Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air is thick with cold, heavy and oppressive, pressing against his skin like a weight he can’t shake off. The wind cuts through him, biting at his face, sharp and unforgiving. He can feel it tangle in his hair, stinging his eyes, and tearing at his warm winter parka. But he doesn’t move. A few deep, deliberate breaths in and out make this more real. Or unreal. He doesn’t know. The night is endless, the city’s hum far away, muted like the pulse in his head, a constant throb he can’t escape.

His feet are planted firmly, but the ground beneath him feels… distant. As if he’s standing on the edge of something that’s not real, something he doesn’t belong to. The darkness wraps around him, thick as smoke, and all he can hear is the roar of blood in his ears, the scrape of his breath that echoes too loudly in the silence.
A faint, distant sound reaches him, something low and rumbling, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not close enough. He doesn’t care. His fingers are numb, but the weight of something, a feeling or a memory, is crushing his chest. His throat tightens, but he doesn’t cry out. There’s no one here. There’s only this, only the chill, only the dark, only the silence that seems to swallow everything whole.

He shifts, just a small movement, and his body feels like it’s fighting him, pulling him back, but he doesn’t stop. Not yet. Not yet. The lights of downtown Chicago twinkle in the distance. He always loved this city. It is his home. Was his home. But it’s different now. Jay doesn’t know when it started—the feeling that he doesn’t belong anymore. The world around him feels like it’s crumbling, slipping away from him, and the edges of his vision blur. He blinks a few times to clear the treacherous tears from his eyes.

---

“Stop crying, you little wuss.” The words cut through the thick, stale air of the living room, sharp and final. Jay sucked in a breath, biting down on his lip so hard he tasted blood. The sting on his cheek still burned, his skin hot where the back of his father’s hand had landed.

He willed himself to stop shaking. If he cried, it would only get worse. He knew that.

His father towered over him, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, the glass slick with condensation. The TV flickered in the dim light, a baseball game playing in the background, but Jay couldn’t focus on anything except the man in front of him—the smell of sweat and alcohol, the clenched jaw, the way his eyes were already looking for another excuse to lash out. It didn’t take much these days. Just alcohol and his pure existence.

“You think the world gives a damn about your feelings?” His dad scoffed, taking another swig. “You toughen up, Jay, or you get left behind. Simple as that.”

Jay didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He knew that he would burst into tears again if he tried to say anything. And really, there was nothing to say anyway.

His father leaned in, his breath hot and stale. “You hear me, boy?”

Jay nodded quickly, barely breathing, trying to make himself smaller. He knew better than to talk back. Talking back only ever made it worse. He was only 8 years old, but he had learned a thing or two in his life already.

His father grunted, satisfied, and turned back toward the game, dropping onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “Get out of my sight.”

Jay didn’t hesitate. He backed away, one slow step at a time, not daring to turn his back until he reached the hallway. Only when he was safely behind his bedroom door, the wood pressed against his spine, did he let himself breathe.
But he didn’t cry. Not anymore. Not ever again.

---

Jay breathes out, exhales slow, measured. Each exhale is forming a ghostly mist in the freezing night. It’s almost beautiful.

The memory lingers, a jagged shard of pain buried deep in his chest. Jay shakes it off, forcing the heaviness out of his limbs. But it doesn’t leave. It never leaves.

His mind returns to the sound of his father’s voice, rough and sharp, like a knife cutting through the air. “Stop crying, you little wuss.”
The words echo in his head, and Jay’s eyes sting, a familiar burn rising behind his lids.

He remembers the sting of the slap, the force of it, the way his face had burned with the impact, how his vision blurred from the shock—even 25 years later. The first time his dad hit him. It wasn’t the last, but somehow this first time was what had been etched into his memory. What hurt more than anything wasn’t the slap—it was the look in his father’s eyes. Cold. Disappointed. As if Jay had failed some unwritten test. “Feelings are for weaklings,” his father had said, his voice low and menacing. “Real men don’t cry.”

It didn’t matter that Jay was just a kid, smaller than the other boys, quieter. He wasn’t allowed to be soft. He wasn’t allowed to be vulnerable. And he learned, with each passing day, that showing emotion was like signing his own death sentence—because when he did, his father’s temper flared, and his anger became a thunderstorm Jay couldn’t outrun.

So, he promised himself, through the tears and the confusion, that he would never cry again. He would be strong, just like his father demanded, even if it meant burying every bit of emotion inside him. The promise wasn’t for anyone else. It was for him, a shield, a way to protect himself from the pain that seemed endless.

Years later, as an adult, he had kept that promise. He’d become an expert at hiding every crack in his armor, at locking away the hurt where no one could see it. Not his team, not the woman he loved, and especially not himself.

But tonight… Tonight, it feels different. The weight of it all—his past, his present, the things he couldn’t escape—presses down on him harder than ever before. And the emptiness? It swallows him whole. Tonight is the night.

But no tears. No crying. Not for him. Like not allowing himself the weakness, like chastising himself. Ironic—considering...

The cold cuts through him, sharp and biting, but it’s not the chill that’s suffocating. It’s everything he’s been holding in, everything he’s buried deep inside for so long. The city’s hum is distant, muted, like the world itself is fading out of focus. The darkness presses in, wrapping around him, thick and heavy. But tonight, it’s different. It feels like it’s closing in, suffocating him from all sides.

His hands are tight around the railing, fingers numb, knuckles pale with the pressure. It’s not enough. The tremor in his grip betrays him. He tries to hold it together—don’t cry, don’t give in—but the mantra is weak now, a fragile thread breaking under its own weight. He can’t keep pretending anymore. He can’t keep fighting it.

A breath catches in his throat. His eyes sting, the pressure building. Not now, not after everything, he thinks, but it doesn’t matter. The first tear slides down his face, slow and cold, and then more follow—each one carrying a weight he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in years. His father’s voice cuts through his mind, sharp and cruel: “Stop crying, you little wuss.”

