Hailey's POV

I'm angry and raw and tears quiver in the corners of my eyes. I hold still, trying not to fall apart, but when I look down at my hands, at the flecks of blood that stain my fingers, tears roll down my cheeks. Every cop in this hospital waiting room is silent and immobile, and the atmosphere is tense and depressed. I'm not a very religious person, but I find myself praying, whispering long, never-ending sentences to whomever is up there, pleading for my partner's life.

The sound of that single gunshot still echoes in my ears, and I'm sure it will take time for its deafening blast to fade. I ran so fast down the stairs that I almost tripped over my feet. I drew my gun and turned the corner and saw Jay lying flat on the ground, grunting in pain. A bright red spot was forming on his shirt and blossoming into a fist-sized stain just above his heart.

My heart dropped to my stomach; I felt shocked and disoriented. I rushed towards him, dropped to my knees, and applied pressure on the wound. Stay with me, Jay. You're going to be okay, I kept telling him. Stay with me.

Stay with me.

Everything after that passed in a blur probably because it didn't feel real. It was like I left my body and was hovering above it, watching everything unfold. Jay was fighting to remain conscious, but his eyes kept rolling back. It seemed to take forever for the paramedics to arrive, but when they did, Jay was still breathing. Shallow breaths, but still alive.

This was hours ago.

This endless waiting is making me nervous and restless. I get up and begin pacing back and forth in front of a window that looks out into the parking lot. Back and forth, back and forth. A car passes now and then. An ambulance pulls up to the ED. I try hard to not let myself think bad thoughts, but it's becoming an impossible feat as time trickles by.

Jay's brother, Will, eventually enters the waiting room and everyone rises, eager. He looks bleary, so out of it, that I stop in my tracks thinking the worse.

"The, um, bullet missed his heart, but it nicked his aorta and perforated his left lung." Will says. His eyes close for a moment against the pain that simple little statement causes. "They are currently trying to do everything they can to repair it and stop some of the bleeding elsewhere in his chest."

"Is he going to be okay," Voight asks.

Will's eyes glisten, he looks broken. He tries to control his face, but knows his sadness shows. "I don't know." Then, quietly, almost in a whisper, without making eye contact with anyone, he says, "Jay's in pretty bad shape."

My eyes blur and my arms and legs become very weak. The possibility that Jay won't pull through hits me hard. My thoughts become slow and rather incoherent. An overwhelming urge to cry swells fast within me, filling to the top of my throat. I try to swallow several times, grinding my molars to hold it down.

"What about Angela?" I hear Voight ask.

"She's stable. We were able to stitch her up and she's in observation right now."

Suddenly, I feel an overwhelming amount of rage at mention of her name. The heat of it courses through my veins and overtakes me from head to toe. I watch Voight mumble something to Adam and Kim and quickly approach, knowing I'm far from coherent.

"Are you going to question her?" I ask, hearing the hostility in my voice. I don't care to temper it.

"Yes," Voight answers. "I want to gauge what she knows."

"I'm going," I pipe up.

Voight shakes his head. "Kim and I got this, okay? You stay here."

My jaw clenches. Steam rises from my skin and pours out from between my lips, "There's no way you're benching me now. I can't sit here wringing my hands while Jay's blood is still on me."

"Hailey, you're too close. We can't go in there hot headed. We have to be smart. If she shot him—"

"—She shot him. She shot him while he was on his way to help her," I interrupt.

Voight pauses and pulls me aside, away from everyone. He runs a hand over his face. He looks like he aged twenty years since this morning. "I'm going to shoot straight with you. Angela probably shot Jay because he told her the truth about Marcus. If word gets out about what really happened, this could blow up in our faces."

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. Logic can't keep the lid on my boiling frustration. "I'm good, Sarge. My head is straight. Let me do my job."

Voight gives me no response, and when I glance at him, he looks as if he doesn't think the point is worth arguing with me. "You are sitting this one out and that's final."

Voight walks away and I storm out and into the bathroom. I slam my hands against the wall. I feel a roller coaster of emotions—hurt, disappointment, anger, and sadness, exploding in my chest and clouding my vision. A strangled cry escapes me as I pound my fist onto a wall over and over again.

Then a pair of arms restrain me. It's Ruzek. He pulls me to him as my frustrated tears pour down my face. I sink and let my pain expose. "Voight is being unfair," I explain, my voice strangled with emotion. "He has no right to bench me right now."

"Voight is just trying to do what's best for the unit," Ruzek says softly.

I pull away unreasonably upset. "We are already a man down," I say spitefully. "He needs all hands on deck here. It's my partner we're talking about."

He only nods his head in response. After a moment of silence, he asks, "You really like him, huh?"

I have never been asked this question before and the direct way Ruzek asked it startles me; and the shocked look on my face has him back paddling, "Sorry, I didn't mean…Look, don't take this the wrong way, but you have to put your feeling aside here. Trust me, Voight is looking out for you too."

