.
And Will couldn’t.
He wasn’t here right now, not really. He was still back in Chicago. He was telling Jay he was leaving, he was telling Natalie it was done. He was standing in Ms. Goodwin’s office while the world caved in, because he made a choice.
His eyes slid shut and then opened again. His heart was slowing down, and the world was growing dim around the edges. He saw movement above, as Dr. Dunst hovered above him, but a split second later she was pulled out of the way. He caught a glimpse of men in military fatigues and guns, and he closed his eyes again.
Endings, then. Sometimes, when you saw them through, they weren’t what you expected.
They weren’t what you wanted.
They weren’t--
Will was jarred awake, and he only realized belatedly that he must have passed out. Dr. Dunst was over him again, but this time her face was in focus. Behind her, he could see soldiers flanking the room, though she hardly seemed to be paying them much heed.
“Very good, Dr. Halstead,” she said, and she sounded like she had expected no less from him. “I was just telling our guests here that the evacuation will have to wait.”
“Ma’am, I don’t think you understand,” one of the soldiers said. “We really do have to go.”
Several of the other soldiers were starting to retreat, leaving just the one behind to tug at Dr. Dunst’s shoulder.
She ignored him.
“I told you,” she said. “If we followed the plan, if we stuck to protocol, it would all work out.”
Will didn’t know what to say -- he wasn’t sure he even could speak. The plan had worked, maybe. The military had arrived, and by all appearances, they had taken the hospital back. Somewhere, Will thought he could still hear shelling, but it seemed even farther away than before. Either that, or he was slipping.
“Dr. Halstead,” Dr. Dunst said again, and she was leaned over him, ripping his shirt open. “Please, listen to me.”
He tried, he hoped to his credit. Being conscious was no easy feat at the moment, and he craned his neck, lifting his head just enough to look down his front.
From this vantage point, it was hard to tell for sure what had happened.
But the blood was a pretty convincing story.
He’d been shot, he could only just recall. He’d been shot in the chest. That much blood -- it could have hit an artery.
The plan would save the hospital.
The plan was too late for him.
Dr. Dunst was wiping away the blood, leaning close to his chest. He could her fingers, palpating the wound, before she straightened up again, pressing her hands hard and unrelenting to the hole in his chest. She grimaced, his blood already smeared all across her front.
Definitely an artery, then.
The blood loss, the shock, the difficulty breathing: he was dying.
Bleeding out.
All according to plan.
“I’m going to need you to stay awake,” she said, looking at him sternly now.
He’d followed every order, even when he hated them. He’d never questioned, never balked, but he was fading now.
With one hand, the other still pressed to his chest, she reached out and grabbed his chin. She turned his face toward hers.
“I told you to stay awake, Dr. Halstead,” she ordered. “I have trusted you with everything, so do not fail me now.”
He tried to respond, to say something, but the energy required was too much. This was all he had. This was all.
“Ma’am, please!” the soldier said again, shaking her arm with more vigor.
She turned back toward the soldier, eyes blazing. “Are you going to help me or not? This man is gravely injured.”
“I’m trying to!” the soldier protested.
Getting up, Dr. Dunst snarled and ignored him once more.
“Ma’am, we have to go!”
“What will you do, shoot me?” she snarled angrily, ripping open a supply cart that she picked up from the ground. “That is my head of the ED bleeding to death on the floor, and if you think I am going to let him die--”
“Just let us secure the area. It’s protocol, is all,” one of the soldiers reasoned. “And then we will get the medic--”
“He’ll be dead by then,” she uttered hotly, brushing past the man and the gun he was toting. “So if you don’t mind--”
The soldier clearly did mind, but he seemed just as awestruck by Dr. Dunst as Will was. Because this hardline woman, this doctor with impossible standards, was breaking every rule, compromising every promise -- to help him. To save him.
It didn’t compute.
It didn’t make any sense.
Or maybe he was just losing too much blood to maintain rational thought.
Either way.
“Dr. Halstead, tell me how you are doing,” she said, and when he blinked his eyes, he realized she was right above him again, rapidly going through the supplies she’d collected. “Do you know what happened?”
It was an easy question; it should have an easy answer. Will tried to think, tried to breathe, tried to--
“Dr. Halstead,” she said again, a patch of gauze in one hand. She used her free hand to grasp him by the chin once more. “I need you to focus now. You have been shot. Do you understand?”
Did he understand?
How could he possibly understand?
Without an answer, Dr. Dunst promptly let go of his chin, unfurling a stretch of IV tubing. “The bullet hit your chest, on the left side,” she said. Without warning, she rolled him. Will’s vision went dark for a horrible, excruciating moment, before she deposited him on his back once more. “It is still inside.”
A shot to the chest. Left side.
He gasped, feeling blood in the back of his throat. This was what it was like to die, maybe. This was what it was like to reach the end. “My heart?”
She quickly got a pulse ox monitor on his finger, hooking up the leads to the heart monitor. She wasted no time, quickly working on getting an IV into his arm. “No, you’d be dead already if that were the case.”
The clinical assessment didn’t really provide much reassurance. Not dead, but dying. A heartbeat away, two heartbeats. It only took her a single, proficient attempt to get the IV in his arm. He could just close his eyes--
She shook him roughly, and the pain dragged him back to consciousness.
“I can’t -- I can’t breathe,” he said, faltering badly now.
“It has collapsed your lung,” she explained brusquely as she tore away his scrub shirt. “You will need a chest tube.”
What she was saying made sense, but it wasn’t sense he could make. His attention was fleeting, and he felt himself ebbing again as he staggered for air to no avail. “I feel like--” he started, but he couldn’t hold the train of thought. He closed his eyes and flitted off before opening them tiredly. “I can’t--”
She had out her medical kit now. At some point, she had turned on the overhead light and hooked him up to the monitors. He couldn’t remember. He should be able to remember.
She barely paid him any heed. “It may have hit one of the arteries,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. She shook her head as she leaned over his chest with a frown. “You are bleeding much too fast.”
Too fast, too much -- and Will was always going to be too little, too late. He’d been expecting this, probably. Some form of disaster. It had always been a matter of time before things imploded again -- before he imploded again.
It didn’t hurt as much this time. It was supposed to hurt. He stared up at her as the coldness started to spread throughout his body. “It’s okay.”
His words were intended as a comfort, but they seemed to startle Dr. Dunst. “No, you must stay with me now,” she ordered. Her hand lifted from his chest and cupped his face. “Dr. Halstead?”
It occurred to him, almost belatedly, that she was scared. Dr. Dunst was the epitome of control and discipline, and he had never seen her remotely ruffled. But here she was, terrified.
That probably should have worried him.
He shook his head, even as he felt himself start to tremble. “It’s okay.”
Her hand dropped away from his face, and her face contorted. She growled up at the soldier, who was still standing dumbly in the doorway. “Come,” she ordered him. “Help me get him up.”
If the soldier had doubts, there wasn’t time for them. Whatever serious situation was still unfolding outside their room, Dr. Dunst was a force to be reckoned with. Will knew that from experience. An armed soldier had nothing on her.
“Come on, come on,” Dr. Dunst barked. “Grab his legs -- careful--”
The movement was disorienting, and Will’s senses were thrown into overdrive as Dr. Dunst scooped him up under the armpits. Pain lit behind his eyes, and it screamed in his chest, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. There was no time for it, and he had no energy anyway, and in a rush, he was flat on his back on the gurney.
Shock was taking hold now. Will felt like he had been bathed in ice, and the blood in his throat was cloying. The synapses in his brain were firing at a rapid rate, and he struggled to understand the idea that he was dying right now.
He’d made it through all the rest, but here he was.
Dr. Dunst seemed oblivious to his philosophical pondering. Now that he was on the table, she was rapidly adjusting the equipment, bringing lights to bear over him and ripping open several surgical trays in haste.
“Put the gun down,” she said to the soldier. “I’m going to need you to assist--”
Will almost felt sorry for the man, who stared at Will with his mouth open. “But the medic--”
“Will not be here in time,” Dr. Dunst said sternly. She had gutted the supply cabinet now, spare tools everywhere. She turned back toward Will with an intubation kit. “If he is to live, then it will be our doing.”
The soldier appeared at something of a loss, but he took the oxygen bag she gave him. The soldier clearly had no idea what he was doing, but she was adept enough for both of them. Within a matter of seconds, the IV bag was hung, the monitors were chirping and the full arsenal of supplies was at her disposal. It was either impressive or terrifying.
“Okay, Dr. Halstead, we are going to take care of you now,” she said, putting down the intubation kit by his head and reaching for the medicine. “I want you to relax, yes?”
To relax. It sounded absurd. It was absurd. He’d been shot. He was bleeding. Somewhere, across the globe, his brother was waking up in Chicago, and Will knew he’d come to finish something, but he didn’t know if it would finish him, too.
“You need to get washed -- find a gown, mask and gloves,” Dr. Dunst was explaining to the soldier. “You can handle blood, yes? I will need traction.”
The soldier had no room to argue, but that was all Will had left. Dr. Dunst had filled a syringe from one of the vials and was starting on the other. “What are you doing?”
Strained as his voice was, she looked at him immediately. “What does it look like?” she said, picking up the IV line and injecting the first syringe. “I am saving your life.”
Will shook his head, a small, minute movement that nearly taxed him to exhaustion. “But protocol -- dictates -- no solo -- surgeries,” he said, gasping each halting word while his consciousness ebbed. Still, the litany of rules came to him like second nature now. “Not -- a -- sterile -- environment. You -- can’t.”
Her eyes were hard once more, unrelenting in the most basic sense he’d ever seen. “Watch me,” she said, injecting the second syringe without tearing her eyes from him.
