Chicago Med fic: Redemption (8/8)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
-o-
The sabbatical, as it turned out, started effective immediately. It felt jarring and sudden to him, but the organization had a tried and true system in place. Will had been transferred three times in the last year. He could be so naive as to think he wasn’t replaceable.
Even so, it was a bitter pill to swallow that he was not allowed back at work until his three months were up. Apparently, it had been a problem in the past with some doctors sneaking in under the radar, skipping their sabbatical all together. Will would call it ridiculous if he hadn’t wanted to do the same thing.
Instead, he was sent back home to back. Adam saw him off to the train station, presumably to say goodbye but Will suspected that Adam wanted to make sure Will did as he was told. He slept through most of the trip, staring vacantly out at the rise and fall of the cityscapes as he made his way back. At home, he took a cab home, and he found that the arrangements had already been made for him.
All he had to do, then, was let go.
All the things he’d done, and he found that to be the hardest thing yet.
Mikayla dropped off his things for him, getting his signature on a few last items. She hesitated before she left, and when he asked her what was wrong, she told him the truth.
“I was going to tell you when you got back,” she said.
“Tell me what?” he asked.
“That I’m quitting,” she said.
That wasn’t the answer Will had been expecting. “You’re quitting? Mikayla, why? I thought you liked your job -- and you’re certainly good at it. If this is about hours, I can put in a word to have them reduced.”
She was actively shaking her head. “No,” she said. “It’s not like that. It’s just -- watching you -- I finally see what the big deal. Why people go in to medicine. It’s not all broken systems and worn out doctors.”
“It’s saving lives,” Will said gently.
She nodded eagerly. “And I want to be a part of that -- more than I am,” she said. “I got accepted into a nursing program. It’s a fast track, so I should be able to apply for a CNA in two years.”
Will’s mouth dropped open. “Mikayla, that’s -- great,” he said. “Seriously, you’ll be a great nurse.”
Her face warmed at the praise. “I was scared to tell you.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because working for you has been so good,” she said. “It changed my life.”
Will rolled his eyes in deflection. “That’s an exaggeration. I knew from day one how exceptional you were. Thank you for being someone I can rely on. The hospital will miss you, but the organization is always looking for new hires.”
At that, she positively beamed. “That’s my hope,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll end up back in the ED together.”
“Maybe,” Will agreed, letting himself smile at the notion. He hesitated, wetting his lips. “And how are things? At the ED? The hospital?”
“Oh, they’re good,” she said. “I mean, everyone misses you, but Dr. Barringer has really kept things running just like you did.”
“No problems?” Will asked.
She shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “I mean, I snuck a look at the budget report, and it’s still in the black.”
Will had to chuckle. “You’re really not supposed to do that,” he chided without any emphasis. “And Dr. Barringer -- she’s doing well?”
“I’d say the transition is seamless,” Mikayla said with a nod.
Will cocked his head. “The transition?”
“Yeah,” Mikayla said. “She was given the title of Temporary Chief of Staff. Just until you get back or whatever. I know sometimes they like to move people around, bring in outsiders, but Dr. Barringer was the only choice.”
“She is exceptional,” Will agreed, a soft feeling tugging in his gut.
Helena hadn’t told him; but then, he hadn’t asked. The invitation had been out there between, mutual in its intensity and provocation, and neither of them had known what to say in face of the inevitable.
It was hard to leave the hospital, but he’d come to terms with it.
The idea of leaving her, though.
Was a little harder to rectify.
“Anyway,” Will said, bringing himself back on track. “Thank you for dropping off my things. And, really, the best of luck. If you ever need a reference, you have my number.”
Her smile lifted again, and she nodded quite readily. “Thank you again, Dr. Halstead!”
“Goodbye, Mikayla,” he said, shutting the door behind her as she let herself out.
-o-
That night, he worked to pack up more of his things. He had to sort it out, what to take and what to put in storage. Because his placement was still relatively short-term, the organization concluded that renting a storage unit would be more cost effective than maintaining a rent payment. Will didn’t have enough equity to drop on rent for three months, and the stipend wouldn’t cover it all. He took the storage option, and booked his one free ticket to Chicago.
Adam served as his point person on this. Will wasn’t sure that was technically Adam’s job, but Adam didn’t seem to care. He answered Will’s questions on the sabbatical protocols, and he made arrangements for the last minute things he would need in order to get out of the country.
Other than that, Will kept busy making his plans back home. Jay was overjoyed that he was coming home, and he was making copious arrangements about everything they were going to do when Will got there. Will reminded him that there was still a lot of wedding planning to do -- the wedding was in a month -- but Jay told him that all of that was under control.
Will doubted that, but he didn’t dare doubt his brother’s enthusiasm. They were lined up for a ball game, dinner reservations and Will lost track of everything after that. Jay eagerly agreed to let Will stay with him. Will suggested it would just be for awhile -- he wanted to be out of Jay’s hard by the time the wedding rolled around -- but Jay insisted on as long as Will needed.
Again, Will figured that Hailey might have something to say about that, but he’d feel that out when he got there. Indeed, one of the things he was looking forward to most was spending time with his soon to be sister in law. Life was moving on without him, he realized. And while that was okay sometimes, there were some things he knew he couldn’t afford to miss.
Unfortunately, with Jay’s enthusiasm, everyone at home seemed to know he was going to be in town. He ignored most invitations to get together, but he couldn’t overlook Maggie. She had him slotted for lunch and dinner on separate days, and he agreed to a night out with her because he was pretty sure if he said no, she would track him down and drag him out anyway.
Ethan offered to get a coffee at some time. Crockett dropped a line to say he hoped to see him around. April told him he had to stop by the ED just to say hi, and Will responded to them all with polite thank-yous and moved on.
Or, he was trying to move on. It took longer than he expected to pack. Although this had been his shortest stint, he had somehow accumulated the most stuff. Pictures from ED parties. Trinkets from team building events. He had even started a collection of pens from his favorite spots around the city.
Suddenly, it was hard to put his life into two suitcases. Packing up the rest, labeling the boxes -- he thought bittersweetly about when he would see them again.
In all of it, he also fielded texts and calls from his current hospital. While he was not supposed to go back to the hospital on sabbatical -- strict policy that had to be followed -- nothing dictated that he couldn’t talk to his colleagues. Many people just let him know that he would be missed. Some of them talked about how much they hoped to see him when he came back.
Will always had the same reply, that he was so proud of all the work they’d done, and that he couldn’t wait to see what they would build in the future. If they ever needed anything -- anything at all -- all they had to do was call.
Yet, in all of that, Helena didn’t call once. She didn’t text.
He knew, even without asking, that she was waiting for him.
If this was an open ended question, then it was his turn to answer.
That was the problem, of course.
Will didn’t know the answer.
All the things he’d learned, all the things he’d accomplished, all the ways he’d grown, and he still was at a total loss.
Then, Will never had been very good at endings.
-o-
The longer it went on, the worse Will felt. Even so, each passing second made it harder and harder to pick up the phone and contact Helena. He knew she was there -- she was at his hospital doing his job -- and he knew he had indicated to her that they would pick things up when he got back.
That was what gave him the most pause, probably. It wasn’t really fair, after all. To all Helena, tell her how he felt and then jet off for three months. It was better to cut things off now, make a clean break. He cared enough about her that he didn’t want to toy with her emotions -- even that was, ultimately, exactly what he was doing.
He tried to rationalize it a thousand different ways, but Will knew that this was the same weakness as always. Will was afraid to say a difficult goodbye. He was running away instead.
All the progress he’d made, and this was the hill he was going to die on.
It was pathetic.
It was typical.
In so many ways, it felt inevitable.
Will hadn’t grown up in all the ways he intended to after all.
-o-
Will had scheduled his flight for a week after he got his sabbatical approved. That was the nice way of saying it. In reality, it felt like Will had one week to contend with everything he’d managed to accomplish -- and face the reality of the things he hadn’t -- before he was forced to head back to the life he’d left behind.
He had told Jay he wasn’t running, and at the time, he’d believed it.
Now, faced with the prospect of going back, it felt a little bit like he’d been running.