But the voice fades, drowned out by the flood inside him. He lets them fall. The tears. He doesn’t fight them. The hurt, the anger, the frustration—all of it spills out. It burns, but it’s something he’s never let himself do before. He’s always held it back, kept it buried, kept hidden. Not anymore. Tonight is the night of ultimate vulnerability, right?

For a moment, the world around him fades entirely—the lights, the hum of the city, the wind biting at his skin. All that exists is the emptiness inside, and the raw, overwhelming flood of emotions that he can’t hold back anymore. Not that he was all too successful with it over the last few day... weeks... who is he kidding... months.

But just as quickly as the weight of it all presses down on him, a sharp, unfamiliar pain shoots through his chest—familiar in its intensity, yet not the kind of pain he’s been carrying. He’s back in a place that smells of dust and blood. The sounds of chaos are deafening—gunfire, screams, the crackling of flames. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth as his body collapses, broken and battered.

The memory hits him like a punch to the gut, and his heart stutters for a beat. He was younger then, a different man. The things he saw—the men he lost, the horrors he endured—flash through him in rapid, jagged snapshots. He feels the burn of the desert sun on his skin, the sting of shrapnel embedded in his side, the deafening roar of an explosion that nearly tore him apart. He can still feel the weight of the mission, the weight of his own survival, pressing against him.

And the pain. The bone-deep, soul-shattering pain that never quite left him.

For a moment, he’s back there, pinned down in some godforsaken corner of the world, bleeding, broken, and alone. The helplessness, the fear, the guilt, the hopelessness. The world spins around him, a blur of colors and sounds, and then it all slows.

---

The air was thick with smoke, heavy with the scent of burning metal and blood. Sand and dust swirled in the air, mixing with the distant screams, the sharp bursts of gunfire, the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. His vision blurred, but not from the heat or exhaustion—his head was ringing, a dull, nauseating throb that made it hard to think.

The explosion had come out of nowhere. One second, they were moving, tactical, controlled—the next, fire and chaos. The vehicle ahead had taken the worst of it, the force of the blast throwing bodies like ragdolls. The humvee he’d been in flipped, landing hard, crushing bone and steel alike. He didn’t remember the impact, just the aftermath—the way the world had gone eerily silent for a moment before the screams started.

Jay forced himself to move, pushing up onto shaking arms, his head spinning as he tried to get his bearings. His body ached, sharp and deep in places he didn’t want to think about, but none of that mattered. The others—where were the others?

His radio crackled, voices tangled in static and panic.
“Man down! We got—Jesus—multiple men down!”

Jay’s stomach lurched. He tried to get up, but pain shot through his side, hot and wet. He pressed a hand there, and when he pulled it away, his fingers were slick with blood.

Movement to his right. He turned, and his breath caught.
Carter lay just a few feet away, eyes wide, chest barely rising. His leg—God, his leg was gone, nothing but torn flesh and shredded uniform below the knee. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the dust like ink on paper.

Jay crawled to him, pressing down on the wound. A torniquet... he had to... where was... but there was too much blood. Too much to stop. Too late. Carter’s lips moved, but his voice was lost to the gunfire still ripping through the air.

“Stay with me, man,” Jay muttered, pressing harder, his hands slipping. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re getting out of here.”

Carter’s fingers gripped weakly at his sleeve. Jay could see it in his eyes—the understanding, the silent goodbye.
“No, no, no—stay with me, damn it!”
But Carter was already slipping. His breath hitched, then stilled. His eyes remained open, fixed on a sky that no longer held any meaning for him.

Jay’s own breath came in short gasps. He wanted to close Carter’s eyes, but his hands were shaking too badly.
A sharp voice in his earpiece cut through the fog. “We have to move!”
But there was nowhere to move to. They were pinned, outnumbered, sitting ducks in an open grave. Jay turned, his pulse hammering, scanning the wreckage. Another body. Then another. Men he’d fought beside, laughed with, shared stories with. Men who wouldn’t be going home.
For a moment he missed Chicago so fiercely that it hurt. What a strange thing to think in that moment...

And then came the worst part.
The silence.
The gunfire faded. The shouting stopped. It left only the wind and the crackling of flames licking at twisted metal.
At some point Jay must have lost some time. The sun was going down, blood red—like it was mocking him.
Jay was covered in blood. Carter’s. His own. But his injuries didn’t matter.
He was still alive. Why did that feel like the worst thing in the world?

The sound of chopper blades tore through the air, sending a gust of wind across the wreckage. Backup. Evac. He blinked up into the sky.

Jay stumbled as he tried to stand, dizziness made him crush back down to his knees. The pain in his whole torso was horrific. But suddenly someone was there to pull him up again. Mouse. “You look like shit, friend. But you’re going to be fine. We’ll get you out of here.”
But the truth was, a part of him had died there, too.

---

The past bleeds into the present, dragging him under like a riptide. The river below him is calm and icy. Yet the sounds, the smells, the heat of that day—they never really left him. The coppery tang of blood, the acrid smoke and the blood under his fingernails that clung to his skin for days, the cries that still echo in his head when the nights are too quiet. It’s all there, just beneath the surface, waiting. It never stops waiting.

He exhales, but it’s shaky, uneven. His breath fogs in the cold air, but it doesn’t reach his lungs deep enough and he feels breathless. The weight in his chest never lightens, no matter how many years pass. No matter how much he tries to drown it in work, in distraction, in pretending that it didn’t happen. Jay lets out an unhappy laugh that travels through the Chicago night air like a ghost. It’s kind of ironic how hard he had worked on his PTSD, how much time and money he spent on therapist appointments. How he had kidded himself into believing that he was making progress and getting better, when everything was coming back now with full strength to bite him. Hard. No way out. There’s no way out.

Carter is still dead. So are Evans, Ramirez, Bowen. Good men. Strong men. Men who trusted him.
Men who never came home.
But he did.