And he understood, then. He understood what it meant to follow the rules. He understood what it meant to break them. He understood what having no other option really looked like in the end. It wasn’t about easy outs. It was about the only out.
The drugs were working now. Will felt their pull, dragging him under. Dr. Dunst took up the intubation kit, but she paused just long enough to smile.
There were many ways to save a life, after all.
And, as the darkness descended, Will thought they both might have found another one today.
-o-
As an ED physician, Will had been around his share of death. He’d worked on patients who never had a chance. He’d had patients who started off fine and still died on his table anyway. When they slipped away, he could understand the process on a biological level. He knew what it took for the body to shut down, sometimes all at once, sometimes one system at a time.
But dying wasn’t just a clinical experience. No matter how well doctors documented and studied it, living it was a far more personal venture. The feelings, the sensations, the overwhelming terror.
Of going too soon.
Of leaving too much behind.
Of not finishing what you started.
That was the story of Will’s life.
It might be the story of his death, too.
Except somewhere out there, Adam was laughing. Natalie was telling him to call, and Maggie was standing there ordering him to Baghdad. April laughed, and Ethan shook his head. Jay clapped him on the shoulder, and Ms. Goodwin called him into the office.
Will wanted to say no, but what right did he have? He didn’t have control here.
He’d never had control at all.
No matter what happened next, at least this time he had learned enough to acknowledge it.
-o-
Death would have been easy.
Will didn’t have a penchant for easy anymore.
While he did not die, Will could not be entirely certain that he was alive. Instead, he floated, hovering somewhere between, feeling like he was stuck. Sometimes he seemed to rise, but the pain choked him, and before he could open his eyes, he was back down again.
And he drifted, too. In and out, halfway but not quite. Sometimes he heard voices, talking to him, asking him questions. Sometimes, he felt things, pressure and touch.
“Open your eyes, Dr. Halstead. Can you hear me?”
But it hurt -- it hurt -- and try as he may, Will couldn’t hold on.
-o-
Will had read a lot of literature on pain medication and anesthesia, but he had truthfully never fully believed the accounts. When Jay had complained about how loopy it all made him feel, he’d discounted it as his brother’s overly reactive nature to medical situations.
However, he found that Jay’s assessments had been pretty accurate.
The drugs did mess with your head.
And anesthesia made you dopey as hell.
Will slipped in and out of consciousness for some time, and his awareness ebbed and flowed. There were times when he was aware of himself, when he could feel the throbbing in his chest, the tension in his lungs as the tube forced air in and out, in and out, in and out. Right as it reached a blinding pitch of discomfort, he was swept away once more.
There were voices, too. He could hear his own heart on the monitors. Something beeped.
“He’s waking up.”
“Dr. Halstead?”
All he could think, as he lost control once more, was that Jay was right.
-o-
Then, it started to hurt.
A lot.
Before the pain had been transient and fleeting. It had erupted just to be subdued.
Now, it lingered. It stalked his consciousness and followed him into sleep. When he was resting, it dulled just enough to survive. During waking bouts, it threatened to consume him.
Along with pain, however, came cognition.
With cognition came awareness.
With awareness came will power.
He made more control now, over the waking and the sleeping. When they had removed the breathing tube, they must have reduce his meds as well. Now, when people asked him questions, he was able to respond to some degree.
Will passed a neuro exam. He determined that motor function had not been impaired. “You’re doing very well, Dr. Halstead.”
Will found that statement to be credulous.
He also found it didn’t matter.
He went back to sleep anyway.
-o-
Then, something was different.
His pain levels were the same. The horrible tightness in his chest was unchanged. His throat still felt raw, and it still felt like his brain had been wrapped in cotton. He was still in ICU, but something was different.
He blinked, staring at the ceiling while he considered it.
Then, he rolled his head to the side and understood.
Dr. Dunst was there.
Looking prim and proper, she was seated in a chair with her legs crossed, working on a stack of papers in her lap. He stared at her, not sure what he was expecting, when she finally looked at him over the rim of her glasses.
“Ah,” she said, sounding pleasantly surprised. She sat forward, putting the papers aside on the bedside table. “The nurses told me that you were waking more often now, but I was not sure my timing would be right.”
Being awake was one thing. Being conversational was another. Will’s mind could sluggishly keep up with her words, but he was finding it exceedingly difficult to muster up a reply.
“I am also told that your cognitive assessments have been positive,” she said. “Do you remember what happened?”
The question made him flinch a little. As if he could forget the part where he’d surrendered himself as a hostage to a group of armed terrorists intent to make an example of him on the world’s stage.
Or the part where they’d shot him.
In the chest.
And he’d nearly bled out on his own ED floor.
“Dr. Halstead?” she asked, sounding concerned now. “Do you remember what happened?”
His focus turned to her again. It was too much work to nod his head, and his throat was dry and scratchy when he tried to speak. “Yes,” he said, forcing himself to swallow in vain. “Yes.”
This answer seemed to be satisfactory to her. “Very good,” she said. “And you understand the extent of your injury?”
He had flashes of information -- a shot to the chest, left side, arterial damage, collapsed lung, severe blood loss -- but the picture of his condition was fully coherent to him yet. He looked at her, this time managing to nod just a little. “Can you--?”
His request seemed to take her back a little, but she quickly recovered her composure. “Yes, of course,” she said. “I had thought they explained it to you, but I suppose there’s no harm in clarifying.”
No harm. Will grimaced. It felt like lots of harm so far.
Dr. Dunst drew herself up to her full height, and entered her recitation of his condition with a trained professional he had come to expect from her. “The bullet entered your chest, shattering one of your ribs and puncturing your left lung,” she said, gesturing to her own chest to denote the area she meant. “At first I thought the bullet had severed an artery, but you were fortunate. Instead, it was the broken rib that did the damage. It was difficult to track down all the pieces of bone, but the arterial repair was relatively easy. The broken rib will take some time to heal, but your lung is already showing signs of recovery. The chest tube should be removed within a day. When you are feeling better, I would be happy to show you your chart, let you examine your scans.”
It was a generous offer, actually, and Will was grateful. Doctors did make the worst kind of patients, but he suspected that was a problem Dr. Dunst of all people could understand. He would take her up on it -- when he wasn’t feeling quite so badly.
She seemed to understand that as well.
“You are doing well,” she said, in an even more perfunctory fashion, and even though Will had heard that before, this time he actually was inclined to believe it. “Your vitals have been steadily improving, and I am quite pleased that your incision is healing and there is no sign of infection. I would imagine we can transfer you out of the ICU within several days, though the length of your time in the recovery ward will depend on how quickly you are able to resume normal tasks.”
It was a straightforward delineation of his prognosis, which was fine except for the fact that Will had been shot in a dramatic terrorist takeover and his boss had operated on him, against policy, by herself during a military strike.
“Now, if you have no other questions--”
Dr. Dunst was preparing to leave.
Just like that.
Will’s eyes widened in alarm, and she clearly noticed. Looking vexed, she stayed next to his bed. “Are you in pain? Is your breathing acceptable? Are you experiencing numbness or limited range of motion?”
“No,” Will said, trying to gather his frayed thoughts. “I just -- I thought--”
She sat forward, hesitating at his side. There was a look of indecision in her eyes, as she was torn between her innate professionalism and a newfound affection. “Dr. Halstead, if you are in distress--”
“Thank you,” he blurted finally, the two syllables exhaled in a painful rush. “For saving -- my life -- thank you.”
No praise, no criticism. He had none of it left. Just gratitude. Thanks that he was alive. Thanks that he had someone who cared enough to keep him that way.
Even when he’d given up on himself.
There were people left to fight for him.
If that surprised him, it surprised her more. Dr. Dunst stopped, and her composure seemed to hover. Plain spoken and simply presented, she’d never been the personable sort. But there was a genuine connection between them. Affection, maybe. Something else, Will wasn’t sure he had the wherewithal to name it.
“I find myself uncertain what to say,” she said. She let out a small, uncomfortable chuckle as she adjusted her legs and looked at him again. “I thought I could come here as your doctor, your surgeon, and provide a clear, clinical assessment of your condition.”
On the bed, he was too weak to do much, but he did lift his eyebrows. “But?”
She almost smiled, an action she seemed unable to stop herself from doing. “But the situation is not that simple,” she said. “See, I find myself strangely grateful for you. For staying. For putting yourself on the line when you had every cause to go. We can call it policy, but I fear that is something of a cop out.”
“I couldn’t -- just leave,” he protested.
“But you could,” she said. “But you respected policy that much, you respected my authority that much--”
She trailed off, as if she couldn’t quite finish the thought.
And then, she smiled at him again. This time, with nothing held back.
“I must confess, Dr. Halstead, that you have understood this job better than I expected,” she said. And then, she nodded, ever resolute. “I am very glad to have you on my staff. You have earned my respect by now, and I assure you, that is no small feat. No small feat at all.”
Respect, then. That was what it was between them. Respect.
Definitely not love or romance. Probably not even friendship or camaraderie.
But respect.
Which was possibly the most important element of all.
-o-
Consciousness was a blessing and a curse, and Will tried to be thankful for it because he knew the alternative was worse. Still, pain and exhaustion dogged him, and the confines of the ICU were claustrophobic. All he could do was lie there and endure, but rest was still elusive as his recovery was closely monitored.
He knew the ICU was there for his protection, but he would have preferred seeing his condition upgraded for a less restrictive ward. His doctors said he was making good progress, but they wanted to extend his stay in the ward as a precaution. His blood pressure was still consistently too low, making him a pass-out risk and limiting his mobility. Will objected, but was promptly overruled, and he suspected that Dr. Dunst had something to do with that.