At any rate, he wanted to run now.
Badly.
With a ticket anywhere in the world, he was starting to wonder why he’d picked Chicago. If Jay hadn’t been so excited -- insisting on taking the day off to pick him up for the airport -- Will might have bailed on it entirely, exchanged his ticket for one anywhere but home.
With those pressing second thoughts, he wasn’t surprised when Adam showed up to see him off, delivering his exit papers and tickets personally. Will felt sheepish -- Adam lived across the continent in another city -- but Adam didn’t seem to care.
He invited himself into Will’s home, helping him pack up, regaling him with stories of his previous sabbaticals. He’d taken his time to travel the world, and he’d visited almost every continent with great gusto.
“Maybe I should have done that,” Will reflected wryly.
Adam made a noise in the back of his throat. “My work and my home are the same,” he said. “But not so for you. You need to go back.”
“I think I’m doing pretty well here,” Will said.
“I have told you from the start that this has to be about more than the job,” Adam said. “Chicago is a part of you. You have a brother there, friends--”
“Just the brother, really.”
Adam gave him a long suffering look. “I doubt that,” he said. “But it is not the point. The point is you came here to prove something, yes?”
Will had to nod in agreement. “Yeah.”
“Then, prove it,” he said. “Go back. Show them who you have become. See how that feels.”
“I don’t need to be coddled,” Will said. “I’m not doing any of this for praise or something.”
“No, but closure,” Adam said. “Besides, your brother must miss you.”
Will grunted. “Yeah, he’s a little over the top.”
“Then we must not disappoint him,” Adam said brightly.
“I guess,” Will said, still somewhat unconvinced. “I still don’t think you had to come.”
“Had to? Maybe not,” Adam said. “But I wanted to. Who else would throw you a proper farewell party?”
Will started to laugh, thinking that Adam was surely joking. But Adam raised his eyebrows at him. Will sobered immediately. “I don’t need a farewell party. I’m coming back.”
“You most definitely need a farewell party,” Adam said with a solemn nod. “It is only proper.”
Will opened his mouth, and then he closed it. At a loss, he half laughed. “But I’m not going away.”
“You are,” Adam said. “For three months. Maybe more.”
Will was already shaking his head. “I’m coming back.”
“Then, all the more reason to celebrate,” Adam said easily.
“Adam, I’m serious--”
“Halstead, so am I,” Adam said. “You know just as well as I do that we cannot predict the future. Do not lock yourself into something. Enjoy the moment -- this moment.”
Will withdrew, still dubious. “With a goodbye party?”
Now, Adam was grinning ever more salaciously. “With a goodbye party.”
Will had been here before, it seemed. Jay had tried to do the same back in Chicago, and Will had deflected the worst of it. “Something small, then,” he said. “No big deal.”
“Of course, of course,” Adam told him, tousling his hair. “Something very small.”
-o-
The problem was, of course, that Jay was a man of his word.
Adam was a bastard, through and through.
The small party turned into anything but, as Adam rented out a local restaurant for the evening, catered it completely and invited literally everyone Will had met over the last year. Worst of all, most of them seemed to show up, and Will was faced with being the guest of honor at the biggest event of the season -- thanks to a few donations from some of Will’s best known benefactors.
Adam said that everyone wanted to be a part of it.
Will found this claim to be spurious, but he had no means of disputing it.
Besides, the more pressing concern was the fact that Adam had clearly been planning this thing for weeks -- possibly months. Hell, he’d even hired a live band.
All with Will as the guest of honor.
He mixed with people from the board. A few of the doctors from his first placement showed up, including some of nurses whose lives he’d saved. They’d gone in together, and somehow they had all ended up with time off -- thanks to the fact that their boss was there as well.
Adam’s interference explained the good turnout from Will’s first placement, but the second was a little harder to justify. A good half dozen people made the trip, and they regaled the crowd with stories of Will’s stint as a soccer player, and how they had only managed to win because Will had sprained his wrist before the finals.
The biggest turnout was naturally from his current placement. And to call it the biggest turnout was a bit of an understatement. Everyone showed up, it seemed. The nurses, the techs, the residents, the attendings. All the department heads, to a person. Even Dr. Duvernay came, shook his hand and told him that he lasted longer than he’d expected.
Some local bigwigs came, too. Representatives from business, government and security all came to bid him well. Mr. Alawe couldn’t come in person, but his regards were everywhere. He was the one footing the bill for the open bar.
Will tried to protest at first, but it became far too cumbersome. He resigned himself to it, and showed gratitude instead. He made a point to shake every hand, and he told each person how humbled he was that they came.
When he finally cornered Adam, his friend was irascible and clearly having the time of his life.
“Small?” he asked. “This is small?”
“Compared to the impact you’ve made?” Adam quipped. “It’s tiny.”
Will shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t need me as an excuse to throw a party. I’m not even leaving.”
Adam got another drink from the bar, and he shook his head right back. “You are leaving. And I don’t need an excuse, but you certainly do.”
Will couldn’t argue that point, and he accepted a beer of his own, careful to make sure he didn’t drink too many. “I still don’t get why you’d go through all this trouble. I mean, this must have cost a fortune.”
“I had some help,” Adam reminded him. “And I still make more money than you. Seniority.”
“I mean it, though,” Will said. “I mean, all this? For a sabbatical?”
“All this for a friend,” Adam told him.
Will had to shake his head. “But I’ve been a horrible friend.”
Adam groaned outright. “Halstead, enough! You made a mistake fifteen years ago. I have forgiven you. The amends have been made,” he said, and he took Will by the shoulder, giving him an intentional shake. “You must forgive yourself now, please?”
“But--”
All the protests were well worn. Will knew them by rote by now. They were a part of him, and he would recite them on demand.
Adam had no interest in listening, however. “But nothing,” he said, letting his hand drop from Will’s shoulder. “That is why we are having this party. Because you will always have a place here, yes. But I’m not sure this is the only place you belong. Everyone came because we have all known it, but you have yet to put the pieces together.”
Somehow, the insinuation made Will indignant. As far as he’d come, and he was still stuck on this same point. “It’s just a sabbatical -- and not even one I want to take. I’m coming back.”
Adam was a good natured man, and it was tempting to think him too lax sometimes. But Adam had a keen mind and a good head on his shoulder, and when he looked at Will, he saw what Will refused to admit -- even to himself. “Halstead, who do you think you are coming back for?”
Chest still puffed, Will didn’t hesitate. “You.”
“Not me,” Adam replied quickly.
“Well, the hospital. My hospital,” he said.
Adam remained unconvinced. “Not the hospital.”
Denials would be easy to say, but Will couldn’t bring himself to form the words. The impetus died where it began, and Will had no fortitude of lying. That was why he always ran when things got hard. It was easier than facing the truth.
But he was done running.
And the lies would never satisfy him.
“If you come back my friend, it is for you,” Adam said steadily. “No one else. Just you.”
Will didn’t hear the words as much as he felt them, awakening the things inside him that had been there all along, the reality he’d been forming all this time.
Adam smiled now, for he was always ready to give voice to that which Will had not yet come to terms with. “You finished, my friend,” he said with an eager glint in his eyes. “You came to finish, and you have. That is what we are celebrating tonight. That is why we are all here. A job well and truly finished.”
And there was nothing to say, then.
Nothing, as it turned out, except goodbye.
It was the thing he should have been saying all along. That was why he’d come here, after all. Not to move forward. But to put the past behind him. This was about closure.
This had always been a year to say goodbye.
-o-
With so many people in attendance -- and more still coming -- Will had plenty to keep him busy. He spent his night swapping memories with people, and he caught up with people he’d not seen in months. They recalled the good times, shared solidarity in the bad, and laughed more than Will had remembered to do in ages.
Then, as he came back to the bar for another soda -- he’d maxed out on his alcohol intake for the night -- he found someone familiar -- and utterly unexpected -- standing anxiously at the bar.
Karen Dunst was standing there, holding a glass of something she clearly had not touched. She was dressed as casually as Will had ever seen her, and she looked wholly uncomfortable in her khaki trousers and billowy button-up blouse. She looked out of place, and like she hated everything about this place, but when she saw Will, she smiled.
