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“Hey, how you doin’?” Jay asked casually, offering Will a nod, something approaching a smile, about as cordial as he ever managed with his brother when there wasn’t alcohol in him. But that wasn’t a bad thing necessarily. They were Halstead men – they were tough, sturdy, they didn’t show emotion and that was how they were. It was fine. Both of them had been through so much hell, and it was just – part and parcel of their lives. Tough. So right now, sitting down on a rare day off to grab some lunch, Will was determined to make sure it didn’t end up in another argument. Both of them had a temper worthy of his hair – an inheritance from an entirely unknown member of his family – that Jay hadn’t gotten, of course, nobody else had – but he was quite enjoying not being on the outs with the other man.
“So, how’s work been? Or are you not allowed to talk about any of it?” Will asked, keeping his tone light as he looked over the menu. They’d been to this café a dozen times – it was one of their favourites. Reminded them both of the place they used to go in Canaryville, with their dad, back when they were kids. Did good chicken strips. Although he tended towards the salads and grilled chicken nowadays – better for him. But it was still habit to check. No, the menu hadn’t changed in – what – four years? Nah. He was going to get the same thing he always got, as was Jay, and it’d be fine.
“Ah, y’know how it is. Got a half-dozen cases at any given time, trying to keep track of any of them is a bear. Got drug dealers on one hand, still trying to mop up the last of the Ray Burke bullshit.”
“Wait, what? Ray Bur – he’s – he’s in jail, right? And they’re all – locked up or dead? What do you mean there’s still stuff -” His heart was thumping, suddenly so loud he was surprised if Jay couldn’t hear it across the damn table. His hand was tightening on the edge of the table, mind throwing up a dozen images, but more than anything, noise, sensation, smell – burning rubber, blood, white-hot pain through his head and side – the fear, copper in his throat -
“Gentlemen, hello! Lovely to see you again. What can I get you today?”
“Oh, hey, yeah, can I get a coke, chicken tenders and fries with a side salad?” Jay looked up at the waiter, as casual as if he hadn’t just dropped a massive bombshell on Will. The normalcy of the conversation, at least, drew his eyes upwards to the waiter, who seemed entirely unbothered. Must not have been as obvious as he thought. Get a damned grip, Will. He swallowed hard as the eyes turned towards him, releasing the edge of his table from his grip, stiff fingers moving, pressing them down onto the wooden grain of the countertop.
“Um. Yeah. I – yeah. Iced tea, uh – a – a garden salad – grilled chicken, ranch, thank – thanks.” he swallowed hard, Jay’s pale eyes narrowing in his direction. Trying to offer a smile at the young man who jotted down his order, entirely dead-eyed and with all the weight of the world that only a job like this could put on your shoulders.
“You good, man?” Jay asked, tilting his head slightly. “You look kinda pale.”
“You’re still dealing with that case?” he asked, voice quieter.
“It’s nothing major, man, I swear. Just – paperwork, loose edges, closing up the dregs of his businesses. Nothing to worry about, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it, I know it’s been a – a shitshow for you, Will. I’m sorry you ever got looped up in it.”
“Hey, no, I’m – I’m good, don’t worry about me.” Will responded, trying to force his tone to stay light, to take in a breath and have it not come out shuddering. Just mopping up. Nothing important. No dead bodies. Nothing that he needed to worry about. And yet his fingertips were shaking as he ran his nails over the gouges and ripples in the woodwork, the glossiness that gave away it was more plastic than plant, inhale, exhale, just like Dr Kwan had taught him, all about control.
“Alright. If you say so.” Jay replied, “But yeah, I got some – drug dealer down on the south side that’s causing problems, trying to cut up new turf, which is pissing everyone else off. Got a fuckin’ – firestorm going on down there.” he sighed. The drinks arrived; the weather was actually pretty pleasant for Chicago, condensation shining on the glasses, ice cubes clinking gently as they were placed down. Nodding sharply at the waiter, he picked his tea up, taking a sip. Maybe it was just a sugar crash. He’d been working nightshifts recently; he just hadn’t been adjusted to being awake in the day, that was all it was.
“Well, that probably explains the uptick in gunshots we’ve had the last week or so.” he tried to keep his tone dry. The ice cubes were rattling against the sides of the glass. He put it down, a little too hard, a few droplets splashing over the side and onto the table.
“Will, man. You sure you’re okay?” Jay asked, a little more firmly now, “You seriously look like shit. Anything I can help with?”
“Just – just low blood sugar.” he replied, pressing his palms back against the table to keep them from trembling. “Be better once I’ve got some calories in me.” and it was funny because his voice sounded so normal, even if it felt like his insides were jiggling like jell-o, desperate to escape his skin. The world was sitting off-kilter, as if he was looking over his shoulder at the world that was going on around him. His heart – stuttering. His brain dashed over a dozen different heart conditions it could be, but discarded them all, bringing up his hand, pressing the heel into the centre of his chest.
“Will -” Jay opened his mouth to say more as the waiter arrived with their food. Distracted, he nodded his thanks as the food was clunked down in front of them. Will nodded, his entire throat feeling tight. The salad was his go-to here; usually pretty good. Right now, staring at it, he wasn’t sure he wanted it, stomach all twisty and knotty. Blood sugar. Yeah, right. He drove down his fork, crunching it through the salad. Eyes fixed on the tines, the lettuce leaves trembling. That wasn’t right. His chest was tightening. He wasn’t having a heart attack, he knew that, only it felt so much like one right now, the soft tinking noise as his fork rattled off the side of the bowl now.