Of all the times to adhere to policy, he mused miserably.
Before he could mount some kind of defense by insisting on seeing Dr. Dunst again, he got another visitor.
One afternoon, after Will woke up for one of his endless naps, he found Adam waiting for him.
He did a double take, naturally.
He hadn’t seen Adam in months. They’d talked on the phone, texted, but the last time had been before the first incident. When Will had assured Adam that everything was fine and he had things perfectly under control.
Irony could be a son of a bitch, sometimes.
“What are you doing here?” Will asked, his voice pitching somewhere between shock and joy.
Adam managed to look angry even while smiling his widest smile. “Coming to check on you, of course!”
Will shook his head, as if that idea dismayed him. “But why? I’m fine.”
He said it, and he knew how ridiculous it sounded even before Adam had a chance to castigate him.
Adam castigated him anyway, as he likely deserved. “You are fine?” Adam repeated with incredulity. “Halstead, you have been shot! You had a bullet in your chest! You are not fine!”
Adam had a point in the hyperbole somewhere, but Will rolled his eyes anyway. It was all he could do since he was still resigned to staying in bed until they cleared him for a regular room. “Well, I’m fine now,” Will clarified. He made a dismissive motion to the machines around him. “They’re really being too cautious. I could have been out of ICU yesterday.”
“Not with that BP reading, you couldn’t,” Adam rightfully pointed out. “And again, Halstead! Bullet in your chest! You must be kidding me right now, yes?”
Will didn’t have the energy to fight him. Instead, he smiled. “Why are you here, Adam? I mean, ICU or not, I am stable for now.”
The question made Adam balk. “You ask why? You are my friend! You nearly died, and yes, I was worried.”
“So you flew all the way here?” Will asked, not hiding his skepticism. “I think you’re overreacting a little.”
“And you are not overreacting enough!” Adam said. “I mean, honestly! I cannot trust you with anything at all!”
“What?” Will asked, and this time his dismay was not farcical.
Adam bobbed his head quite animatedly. “I sent you to the safest place I know! And look what you have done!”
Will’s jaw dropped at the insinuation. “This wasn’t my fault.”
“Oh, yes, yes, I know. I, too, have read the reports of your heroics and bravery,” Adam said with a scoff. “But you are still the one who got shot.”
Now, that was technically true, but it still didn’t seem like an entirely fair assessment of what had happened. “I was just doing what I had to do,” he said reasonably. “I literally followed protocol for every step.”
Adam raised his eyebrows.
“Almost every step,” Will clarified. “But the only policy I did compromise was a direct order from my superior--”
Adam made a loud noise of exasperation. “Oh, goodness. Most doctors -- we develop -- what are they called? God complexes,” he said. He pointed at Will with accusation. “But you, my friend. You have developed a martyr complex instead.”
Will sighed. Though it wasn’t a complete lie, he still felt like it was all somewhat decontextualized. “I didn’t want the hospital to be taken over by terrorists. It just happened. And I did what I could to save as many people as I could. That’s what doctors do, right?”
Adam looked wholly unconvinced. “You do know that I have read the report, yes?” he said. “In it, it details what happened. In the end, many people died across the city, and some in this hospital, at the start and close of the situation. In the interim, however, during the hostage crisis, there was exactly one casualty, one person who was seriously injured. And that was you.”
Will blinked, taken aback by that revelation. It wasn’t so much a surprise as it was just something he hadn’t thought about before. “I was responsible for clearing the ED,” he said, trying to come to terms with what Adam was saying. “I got everyone out, just like I was supposed to. Like I said, saving lives. That’s my job: to save lives.”
Adam snorted. “And you could start by trying to save your own next time,” he said. “These are two hostage situations in which you yourself were nearly killed. This is not a pattern to be making, my friend.”
Will sat there, still a little gobsmacked. “You know, you sound like my brother.”
“Ah,” Adam said, and he finally sat down in the chair. “Your brother sounds like a smart man, then.”
“He is,” Will said. His eyes widened, as he realized his mistake. “I haven’t called Jay. It’s been a week since the incident, and I haven’t even texted Jay. Where’s my phone?”
Adam looked around benignly. “You have been recovering for a week and you are just now asking for your phone?”
“I was mostly unconscious until two days ago,” Will said, scanning the surfaces for his belongings but coming up with nothing. “And I still sleep a lot, usually without trying to.”
“Yes, I saw your chart. You are having trouble maintaining your blood pressure, so it seems likely that you would not stay conscious for long periods of time,” Adam said. Then, he shook his head. “Even so, the thought of calling your brother didn’t come up?”
“I didn’t call anybody. I didn’t even want to see visitors,” Will snapped. “I just -- I didn’t want to burden anyone.”
Adam did not look particularly convinced by that argument. “Why was he not called as your next of kin?”
“I put you down,” Will said. “I mean, Jay’s all the way back in Chicago, so I thought -- I don’t know. That didn’t seem very practical.”
“Yes, I’m sure we are both seeing the wisdom of that decision now,” Adam snarked.
Will didn’t rise to the sarcasm. He was too tired to even try. “Do you think Dr. Dunst lost my phone when she did emergency surgery? Things got kind of chaotic for awhile. Is the ED still an active crime scene?”
“Of course it is,” Adam said. “That is another reason I am here. On official business to secure the facility and get it up and running again.”
Will stopped, and seized on that. “Ha! See. You didn’t just come for me.”
“Ha! I did,” Adam snapped back. “I volunteered for the job to check on you.”
Will drew back crossly. “So my phone is probably still downstairs.”
“Well, now that I know that I may be able to get it out,” Adam offered. “Or I could have him called for you.”
“No,” Will said, somewhat quick with his reply. “If someone else calls him, he’s going to assume the worst. No, I have to do it.”
Adam got up, but his gait was leisurely now. “Then, let me help, my friend.”
“Really?” Will asked.
“I do have clearance,” Adam told him. “And I am somewhat concerned that if I do not do it, you will attempt to do so yourself.”
“I wouldn’t--”
Adam laughed on his way out. “You might!”
And Will could not fully disagree.
-o-
After Adam left, Will was exhausted, but this time, he did not drop off to sleep so easily -- low blood pressure be damned. Tired or not and irrespective of his oxygen levels, Will had a responsibility to his brother. A responsibility he continued to fail time and again.
He had promised Jay he would keep in touch. After the last incident with the gangs, he’d pledged to never let that sort of thing slip through the cracks. Sure, a lot of this situation had been well outside his control -- he had upgraded from gangs to terrorists in a mere matter of months -- but still. He should have called sooner -- the second he was conscious. That was the first thing you did, right? You called.
The problem was he still was trying to keep his distance. It was a hard balance to strike, keeping the lines of communication open with his brother without becoming a burden to him while he tried to figure out his own career and his future with Hailey. Jay could not be his safety net -- Will needed to stand on his own two feet for once.
And it wasn’t fair to Jay, anyway. What could he do -- the way back in Chicago? That had been a primary reason he’d not put Jay down as an emergency contact. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his brother to know or that he didn’t trust his brother. He just didn’t think his brother needed to be in that position when he was so far away. Jay couldn’t just pick up and fly here -- even if he had the means and the time off, it wasn’t even safe. Adam had been the far more practical option.
That logic had seemed right at the time, but now, he just wasn’t so sure.
Of anything, it seemed.
If he was hoping for clarity during his exploits in Africa, he seemed to be getting further and further from it. He was going from one mess to another, and what was he learning? How was he growing? Was change ever going to happen? Or was he going to be relegated to the same mistakes for the rest of his life?
Will didn’t know. He didn’t know anything at this point.
Except: he needed to call his brother.
Now.
-o-
Of course, now would be more viable were he not still recovering from major surgery. The implementation of his desires were stymied by the fact that he really couldn’t stay awake for long periods of time. By the time he was awake enough to do something, he was ready to fall back asleep.
And then, most of the time, he did, only waking up at odd and inconvenient intervals that left him disoriented and frustrated.
Plus, Adam had not returned with his phone just yet. He thought to just use the phone in his room, but given the fact that it was long distance, Will knew he’d have to call collect. What kind of person called their brother collect to tell them he’d been shot?
There were probably workarounds that Will didn’t know about, but he was often too exhausted to try. And, when he wasn’t, he was being inundated with visitors.
Literally, inundated.
He had not had many visitors at first, but he suspected that Adam had cleared the ICU staff to let them in after his visit. He wasn’t sure if this was Adam’s way of playing a prank on him -- or if Adam somehow thought he needed the validation.
In any case, every time he woke up, groggy, semiconscious and sore, someone new was standing there. Nurses, doctors, techs -- hell, even patients. They just came to check on him and see how he was doing. By the time he told them that he was well, thank you very much, he was sleeping again, waking to find a new eager face by his bedside.
It only took a day for Adam to come back with his phone, and he’d gone through the trouble of having it charged. The greatest gift Adam gave him, however, was a moratorium on visitors for the next day.
“You should be focused on recovery,” Adam chided him. “Why did you not say no earlier?”
“I didn’t want to be an imposition--”
Adam rolled his eyes, and he shook his head. “Honestly, Halstead, you are impossible, and I would sit here and tell you so if I didn’t trust your brother to do it for me.”
Will blushed, but still protested. “It’s not that bad--”
“Call your brother,” Adam told him, somewhat smug. “And find out what he thinks, yes?”
-o-
Adam was being smug, sure, but he wasn’t necessarily being wrong. In fact, Will suspected he was more right than Will had allowed himself to consider. He’d tied himself up with guilt over not calling Jay, trying to justify his actions so far in his head. But the simple truth was that he hadn’t thought much about Jay’s reaction.