Jay swallows hard, his throat raw, the weight pressing down on him like it always does. He should’ve done more. Should’ve found a way. Should’ve been better. Stronger. They all had families waiting for them. People who loved them. Kids who would grow up without fathers. Wives who would sleep beside empty spaces. Parents who had to bury their sons.

And he lived.
Why?
Why him?

He grips the railing tighter, his knuckles aching and his bare skin on the metal red and painful. But it’s nothing compared to the ache inside him. It’s been years, but the guilt never faded. It only grew. Mutated into something he couldn’t shake, something dark and nasty that clawed at him every time he closed his eyes.

He never talked about it. Not to Erin. Not to Hailey. Not to anyone close to him. Because what was the point? They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t.
The only one who ever knew was Mouse. And Mouse—he had his own demons. His own ghosts. They never really talked about it, not in a way that mattered. Just knowing the other had been there was enough.

But now Mouse was gone, too.

---

The precinct was quiet, the late hour thinning out the usual chaos. Jay leaned against his desk, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. Mouse stood across from him, shifting on his feet, something unreadable in his expression.

“I’m going back,” Mouse said, voice steady but too light, like he was trying to make it sound casual.
Jay frowned, lowering his hand. “Back where?”

Mouse hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough. Enough for Jay’s stomach to tighten, for the air between them to shift.
“Afghanistan.”
The word hit like a punch, solid and breath-stealing.
Jay blinked, shaking his head. “No. No, you’re not.”
Mouse exhaled a humorless chuckle. “I already signed the papers.”

Jay’s heart kicked against his ribs, a sick twist in his gut.
“Why the hell would you do that?” His voice came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care. “We made it out, man. Why would you go back?”
Mouse looked away, jaw tight.
“Because I don’t belong here, Jay.”
Jay took a step forward, desperate to make him see sense.
“You do. You—” He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Dammit, Mouse, we both had trouble adjusting, but we figured it out. You were figuring it out.”
Mouse gave him a small, tired smile. “Yeah? Doesn’t feel like it.” His voice was quiet now, almost lost in the stillness of the room. “I don’t fit here, Jay. I never did.”
Jay’s throat tightened. “That’s not true.”

But Mouse just patted his shoulder, like the conversation was already over. Like Jay’s protests didn’t matter. “I’ll be fine,” he said.
Jay wanted to tell him he wouldn’t. That this was a mistake. That nothing good was waiting for him over there. But he knew that look in Mouse’s eyes—the same one Jay had worn once, back when he thought war was the only place he made sense.

So instead, he just stood there, watching his best friend slip through his fingers.
And for the first time in years, Jay had no idea how to save him.

Chapter Text

Jay leans forward, elbows digging into the frozen railing, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes, rubbing them violently. Mouse gone—his best friend. He had hardly seen him since then. They had grown distant, like everything and everyone grew distant at some point. Jay thinks about friendship but draws up blank. Yeah, there had been Terry. For a while. Two vets, two like-minded souls.
His breath rasps out in ragged gasps, each inhale sharp like glass. His heart is hammering in his ears — no, not just his heart. Gunfire. Screams. Blood.

---

It was supposed to be quiet. Just another slow shift. Just him and Terry, sipping burnt gas station coffee, transporting the money to the bank. Like many times before.
One second, they were laughing. The next—gunfire. Screams. Tires skidding. Sudden chaos—the pop, pop, pop of gunshots.
Jay and Terry on their feet, then crouching down taking cover, firing back.

Blood. So much blood.
It sprayed across the street when the bullet hit Terry’s neck.
Jay had screamed his name. Crawled through broken glass. Pressed his hands against Terry’s throat, trying to stop the bleeding.
His friend was choking, gurgling, eyes wide.
Then still.

Jay sat in the silence after, soaked in red, heart hollow.

---

His mind floods — no permission, no warning.

Jay lets out a harsh breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

Terry had had a baby on the way. A baby that never met his daddy. Because Jay was cursed. People he loved kept dying around him.
He should’ve done more. He felt like a cheater, like an imposter, the words of the minister muffled and distant—just sound and sorrow flowing on a breeze. People were crying, but Jay was silent. He couldn’t look Terry’s wife in the eye. Terry’s widow... widow... He was frozen. Like a ghost at the funeral of a man who should still be alive. If he’d just moved faster. If he’d had seen it coming. If he had taken the bullet instead.
He survived. But he doesn’t feel alive. Just... left behind.

Like losing his brothers in Afghanistan, he had locked Terry’s death down so deep that it barely felt real sometimes. Because that was the only way Jay knew how to deal with it. Thrown himself into the job, into the next case, the next criminal to chase down, the next bullet to dodge. He built a life on moving forward in the knowledge that if he ever stopped—if he ever let himself really feel it—he... he...

But now... he has stopped.
Now, it’s all crashing in.
Everything he’s been running from. Everything he’s been trying to bury beneath long shifts and sleepless nights. Every mistake, every failure, every loss—it’s here. And there’s nowhere left to run.
Nowhere left to hide.

The tears on his face have dried in the winter air, leaving behind a rawness that stretches deeper than his skin. His breath comes in short, uneven gasps, clouding in the cold, but the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. If anything, it sinks deeper, pressing into his ribs, into his lungs.

Yes, Jay had lost people in his life and it had been horrible. But then there was another loss in his life and there was no word in the English language to describe how this had made him feel and still did. His mom.

---

The hospital room was too warm. The air felt thick, heavy, like it was pressing down on him, making it harder to breathe. The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to everything, mixing with the faint floral perfume his mother still insisted on wearing, even now. Machines beeped. The hospital around him hummed quietly—a place that only existed to hold people between life and death.

Jay sat beside her bed, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees. His mother’s fingers, frail and cool, curled over his, the touch barely there but grounding all the same.
Fighting with destiny, bargaining with God. Losing.
He forced a smile onto his face, told her it was ok, that she didn’t have to fight anymore, even though it shattered something deep inside him to say it.