It kind of looked like a grimace, but Will knew it was a smile.
He approached her with a grin of his own.
“Karen!” he said, offering his hand. It had been all hugs for most of the night, but Karen looked uncomfortable enough. He thought to start her out slow. “It’s so good to see you!”
She took the hand, shaking it abruptly. “Yes, well, it is good to see you as well.”
It was a funny thing to say in these circumstances, especially when she had gone out of her way to be here. Still, Will knew to be magnanimous under the best of circumstances, and Karen deserved as much leeway as he could give her. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Will said. “I didn’t think you took days off.”
“To be fair, you only worked for me for a short period of time,” she said, easing up just slightly as she postured. “But most of my time off is reserved for trips back to home. I have a sister and a brother back in Denmark. They have children.”
It wasn’t a deeply personal revelation, but Will knew what it meant for her to tell him that. They weren’t coworkers anymore. If she was here, then they had to be friends, and there was no point for either of them to deny it. “And you thought a trip here would be better?” he asked.
Karen smiled as she nodded. “Apparently so,” she said. “Also, your friend, Dr. Goshit, was quite unwilling to take no for an answer. Complying was easier than saying no.”
Adam was a persuasive guy, but she was deflecting here -- and Will knew her well enough to see it. She wasn’t a wilting flower, and no one forced Karen
to do anything that she didn’t want to do unless it was a direct order.
She made her choices, and she made her choices with certainty.
It was something Will had always respected about her.
And she had chosen this.
In the end, she had chosen him. “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he said, giving her a pass on the emotions neither of them wanted to talk about. “It’s just really good to see you.”
“Yes,” she said, growing marginally more comfortable now. “You will be pleased that things are going well at the hospital. This time they let me pick your replacement.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Will said. He grinned. “Somebody a little better with rules, then.”
Karen chuckled, small and awkward as she shuffled her feet. “They are very efficient, yes,” she said. “Though I would say there is still something different, something that I can’t quite place.”
“I’m just glad things are going well,” Will said. “Was it hard to get open again?”
“All the projections said we would still be closed now, but I found that to be ridiculous,” she said. “Once the building was deemed structurally sound, I made quick work in getting the necessary work done.”
“That sounds about right,” Will said.
“Your friend Mr. Alawe has been an ongoing important benefactor,” she said. “So some of your work does indeed live on. Not that you need such praise. From what I’ve been told, you are building a very sufficient legacy for yourself right here.”
“Oh,” Will said. “I mean, it’s been a lot of work.”
“I have read up on your situation with some vested interest,” she said. “I find the turnaround here to be very remarkable.”
“I haven’t done it alone,” Will said.
She gestured toward him anyway. “Good leadership makes all the difference.”
“And the best leaders have had the best mentors,” Will said. “I don’t think I could have done anything here without your training. I had to rebuild the policy here from the ground up.”
“I am impressed. Not surprised, but duly impressed,” she said, nodding a few more times as she looked him over. Then, she hesitated, her eyes looking down. “I also find that, despite the very good reasons for you to move on, I miss you.”
She looked up, her gaze plain as she finished the confession with a sigh.
For all the protocol and policy she’d taught him, it was her affection that would always mean the most to him. That they all needed balance. That they were all capable of change.
That some stories really did have happy endings.
“That means a lot,” Will said. “You being here -- it means a lot.”
“I would be nowhere else,” she said, and she did not bother with guises now. She pressed her lips together in a familiar display of finality. She wasn’t smiling, but it was a near thing. “I wish you all the best, Will.”
And it didn’t matter how awkward it was. It didn’t matter how unnatural it felt. Policy was important, but it had to have a heart if it was going to work.
So Will reached out, stepping closer, offering a hug.
At this, she did look surprised, and she momentarily froze as if she might step away. However, Will waited, giving her time to consider, and then she stepped forward into the hug, lifting her arms tentatively to reach around his back.
It wasn’t long. It wasn’t comfortable.
But it was something they both understood, in the end.
Parting ways quickly, Karen adjusted her hair and let out an exhale in a puff. “Very well, then,” she said. “I have monopolized enough of your time and attention. This is your party, after all. I will leave you to it.”
“Thank you, Karen,” he said.
She still bristled slightly at the sound of her name, but she accepted it quickly enough. She nodded her head at him. “Of course,” she said, and then she dispersed back into the crowd.
This was what closure was, then.
Saying your goodbyes the way you meant to say them, leaving it all tied up in a perfect bow.
The night was young, to be sure, but Will was truly starting to believe there was hope for him yet.
-o-
Karen Dunst was the epitome of reserve. She was calm, measured and utterly self possessed with restraint that would impress a nun.
Then, there was Grace.
At first glance, he’d been surprised that Grace had made the trip with Adam. But, then again, he knew Grace. Impulsive and intuitive, she was always the one to follow her heart. And, despite Will’s repeated rejections, she still seemed to think they would make a good match.
Of course she had come.
She was still a lot to handle, that much would always be true, and Will would always have to be on his guard around her -- for his sake as much as hers. But there was an understanding now, a respect.
And still a whole lot of flirtation.
Grace came up to him, eyeballing him from across the room. He offered her his hand as she approached. She hugged him instead, kissing him on the cheek. “You cannot be leaving!” she half wailed over the sound of the music and conversation.
“It’s a sabbatical,” Will said.
“I still remember before,” she said, pouting a little. “You did not come back for a decade.”
Will had long since come to terms with that. He was able to broach the topic with a smile. “The terms are different this time,” he said. “Besides, I have a lot to come back for.”
She leaned forward, raising her eyebrows in suggestion. “Perhaps romance?” she asked.
“Grace!” he objected, but he was still laughing.
“What? I have a boyfriend, but it is not serious,” she said, making a face. “And I think I might be able to talk him into an arrangement for the three of us.”
He rolled his eyes, but it was good to see Grace back in her element. She was not one to be tamed -- not by trauma and certainly not by him, no matter how much she protested otherwise. “As thoughtful as your offer is, I’m still afraid it wouldn’t work out. It’s probably a bad idea,” he said. “Besides, I think I’d be a very boring boyfriend.”
She pursed her lips and eyed him. “Yes, I suppose you do work too much,” she said. But then, she tilted her head to the side. “But you should remember that sometimes bad ideas are the best ideas.”
“You may be right about that,” he said, and he reached out, bracing her arm warmly. “I guess we’ll see if I get there.”
She braced him back, smiling widely. “I believe in you. I always have.
Grace and Adam were quite different for brother and sister, but there were some ways in which they were nearly exactly the same. This, this ability to belief, this need to see the best in people -- was one of them.
“Thanks,” he said. “And hey -- you take care of yourself.”
She nodded, still beaming. There was nothing salacious about it anymore. There was just something endearing -- and endeared. “I will look for you the next time you are back,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe the third time is the charm.”
And he smiled back, just as warm and sure. “Maybe, Grace,” he agreed. “Maybe.”
-o-
He was past running away from Grace, but there were still other goodbyes to make. He had thought he’d circled the room and the patio multiple times, but every time he walked by, he saw someone new.
And then, just when he thought he’d seen everyone, he saw her.
Helena.
She was wearing a little black dress, and her hair was down and she was wearing lipstick. She stood there, as if she were waiting for him, across the room. Their eyes met, and his heart seized up.
With hope.
With regret.
Running away would have been easier, but he couldn’t force his feet to move. Transfixed, he could only watch as she drew near to him. Closer and closer, until he was pulled to her as well, and they met, step by step, pace by pace, in the space between.
“Helena, I’m sorry--”
She shook her head, lifting up her finger and putting it to his lips. The apology was still on his lips, but he found himself unable to speak.
“Come on,” she said, taking him by the hand now. “I think we need to talk.”
-o-
Will had never been to this bar before, but Helena clearly had. She took him by the hand, leading him to a set of stairs behind a door with restricted access. She seemed to know what she was doing -- she always did -- and Will was too mesmerized to question her as she led him up the stairs and out onto the roof.
There wasn’t much of a view over the street, but the night air was crisp and clear. It yielded a clarity that scared him. A clarity he needed.