Probably because he didn’t want to think about it.
Jay was going to be pissed.
Like, really pissed.
And he had every right to be pissed.
The idea of enduring his brother’s wrath was off putting, but he didn’t deserve a reprieve. Besides, Jay would be more pissed the longer Will waited. He had to approach this like ripping of a band aid. He just had to get it done.
So, he sat himself up as best he could, drew up his brother’s contact information on his phone, took a deep breath and placed the call.
Although Jay hadn’t been calling incessantly this time around, he was still quick to answer. “Will? Is that you?”
“Yeah, hey,” Will said, wishing he had some way to not have this conversation. “I meant to call earlier--”
“It’s been on the news, so I figured things were pretty hectic,” Jay said. “But I kept telling myself, after last time, you wouldn’t leave me hanging.”
Well, that was brilliant. His brother trusted him.
Which was, naturally, the worst decision someone could make.
That fact that his brother was giving him the benefit of the doubt only made the confession harder. “Well,” he posited with hesitation. “About that--”
Jay’s voice went brittle over the line. “About what?”
Will made a face, grateful that his brother couldn’t see him. “Things may have gotten a little hairier than I intended.”
He was trying to downplay it, which surely only made his brother suspect the worst. “Define a little.”
“Well, the hospital was overtaken,” Will said, as though that fact were not nearly as dramatic as it clearly was.
“Yeah,” Jay said, following along with obvious trepidation now. “And it was successfully evacuated.”
“Of course,” Will said. “A process I oversaw.”
“Okay,” Jay said, clearly still not realizing the extent of Will’s implication here. “And the problem is?”
“As the Chief of the ED, I had to stay behind, do the final sweep,” he said. “It’s strictly required, all according to protocol.”
“Sure,” Jay said, and he was sounding a little hesitant now.
Will swallowed hard and knew he couldn’t beat around this bush any longer than he already had. “And I was shot.”
Now, given the fact that Jay had been shot twice himself, surely his brother had an appreciation for the range of gunshot wounds. Saying that he’d been shot could be nothing more than a graze. A simple through and through.
That wasn’t where Jay’s mind was going to go, however.
And that wasn’t even the truth, but that was neither here nor there.
Jay’s response was quickly unequivocal. “What?” he asked, sounding outraged now. “That was you? The one American casualty in all this?”
Will sank back against the pillows, somewhat dejected. “That part made the news?”
“Of course it made the news!” Jay shot back. “There wasn’t a single news source that confirmed the name -- or even the profession, location -- anything. So I told myself, no way, no way--”
Will drew a breath, sensing that his brother was very likely to start losing control of his already conspicuous emotions. “Jay--”
“So, you know, I called you -- no answer,” Jay said. “But then I did the next responsible thing. This time I called your organization, and it took me like two hours to talk to someone who could tell me anything, but all they could say was that they were working on it and that they had sent in a team to shore up their lines of communication.”
“Well, we were pretty cut off--”
But Jay wasn’t hardly listening. “Then, I got kind of freaked, and I went ahead and called the consulate, since they still knew me by name, and they could only confirm that no American citizens had been detained or were dead. Which, you know, great. I left my number, and figured you would call me once lines of communication were restored.”
“And they are,” Will said. “And I promise, this is not that big of deal--”
He was trying to be disarming, but Jay was on a roll now.
“So, instead of leaving you endless voicemails, I tried the organization again, and I asked for Adam’s number, but they refused to release personal information.”
“I’m really fine--”
“No, you’re shot,” Jay countered flatly. “I mean, how the hell are you shot? You just got beat up three months ago. What the hell are you doing over there?”
“Just the wrong place at the wrong time,” Will said. “And you have to believe me, I was going to call, but I had surgery, and I was unconscious and in ICU--”
“Will, what the hell?” Jay said, voice rising once more. “Unconscious and in ICU? Surgery?”
Will reddened despite himself. “I’m doing a lot better now.”
“So you weren’t before?” Jay asked, incredulous. “How the hell did no one call me?”
“I put Adam down as my emergency contact--”
“I’m your brother!”
“Who lives halfway across the world,” Will said. “You don’t have the time--”
Jay scoffed loudly. “I will make the time.”
“But I’m in Africa, you’re in Chicago,” Will tried to reason.
“Which is why I think this whole situation is nothing but BS,” Jay said. “Gang takeovers? Terrorists? You’re a doctor, and you’re out there living like you’re in the army.”
“It’s just what needs to be done--”
“No, you need to stop getting hurt,” Jay snapped. “How bad are you hurt? Seriously, though?”
“I’m going to recover,” Will told him, as honestly as he could. “I lost a lot of blood, and I feel weak still, but everything went well.”
Jay wasn’t a doctor, but he had good deductive reasoning. “So you nearly died,” he concluded. And he made a sound of disbelief. “You almost died, and I’m over here telling myself that surely, you’re fine.”
“Jay--”
“No, Will,” Jay said. “You could have died, okay? You could have died and I wouldn’t have had any idea until the damn state department got involved.”
Will had thought he was prepared for this conversation. He should be used to being wrong by now, especially when Jay was involved. “Look, maybe I’m not explaining the situation very well.”
“No, you are, but I thought I made myself clear last time,” Jay said. Over the phone, it was hard to tell if he was pissed or scared. Honestly, though, with Jay, they were kind of the same thing. “When stuff happens, you have to talk to me.”
Pissed or scared, Will felt like this was a bit of an overreaction. “Jay, calm down. You’re being melodramatic.”
He was sincerely trying to diffuse the situation, but that only seemed to raise Jay’s ire more. “Am I?”
Will shrugged, even if Jay couldn’t see it. “Yes!”
“You got shot and didn’t tell me!” Jay said, voice rising. He sounded like he was bordering on apoplectic now. “Shot, Will. As in, someone put a bullet in you, and you didn’t even bother to pick up a damn phone.”
“Well, I was a little busy,” Will said.
“Of course you were,” Jay seethed. “That’s why you make a point to call. It’s called priorities.”
Will sighed a little, sinking back into his couch cushions. “But by the time I was stable and able to pick up a phone, I wasn’t in danger anymore. I mean, by that point, there were other priorities.”
That seemed reasonable to Will.
It did not seem reasonable to his brother. “So you think I just wouldn’t want to know?”
That point was a little fair. As a cop -- and a soldier before that -- Jay had always been the one more likely to be in the line of fire. It had always appalled Will to find out injuries after the fact. If there were any actual perks to working at Med, it was that Jay could no longer conveniently forget to tell Will just how much trouble he’d been in.
And yet, he wasn’t at Med. The perk of not being there meant that Jay didn’t need to know every detail of his life. “I just didn’t want to upset you,” Will told him truthfully. “I knew you’d make a big deal about it, and I didn’t want you to worry.”
Jay took a tense breath, and Will could hear him hold it for a second over the transatlantic line. “Will, worry me next time, okay? Worry me,” he said. “Or better still: stop getting nearly killed. I told you this Africa job was a bad idea.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Will protested. He drew his brows together. “This is why this job is important. They need people willing to do the hard stuff. And I signed on for a year, Jay. One year, and I’m going to see this one through.”
Jay made a small sound, something that sounded like a sigh and a huff all at once. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Stop being mature, so I can be pissed off at you.”
Will chuckled. Jay’s anger was still real, but it had lost its bite now. It was different between them now; Will was different. These months in Africa had been hard and dangerous. They’d also be lonely and isolating. But he had endured. In that context, both he and Jay knew that the gunshot wound wasn’t even the impressive victory.
And it wasn’t just Will that was different.
It was their relationship that was different.
Jay had always -- always -- loved him. He had bailed him out of every trouble he’d ever made. But now that Will didn’t need someone to fix his problems, what he got instead was a brother. An equal.
Still lounging on his couch, arm gently cradled across his healing midsection, Will found himself grinning now. “Sorry about that,” he quipped, because he’d earned the right to be flippant for once. “Just do me a favor, and don’t let word get out. I am trying to keep this on the downlow.”
“Your maturity?”
“No, the gunshot,” Will said with a small roll of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, but I really don’t want it to be a big deal. I mean, not that anyone around there actually cares.”
“Oh, please,” Jay said, dismissive now. “People care. I get asked about you all the time. The guys at Fire. And don’t even get me started on the people at Med who always want to know when you’re coming home.”
Will shook his head because he knew his brother was exaggerating now. “Still, I don’t want to be distracted,” he said. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Fine,” Jay said. “But only if you keep me in the loop next time. Put me back down as your emergency contact -- keep Adam on there, too. But I want to know.”
“Deal,” Will agreed. “And Jay, for what it’s worth, I really am sorry for not calling.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jay said with an air of diffidence. “You just got tired of me being the hero brother all the time.”
Will’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not true!”
“It’s a little true,” Jay said, and he was clearly smirking now.
And Will had to laugh. As far away as he and Jay were right now, it seemed like they’d never been closer. “Whatever,” he said lightly. “Should I call you next week? Just to check in?”
“You better,” Jay said gruffly. Like he was going to pretend like he didn’t care. “Or pretty soon I’m going to get on a plane and come over there to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, Jay,” Will promised, and this time, for what felt like maybe the first time in a long tie, he actually meant it. “I’m fine.”
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
He could feel it somehow, the bullet as it tore through his body. He could feel it shatter one of his ribs, driving through the soft tissue of his lungs. Veins ripped; arteries tore, A thousand synapses fired at once, and Will felt blissfully numb for one surreal second.
His heart took a tenuous, stilted beat, and he felt the air in his lungs back up. His legs could no longer hold his weight, and the impact of the close range bullet dropped him hard on his back.
In a split second, he thought about Jay back in Chicago.