“You’re a good son, Jay,” she said, her voice thin but steady.
His throat tightened. He shook his head. “Mom—”
“No, listen to me.” She gave his hand a weak squeeze. “I know you don’t always believe it. I know you carry things you shouldn’t. But you are good. You’re gentle... and caring, but also strong and brave... And you’re going to be a great man.”

Jay swallowed hard, his vision blurring. He didn’t deserve those words. Not after everything. But she said it like it was an undeniable truth, like she had seen into the deepest parts of him and decided he was worth loving anyway.

She shifted slightly; her breathing labored from even that small movement. “Promise me something.”
“Anything,” Jay said immediately, voice rough.
Her lips quirked in a tired smile. “Promise me you’ll try to be happy.”
His chest clenched.
“I don’t mean just… getting by,” she continued and her words came out weak and labored. “I mean real happiness. A good life. Love, family, whatever that looks like for you.” She took another slow, careful breath. “Don’t waste your life carrying ghosts, Jay.”

He wanted to promise. Wanted to tell her he would, that he’d make something of his life, that he’d be okay. But the words wouldn’t come, because deep down, he wasn’t sure he could keep them.

His mother cupped his face, her fingers cold against his cheek. “Promise me,” she whispered.

And Jay, swallowing back every doubt, every fear, forced himself to nod.
“I’ll try, Mom.”
Her smile softened. “That’s all I ask.”

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, her paper-thin skin, holding onto her hand like if he held on tight enough, he could keep her here. But some fights weren’t meant to be won.

Some losses were inevitable.

---

And through it all, his father had been nowhere. Probably at the bottom of a bottle, too much of a coward to watch his beloved wife die.

And Will—Jay’s fingers dug into the railing—Will had promised. He’d said he’d be there. And then there had been a missed call, an apology, some excuse about work, about things he couldn’t leave, as if watching their mother slip away wasn’t reason enough.
Jay had been the one to stay. To watch her take her last breath. To sit in that unbearable silence after the machines went still. After her chest had stopped rising and falling. After her body had turned cold. He had stayed.

---

Jay’s hand shook as he pressed his phone to his ear. The hospital room was suffocating in its stillness. His mother’s body was still there, but she was gone. Really gone. The thought, the reality, was so absurd, so unthinkable...

The phone rang once. Twice.
Will answered on the third. “Jay?”
“She’s gone.” His voice came out flat. Empty.
A pause. A sharp inhale. “Jay, I—I’m so sorry.”
Jay’s grip tightened on the phone. “You should’ve been here.”
“Jay—”
“No.” His voice cracked, anger rising like a tide he couldn’t hold back. “You promised, Will. You said you’d come.”
“I—things at the hospital—”
“Our mom was dying, Will. And you weren’t here. You should have been here!”
Silence.

Jay squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He wanted to yell, to say something cruel, to make Will feel even an ounce of the pain ripping through him in that moment. But he was so damn tired.
Will’s voice, quieter this time. “I didn’t know it would happen so fast.”
Jay let out a bitter laugh, void of humor. Wasn’t he the fucking doctor in the family? Wasn’t he supposed to know? To care for sick people? And he didn’t even give a fuck about his own mother. Jay wanted to cry and scream and swear. To insult his older brother. To hurt him! But there was no point. And the only thing he said was “Yeah, well. It did.”

More silence.
Jay exhaled sharply. “Just… forget it.” His voice had lost its bite, just hollow now.
“Jay—”

He hung up.

And then, alone in that sterile, lifeless room, he finally let himself break.

---

Now, many years later, that same silence surrounds him, stretching out over the city, pressing down on him with the weight of everything he’d lost.

A desperate sob breaks out of him and tears run down his cheeks.
Jay shakes his head, to clear his thoughts. But he is pretty clear, isn’t he? There is a reason he is here tonight.
In a swift movement he swings one leg over the railing, then the second. And for a moment Jay is surprised how easy it was and how little he feels about this fundamental step in his life. Interesting.

The ledge is wide enough to stand on and the grip of his half-frozen hands tightens on the railing of the footpath of the Chicago Skyway Toll Bridge that spans the Calumet River and Calumet Harbor, 125 feet above the water. Jay knows the truth—hitting the water from this height will be like slamming into concrete. Chance of survival is slim. Should he be lucky enough to survive the fall—ha! Luck!— his body will be shattered and he will probably be unconscious from the impact. His parka will soak up the water and he’ll drown. And if even that fails, the cold will do the rest. This is fool proof.

The sadness crushes into him like a shockwave and it almost feels like physical pain. He almost died so many times. It’s kind of weird that this doesn’t feel like a blessing, but like a regret now.

His mind flashes to Afghanistan again.
The pain—he could still feel it. The burns on his legs from that explosion. The sharp sting of metal shrapnel that lodged itself into his whole side, making him bleed out slowly for hours until he finally went into respiratory arrest on the helo. He should have died then. Why didn’t he?

He could have died so many times in the streets and alleys of Chicago, in crack dens and gang houses, in shootouts and knife fights. In all those dangerous moments that came with the job. He hadn’t been careful. Some might have described him as reckless at some point. He should have died then. He should’ve.

Hell, there were times when he wanted it.

---

The world around him felt like it was underwater, muffled and distant. Jay could barely keep his eyes open, the pain searing through his body with every shallow breath. His muscles screamed in protest along with his ribs and his seriously bruised jaw, but he didn’t give them the satisfaction of flinching. The smell of antiseptic lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of blood, and the sterile white walls seemed to close in on him. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been in the hospital bed. Long enough for the bruises and cuts to start healing, but never long enough for the memories to fade.