She turned toward him, and he couldn’t stop himself now. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice clearer in the night. “I should have called.”
Helena nodded. “You should have,” she agreed. But then she raised one shoulder. “But I get it.”
“No,” he said, unwilling to take the easy out. “You don’t.”
She sighed, and it was a weary sound. “I do, though,” she said. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it. You never have. Smart as you are, you are still the biggest idiot I know.”
There was no anger in her voice, though. There should have been anger. Will’s brow creased, and he stepped toward her. “Helena--”
He was going to apologize again. He was going to explain. He was going to tell her a thousand things, a thousand important things. He was going to say all the things he’d been trying to say, the things he’d never figured out how to express.
But she didn’t let him. She crossed the final distance and took him up in her arms. The words evaporated. The thoughts left him. And she kissed him like they had never kissed before.
He could have stayed there forever. He might have, if she’d let him. But it was her turn to pull away, dropping her hands from his face as she met his eyes in the moonlight. “You didn’t call because you don’t know how to say goodbye.”
His impulse was to tell her she was wrong, but the spike of pain that lanced through his chest told him otherwise. His eyes started to burn, and he blinked hard. “I’m coming back. This is just a sabbatical.”
“Ah,” she said, and her smile was as raw as the rest of her now. When she spoke, her eyes glistened from the tears she hadn’t quite shed. “So this is hello, then.”
He wanted to reach toward her, but he didn’t dare touch her now. “Seriously,” he said. “I am coming back. Three months. I’m coming back.”
Her resolve didn’t hold. Blinking once, an errant tear escaped, and she wiped it away quickly. Still somehow, she smiled. “You really know nothing about yourself, Will -- not a damn thing. So how do you think you know that?”
“Because,” he said, almost in desperation. “I have to finish what I started.”
“Look around,” she said, and her voice was on the verge of breaking. “It looks pretty finished to me.”
He drew toward her this time, drawing her up once more as he kissed her. When he drew back, they were both breathless. “Maybe not everything,” he said.
She stepped back, though, reaching down to squeeze his hand. “All those loose ends that keep you awake at night -- they’re not here, they’re in Chicago,” she said. “I know you have to tie them up, too, before you even know what to make of things here.”
There they were. Standing on the roof. The problem was that Will had never been able to separate beginnings from endings. He never understood you couldn’t really have one without the other.
He’d just never understood.
“Helena,” he said, his own heart starting to break now.
She inhaled shakily, a few more tears leaking out. “Will, this is a good thing. Really. I’m fine,” she said. At the sound of her own cracking voice, she forged a smile. “I’ll miss you, but I’m fine. And now you’re fine, too. I couldn’t ask for more.”
Except she could.
She had.
And now she was backing out at the last minute, and Will hated himself for it.
“But my feelings for you are real,” he said. “I’ve been so scared of them. I haven’t had any idea what to do with them. But they’re real, Helena. They’re real.”
“I know. But sometimes you need to let go, Will,” she said, reaching up and brushing her fingers tentatively through his hair. Her eyes were still on his. “It’s okay to let go.”
He felt it, like a throbbing artery between his fingers, vibrating with potential and desire. If he let it go, he’d have no control what happened next, but he trusted her.
More than he even trusted himself.
He leaned forward and kissed her one more time.
And then, with all Will could muster, he let go.
-o-
He found his way back down on his own. He couldn’t have been gone more than ten minutes, but it seemed he had been missed. He made the rounds again, drank one more drink, and then thanked as many people as he could.
For making this night happen.
For making this last year happen.
For giving him the second chance he needed.
A chance he had not squander.
A chance he had seen through to the very end.
-o-
He stayed until everyone had left, helping Adam clean up until the man shooed him out the door and deposited him in a cab. He promised Will he’d call him in the morning to discuss the final arrangements before his flight the day after tomorrow.
Back at home, it was late. He texted Jay just to tell him that the party had gone fine and that he was still on track to be home in a few days. Then, he brushed his teeth, drank some water and laid down to go to bed.
It was an odd thing, really. Lying there, staring at the ceiling. Because he realized something he’d probably known for awhile now, but here, at the end, he was faced with the beginning.
The thing was, he was fine.
Helena had been right about that.
Helena was always right.
Because Will wasn’t just fine. No, Will was happy.
Will was finally, well and truly, happy.
For once, sleep came as easily as ever.
-o-
He slept late the next day, waking up when the sun was up and stretching. He was here, then. At the ending.
All his work. All his effort. All his change.
All of him.
He’d learned to be a better friend. He’d learned to be a better doctor. He’d learned to be a better leader.
He’d learned to love better.
He’d learned to live better.
He packed up the last of the boxes, labeling the things for storage and donation. He stuffed as much as he could into his two suitcases. When they were full, he packed up several more boxes of personal possessions and took them to the post office, shelling out a pretty penny to have them shipped back home for him.
See, he was coming back with more than when he’d started.
A lot more.
-o-
When the morning finally came, he was up early. He wasn’t anxious, exactly. He wasn’t eager, either.
Maybe he was just ready.
Adam insisted on picking him up, driving him to the airport and helping him unload his suitcases. On the curb, amid the traffic, they made their farewells.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” Will said.
“What, the ride?” Adam joked. “Or giving you the job in the first place.”
Will had to grin. “Both, I guess.”
“Then, both are my pleasure,” Adam assured him. “Enjoy your time back home. Tell your brother I expect him to watch out for you. It is a full-time job.”
“I’m pretty sure he already knows,” Will said back. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Ah, stop,” Adam said, swatting the air between them. “Do not tell me how you will be back.”
“But I will,” Will said. “Last I checked, this is the only job I actually have.
“I know you came here as a last resort,” Adam said. “Somehow I do not think it will always be that way. You may choose it again. You may not. Either way, I am glad you came.”
“You were far too good to me,” Will said. “I never deserved any of the faith or the friendship you gave me. You made me part of the family.”
Adam was smiling now, no bluster or gusto, just all sincerity. “You are the best chance I ever took.”
Will blushed. “Well, I’m glad I could help the cause.”
“I meant for the place you earned in my life,” Adam said. “Come or stay, we will keep in touch. I will visit you -- here -- in Chicago. Wherever you end up.”
“Thank you,” Will said, and he reached out.
Adam took the invitation, bracing him heartily in a hug. “Brother.”
Will buried his head into Adam’s shoulder for a moment, finding himself blinking back tears. “Brother.”
When they parted, Will found he wasn’t ready. Still sloppy faced, his heart started to race when he realized what he was doing -- what he was really doing.
“I think I’m scared,” Will admitted, wiping his nose and sniffling loudly.
Adam could only nod. “Then listen to me,” he said firmly, eyes locked on Will’s. “You are ready.”
All this time, all this way, and Will just had to take one last step.
To finally get home.
-o-
He went into the airport and checked in alone. He made his way through security, navigating the airport and finding his gate. He waited for the plane, and he sat with his phone in the terminal, texting Jay one more time.
Almost time to board.
Jay’s response was almost immediate. I’ll be waiting for you when you land.
-o-
On the plane, Will stowed his things and took his seat. He’d come a long way maybe, but he was still sitting in coach. Legs cramped behind the seat, he was stuck in the middle. It took awhile for everyone to settle, but soon the flight attendants were dispensing the safety information and telling everyone to buckle in for the long flight to Chicago.
Will sat, fingers tensed on the seat. He felt the engines whir, the roar filling the plane. Out the window, he saw the plane begin to move into position on the runway.
Then, once it was there, the engines revved again, and the plane picked up speed at a precipitous pace now, racing down the runway, faster and faster.
He could feel the moment when takeoff occurred, a brief second of weightless possibility when you didn't know if it was going up or down. But the plane had enough speed, and the shape of the wings was just right for lift, and they took off, ascending into the air, chopping at first, unsteady as it climbed and climbed and climbed.
By the time they reached cruising altitude, Will remembered to breathe again. He wasn’t an anxious flier, but that didn’t make every flight easy, and as he settled back for the transatlantic journey, he thought about the place before him and the place behind.
Here, in the air, he was neither here nor there, but he knew what he’d left.
It was time to find out what waited for him when he finally landed on the other side.