“Hey. Man. Hey, look at me. Will?” he couldn’t seem to stop staring at the shivering greenery currently speared in front of him. Couldn’t draw his eyes up to look at his brother, who sounded so damned concerned and right now he wanted to stop that, stop that worry, stop all of the unnecessary -
And there was a gun, pointed at his head, and there was a gunshot, and there was blood, coppery and too sweet in the air, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t, he had to leave, he couldn’t be here, he -
“Will! Jesus, Will! Come on, man, come on, snap outta it -” and his brother was here, holding a gun, only the air wasn’t cold and dank, it was warm with an afternoon summer sun and Jay wasn’t holding a gun but was stood in front of him and when had Will stood up? Solid wall against his back and a wide-eyed waiter finally snapped out of his miasma of distraction, eyes fixed on the maniac redhead with his back against the brickwork. His heart was thundering, trying to rip itself out of his chest. Legs jelly, trying to keep himself standing but his god-damned body was starting to fail him, couldn’t get enough oxygen in and he was starting to slide down towards the fall. Jay was there, through an impossible fog, supporting his arms as they did a controlled fall towards the ground.
“Do I – do I need to call the hospital? Should I call Natalie?” he was demanding, Will’s mouth opening and closing, but the words seemed to be stuck, he couldn’t get air in. His brain was tangled up in screeching cars and blinding headlights, that burning rubber, dusty warehouses, that unmistakable tang of gunmetal hanging heavy in the air. “Will! Talk to me, man!” Desperation was bubbling in Jay’s voice, hands squeezing his shoulders.
“No – no hospital.” It came out an embarrassing wheeze. He shut his eyes, inhaled as best he could past the tightness in his chest. “Good. Okay. Got it. Got it.” he swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “Panic – panic attack.” as he said it he knew it was correct, but – “Not sure – what – caused it -” Jay’s eyes were widening. It felt so strange to admit it, that this was happening. Weird, wrong, owning up to it – especially to his brother. The other didn’t know. They hadn’t talked about it, rarely talked about anything as serious as his health like this. He shut his eyes, tilted his head back against the brick, still floating in that half void over his shoulder.
“A car.” Jay said, quietly. “It was a car, Will, it backfired, even I flinched.” he shook his head, “But you were up like – like a shot. Poor choice of words, okay.” he murmured the last bit, shaking his head. “I’ve got you, man, I got you. Nobody here. No guns. And nobody’s going to fuck with you, not with me here, right?” he shut his eyes again, and nodded, slowly, the presence of his brother suddenly immensely solid and real. To think he was still reacting this badly to a sound even slightly like a gun. After he’d gotten his own, to feel safe. After how calmly he’d managed to react when that kid, with his partner, had made him hang curtains, had made him do all those desperate things, and he hadn’t fallen apart over that.
Except, of course, he had. The moment he’d gotten home. He’d ended up curled up in the corner and gasping until he nearly lost consciousness, been forced to call Dr Kwan who had been very clear about timing and boundaries.
He really needed to get a better therapist.
“… Does this happen often?” Jay’s voice was stiff.
“More often than I’d like.” Will mumbled. He heard Jay’s inhale. “No, man, it’s – it’s okay. Don’t worry, it’s okay. Not at work, never at work.” and maybe that was the problem, that he couldn’t let it loose there. He cracked his eyes open. He still felt completely disconnected, and now he was totally exhausted, but his brain was clicking more into reality again. And Jay was staring at him with near outright fear. Guilt wrapped around his chest, more painful than the hyperventilation. The wind blew gently, warm and cool at the same time, and he could see where he’d knocked his food onto the floor, the poor waiter that would have to clean it up…
“Anything I can… do to help?” Jay asked, lacklustre, awkward. Will half-smiled. God, he was tired.
“Nah, man. I mean – not now, I don’t think.” he admitted. “If I think you can, y’know, I’ll – I’ll call you. Maybe should do it more often than I do.” he said. “Sometimes I’m up in the dead of night and I just …”
“You should call me.” Jay replied, without hesitation. “I won’t be mad, Will. You’re my brother, man. You’re all I got. I gotta look after you. You okay to move?” he asked, awkwardly, but Will nodded, Jay immediately tugging his arm, getting the younger but taller sibling to slightly wobbly feet, back over to his chair. Will slumped into it, sliding his tea back over and taking a long sip of it, hoping the sugar would help with the tremble in his hands. “I’m serious, though. Call me. Any time you need. Jesus, you shouldn’t be… I never should’ve involved you. Not once.” he sighed. “This is my fault.”
“No, Jay. Don’t. It doesn’t help anything.” Will replied, “Trust me, I’ve spent plenty of time with the blame game. It doesn’t fix things, it just – gets you stuck in your head.”
Silence fell between them. He sipped his drink. Jay seemed lost for words. Finally, he slid his plate in the middle of the table. After a moment’s hesitation, Will took a chicken strip. Jay took another. It was delicious – crispy and greasy, and so bad for him, with just a splash of barbecue sauce. Strange without his dad sitting there with a beer, pooling quarters to play on the arcade machine that this particular place didn’t have but the place in Canaryville did.
“I miss you, man.” Jay said, finally.
“I miss you too.” Will replied, smiling at the table.
“I’ll be better.”
“Yeah. Me too.”