He could still feel the cold steel of Keyes’ knife against his skin, the all-encompassing pain in his body when the shocks of the cattle prod buzzed through him, hear the man’s voice taunting him. The eternity of pain. The numbness that followed when his body couldn’t keep up with the agony. The way Keys had smiled, the power he’d held over him, and the helplessness Jay had felt as he’d been tortured in ways that felt endless. They didn’t want anything from him personally—he was just a means to get to Voight and the CI files. Jay didn’t matter. He was just a means to an end. They didn’t want any information, didn’t try to break him, but maybe they did anyway. But he never stopped fighting. He fought until his bones cracked, until his spirit almost gave out, but he didn’t die. And he didn’t know why.

And now? Now, Jay was supposed to be fine. He had to be. He had left the hospital which meant he was okay, didn’t it?

“You good?” Voight’s voice sliced through the haze of pain and confusion, snapping him back to the present. Back to the bullpen.

Jay looked up, the weight of his body pushing him down into the chair he’d somehow dragged himself to. His face was a mask of indifference, but his heart was heavy, and he could feel the blood still thick in his veins, like it didn’t want to move. His body felt wrong—too slow, too heavy. His ribs ached every time he took a breath.

“I’m fine.” The words came out so easily, so naturally. He said it for them, for Voight, for all of them.
Voight just nodded, and the conversation shifted.

Jay had thought there might be concern. Maybe someone would notice the way he still couldn’t sit still, how he couldn’t quite find the right way to breathe, how his hands shook when he thought no one was looking. But no. Not a single question about his well-being. No one even asked if he needed time. Instead, they just moved on, like it was another day at the office.

“I’m fine,” Jay repeated, more to himself than anyone else.

Erin was sitting across from him, a few feet away, but her attention wasn’t even fully on him. She was talking to Ruzek, and the words were all background noise. His thoughts kept circling, spinning through memories he wasn’t ready to confront. The pain. The blood. Keyes’ eyes.

His head felt heavy, his thoughts dark, but his body was still here, still showing up, still functioning. As always. The job needed him. Voight needed him. The city needed him. And no one was going to stop him. Not even himself.

Jay shifted in his seat, trying to hide the stiffness in his neck and the pain in his ribs. Begrudgingly Jay admitted to himself that the reason he was at work today might not be that Chicago desperately needed his workforce, but because he didn’t want to be alone. The emptiness in his apartment felt unbearable. But here, with his team, he felt more out of place than ever. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable; it was oppressive. As if they knew something, but didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to push. Maybe they thought he’d snap if they asked too much. Maybe they didn’t care enough to ask at all.
It felt like his body was broken, like it had already been shattered into pieces, and no one seemed to notice. And if they didn’t see his broken body, how would they see and treat the cracks in his soul?

“Let’s get back to it,” he said, his voice gruff as he stood up. His legs were weak beneath him, but he wouldn’t show it. He wouldn’t let them see. Not now. Not when they’d already moved on.

Voight gave him a brief look, the flicker of a frown crossing his face, but he didn’t say anything. Just turned back to the case file on his desk.

And that was it. Just like that, Jay was back in the grind. Back to the usual.

No one asked about the nightmares, the panic attacks, the flashbacks. Yeah, of course they didn’t, he told himself. Because nobody knew he had them. No one asked how it felt to be tortured. And again, he told himself that it wasn’t such a big deal. He was fine, right? Would be fine. He didn’t die after all, his body would heal quickly enough. Being tortured isn’t everyday business but an occupational hazard, right? So he shouldn’t sulk and whine but get back to it.

He was fine. He had to be.

Because there was no one left who cared to ask.

---

And now, after everything, here he is again, standing on the edge of it all. All the things he’d survived, all the chances he’d been given, all the second, third, and fourth chances he hadn’t deserved—where had they brought him?

---

“Stay with me, Jay. Hey, Jay, stay with me.”
“His vitals are dropping. He’s losing to much blood.”
“Hang in there, Jay.”

Jay’s eyes fluttered open slowly, and his mind felt disoriented, like he was floating. The world was a blur—bright lights above him, soft beeping sounds in the background. The sting of pain hit him like a wave, focused sharply in his shoulder, like his entire arm and upper body was on fire. He tried to breathe, but the sharpness in his chest made it difficult, and his body felt heavy. The ache in his shoulder was unbearable, like every movement sent shards of glass into his flesh.

His vision cleared enough to make out the sterile white walls of a hospital room, the typical hospital smell thick in the air. Hailey was sitting next to him, her hand clutching his, her face pale and worried.

“Jay… Jay, you’re awake. Thank God,” Hailey’s voice was soft, but there’s a tremor in it. She looked exhausted, like she hadn’t left his side. He tried to smile, but it’s weak, a poor attempt at reassurance. Here he was again—another hospital room. His shoulder was...
“Wha-?” He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and the effort brought a wince.

He swallowed hard, the words coming out ragged. “Hailey… wha’... What happened?”

“You’re in the hospital,” she said, her voice cracking. “You were shot, Jay. But you’re gonna be okay. You just… you need to rest, okay?”

He tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like there was a weight pressing down on him, making it harder to pull air into his lungs. His left shoulder was immobilized, and when he tried to move it, pain shot through him, making his stomach lurch and black dots dance on the edge of his vision.

“Shot...” Jay managed to say, his voice hoarse and weak. The memories of the night before, of Angela, flashed through his mind in quick, jagged snippets.

“Yeah,” Hailey continued, her voice steady, but there was an edge of fear in her eyes. “A bullet hit you. It grazed a major artery in your shoulder. You bled out fast, Jay. We almost lost you.”

“Angela,” Jay mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to push the flood of guilt that rose in his chest. “I— I should’ve stopped her. I should’ve done more… I—”

“Jay, listen to me,” Hailey interrupted, her voice firmer now. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She wasn’t the same person anymore. You tried to help her. She’s the one who pulled the trigger, not you.”

But it wasn’t enough. Jay couldn’t shake the images of Angela’s face, the pain in her eyes when she had shot him. The coldness.
The weight of the guilt pressed down on him, and the tears were quick to follow. He was trying to hold them back, but they spilled out of his eyes, running down the sides of his face.