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
-o-
The sabbatical, as it turned out, started effective immediately. It felt jarring and sudden to him, but the organization had a tried and true system in place. Will had been transferred three times in the last year. He could be so naive as to think he wasn’t replaceable.
Even so, it was a bitter pill to swallow that he was not allowed back at work until his three months were up. Apparently, it had been a problem in the past with some doctors sneaking in under the radar, skipping their sabbatical all together. Will would call it ridiculous if he hadn’t wanted to do the same thing.
Instead, he was sent back home to back. Adam saw him off to the train station, presumably to say goodbye but Will suspected that Adam wanted to make sure Will did as he was told. He slept through most of the trip, staring vacantly out at the rise and fall of the cityscapes as he made his way back. At home, he took a cab home, and he found that the arrangements had already been made for him.
All he had to do, then, was let go.
All the things he’d done, and he found that to be the hardest thing yet.
Mikayla dropped off his things for him, getting his signature on a few last items. She hesitated before she left, and when he asked her what was wrong, she told him the truth.
“I was going to tell you when you got back,” she said.
“Tell me what?” he asked.
“That I’m quitting,” she said.
That wasn’t the answer Will had been expecting. “You’re quitting? Mikayla, why? I thought you liked your job -- and you’re certainly good at it. If this is about hours, I can put in a word to have them reduced.”
She was actively shaking her head. “No,” she said. “It’s not like that. It’s just -- watching you -- I finally see what the big deal. Why people go in to medicine. It’s not all broken systems and worn out doctors.”
“It’s saving lives,” Will said gently.
She nodded eagerly. “And I want to be a part of that -- more than I am,” she said. “I got accepted into a nursing program. It’s a fast track, so I should be able to apply for a CNA in two years.”
Will’s mouth dropped open. “Mikayla, that’s -- great,” he said. “Seriously, you’ll be a great nurse.”
Her face warmed at the praise. “I was scared to tell you.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because working for you has been so good,” she said. “It changed my life.”
Will rolled his eyes in deflection. “That’s an exaggeration. I knew from day one how exceptional you were. Thank you for being someone I can rely on. The hospital will miss you, but the organization is always looking for new hires.”
At that, she positively beamed. “That’s my hope,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll end up back in the ED together.”
“Maybe,” Will agreed, letting himself smile at the notion. He hesitated, wetting his lips. “And how are things? At the ED? The hospital?”
“Oh, they’re good,” she said. “I mean, everyone misses you, but Dr. Barringer has really kept things running just like you did.”
“No problems?” Will asked.
She shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “I mean, I snuck a look at the budget report, and it’s still in the black.”
Will had to chuckle. “You’re really not supposed to do that,” he chided without any emphasis. “And Dr. Barringer -- she’s doing well?”
“I’d say the transition is seamless,” Mikayla said with a nod.
Will cocked his head. “The transition?”
“Yeah,” Mikayla said. “She was given the title of Temporary Chief of Staff. Just until you get back or whatever. I know sometimes they like to move people around, bring in outsiders, but Dr. Barringer was the only choice.”
“She is exceptional,” Will agreed, a soft feeling tugging in his gut.
Helena hadn’t told him; but then, he hadn’t asked. The invitation had been out there between, mutual in its intensity and provocation, and neither of them had known what to say in face of the inevitable.
It was hard to leave the hospital, but he’d come to terms with it.
The idea of leaving her, though.
Was a little harder to rectify.
“Anyway,” Will said, bringing himself back on track. “Thank you for dropping off my things. And, really, the best of luck. If you ever need a reference, you have my number.”
Her smile lifted again, and she nodded quite readily. “Thank you again, Dr. Halstead!”
“Goodbye, Mikayla,” he said, shutting the door behind her as she let herself out.
-o-
That night, he worked to pack up more of his things. He had to sort it out, what to take and what to put in storage. Because his placement was still relatively short-term, the organization concluded that renting a storage unit would be more cost effective than maintaining a rent payment. Will didn’t have enough equity to drop on rent for three months, and the stipend wouldn’t cover it all. He took the storage option, and booked his one free ticket to Chicago.
Adam served as his point person on this. Will wasn’t sure that was technically Adam’s job, but Adam didn’t seem to care. He answered Will’s questions on the sabbatical protocols, and he made arrangements for the last minute things he would need in order to get out of the country.
Other than that, Will kept busy making his plans back home. Jay was overjoyed that he was coming home, and he was making copious arrangements about everything they were going to do when Will got there. Will reminded him that there was still a lot of wedding planning to do -- the wedding was in a month -- but Jay told him that all of that was under control.
Will doubted that, but he didn’t dare doubt his brother’s enthusiasm. They were lined up for a ball game, dinner reservations and Will lost track of everything after that. Jay eagerly agreed to let Will stay with him. Will suggested it would just be for awhile -- he wanted to be out of Jay’s hard by the time the wedding rolled around -- but Jay insisted on as long as Will needed.
Again, Will figured that Hailey might have something to say about that, but he’d feel that out when he got there. Indeed, one of the things he was looking forward to most was spending time with his soon to be sister in law. Life was moving on without him, he realized. And while that was okay sometimes, there were some things he knew he couldn’t afford to miss.
Unfortunately, with Jay’s enthusiasm, everyone at home seemed to know he was going to be in town. He ignored most invitations to get together, but he couldn’t overlook Maggie. She had him slotted for lunch and dinner on separate days, and he agreed to a night out with her because he was pretty sure if he said no, she would track him down and drag him out anyway.
Ethan offered to get a coffee at some time. Crockett dropped a line to say he hoped to see him around. April told him he had to stop by the ED just to say hi, and Will responded to them all with polite thank-yous and moved on.
Or, he was trying to move on. It took longer than he expected to pack. Although this had been his shortest stint, he had somehow accumulated the most stuff. Pictures from ED parties. Trinkets from team building events. He had even started a collection of pens from his favorite spots around the city.
Suddenly, it was hard to put his life into two suitcases. Packing up the rest, labeling the boxes -- he thought bittersweetly about when he would see them again.
In all of it, he also fielded texts and calls from his current hospital. While he was not supposed to go back to the hospital on sabbatical -- strict policy that had to be followed -- nothing dictated that he couldn’t talk to his colleagues. Many people just let him know that he would be missed. Some of them talked about how much they hoped to see him when he came back.
Will always had the same reply, that he was so proud of all the work they’d done, and that he couldn’t wait to see what they would build in the future. If they ever needed anything -- anything at all -- all they had to do was call.
Yet, in all of that, Helena didn’t call once. She didn’t text.
He knew, even without asking, that she was waiting for him.
If this was an open ended question, then it was his turn to answer.
That was the problem, of course.
Will didn’t know the answer.
All the things he’d learned, all the things he’d accomplished, all the ways he’d grown, and he still was at a total loss.
Then, Will never had been very good at endings.
-o-
The longer it went on, the worse Will felt. Even so, each passing second made it harder and harder to pick up the phone and contact Helena. He knew she was there -- she was at his hospital doing his job -- and he knew he had indicated to her that they would pick things up when he got back.
That was what gave him the most pause, probably. It wasn’t really fair, after all. To all Helena, tell her how he felt and then jet off for three months. It was better to cut things off now, make a clean break. He cared enough about her that he didn’t want to toy with her emotions -- even that was, ultimately, exactly what he was doing.
He tried to rationalize it a thousand different ways, but Will knew that this was the same weakness as always. Will was afraid to say a difficult goodbye. He was running away instead.
All the progress he’d made, and this was the hill he was going to die on.
It was pathetic.
It was typical.
In so many ways, it felt inevitable.
Will hadn’t grown up in all the ways he intended to after all.
-o-
Will had scheduled his flight for a week after he got his sabbatical approved. That was the nice way of saying it. In reality, it felt like Will had one week to contend with everything he’d managed to accomplish -- and face the reality of the things he hadn’t -- before he was forced to head back to the life he’d left behind.
He had told Jay he wasn’t running, and at the time, he’d believed it.
Now, faced with the prospect of going back, it felt a little bit like he’d been running.
At any rate, he wanted to run now.