I don't say anything. He reads my silence and sighs. "I'm going down to the cafeteria. Do you want anything?"

"No, I'm good."

"Okay," he says and leaves.

I ponder over his question. In retrospect, I could have easily said no, but deep down I knew that was not the truth. I care deeply for Jay. I have pushed these feelings aside, tried to ignore them. But the truth is, the more I bury them, the more powerful they become. And now it is taking control of me no matter how much I fight it. I close my eyes, mentally cursing myself for being so incredibly reckless.

I return to the waiting room and I realize Ruzek was right. I have to regain better control over my emotions. I sit with these thoughts for a while, trying to reconcile them in my head.

x

The hours pass. A revolving door of cops come and go. At almost four a.m., a surgeon enters the waiting room and explains that Jay made it through surgery, but is in critical condition. The blood loss combined with the trauma were too much and he's lapsed into a coma. I continue to listen to him, but his words become blurred since my only thought right now is that Jay is still alive.

I breath a sigh of relief and close my eyes, feeling the tightness in my chest unwind just a little.

"Can we see him?" I hear myself asking.

The surgeon nods. "Yes, he is recovering in the ICU."

Jay's ICU room is on the seventh floor. I stand outside his room taking deep breaths to calm my anxious thoughts. A soon as I enter the room and see what is supposed to be Jay lying on the bed I have to gasp to breathe. My heart sinks and tears unleash because of the utter shock at the sight.

Jay is lying there, looking gray and lifeless, with a breathing tube between his lips that runs from his mouth to a ventilator. Blood is still caked in his hair and all over his face, and his left eye is so swollen that it doesn't look like an eye anymore. There are multiple fluid IVs hanging above the bed like a nightmarish cobweb. Monitors frame his headboard, and there are so many machines hooked to him that I momentarily wonder if his body is doing anything at all.

I walk towards his bed and link my finger with his, careful to avoid the IV line. His fingers are limp and cold, and I tuck the blanket over them, still gripping his hand in mine. I'm so undone by everything that I can't find the words, can't think, only know that I feel angry—angry with him for not listening to me, angry with myself for not saving him.

"Why didn't you listen to me, huh?" I tell him. "This was bigger than you and you should've just let it go. When are you going to get through your thick head that you can't right every wrong?" I pause. Am I really mad at him for trying to do the right thing? For having a big heart? Aren't those the exact qualities that pulled me to him in the first place?

I swallow and sigh, closing my eyes.

"You have no idea how awful these past twenty-four hours have been," I say softly, slightly purged of my anger. "Everyone is really worried about you. So you better heal up fast because I don't want to get stuck with another partner." I run my fingers through his hair unable to keep tears from rolling down my cheeks. "You better be okay," I tell him, squeezing his hand. "You have to be."

My thoughts clear and I realize all doubt is gone with regard to how I feel about him. I've fallen for him and there's no denying it. But it's so complicated and big and I don't know what to do about it.

"Are you putting me through the ringer on purpose so that I can finally face my feelings for you?" I ask him and after a beat I whisper, "It worked."

I sit by Jay for a few minutes before Will walks in. He looks disheveled, tired, raw in a way I've never seen before. I sit up and discreetly wipe at my eyes.

"You look exhausted," he says.

"I am," I reply.

"You should rest."

"You should too," I counter.

"Touché," he says with a smile that does not reach his eyes.

The room falls quiet; the only sound comes from the rhythmic whooshing of the ventilator. We sit for some time until I am finally able to choke out the question that's been gnawing at me. "What's the prognosis?" I ask directly. "Tell me the truth."

He releases a sigh, "It's not good. His heart rhythms are still a bit erratic and his blood oxygen levels are low. We are doing everything we can, but..."

I hear the sound of my heart shatter, but I state with as much conviction I can muster. "Jay is strong. He'll pull through," I say, more to convince myself than anything else. "Have you met someone more stubborn?"

Will releases a sad chuckle. "Nope." His eyes glisten and his mouth pulls into a real smile. "When we were kids and got in trouble, mom would tell us to sit until we were ready to talk about whatever we'd done wrong. For me that was usually took a few minutes. But Jay…" Will shakes his head and chuckles. "He would sit for hours, sometimes until after dinner."

I smile, probably my first real smile of the day.

"He needs to make it through," Will says, tenderly touching his brother's arm. But his smile fades, replaced by a tight mouth and sharply drawn cheeks. "He is all the family I have left."

I risk a glance at Will. The admission deflates him. I want to reach over and touch his arm to comfort him. "Jay is not going anywhere," I assure him and myself. "He knows I will kick his ass if he does."

Will nods.

We sit in silence—hoping Jay is listening.

Thanks for reading. Trying to decide if I should continue or leave it here. Thoughts? Also, would anyone like to Beta for me if I do continue?