What was he doing right now?
Was he okay?
Had he set a wedding date yet?
Jay wanted Will to come back, to come home, but--
Will blinked, his heart staggering for a new beat. The air exhaled from his lungs and pain erupted across his chest, lancing up and down his spine with an intensity that momentarily blinded him.
But Will was shot, and he was an ocean away, and even when he tried, sometimes Will just didn’t, just couldn’t finish what he started.
Unfinished stories.
Half lived lives.
Open ended questions.
And Will couldn’t.
He wasn’t here right now, not really. He was still back in Chicago. He was telling Jay he was leaving, he was telling Natalie it was done. He was standing in Ms. Goodwin’s office while the world caved in, because he made a choice.
His eyes slid shut and then opened again. His heart was slowing down, and the world was growing dim around the edges. He saw movement above, as Dr. Dunst hovered above him, but a split second later she was pulled out of the way. He caught a glimpse of men in military fatigues and guns, and he closed his eyes again.
Endings, then. Sometimes, when you saw them through, they weren’t what you expected.
They weren’t what you wanted.
They weren’t--
Will was jarred awake, and he only realized belatedly that he must have passed out. Dr. Dunst was over him again, but this time her face was in focus. Behind her, he could see soldiers flanking the room, though she hardly seemed to be paying them much heed.
“Very good, Dr. Halstead,” she said, and she sounded like she had expected no less from him. “I was just telling our guests here that the evacuation will have to wait.”
“Ma’am, I don’t think you understand,” one of the soldiers said. “We really do have to go.”
Several of the other soldiers were starting to retreat, leaving just the one behind to tug at Dr. Dunst’s shoulder.
She ignored him.
“I told you,” she said. “If we followed the plan, if we stuck to protocol, it would all work out.”
Will didn’t know what to say -- he wasn’t sure he even could speak. The plan had worked, maybe. The military had arrived, and by all appearances, they had taken the hospital back. Somewhere, Will thought he could still hear shelling, but it seemed even farther away than before. Either that, or he was slipping.
“Dr. Halstead,” Dr. Dunst said again, and she was leaned over him, ripping his shirt open. “Please, listen to me.”
He tried, he hoped to his credit. Being conscious was no easy feat at the moment, and he craned his neck, lifting his head just enough to look down his front.
From this vantage point, it was hard to tell for sure what had happened.
But the blood was a pretty convincing story.
He’d been shot, he could only just recall. He’d been shot in the chest. That much blood -- it could have hit an artery.
The plan would save the hospital.
The plan was too late for him.
Dr. Dunst was wiping away the blood, leaning close to his chest. He could her fingers, palpating the wound, before she straightened up again, pressing her hands hard and unrelenting to the hole in his chest. She grimaced, his blood already smeared all across her front.
Definitely an artery, then.
The blood loss, the shock, the difficulty breathing: he was dying.
Bleeding out.
All according to plan.
“I’m going to need you to stay awake,” she said, looking at him sternly now.
He’d followed every order, even when he hated them. He’d never questioned, never balked, but he was fading now.
With one hand, the other still pressed to his chest, she reached out and grabbed his chin. She turned his face toward hers.
“I told you to stay awake, Dr. Halstead,” she ordered. “I have trusted you with everything, so do not fail me now.”
He tried to respond, to say something, but the energy required was too much. This was all he had. This was all.
“Ma’am, please!” the soldier said again, shaking her arm with more vigor.
She turned back toward the soldier, eyes blazing. “Are you going to help me or not? This man is gravely injured.”
“I’m trying to!” the soldier protested.
Getting up, Dr. Dunst snarled and ignored him once more.
“Ma’am, we have to go!”
“What will you do, shoot me?” she snarled angrily, ripping open a supply cart that she picked up from the ground. “That is my head of the ED bleeding to death on the floor, and if you think I am going to let him die--”
“Just let us secure the area. It’s protocol, is all,” one of the soldiers reasoned. “And then we will get the medic--”
“He’ll be dead by then,” she uttered hotly, brushing past the man and the gun he was toting. “So if you don’t mind--”
The soldier clearly did mind, but he seemed just as awestruck by Dr. Dunst as Will was. Because this hardline woman, this doctor with impossible standards, was breaking every rule, compromising every promise -- to help him. To save him.
It didn’t compute.
It didn’t make any sense.
Or maybe he was just losing too much blood to maintain rational thought.
Either way.
“Dr. Halstead, tell me how you are doing,” she said, and when he blinked his eyes, he realized she was right above him again, rapidly going through the supplies she’d collected. “Do you know what happened?”
It was an easy question; it should have an easy answer. Will tried to think, tried to breathe, tried to--
“Dr. Halstead,” she said again, a patch of gauze in one hand. She used her free hand to grasp him by the chin once more. “I need you to focus now. You have been shot. Do you understand?”
Did he understand?
How could he possibly understand?
Without an answer, Dr. Dunst promptly let go of his chin, unfurling a stretch of IV tubing. “The bullet hit your chest, on the left side,” she said. Without warning, she rolled him. Will’s vision went dark for a horrible, excruciating moment, before she deposited him on his back once more. “It is still inside.”
A shot to the chest. Left side.
He gasped, feeling blood in the back of his throat. This was what it was like to die, maybe. This was what it was like to reach the end. “My heart?”
She quickly got a pulse ox monitor on his finger, hooking up the leads to the heart monitor. She wasted no time, quickly working on getting an IV into his arm. “No, you’d be dead already if that were the case.”
The clinical assessment didn’t really provide much reassurance. Not dead, but dying. A heartbeat away, two heartbeats. It only took her a single, proficient attempt to get the IV in his arm. He could just close his eyes--
She shook him roughly, and the pain dragged him back to consciousness.
“I can’t -- I can’t breathe,” he said, faltering badly now.
“It has collapsed your lung,” she explained brusquely as she tore away his scrub shirt. “You will need a chest tube.”
What she was saying made sense, but it wasn’t sense he could make. His attention was fleeting, and he felt himself ebbing again as he staggered for air to no avail. “I feel like--” he started, but he couldn’t hold the train of thought. He closed his eyes and flitted off before opening them tiredly. “I can’t--”
She had out her medical kit now. At some point, she had turned on the overhead light and hooked him up to the monitors. He couldn’t remember. He should be able to remember.
She barely paid him any heed. “It may have hit one of the arteries,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. She shook her head as she leaned over his chest with a frown. “You are bleeding much too fast.”
Too fast, too much -- and Will was always going to be too little, too late. He’d been expecting this, probably. Some form of disaster. It had always been a matter of time before things imploded again -- before he imploded again.
It didn’t hurt as much this time. It was supposed to hurt. He stared up at her as the coldness started to spread throughout his body. “It’s okay.”
His words were intended as a comfort, but they seemed to startle Dr. Dunst. “No, you must stay with me now,” she ordered. Her hand lifted from his chest and cupped his face. “Dr. Halstead?”
It occurred to him, almost belatedly, that she was scared. Dr. Dunst was the epitome of control and discipline, and he had never seen her remotely ruffled. But here she was, terrified.
That probably should have worried him.
He shook his head, even as he felt himself start to tremble. “It’s okay.”
Her hand dropped away from his face, and her face contorted. She growled up at the soldier, who was still standing dumbly in the doorway. “Come,” she ordered him. “Help me get him up.”
If the soldier had doubts, there wasn’t time for them. Whatever serious situation was still unfolding outside their room, Dr. Dunst was a force to be reckoned with. Will knew that from experience. An armed soldier had nothing on her.
“Come on, come on,” Dr. Dunst barked. “Grab his legs -- careful--”
The movement was disorienting, and Will’s senses were thrown into overdrive as Dr. Dunst scooped him up under the armpits. Pain lit behind his eyes, and it screamed in his chest, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. There was no time for it, and he had no energy anyway, and in a rush, he was flat on his back on the gurney.
Shock was taking hold now. Will felt like he had been bathed in ice, and the blood in his throat was cloying. The synapses in his brain were firing at a rapid rate, and he struggled to understand the idea that he was dying right now.
He’d made it through all the rest, but here he was.
Dr. Dunst seemed oblivious to his philosophical pondering. Now that he was on the table, she was rapidly adjusting the equipment, bringing lights to bear over him and ripping open several surgical trays in haste.
“Put the gun down,” she said to the soldier. “I’m going to need you to assist--”
Will almost felt sorry for the man, who stared at Will with his mouth open. “But the medic--”
“Will not be here in time,” Dr. Dunst said sternly. She had gutted the supply cabinet now, spare tools everywhere. She turned back toward Will with an intubation kit. “If he is to live, then it will be our doing.”
The soldier appeared at something of a loss, but he took the oxygen bag she gave him. The soldier clearly had no idea what he was doing, but she was adept enough for both of them. Within a matter of seconds, the IV bag was hung, the monitors were chirping and the full arsenal of supplies was at her disposal. It was either impressive or terrifying.
“Okay, Dr. Halstead, we are going to take care of you now,” she said, putting down the intubation kit by his head and reaching for the medicine. “I want you to relax, yes?”
To relax. It sounded absurd. It was absurd. He’d been shot. He was bleeding. Somewhere, across the globe, his brother was waking up in Chicago, and Will knew he’d come to finish something, but he didn’t know if it would finish him, too.
“You need to get washed -- find a gown, mask and gloves,” Dr. Dunst was explaining to the soldier. “You can handle blood, yes? I will need traction.”
The soldier had no room to argue, but that was all Will had left. Dr. Dunst had filled a syringe from one of the vials and was starting on the other. “What are you doing?”
Strained as his voice was, she looked at him immediately. “What does it look like?” she said, picking up the IV line and injecting the first syringe. “I am saving your life.”