Badly.
With a ticket anywhere in the world, he was starting to wonder why he’d picked Chicago. If Jay hadn’t been so excited -- insisting on taking the day off to pick him up for the airport -- Will might have bailed on it entirely, exchanged his ticket for one anywhere but home.
With those pressing second thoughts, he wasn’t surprised when Adam showed up to see him off, delivering his exit papers and tickets personally. Will felt sheepish -- Adam lived across the continent in another city -- but Adam didn’t seem to care.
He invited himself into Will’s home, helping him pack up, regaling him with stories of his previous sabbaticals. He’d taken his time to travel the world, and he’d visited almost every continent with great gusto.
“Maybe I should have done that,” Will reflected wryly.
Adam made a noise in the back of his throat. “My work and my home are the same,” he said. “But not so for you. You need to go back.”
“I think I’m doing pretty well here,” Will said.
“I have told you from the start that this has to be about more than the job,” Adam said. “Chicago is a part of you. You have a brother there, friends--”
“Just the brother, really.”
Adam gave him a long suffering look. “I doubt that,” he said. “But it is not the point. The point is you came here to prove something, yes?”
Will had to nod in agreement. “Yeah.”
“Then, prove it,” he said. “Go back. Show them who you have become. See how that feels.”
“I don’t need to be coddled,” Will said. “I’m not doing any of this for praise or something.”
“No, but closure,” Adam said. “Besides, your brother must miss you.”
Will grunted. “Yeah, he’s a little over the top.”
“Then we must not disappoint him,” Adam said brightly.
“I guess,” Will said, still somewhat unconvinced. “I still don’t think you had to come.”
“Had to? Maybe not,” Adam said. “But I wanted to. Who else would throw you a proper farewell party?”
Will started to laugh, thinking that Adam was surely joking. But Adam raised his eyebrows at him. Will sobered immediately. “I don’t need a farewell party. I’m coming back.”
“You most definitely need a farewell party,” Adam said with a solemn nod. “It is only proper.”
Will opened his mouth, and then he closed it. At a loss, he half laughed. “But I’m not going away.”
“You are,” Adam said. “For three months. Maybe more.”
Will was already shaking his head. “I’m coming back.”
“Then, all the more reason to celebrate,” Adam said easily.
“Adam, I’m serious--”
“Halstead, so am I,” Adam said. “You know just as well as I do that we cannot predict the future. Do not lock yourself into something. Enjoy the moment -- this moment.”
Will withdrew, still dubious. “With a goodbye party?”
Now, Adam was grinning ever more salaciously. “With a goodbye party.”
Will had been here before, it seemed. Jay had tried to do the same back in Chicago, and Will had deflected the worst of it. “Something small, then,” he said. “No big deal.”
“Of course, of course,” Adam told him, tousling his hair. “Something very small.”
-o-
The problem was, of course, that Jay was a man of his word.
Adam was a bastard, through and through.
The small party turned into anything but, as Adam rented out a local restaurant for the evening, catered it completely and invited literally everyone Will had met over the last year. Worst of all, most of them seemed to show up, and Will was faced with being the guest of honor at the biggest event of the season -- thanks to a few donations from some of Will’s best known benefactors.
Adam said that everyone wanted to be a part of it.
Will found this claim to be spurious, but he had no means of disputing it.
Besides, the more pressing concern was the fact that Adam had clearly been planning this thing for weeks -- possibly months. Hell, he’d even hired a live band.
All with Will as the guest of honor.
He mixed with people from the board. A few of the doctors from his first placement showed up, including some of nurses whose lives he’d saved. They’d gone in together, and somehow they had all ended up with time off -- thanks to the fact that their boss was there as well.
Adam’s interference explained the good turnout from Will’s first placement, but the second was a little harder to justify. A good half dozen people made the trip, and they regaled the crowd with stories of Will’s stint as a soccer player, and how they had only managed to win because Will had sprained his wrist before the finals.
The biggest turnout was naturally from his current placement. And to call it the biggest turnout was a bit of an understatement. Everyone showed up, it seemed. The nurses, the techs, the residents, the attendings. All the department heads, to a person. Even Dr. Duvernay came, shook his hand and told him that he lasted longer than he’d expected.
Some local bigwigs came, too. Representatives from business, government and security all came to bid him well. Mr. Alawe couldn’t come in person, but his regards were everywhere. He was the one footing the bill for the open bar.
Will tried to protest at first, but it became far too cumbersome. He resigned himself to it, and showed gratitude instead. He made a point to shake every hand, and he told each person how humbled he was that they came.
When he finally cornered Adam, his friend was irascible and clearly having the time of his life.
“Small?” he asked. “This is small?”
“Compared to the impact you’ve made?” Adam quipped. “It’s tiny.”
Will shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t need me as an excuse to throw a party. I’m not even leaving.”
Adam got another drink from the bar, and he shook his head right back. “You are leaving. And I don’t need an excuse, but you certainly do.”
Will couldn’t argue that point, and he accepted a beer of his own, careful to make sure he didn’t drink too many. “I still don’t get why you’d go through all this trouble. I mean, this must have cost a fortune.”
“I had some help,” Adam reminded him. “And I still make more money than you. Seniority.”
“I mean it, though,” Will said. “I mean, all this? For a sabbatical?”
“All this for a friend,” Adam told him.
Will had to shake his head. “But I’ve been a horrible friend.”
Adam groaned outright. “Halstead, enough! You made a mistake fifteen years ago. I have forgiven you. The amends have been made,” he said, and he took Will by the shoulder, giving him an intentional shake. “You must forgive yourself now, please?”
“But--”
All the protests were well worn. Will knew them by rote by now. They were a part of him, and he would recite them on demand.
Adam had no interest in listening, however. “But nothing,” he said, letting his hand drop from Will’s shoulder. “That is why we are having this party. Because you will always have a place here, yes. But I’m not sure this is the only place you belong. Everyone came because we have all known it, but you have yet to put the pieces together.”
Somehow, the insinuation made Will indignant. As far as he’d come, and he was still stuck on this same point. “It’s just a sabbatical -- and not even one I want to take. I’m coming back.”
Adam was a good natured man, and it was tempting to think him too lax sometimes. But Adam had a keen mind and a good head on his shoulder, and when he looked at Will, he saw what Will refused to admit -- even to himself. “Halstead, who do you think you are coming back for?”
Chest still puffed, Will didn’t hesitate. “You.”
“Not me,” Adam replied quickly.
“Well, the hospital. My hospital,” he said.
Adam remained unconvinced. “Not the hospital.”
Denials would be easy to say, but Will couldn’t bring himself to form the words. The impetus died where it began, and Will had no fortitude of lying. That was why he always ran when things got hard. It was easier than facing the truth.
But he was done running.
And the lies would never satisfy him.
“If you come back my friend, it is for you,” Adam said steadily. “No one else. Just you.”
Will didn’t hear the words as much as he felt them, awakening the things inside him that had been there all along, the reality he’d been forming all this time.
Adam smiled now, for he was always ready to give voice to that which Will had not yet come to terms with. “You finished, my friend,” he said with an eager glint in his eyes. “You came to finish, and you have. That is what we are celebrating tonight. That is why we are all here. A job well and truly finished.”
And there was nothing to say, then.
Nothing, as it turned out, except goodbye.
It was the thing he should have been saying all along. That was why he’d come here, after all. Not to move forward. But to put the past behind him. This was about closure.
This had always been a year to say goodbye.
-o-
With so many people in attendance -- and more still coming -- Will had plenty to keep him busy. He spent his night swapping memories with people, and he caught up with people he’d not seen in months. They recalled the good times, shared solidarity in the bad, and laughed more than Will had remembered to do in ages.
Then, as he came back to the bar for another soda -- he’d maxed out on his alcohol intake for the night -- he found someone familiar -- and utterly unexpected -- standing anxiously at the bar.
Karen Dunst was standing there, holding a glass of something she clearly had not touched. She was dressed as casually as Will had ever seen her, and she looked wholly uncomfortable in her khaki trousers and billowy button-up blouse. She looked out of place, and like she hated everything about this place, but when she saw Will, she smiled.