“I should’ve—” His voice cracks. “I let her down. I— I didn’t even see it coming. I... it’s all my fault that she was in that situation and... I... couldn’t protect her, and now—” His breath hitches in his chest. “You’re a good son, you’re going to be a great man” echoed through his head. Whispers from the past. But his mom had been mistaken.

Hailey’s grip on his hand tightened, but she didn’t let go. “Stop. You’re here, okay? You’re still breathing. That’s what matters. It’s not your fault.”
No... no, Hailey didn’t understand... He hadn’t been there for her when she needed him, and now he was lying here, injured and broken, because of his failure to do right by her.

“Angela... how is... is she ok?” he croaked out.
Hailey furrowed her brow. “Alive.”

“Why?” His voice was barely a whisper. “Why am I still here?”

Hailey looked at him, her eyes filled with shock—then compassion and sadness. “Because you’re strong, Jay. You’re still here because you matter. You don’t get to give up now. Not like this. You’ll heal and be fine.”

Fine... Jay squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push back the pain. The physical pain in his shoulder, and the emotional pain in his chest. The feeling of failing, of letting people down, seemed to drown out everything else. The bullet that had hit him wasn’t just a wound—it was a reminder of all the ways he’d messed up.

He tried to focus on Hailey’s words, but they didn’t make the guilt go away. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, feeling the weight of it all. “I’m sorry I let you all down.”

“Jay, you didn’t let anyone down,” Hailey said softly, leaning closer, her voice breaking with the emotion she was trying to hold back. “You’re gonna get through this. We’re all here for you. We always will be. I always will.”

Jay wondered about Hailey’s last sentence for a second, but his brain was cloudy and slow and he just needs to... not think, not feel, not be in pain for a while.

---

He doesn’t want to die. Not then and not now. Not really. He just... can’t live like this anymore. He can’t keep going, carrying all this weight. All the deaths, all the wounds, the regret, the guilt, the pain, the loneliness! The fucking crushing loneliness!
His mind spins, all those moments playing out in front of him, flashing in a disjointed, frantic reel.

Jay closes his eyes, the tears threatening again, but it doesn’t matter. They’re forcing their way down his frozen cheeks again. Maybe they never left. This time, they feel like an old friend, like a release he’s been denying himself for too long.

Jay shifts on the narrow ledge, his boots making scratching sounds on the metal. For a weak moment he wishes someone would come to stop him. Wishes someone would care enough. But he knows it won’t be happening.

---

The weight of the case lingered long after the adrenaline had faded, even as he sat at his desk, staring blankly at the file. A kid. A child. The kind of case that dug deep and didn’t let go. The kind of case Jay couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.
He had seen the horror of violence before, but there was something about cases with children that twisted his gut. Something about the helplessness. Something about the way the world could be so damn ugly, brutal and cruel.

He dragged a hand down his face, trying to shake the thoughts away, but they clung to him, the image of that boy stuck in his mind, haunting him. He needed a break. He needed to... he didn’t know... forget it all, even if it was just for a little while?

“Anyone up for Molly’s later? I’m buying,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. He hadn’t planned on asking. Maybe it was more of a hope, a desperate need for someone to pull him out of his head for just a few hours.

Kim didn’t even look up. “I’ve got paperwork, sorry, Jay,” she muttered without even thinking.
Kevin barely glanced over. “I’ve got a thing tonight. Maybe another time.”
Adam was already gathering his things. “I’m out, man. Rain check.”

Jay nodded, not offended, just… tired. He couldn’t be mad at them, not really. The case had been hard on all of them. They all were tired. They all had their own lives, their own shit to deal with. He wasn’t special.

He turned to Hailey, hoping for a different response, but she was already on her way out the door, her purse in hand. “I can’t, Jay. I’ve got a date tonight.” She smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Jay’s heart sank, just for a moment. A date... He wasn’t angry—or jealous. He wouldn’t let himself be. But the sting hit harder than he cared to admit. He pushed the feeling aside quickly, swallowing it down.

“Right. Of course,” he said, forcing a smile. “Have fun. See you tomorrow.”

He heard her footsteps fade away, and the silence in the bullpen settled over him like a weight. No one had time for him tonight. But that was okay. Right?

Maybe he was just being stupid, hoping for something more.

But damn, he hated this feeling. The loneliness. The emptiness that crept in, the realization that no matter how close they all were at work, no matter how much they pretended to be a team, they weren’t really there for him, not when he needed them. And he wondered if it was his own fault. If Kim had asked for help, they would have been there, right? Why... not for him?

A family didn’t do that. A family didn’t let you fall through the cracks. But maybe that was just it. Maybe Jay didn’t have, didn’t deserve a family. Not after everything he’d been through. Not after everything he’d put others through.
No, maybe this wasn’t it. Maybe they just didn’t know he was struggling... That he needed help, company... it wasn’t like he was loudly proclaiming it, or anything... It probably was his own fault for always claiming he was “fine”? He was the one who always functioned, even when his outer appearance was just held together by thread.

It didn’t matter. He was used to it. His father had never been there when he needed him, and his mother had always made excuses for him. Will had always had his own friends and little time or interest in his little brother. Maybe that’s what family really was. A dysfunctional assembly of people, nothing more. And this was just another reminder that when things got tough, you were on your own. Simple as that.

He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and walked out of the bullpen.

When Jay stumbled out of a random run-down bar that night, vomiting into the gutter, the cool air bit at his face, but it didn’t reach the hollow inside. He kept walking, aimlessly, letting the numbness take over.
Maybe this was all there was.

---

Jay clenches and unclenches his frozen hands around the railing. The wind cuts across the river, sharp and unforgiving, just like everything else in Jay Halstead’s life these days. He stands at the edge of the bridge, the toes in his boots already over the abyss, fingers curled around the cold steel railing, knuckles white. The city in front of him blurs—just lights and distant noise, life going on without him. He’s insignificant.