Will shook his head, a small, minute movement that nearly taxed him to exhaustion. “But protocol -- dictates -- no solo -- surgeries,” he said, gasping each halting word while his consciousness ebbed. Still, the litany of rules came to him like second nature now. “Not -- a -- sterile -- environment. You -- can’t.”
Her eyes were hard once more, unrelenting in the most basic sense he’d ever seen. “Watch me,” she said, injecting the second syringe without tearing her eyes from him.
And he understood, then. He understood what it meant to follow the rules. He understood what it meant to break them. He understood what having no other option really looked like in the end. It wasn’t about easy outs. It was about the only out.
The drugs were working now. Will felt their pull, dragging him under. Dr. Dunst took up the intubation kit, but she paused just long enough to smile.
There were many ways to save a life, after all.
And, as the darkness descended, Will thought they both might have found another one today.
-o-
As an ED physician, Will had been around his share of death. He’d worked on patients who never had a chance. He’d had patients who started off fine and still died on his table anyway. When they slipped away, he could understand the process on a biological level. He knew what it took for the body to shut down, sometimes all at once, sometimes one system at a time.
But dying wasn’t just a clinical experience. No matter how well doctors documented and studied it, living it was a far more personal venture. The feelings, the sensations, the overwhelming terror.
Of going too soon.
Of leaving too much behind.
Of not finishing what you started.
That was the story of Will’s life.
It might be the story of his death, too.
Except somewhere out there, Adam was laughing. Natalie was telling him to call, and Maggie was standing there ordering him to Baghdad. April laughed, and Ethan shook his head. Jay clapped him on the shoulder, and Ms. Goodwin called him into the office.
Will wanted to say no, but what right did he have? He didn’t have control here.
He’d never had control at all.
No matter what happened next, at least this time he had learned enough to acknowledge it.
-o-
Death would have been easy.
Will didn’t have a penchant for easy anymore.
While he did not die, Will could not be entirely certain that he was alive. Instead, he floated, hovering somewhere between, feeling like he was stuck. Sometimes he seemed to rise, but the pain choked him, and before he could open his eyes, he was back down again.
And he drifted, too. In and out, halfway but not quite. Sometimes he heard voices, talking to him, asking him questions. Sometimes, he felt things, pressure and touch.
“Open your eyes, Dr. Halstead. Can you hear me?”
But it hurt -- it hurt -- and try as he may, Will couldn’t hold on.
-o-
Will had read a lot of literature on pain medication and anesthesia, but he had truthfully never fully believed the accounts. When Jay had complained about how loopy it all made him feel, he’d discounted it as his brother’s overly reactive nature to medical situations.
However, he found that Jay’s assessments had been pretty accurate.
The drugs did mess with your head.
And anesthesia made you dopey as hell.
Will slipped in and out of consciousness for some time, and his awareness ebbed and flowed. There were times when he was aware of himself, when he could feel the throbbing in his chest, the tension in his lungs as the tube forced air in and out, in and out, in and out. Right as it reached a blinding pitch of discomfort, he was swept away once more.
There were voices, too. He could hear his own heart on the monitors. Something beeped.
“He’s waking up.”
“Dr. Halstead?”
All he could think, as he lost control once more, was that Jay was right.
-o-
Then, it started to hurt.
A lot.
Before the pain had been transient and fleeting. It had erupted just to be subdued.
Now, it lingered. It stalked his consciousness and followed him into sleep. When he was resting, it dulled just enough to survive. During waking bouts, it threatened to consume him.
Along with pain, however, came cognition.
With cognition came awareness.
With awareness came will power.
He made more control now, over the waking and the sleeping. When they had removed the breathing tube, they must have reduce his meds as well. Now, when people asked him questions, he was able to respond to some degree.
Will passed a neuro exam. He determined that motor function had not been impaired. “You’re doing very well, Dr. Halstead.”
Will found that statement to be credulous.
He also found it didn’t matter.
He went back to sleep anyway.
-o-
Then, something was different.
His pain levels were the same. The horrible tightness in his chest was unchanged. His throat still felt raw, and it still felt like his brain had been wrapped in cotton. He was still in ICU, but something was different.
He blinked, staring at the ceiling while he considered it.
Then, he rolled his head to the side and understood.
Dr. Dunst was there.
Looking prim and proper, she was seated in a chair with her legs crossed, working on a stack of papers in her lap. He stared at her, not sure what he was expecting, when she finally looked at him over the rim of her glasses.
“Ah,” she said, sounding pleasantly surprised. She sat forward, putting the papers aside on the bedside table. “The nurses told me that you were waking more often now, but I was not sure my timing would be right.”
Being awake was one thing. Being conversational was another. Will’s mind could sluggishly keep up with her words, but he was finding it exceedingly difficult to muster up a reply.
“I am also told that your cognitive assessments have been positive,” she said. “Do you remember what happened?”
The question made him flinch a little. As if he could forget the part where he’d surrendered himself as a hostage to a group of armed terrorists intent to make an example of him on the world’s stage.
Or the part where they’d shot him.
In the chest.
And he’d nearly bled out on his own ED floor.
“Dr. Halstead?” she asked, sounding concerned now. “Do you remember what happened?”
His focus turned to her again. It was too much work to nod his head, and his throat was dry and scratchy when he tried to speak. “Yes,” he said, forcing himself to swallow in vain. “Yes.”
This answer seemed to be satisfactory to her. “Very good,” she said. “And you understand the extent of your injury?”
He had flashes of information -- a shot to the chest, left side, arterial damage, collapsed lung, severe blood loss -- but the picture of his condition was fully coherent to him yet. He looked at her, this time managing to nod just a little. “Can you--?”
His request seemed to take her back a little, but she quickly recovered her composure. “Yes, of course,” she said. “I had thought they explained it to you, but I suppose there’s no harm in clarifying.”
No harm. Will grimaced. It felt like lots of harm so far.
Dr. Dunst drew herself up to her full height, and entered her recitation of his condition with a trained professional he had come to expect from her. “The bullet entered your chest, shattering one of your ribs and puncturing your left lung,” she said, gesturing to her own chest to denote the area she meant. “At first I thought the bullet had severed an artery, but you were fortunate. Instead, it was the broken rib that did the damage. It was difficult to track down all the pieces of bone, but the arterial repair was relatively easy. The broken rib will take some time to heal, but your lung is already showing signs of recovery. The chest tube should be removed within a day. When you are feeling better, I would be happy to show you your chart, let you examine your scans.”
It was a generous offer, actually, and Will was grateful. Doctors did make the worst kind of patients, but he suspected that was a problem Dr. Dunst of all people could understand. He would take her up on it -- when he wasn’t feeling quite so badly.
She seemed to understand that as well.
“You are doing well,” she said, in an even more perfunctory fashion, and even though Will had heard that before, this time he actually was inclined to believe it. “Your vitals have been steadily improving, and I am quite pleased that your incision is healing and there is no sign of infection. I would imagine we can transfer you out of the ICU within several days, though the length of your time in the recovery ward will depend on how quickly you are able to resume normal tasks.”
It was a straightforward delineation of his prognosis, which was fine except for the fact that Will had been shot in a dramatic terrorist takeover and his boss had operated on him, against policy, by herself during a military strike.
“Now, if you have no other questions--”
Dr. Dunst was preparing to leave.
Just like that.
Will’s eyes widened in alarm, and she clearly noticed. Looking vexed, she stayed next to his bed. “Are you in pain? Is your breathing acceptable? Are you experiencing numbness or limited range of motion?”
“No,” Will said, trying to gather his frayed thoughts. “I just -- I thought--”
She sat forward, hesitating at his side. There was a look of indecision in her eyes, as she was torn between her innate professionalism and a newfound affection. “Dr. Halstead, if you are in distress--”
“Thank you,” he blurted finally, the two syllables exhaled in a painful rush. “For saving -- my life -- thank you.”
No praise, no criticism. He had none of it left. Just gratitude. Thanks that he was alive. Thanks that he had someone who cared enough to keep him that way.
Even when he’d given up on himself.
There were people left to fight for him.
If that surprised him, it surprised her more. Dr. Dunst stopped, and her composure seemed to hover. Plain spoken and simply presented, she’d never been the personable sort. But there was a genuine connection between them. Affection, maybe. Something else, Will wasn’t sure he had the wherewithal to name it.
“I find myself uncertain what to say,” she said. She let out a small, uncomfortable chuckle as she adjusted her legs and looked at him again. “I thought I could come here as your doctor, your surgeon, and provide a clear, clinical assessment of your condition.”
On the bed, he was too weak to do much, but he did lift his eyebrows. “But?”
She almost smiled, an action she seemed unable to stop herself from doing. “But the situation is not that simple,” she said. “See, I find myself strangely grateful for you. For staying. For putting yourself on the line when you had every cause to go. We can call it policy, but I fear that is something of a cop out.”
“I couldn’t -- just leave,” he protested.
“But you could,” she said. “But you respected policy that much, you respected my authority that much--”
She trailed off, as if she couldn’t quite finish the thought.
And then, she smiled at him again. This time, with nothing held back.
“I must confess, Dr. Halstead, that you have understood this job better than I expected,” she said. And then, she nodded, ever resolute. “I am very glad to have you on my staff. You have earned my respect by now, and I assure you, that is no small feat. No small feat at all.”
Respect, then. That was what it was between them. Respect.
Definitely not love or romance. Probably not even friendship or camaraderie.
But respect.
Which was possibly the most important element of all.
-o-
Consciousness was a blessing and a curse, and Will tried to be thankful for it because he knew the alternative was worse. Still, pain and exhaustion dogged him, and the confines of the ICU were claustrophobic. All he could do was lie there and endure, but rest was still elusive as his recovery was closely monitored.