It kind of looked like a grimace, but Will knew it was a smile.
He approached her with a grin of his own.
“Karen!” he said, offering his hand. It had been all hugs for most of the night, but Karen looked uncomfortable enough. He thought to start her out slow. “It’s so good to see you!”
She took the hand, shaking it abruptly. “Yes, well, it is good to see you as well.”
It was a funny thing to say in these circumstances, especially when she had gone out of her way to be here. Still, Will knew to be magnanimous under the best of circumstances, and Karen deserved as much leeway as he could give her. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Will said. “I didn’t think you took days off.”
“To be fair, you only worked for me for a short period of time,” she said, easing up just slightly as she postured. “But most of my time off is reserved for trips back to home. I have a sister and a brother back in Denmark. They have children.”
It wasn’t a deeply personal revelation, but Will knew what it meant for her to tell him that. They weren’t coworkers anymore. If she was here, then they had to be friends, and there was no point for either of them to deny it. “And you thought a trip here would be better?” he asked.
Karen smiled as she nodded. “Apparently so,” she said. “Also, your friend, Dr. Goshit, was quite unwilling to take no for an answer. Complying was easier than saying no.”
Adam was a persuasive guy, but she was deflecting here -- and Will knew her well enough to see it. She wasn’t a wilting flower, and no one forced Karen
to do anything that she didn’t want to do unless it was a direct order.
She made her choices, and she made her choices with certainty.
It was something Will had always respected about her.
And she had chosen this.
In the end, she had chosen him. “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he said, giving her a pass on the emotions neither of them wanted to talk about. “It’s just really good to see you.”
“Yes,” she said, growing marginally more comfortable now. “You will be pleased that things are going well at the hospital. This time they let me pick your replacement.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Will said. He grinned. “Somebody a little better with rules, then.”
Karen chuckled, small and awkward as she shuffled her feet. “They are very efficient, yes,” she said. “Though I would say there is still something different, something that I can’t quite place.”
“I’m just glad things are going well,” Will said. “Was it hard to get open again?”
“All the projections said we would still be closed now, but I found that to be ridiculous,” she said. “Once the building was deemed structurally sound, I made quick work in getting the necessary work done.”
“That sounds about right,” Will said.
“Your friend Mr. Alawe has been an ongoing important benefactor,” she said. “So some of your work does indeed live on. Not that you need such praise. From what I’ve been told, you are building a very sufficient legacy for yourself right here.”
“Oh,” Will said. “I mean, it’s been a lot of work.”
“I have read up on your situation with some vested interest,” she said. “I find the turnaround here to be very remarkable.”
“I haven’t done it alone,” Will said.
She gestured toward him anyway. “Good leadership makes all the difference.”
“And the best leaders have had the best mentors,” Will said. “I don’t think I could have done anything here without your training. I had to rebuild the policy here from the ground up.”
“I am impressed. Not surprised, but duly impressed,” she said, nodding a few more times as she looked him over. Then, she hesitated, her eyes looking down. “I also find that, despite the very good reasons for you to move on, I miss you.”
She looked up, her gaze plain as she finished the confession with a sigh.
For all the protocol and policy she’d taught him, it was her affection that would always mean the most to him. That they all needed balance. That they were all capable of change.
That some stories really did have happy endings.
“That means a lot,” Will said. “You being here -- it means a lot.”
“I would be nowhere else,” she said, and she did not bother with guises now. She pressed her lips together in a familiar display of finality. She wasn’t smiling, but it was a near thing. “I wish you all the best, Will.”
And it didn’t matter how awkward it was. It didn’t matter how unnatural it felt. Policy was important, but it had to have a heart if it was going to work.
So Will reached out, stepping closer, offering a hug.
At this, she did look surprised, and she momentarily froze as if she might step away. However, Will waited, giving her time to consider, and then she stepped forward into the hug, lifting her arms tentatively to reach around his back.
It wasn’t long. It wasn’t comfortable.
But it was something they both understood, in the end.
Parting ways quickly, Karen adjusted her hair and let out an exhale in a puff. “Very well, then,” she said. “I have monopolized enough of your time and attention. This is your party, after all. I will leave you to it.”
“Thank you, Karen,” he said.
She still bristled slightly at the sound of her name, but she accepted it quickly enough. She nodded her head at him. “Of course,” she said, and then she dispersed back into the crowd.
This was what closure was, then.
Saying your goodbyes the way you meant to say them, leaving it all tied up in a perfect bow.
The night was young, to be sure, but Will was truly starting to believe there was hope for him yet.
-o-
Karen Dunst was the epitome of reserve. She was calm, measured and utterly self possessed with restraint that would impress a nun.
Then, there was Grace.
At first glance, he’d been surprised that Grace had made the trip with Adam. But, then again, he knew Grace. Impulsive and intuitive, she was always the one to follow her heart. And, despite Will’s repeated rejections, she still seemed to think they would make a good match.
Of course she had come.
She was still a lot to handle, that much would always be true, and Will would always have to be on his guard around her -- for his sake as much as hers. But there was an understanding now, a respect.
And still a whole lot of flirtation.
Grace came up to him, eyeballing him from across the room. He offered her his hand as she approached. She hugged him instead, kissing him on the cheek. “You cannot be leaving!” she half wailed over the sound of the music and conversation.
“It’s a sabbatical,” Will said.
“I still remember before,” she said, pouting a little. “You did not come back for a decade.”
Will had long since come to terms with that. He was able to broach the topic with a smile. “The terms are different this time,” he said. “Besides, I have a lot to come back for.”
She leaned forward, raising her eyebrows in suggestion. “Perhaps romance?” she asked.
“Grace!” he objected, but he was still laughing.
“What? I have a boyfriend, but it is not serious,” she said, making a face. “And I think I might be able to talk him into an arrangement for the three of us.”
He rolled his eyes, but it was good to see Grace back in her element. She was not one to be tamed -- not by trauma and certainly not by him, no matter how much she protested otherwise. “As thoughtful as your offer is, I’m still afraid it wouldn’t work out. It’s probably a bad idea,” he said. “Besides, I think I’d be a very boring boyfriend.”
She pursed her lips and eyed him. “Yes, I suppose you do work too much,” she said. But then, she tilted her head to the side. “But you should remember that sometimes bad ideas are the best ideas.”
“You may be right about that,” he said, and he reached out, bracing her arm warmly. “I guess we’ll see if I get there.”
She braced him back, smiling widely. “I believe in you. I always have.
Grace and Adam were quite different for brother and sister, but there were some ways in which they were nearly exactly the same. This, this ability to belief, this need to see the best in people -- was one of them.
“Thanks,” he said. “And hey -- you take care of yourself.”
She nodded, still beaming. There was nothing salacious about it anymore. There was just something endearing -- and endeared. “I will look for you the next time you are back,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe the third time is the charm.”
And he smiled back, just as warm and sure. “Maybe, Grace,” he agreed. “Maybe.”
-o-
He was past running away from Grace, but there were still other goodbyes to make. He had thought he’d circled the room and the patio multiple times, but every time he walked by, he saw someone new.
And then, just when he thought he’d seen everyone, he saw her.
Helena.
She was wearing a little black dress, and her hair was down and she was wearing lipstick. She stood there, as if she were waiting for him, across the room. Their eyes met, and his heart seized up.
With hope.
With regret.
Running away would have been easier, but he couldn’t force his feet to move. Transfixed, he could only watch as she drew near to him. Closer and closer, until he was pulled to her as well, and they met, step by step, pace by pace, in the space between.
“Helena, I’m sorry--”
She shook her head, lifting up her finger and putting it to his lips. The apology was still on his lips, but he found himself unable to speak.
“Come on,” she said, taking him by the hand now. “I think we need to talk.”
-o-
Will had never been to this bar before, but Helena clearly had. She took him by the hand, leading him to a set of stairs behind a door with restricted access. She seemed to know what she was doing -- she always did -- and Will was too mesmerized to question her as she led him up the stairs and out onto the roof.
There wasn’t much of a view over the street, but the night air was crisp and clear. It yielded a clarity that scared him. A clarity he needed.