Jay suddenly realizes that he’s never felt this alone. Not even in the desert, not even in the blood-soaked silence after a firefight. Not after his mom died. Not after Mouse left. Not while he was being tortured by Keyes. No, out here, above the water, there’s the ultimate loneliness, the ultimate despair. No distraction. Just the weight of everything he’s carried and everything he’s lost. The unbearable weight of everything he has fucked up.

He doesn’t want to be whiny; he doesn’t want to be dramatic. He knows there’s a lot of people out there in Chicago and the world who had it worse than him. But the truth is, he’s tired. Tired of pretending he’s okay. Tired of showing up, of going through the motions. Tired of being the one everyone counts on when he has no one left to lean on himself. Tired of the loneliness.

The ache in his chest isn’t new—it’s been there for years. A slow burn that started the day Erin left.

He closes his eyes, the noise of the city fading. Behind his eyelids, memories flicker—moments that still cut deeper than any bullet ever could.

---

The apartment was too quiet.

Jay pushed the door open, expecting to hear the soft hum of music Erin always left playing in the background, or the sound of her moving around the kitchen. Instead, there was nothing. Just the hollow creak of the door behind him and the steady thump of his heart beginning to pick up speed.

“Erin?” he called out.
No answer.

His boots echoed against the hardwood floor as he stepped further in. Her coat wasn’t on the hook. Her shoes weren’t by the door. The living room was… off. The blanket she always curled up with was folded neatly on the back of the couch. The coffee mug that had been sitting on the table that morning—gone.

His chest tightened.
He moved to the bedroom, opened the closet.
Empty hangers swung like they were mocking him.
The drawers were open. Half-empty. Some completely cleared out.
He stood there, numb, staring at the space where her clothes had been. At the bare nightstand where her books and lip balm and charger used to be. Gone.

No note. No message. No goodbye.
It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

His hand slipped into his pocket on instinct, fingers brushing against the small velvet box he’d carried all day. The one with his grandmother’s engagement ring inside. The one he’d been planning to give her tonight.
It burned against his palm. Like fire. Like shame.

He pulled it out slowly, stared at it for a moment. It was supposed to mean forever. Commitment. Home. Instead, it felt like a cruel joke. A punchline to a story that hadn’t even let him know it was ending.

She hadn’t just left. She’d erased herself. Like he didn’t matter. Like he’d never mattered. Like she had never loved him at all.

Jay sank down onto the bed, the little box still in his hand, and felt the silence crush him.

Chapter Text

“Hhhaaaa” The memory releases itself from his mouth with a pathetic sound that is part cry, part sob, part wail. The night doesn’t judge though and so doesn’t the river. And that’s why he’s here. He’ll sink down into the dark, ice-cold water. The river will welcome him, hide him, hug him in death and nobody will ever find him.

Is it a weird thought he doesn’t want to do this where people would find him? Where he would traumatize an L-train driver when he jumped in front of the approaching train? Where his shattered body would cause delays for people just trying to get home to their families for dinner and somebody would have to scrape his remains from the tracks? Or where he would make a mess somebody had to clean up after he cut his arteries or blew his brains out with his gun? No. He would go quietly. Not leaving with a bang, but with a whimper.

In this moment he doesn’t remember driving here. Doesn’t remember leaving his apartment. It’s all a blur—just pain and noise and silence, all at once.

He grips the railing until his knuckles turn white. His lungs burn, but he can’t tell if it’s the cold or the panic. The ache in his chest won’t let up. Like something sharp is lodged behind his ribs, digging deeper with every breath. Not the cold. Panic attack. His arms are shaking.
He wishes it would stop. But soon it will.

“Promise me you’ll be happy, Jay.” Those had been some of his mom’s last words. He had tried. He really had. But after Erin it had been almost impossible. He had failed. Failed his dying mother.
“I really tried, Mom!” it came out as a wet sob. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fallen in love since... he had... but that was part of the problem. Because being in love could also make you more lonely than anything else.

---

He had loved her for longer than he wanted to admit.
It had started quiet. Subtle. A shared smile in the bullpen. A moment of wordless understanding in the middle of chaos. A touch on his arm that lingered just a second too long. He told himself it was nothing. Friendly. Professional.

But it grew.
The more time they spent together, the harder it became to pretend. She was steady. Fierce. Brilliant. And when she looked at him, really looked at him, it was like she saw through every wall he’d ever built. Hailey. Hailey. Like an angel.

And God, he wanted to let her in.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Not after Erin. Not after the way she had gutted him, left without a word, and made him question if he’d ever been enough. Not after everything. Not after all of the fucking baggage he was carrying. He was breaking under the load, and he wouldn’t burden Hailey with any of it!
Hailey deserved more than a half-broken man too afraid to try again.

So he held back.

He buried every glance, every word he wanted to say, every time his hand almost reached for hers. He watched her date other people, and he smiled through it. He had one night stands and wished nothing more than it was her. Only her. He watched her laugh and imagined how it might sound when it was just for him. He bottled it all up, convinced it was better this way. Safer. For her. For himself. If he never tried, he’d never be rejected. If he never said it, it couldn’t be taken away.

It was stupid—maybe.
Lonely—for sure.
Miserable—100-fucking-percent.

But it didn’t shatter him like another wordless goodbye would have.
So he stayed quiet. And every day, a little more of him faded away.

---

And still he had clung to life. Not because of conviction but just because that’s what you did. You didn’t cry, you didn’t moan or complain. No, you got back up and went on... and deep down he was also convinced that a human life was valuable. That bad people could be redeemed, wrongs made right. He still firmly believed in this.

Until today.

---

It had been just another raid. Another house, another set of threats, another mission to complete.

The adrenaline had been running high, the team ready to go in, as always. Jay was focused, eyes sharp, ears tuned to the faintest sounds, his body ready to respond to whatever threat lay behind that door.
They’d breached the house, weapons raised, adrenaline pumping. The chaos of that first moment blurred—shouts, gunfire, the rush of everything happening at once. But then the sound came.
A scream.
Not from the suspect. Not from anyone trained for this life. It was a child’s scream. High-pitched. Full of terror.