He knew the ICU was there for his protection, but he would have preferred seeing his condition upgraded for a less restrictive ward. His doctors said he was making good progress, but they wanted to extend his stay in the ward as a precaution. His blood pressure was still consistently too low, making him a pass-out risk and limiting his mobility. Will objected, but was promptly overruled, and he suspected that Dr. Dunst had something to do with that.
Of all the times to adhere to policy, he mused miserably.
Before he could mount some kind of defense by insisting on seeing Dr. Dunst again, he got another visitor.
One afternoon, after Will woke up for one of his endless naps, he found Adam waiting for him.
He did a double take, naturally.
He hadn’t seen Adam in months. They’d talked on the phone, texted, but the last time had been before the first incident. When Will had assured Adam that everything was fine and he had things perfectly under control.
Irony could be a son of a bitch, sometimes.
“What are you doing here?” Will asked, his voice pitching somewhere between shock and joy.
Adam managed to look angry even while smiling his widest smile. “Coming to check on you, of course!”
Will shook his head, as if that idea dismayed him. “But why? I’m fine.”
He said it, and he knew how ridiculous it sounded even before Adam had a chance to castigate him.
Adam castigated him anyway, as he likely deserved. “You are fine?” Adam repeated with incredulity. “Halstead, you have been shot! You had a bullet in your chest! You are not fine!”
Adam had a point in the hyperbole somewhere, but Will rolled his eyes anyway. It was all he could do since he was still resigned to staying in bed until they cleared him for a regular room. “Well, I’m fine now,” Will clarified. He made a dismissive motion to the machines around him. “They’re really being too cautious. I could have been out of ICU yesterday.”
“Not with that BP reading, you couldn’t,” Adam rightfully pointed out. “And again, Halstead! Bullet in your chest! You must be kidding me right now, yes?”
Will didn’t have the energy to fight him. Instead, he smiled. “Why are you here, Adam? I mean, ICU or not, I am stable for now.”
The question made Adam balk. “You ask why? You are my friend! You nearly died, and yes, I was worried.”
“So you flew all the way here?” Will asked, not hiding his skepticism. “I think you’re overreacting a little.”
“And you are not overreacting enough!” Adam said. “I mean, honestly! I cannot trust you with anything at all!”
“What?” Will asked, and this time his dismay was not farcical.
Adam bobbed his head quite animatedly. “I sent you to the safest place I know! And look what you have done!”
Will’s jaw dropped at the insinuation. “This wasn’t my fault.”
“Oh, yes, yes, I know. I, too, have read the reports of your heroics and bravery,” Adam said with a scoff. “But you are still the one who got shot.”
Now, that was technically true, but it still didn’t seem like an entirely fair assessment of what had happened. “I was just doing what I had to do,” he said reasonably. “I literally followed protocol for every step.”
Adam raised his eyebrows.
“Almost every step,” Will clarified. “But the only policy I did compromise was a direct order from my superior--”
Adam made a loud noise of exasperation. “Oh, goodness. Most doctors -- we develop -- what are they called? God complexes,” he said. He pointed at Will with accusation. “But you, my friend. You have developed a martyr complex instead.”
Will sighed. Though it wasn’t a complete lie, he still felt like it was all somewhat decontextualized. “I didn’t want the hospital to be taken over by terrorists. It just happened. And I did what I could to save as many people as I could. That’s what doctors do, right?”
Adam looked wholly unconvinced. “You do know that I have read the report, yes?” he said. “In it, it details what happened. In the end, many people died across the city, and some in this hospital, at the start and close of the situation. In the interim, however, during the hostage crisis, there was exactly one casualty, one person who was seriously injured. And that was you.”
Will blinked, taken aback by that revelation. It wasn’t so much a surprise as it was just something he hadn’t thought about before. “I was responsible for clearing the ED,” he said, trying to come to terms with what Adam was saying. “I got everyone out, just like I was supposed to. Like I said, saving lives. That’s my job: to save lives.”
Adam snorted. “And you could start by trying to save your own next time,” he said. “These are two hostage situations in which you yourself were nearly killed. This is not a pattern to be making, my friend.”
Will sat there, still a little gobsmacked. “You know, you sound like my brother.”
“Ah,” Adam said, and he finally sat down in the chair. “Your brother sounds like a smart man, then.”
“He is,” Will said. His eyes widened, as he realized his mistake. “I haven’t called Jay. It’s been a week since the incident, and I haven’t even texted Jay. Where’s my phone?”
Adam looked around benignly. “You have been recovering for a week and you are just now asking for your phone?”
“I was mostly unconscious until two days ago,” Will said, scanning the surfaces for his belongings but coming up with nothing. “And I still sleep a lot, usually without trying to.”
“Yes, I saw your chart. You are having trouble maintaining your blood pressure, so it seems likely that you would not stay conscious for long periods of time,” Adam said. Then, he shook his head. “Even so, the thought of calling your brother didn’t come up?”
“I didn’t call anybody. I didn’t even want to see visitors,” Will snapped. “I just -- I didn’t want to burden anyone.”
Adam did not look particularly convinced by that argument. “Why was he not called as your next of kin?”
“I put you down,” Will said. “I mean, Jay’s all the way back in Chicago, so I thought -- I don’t know. That didn’t seem very practical.”
“Yes, I’m sure we are both seeing the wisdom of that decision now,” Adam snarked.
Will didn’t rise to the sarcasm. He was too tired to even try. “Do you think Dr. Dunst lost my phone when she did emergency surgery? Things got kind of chaotic for awhile. Is the ED still an active crime scene?”
“Of course it is,” Adam said. “That is another reason I am here. On official business to secure the facility and get it up and running again.”
Will stopped, and seized on that. “Ha! See. You didn’t just come for me.”
“Ha! I did,” Adam snapped back. “I volunteered for the job to check on you.”
Will drew back crossly. “So my phone is probably still downstairs.”
“Well, now that I know that I may be able to get it out,” Adam offered. “Or I could have him called for you.”
“No,” Will said, somewhat quick with his reply. “If someone else calls him, he’s going to assume the worst. No, I have to do it.”
Adam got up, but his gait was leisurely now. “Then, let me help, my friend.”
“Really?” Will asked.
“I do have clearance,” Adam told him. “And I am somewhat concerned that if I do not do it, you will attempt to do so yourself.”
“I wouldn’t--”
Adam laughed on his way out. “You might!”
And Will could not fully disagree.
-o-
After Adam left, Will was exhausted, but this time, he did not drop off to sleep so easily -- low blood pressure be damned. Tired or not and irrespective of his oxygen levels, Will had a responsibility to his brother. A responsibility he continued to fail time and again.
He had promised Jay he would keep in touch. After the last incident with the gangs, he’d pledged to never let that sort of thing slip through the cracks. Sure, a lot of this situation had been well outside his control -- he had upgraded from gangs to terrorists in a mere matter of months -- but still. He should have called sooner -- the second he was conscious. That was the first thing you did, right? You called.
The problem was he still was trying to keep his distance. It was a hard balance to strike, keeping the lines of communication open with his brother without becoming a burden to him while he tried to figure out his own career and his future with Hailey. Jay could not be his safety net -- Will needed to stand on his own two feet for once.
And it wasn’t fair to Jay, anyway. What could he do -- the way back in Chicago? That had been a primary reason he’d not put Jay down as an emergency contact. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his brother to know or that he didn’t trust his brother. He just didn’t think his brother needed to be in that position when he was so far away. Jay couldn’t just pick up and fly here -- even if he had the means and the time off, it wasn’t even safe. Adam had been the far more practical option.
That logic had seemed right at the time, but now, he just wasn’t so sure.
Of anything, it seemed.
If he was hoping for clarity during his exploits in Africa, he seemed to be getting further and further from it. He was going from one mess to another, and what was he learning? How was he growing? Was change ever going to happen? Or was he going to be relegated to the same mistakes for the rest of his life?
Will didn’t know. He didn’t know anything at this point.
Except: he needed to call his brother.
Now.
-o-
Of course, now would be more viable were he not still recovering from major surgery. The implementation of his desires were stymied by the fact that he really couldn’t stay awake for long periods of time. By the time he was awake enough to do something, he was ready to fall back asleep.
And then, most of the time, he did, only waking up at odd and inconvenient intervals that left him disoriented and frustrated.
Plus, Adam had not returned with his phone just yet. He thought to just use the phone in his room, but given the fact that it was long distance, Will knew he’d have to call collect. What kind of person called their brother collect to tell them he’d been shot?
There were probably workarounds that Will didn’t know about, but he was often too exhausted to try. And, when he wasn’t, he was being inundated with visitors.
Literally, inundated.
He had not had many visitors at first, but he suspected that Adam had cleared the ICU staff to let them in after his visit. He wasn’t sure if this was Adam’s way of playing a prank on him -- or if Adam somehow thought he needed the validation.
In any case, every time he woke up, groggy, semiconscious and sore, someone new was standing there. Nurses, doctors, techs -- hell, even patients. They just came to check on him and see how he was doing. By the time he told them that he was well, thank you very much, he was sleeping again, waking to find a new eager face by his bedside.
It only took a day for Adam to come back with his phone, and he’d gone through the trouble of having it charged. The greatest gift Adam gave him, however, was a moratorium on visitors for the next day.
“You should be focused on recovery,” Adam chided him. “Why did you not say no earlier?”
“I didn’t want to be an imposition--”
Adam rolled his eyes, and he shook his head. “Honestly, Halstead, you are impossible, and I would sit here and tell you so if I didn’t trust your brother to do it for me.”