She turned toward him, and he couldn’t stop himself now. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice clearer in the night. “I should have called.”
Helena nodded. “You should have,” she agreed. But then she raised one shoulder. “But I get it.”
“No,” he said, unwilling to take the easy out. “You don’t.”
She sighed, and it was a weary sound. “I do, though,” she said. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it. You never have. Smart as you are, you are still the biggest idiot I know.”
There was no anger in her voice, though. There should have been anger. Will’s brow creased, and he stepped toward her. “Helena--”
He was going to apologize again. He was going to explain. He was going to tell her a thousand things, a thousand important things. He was going to say all the things he’d been trying to say, the things he’d never figured out how to express.
But she didn’t let him. She crossed the final distance and took him up in her arms. The words evaporated. The thoughts left him. And she kissed him like they had never kissed before.
He could have stayed there forever. He might have, if she’d let him. But it was her turn to pull away, dropping her hands from his face as she met his eyes in the moonlight. “You didn’t call because you don’t know how to say goodbye.”
His impulse was to tell her she was wrong, but the spike of pain that lanced through his chest told him otherwise. His eyes started to burn, and he blinked hard. “I’m coming back. This is just a sabbatical.”
“Ah,” she said, and her smile was as raw as the rest of her now. When she spoke, her eyes glistened from the tears she hadn’t quite shed. “So this is hello, then.”
He wanted to reach toward her, but he didn’t dare touch her now. “Seriously,” he said. “I am coming back. Three months. I’m coming back.”
Her resolve didn’t hold. Blinking once, an errant tear escaped, and she wiped it away quickly. Still somehow, she smiled. “You really know nothing about yourself, Will -- not a damn thing. So how do you think you know that?”
“Because,” he said, almost in desperation. “I have to finish what I started.”
“Look around,” she said, and her voice was on the verge of breaking. “It looks pretty finished to me.”
He drew toward her this time, drawing her up once more as he kissed her. When he drew back, they were both breathless. “Maybe not everything,” he said.
She stepped back, though, reaching down to squeeze his hand. “All those loose ends that keep you awake at night -- they’re not here, they’re in Chicago,” she said. “I know you have to tie them up, too, before you even know what to make of things here.”
There they were. Standing on the roof. The problem was that Will had never been able to separate beginnings from endings. He never understood you couldn’t really have one without the other.
He’d just never understood.
“Helena,” he said, his own heart starting to break now.
She inhaled shakily, a few more tears leaking out. “Will, this is a good thing. Really. I’m fine,” she said. At the sound of her own cracking voice, she forged a smile. “I’ll miss you, but I’m fine. And now you’re fine, too. I couldn’t ask for more.”
Except she could.
She had.
And now she was backing out at the last minute, and Will hated himself for it.
“But my feelings for you are real,” he said. “I’ve been so scared of them. I haven’t had any idea what to do with them. But they’re real, Helena. They’re real.”
“I know. But sometimes you need to let go, Will,” she said, reaching up and brushing her fingers tentatively through his hair. Her eyes were still on his. “It’s okay to let go.”
He felt it, like a throbbing artery between his fingers, vibrating with potential and desire. If he let it go, he’d have no control what happened next, but he trusted her.
More than he even trusted himself.
He leaned forward and kissed her one more time.
And then, with all Will could muster, he let go.
-o-
He found his way back down on his own. He couldn’t have been gone more than ten minutes, but it seemed he had been missed. He made the rounds again, drank one more drink, and then thanked as many people as he could.
For making this night happen.
For making this last year happen.
For giving him the second chance he needed.
A chance he had not squander.
A chance he had seen through to the very end.
-o-
He stayed until everyone had left, helping Adam clean up until the man shooed him out the door and deposited him in a cab. He promised Will he’d call him in the morning to discuss the final arrangements before his flight the day after tomorrow.
Back at home, it was late. He texted Jay just to tell him that the party had gone fine and that he was still on track to be home in a few days. Then, he brushed his teeth, drank some water and laid down to go to bed.
It was an odd thing, really. Lying there, staring at the ceiling. Because he realized something he’d probably known for awhile now, but here, at the end, he was faced with the beginning.
The thing was, he was fine.
Helena had been right about that.
Helena was always right.
Because Will wasn’t just fine. No, Will was happy.
Will was finally, well and truly, happy.
For once, sleep came as easily as ever.
-o-
He slept late the next day, waking up when the sun was up and stretching. He was here, then. At the ending.
All his work. All his effort. All his change.
All of him.
He’d learned to be a better friend. He’d learned to be a better doctor. He’d learned to be a better leader.
He’d learned to love better.
He’d learned to live better.
He packed up the last of the boxes, labeling the things for storage and donation. He stuffed as much as he could into his two suitcases. When they were full, he packed up several more boxes of personal possessions and took them to the post office, shelling out a pretty penny to have them shipped back home for him.
See, he was coming back with more than when he’d started.
A lot more.
-o-
When the morning finally came, he was up early. He wasn’t anxious, exactly. He wasn’t eager, either.
Maybe he was just ready.
Adam insisted on picking him up, driving him to the airport and helping him unload his suitcases. On the curb, amid the traffic, they made their farewells.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” Will said.
“What, the ride?” Adam joked. “Or giving you the job in the first place.”
Will had to grin. “Both, I guess.”
“Then, both are my pleasure,” Adam assured him. “Enjoy your time back home. Tell your brother I expect him to watch out for you. It is a full-time job.”
“I’m pretty sure he already knows,” Will said back. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Ah, stop,” Adam said, swatting the air between them. “Do not tell me how you will be back.”
“But I will,” Will said. “Last I checked, this is the only job I actually have.
“I know you came here as a last resort,” Adam said. “Somehow I do not think it will always be that way. You may choose it again. You may not. Either way, I am glad you came.”
“You were far too good to me,” Will said. “I never deserved any of the faith or the friendship you gave me. You made me part of the family.”
Adam was smiling now, no bluster or gusto, just all sincerity. “You are the best chance I ever took.”
Will blushed. “Well, I’m glad I could help the cause.”
“I meant for the place you earned in my life,” Adam said. “Come or stay, we will keep in touch. I will visit you -- here -- in Chicago. Wherever you end up.”
“Thank you,” Will said, and he reached out.
Adam took the invitation, bracing him heartily in a hug. “Brother.”
Will buried his head into Adam’s shoulder for a moment, finding himself blinking back tears. “Brother.”
When they parted, Will found he wasn’t ready. Still sloppy faced, his heart started to race when he realized what he was doing -- what he was really doing.
“I think I’m scared,” Will admitted, wiping his nose and sniffling loudly.
Adam could only nod. “Then listen to me,” he said firmly, eyes locked on Will’s. “You are ready.”
All this time, all this way, and Will just had to take one last step.
To finally get home.
-o-
He went into the airport and checked in alone. He made his way through security, navigating the airport and finding his gate. He waited for the plane, and he sat with his phone in the terminal, texting Jay one more time.
Almost time to board.
Jay’s response was almost immediate. I’ll be waiting for you when you land.
-o-
On the plane, Will stowed his things and took his seat. He’d come a long way maybe, but he was still sitting in coach. Legs cramped behind the seat, he was stuck in the middle. It took awhile for everyone to settle, but soon the flight attendants were dispensing the safety information and telling everyone to buckle in for the long flight to Chicago.
Will sat, fingers tensed on the seat. He felt the engines whir, the roar filling the plane. Out the window, he saw the plane begin to move into position on the runway.
Then, once it was there, the engines revved again, and the plane picked up speed at a precipitous pace now, racing down the runway, faster and faster.
He could feel the moment when takeoff occurred, a brief second of weightless possibility when you didn't know if it was going up or down. But the plane had enough speed, and the shape of the wings was just right for lift, and they took off, ascending into the air, chopping at first, unsteady as it climbed and climbed and climbed.
By the time they reached cruising altitude, Will remembered to breathe again. He wasn’t an anxious flier, but that didn’t make every flight easy, and as he settled back for the transatlantic journey, he thought about the place before him and the place behind.
Here, in the air, he was neither here nor there, but he knew what he’d left.
It was time to find out what waited for him when he finally landed on the other side.