Jay’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes darted to the source—everything happening in slow motion now, the world narrowing down to that one single sound.

And then, there she was.
A little girl, her small body shaking in the corner of the room. She was crying, her face pale, her wide eyes filled with fear and confusion. She couldn’t have been more than five.

He hadn’t seen her! There was no way he could have! She... She was hidden behind a stack of furniture, out of sight until it was too late. His focus had been on the adults, the suspects, the threats.
But she was there, and he... in the confusion, in the milliseconds that felt like eternity, Jay had reacted instinctively. Like he had been trained to do. He hadn’t processed the situation fully. His weapon had been raised, his finger on the trigger, and the shot had come out before he could even fully realize she was there. Oh, God. Oh, dear Lord!

He had missed his target, and the bullet found her. A little girl. Just a little girl!
Time had stopped for a moment. And... maybe had never restarted properly since then...
The girl was on the ground, a sound of horror and pain escaping her lips before she went silent. The chaos around him blurred, but Jay couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. With an empty clang his gun dropped to the ground.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He had shot her. A child.
The team had scrambled to get her help, pushing past his shaking form, shoving him aside. Pressing down on a wound he had inflicted. Like in a blur Jay had seen the paramedics arrive, treat her, rush her to hospital... Jay didn’t remember how he had gotten to MED, to the ER. How he had looked down onto his hands, expecting them to be dowsed in blood. A little girl’s blood. But there was none. Why weren’t his hands bloody? Why? He... he had shot her! There should be blood on his hands! The blood of innocence, an unshakable stain that no amount of apologies or justifications could ever wash away.
He stood amidst the wreckage of it all. The world around him might have continued to turn, but he was frozen.
And he prayed. Like he hadn’t prayed since his mom had been dying.

After what seemed like an eternity, Will had emerged through one of the doors and slightly shaken his head. So this was it. The end of the world. A woman screamed. A woman that had been a mother, but wasn’t anymore. He wanted to say something, but there was nothing that could make this better! Nothing!
Jay felt dragged away. He stumbled and like through a fog he heard Hailey say “I’m so sorry, Jay! It wasn’t your fault! You didn’t do anything wrong!” and she put a hand on his forearm, but he shook it off. He couldn’t! Just couldn’t!
He wanted to scream, and laugh and punch a hole into the damn wall. Of course it was his fault! If he hadn’t been there, she would still be alive. And that’s when he knew. He shouldn’t be here.

---

Jay’s heart pounds in his chest, the beat quick and erratic, as if it’s trying to break free. His mind is a mess of sharp edges—thoughts slashing through him, each one colder than the last. It’s all too much. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. His thoughts tumble over each other in a suffocating avalanche.

Guilt. Shame. Loneliness. So much pain! They press down on him, each one heavier than the last. It all leads here. The faces of everyone he’s let down flash before him, his mistakes, his failures. The little girl’s face, pale and lifeless. She had been so small. So innocent. And he had taken that from her. He had taken her life. Her beautiful, still little face will haunt him forever. Only that forever won’t be a very long time for Jay Halstead now.

His hands are clammy despite the cold, his body trembling. He grips the freezing metal of the bridge railing with his numb red hands, his knuckles white with the strain. The wind bites at his skin, but it doesn’t cut through the chaos swirling inside his mind.

Everything is too loud, even the silence. Too chaotic. The guilt wraps around his chest like a vice, and every breath feels like a struggle. He can’t breathe and wheezes desperately. He can’t stop thinking about all the things he could’ve done differently. He could’ve been better. He could’ve stopped the raid, stopped the shot. He could’ve been more for Erin, for Hailey, for Mouse, for his mom, for Will, for his Rangers brothers. But he hadn’t been. He hadn’t been enough for any of them.

The calm, cold river below mocks him. It moves with an easy grace, gliding over the rocks, as if it doesn’t care about the storm inside him. And why should it. He is irrelevant for the course of the world. The river is so soft, beautiful, so still, so quiet, so… peaceful. Everything he isn’t.

The river beckons. It feels like the only escape.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. It’s over,” he thinks. Maybe says it out loud. He doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter.

His breath catches in his throat. The world starts to spin, faster and faster. The edges of his vision blur, and his heart is now thudding in his ears. The gravity of what he is about to do bashes into him with full force. The panic clawing at him, his chest tight, his lungs struggling to pull air in. Every second drags. Every second is a thousand needles, pushing deeper into his skin.

He’s leaning forward, about to let go. The tension in his grip is all that’s holding him back.

His body sways, like a leaf in the wind, ready to fall. The quiet pull of the river below calls to him, promises peace, and then—

“JAY!”

The shout breaks through the haze in his mind. It’s sharp, urgent. It’s a voice he knows. A voice he would recognize anywhere. His heart stops. The panic shifts, but it’s replaced by something else. Something even worse.

He feels the words trying to claw their way out, but they don’t come. His body is still, frozen to the railing. His hand twitches, a tiny movement, like he’s not quite sure if he’s supposed to hold on or let go.

The world is still spinning, but the voice holds him in place. For now. He can feel the rush of cold air on his face. He wants to scream. He wants to shout at the voice to leave him alone. He wants to disappear into the nothingness.

But he can’t. He can’t move. He’s stuck between this world and the next, the call of the river below, and the desperate voice above.

He feels the grip on the railing loosen just a fraction. Just enough to feel the cold metal slip through his fingers.

His mind screams at him to jump. To end it. To make everything stop.

But there’s still the voice. Still the sound of his name, reaching through the fog.

“JAY! Please...”

For a moment—just a moment—his world freezes. Everything is silent. His breath stills in his chest. All that is left is just whispers over water. He doesn’t know if the voice will save him. Or if it ever could.
His grip loosens. His fingers hover at the edge, trembling.