Will blushed, but still protested. “It’s not that bad--”
“Call your brother,” Adam told him, somewhat smug. “And find out what he thinks, yes?”
-o-
Adam was being smug, sure, but he wasn’t necessarily being wrong. In fact, Will suspected he was more right than Will had allowed himself to consider. He’d tied himself up with guilt over not calling Jay, trying to justify his actions so far in his head. But the simple truth was that he hadn’t thought much about Jay’s reaction.
Probably because he didn’t want to think about it.
Jay was going to be pissed.
Like, really pissed.
And he had every right to be pissed.
The idea of enduring his brother’s wrath was off putting, but he didn’t deserve a reprieve. Besides, Jay would be more pissed the longer Will waited. He had to approach this like ripping of a band aid. He just had to get it done.
So, he sat himself up as best he could, drew up his brother’s contact information on his phone, took a deep breath and placed the call.
Although Jay hadn’t been calling incessantly this time around, he was still quick to answer. “Will? Is that you?”
“Yeah, hey,” Will said, wishing he had some way to not have this conversation. “I meant to call earlier--”
“It’s been on the news, so I figured things were pretty hectic,” Jay said. “But I kept telling myself, after last time, you wouldn’t leave me hanging.”
Well, that was brilliant. His brother trusted him.
Which was, naturally, the worst decision someone could make.
That fact that his brother was giving him the benefit of the doubt only made the confession harder. “Well,” he posited with hesitation. “About that--”
Jay’s voice went brittle over the line. “About what?”
Will made a face, grateful that his brother couldn’t see him. “Things may have gotten a little hairier than I intended.”
He was trying to downplay it, which surely only made his brother suspect the worst. “Define a little.”
“Well, the hospital was overtaken,” Will said, as though that fact were not nearly as dramatic as it clearly was.
“Yeah,” Jay said, following along with obvious trepidation now. “And it was successfully evacuated.”
“Of course,” Will said. “A process I oversaw.”
“Okay,” Jay said, clearly still not realizing the extent of Will’s implication here. “And the problem is?”
“As the Chief of the ED, I had to stay behind, do the final sweep,” he said. “It’s strictly required, all according to protocol.”
“Sure,” Jay said, and he was sounding a little hesitant now.
Will swallowed hard and knew he couldn’t beat around this bush any longer than he already had. “And I was shot.”
Now, given the fact that Jay had been shot twice himself, surely his brother had an appreciation for the range of gunshot wounds. Saying that he’d been shot could be nothing more than a graze. A simple through and through.
That wasn’t where Jay’s mind was going to go, however.
And that wasn’t even the truth, but that was neither here nor there.
Jay’s response was quickly unequivocal. “What?” he asked, sounding outraged now. “That was you? The one American casualty in all this?”
Will sank back against the pillows, somewhat dejected. “That part made the news?”
“Of course it made the news!” Jay shot back. “There wasn’t a single news source that confirmed the name -- or even the profession, location -- anything. So I told myself, no way, no way--”
Will drew a breath, sensing that his brother was very likely to start losing control of his already conspicuous emotions. “Jay--”
“So, you know, I called you -- no answer,” Jay said. “But then I did the next responsible thing. This time I called your organization, and it took me like two hours to talk to someone who could tell me anything, but all they could say was that they were working on it and that they had sent in a team to shore up their lines of communication.”
“Well, we were pretty cut off--”
But Jay wasn’t hardly listening. “Then, I got kind of freaked, and I went ahead and called the consulate, since they still knew me by name, and they could only confirm that no American citizens had been detained or were dead. Which, you know, great. I left my number, and figured you would call me once lines of communication were restored.”
“And they are,” Will said. “And I promise, this is not that big of deal--”
He was trying to be disarming, but Jay was on a roll now.
“So, instead of leaving you endless voicemails, I tried the organization again, and I asked for Adam’s number, but they refused to release personal information.”
“I’m really fine--”
“No, you’re shot,” Jay countered flatly. “I mean, how the hell are you shot? You just got beat up three months ago. What the hell are you doing over there?”
“Just the wrong place at the wrong time,” Will said. “And you have to believe me, I was going to call, but I had surgery, and I was unconscious and in ICU--”
“Will, what the hell?” Jay said, voice rising once more. “Unconscious and in ICU? Surgery?”
Will reddened despite himself. “I’m doing a lot better now.”
“So you weren’t before?” Jay asked, incredulous. “How the hell did no one call me?”
“I put Adam down as my emergency contact--”
“I’m your brother!”
“Who lives halfway across the world,” Will said. “You don’t have the time--”
Jay scoffed loudly. “I will make the time.”
“But I’m in Africa, you’re in Chicago,” Will tried to reason.
“Which is why I think this whole situation is nothing but BS,” Jay said. “Gang takeovers? Terrorists? You’re a doctor, and you’re out there living like you’re in the army.”
“It’s just what needs to be done--”
“No, you need to stop getting hurt,” Jay snapped. “How bad are you hurt? Seriously, though?”
“I’m going to recover,” Will told him, as honestly as he could. “I lost a lot of blood, and I feel weak still, but everything went well.”
Jay wasn’t a doctor, but he had good deductive reasoning. “So you nearly died,” he concluded. And he made a sound of disbelief. “You almost died, and I’m over here telling myself that surely, you’re fine.”
“Jay--”
“No, Will,” Jay said. “You could have died, okay? You could have died and I wouldn’t have had any idea until the damn state department got involved.”
Will had thought he was prepared for this conversation. He should be used to being wrong by now, especially when Jay was involved. “Look, maybe I’m not explaining the situation very well.”
“No, you are, but I thought I made myself clear last time,” Jay said. Over the phone, it was hard to tell if he was pissed or scared. Honestly, though, with Jay, they were kind of the same thing. “When stuff happens, you have to talk to me.”
Pissed or scared, Will felt like this was a bit of an overreaction. “Jay, calm down. You’re being melodramatic.”
He was sincerely trying to diffuse the situation, but that only seemed to raise Jay’s ire more. “Am I?”
Will shrugged, even if Jay couldn’t see it. “Yes!”
“You got shot and didn’t tell me!” Jay said, voice rising. He sounded like he was bordering on apoplectic now. “Shot, Will. As in, someone put a bullet in you, and you didn’t even bother to pick up a damn phone.”
“Well, I was a little busy,” Will said.
“Of course you were,” Jay seethed. “That’s why you make a point to call. It’s called priorities.”
Will sighed a little, sinking back into his couch cushions. “But by the time I was stable and able to pick up a phone, I wasn’t in danger anymore. I mean, by that point, there were other priorities.”
That seemed reasonable to Will.
It did not seem reasonable to his brother. “So you think I just wouldn’t want to know?”
That point was a little fair. As a cop -- and a soldier before that -- Jay had always been the one more likely to be in the line of fire. It had always appalled Will to find out injuries after the fact. If there were any actual perks to working at Med, it was that Jay could no longer conveniently forget to tell Will just how much trouble he’d been in.
And yet, he wasn’t at Med. The perk of not being there meant that Jay didn’t need to know every detail of his life. “I just didn’t want to upset you,” Will told him truthfully. “I knew you’d make a big deal about it, and I didn’t want you to worry.”
Jay took a tense breath, and Will could hear him hold it for a second over the transatlantic line. “Will, worry me next time, okay? Worry me,” he said. “Or better still: stop getting nearly killed. I told you this Africa job was a bad idea.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Will protested. He drew his brows together. “This is why this job is important. They need people willing to do the hard stuff. And I signed on for a year, Jay. One year, and I’m going to see this one through.”
Jay made a small sound, something that sounded like a sigh and a huff all at once. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Stop being mature, so I can be pissed off at you.”
Will chuckled. Jay’s anger was still real, but it had lost its bite now. It was different between them now; Will was different. These months in Africa had been hard and dangerous. They’d also be lonely and isolating. But he had endured. In that context, both he and Jay knew that the gunshot wound wasn’t even the impressive victory.
And it wasn’t just Will that was different.
It was their relationship that was different.
Jay had always -- always -- loved him. He had bailed him out of every trouble he’d ever made. But now that Will didn’t need someone to fix his problems, what he got instead was a brother. An equal.
Still lounging on his couch, arm gently cradled across his healing midsection, Will found himself grinning now. “Sorry about that,” he quipped, because he’d earned the right to be flippant for once. “Just do me a favor, and don’t let word get out. I am trying to keep this on the downlow.”
“Your maturity?”
“No, the gunshot,” Will said with a small roll of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, but I really don’t want it to be a big deal. I mean, not that anyone around there actually cares.”
“Oh, please,” Jay said, dismissive now. “People care. I get asked about you all the time. The guys at Fire. And don’t even get me started on the people at Med who always want to know when you’re coming home.”
Will shook his head because he knew his brother was exaggerating now. “Still, I don’t want to be distracted,” he said. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Fine,” Jay said. “But only if you keep me in the loop next time. Put me back down as your emergency contact -- keep Adam on there, too. But I want to know.”
“Deal,” Will agreed. “And Jay, for what it’s worth, I really am sorry for not calling.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jay said with an air of diffidence. “You just got tired of me being the hero brother all the time.”
Will’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not true!”
“It’s a little true,” Jay said, and he was clearly smirking now.
And Will had to laugh. As far away as he and Jay were right now, it seemed like they’d never been closer. “Whatever,” he said lightly. “Should I call you next week? Just to check in?”
“You better,” Jay said gruffly. Like he was going to pretend like he didn’t care. “Or pretty soon I’m going to get on a plane and come over there to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, Jay,” Will promised, and this time, for what felt like maybe the first time in a long tie, he actually meant it. “I’m fine.”