Hello Anon! I know this prompt was sent forever ago but this is me trying to get back into the swing of writing so I hope you see this and are still interested x
Biiiiig thanks to @lionheartedghost for encouraging me to give this a go, and for all your encouragement in everything, really.
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It felt like fate when Will’s eyes settled on Connor at the unfamiliar bar he’d stepped into on a whim. Almost serendipitous, he dared to think, smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but then he noticed the drawn look on Connor’s face, the dark bags under his eyes, the mess that was once his well-groomed beard, and he deflated instantly. Just fate, then. Not quite so sweet as serendipity.
Still, he couldn’t quite chase away the ember that had ignited in his chest at the sight, despite the air of sadness hanging around Connor. It was a feeling of hope he hadn’t even known he’d needed until it spread a long-forgotten warmth throughout his body.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said as he settled at the bar, just loud enough to be heard over the music and chatter around them.
Connor turned to look at him, a genuine, albetit small smile chasing away the confusion on his face almost instantly. “Will? What are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same thing.”
It was meant to be light, teasing, but something dark flickered across Connor’s expression and he turned back to his drink with a noise somewhere between a scoff and a sigh.
Will knew the answer before he asked, but he had to anyway, just in case no one had bothered to ask yet. “Are you okay?”
Connor huffed out a tired laugh, scraping his fingertips through his beard before downing the remainder of his drink. He hailed the bartender down for another, gesturing for Will to do the same, and for a moment Will thought he wasn’t going to get an answer, which only caused worry to settle heavy in his stomach.
“I could be better,” he said eventually.
Will opened his mouth to respond before closing it, not quite sure what to say. He wanted to offer to help, to talk it out, to listen, to do whatever needed to be done, but he knew deep down there was likely nothing he could do or say to help. He’d pieced together everything that had happened through things Connor had confided in him mixed with hospital gossip. He’d held onto that knowledge when he’d realised Connor had left without a goodbye, that he wasn’t answering his phone, that his apartment was already empty. He’d held onto that knowledge of everything Connor had gone through because underneath his understanding was a pain so fierce it threatened to burn right through him.
Connor threw a wry smile in his direction, one that looked hollow and out of place on his face. “Oh, you wanted me to lie?”
“No.” Will shook his head right away, angling himself towards Connor just a little more. “I guess I just…I didn’t expect such an honest answer after you disappeared without a trace.”
“Can you blame me?”
“I wanted to,” he said before he could catch himself.
He felt his ears grow hot and he ducked his head instinctively before forcing himself to straighten again, to look Connor in the eye.
“So blame me.”
There was a sudden sadness in Connor’s voice that made Will’s heart clench, and he shook his head, reaching out so his fingertips just lightly brushed the back of Connor’s hand; an offer, a question—he wasn’t entirely sure.
“I thought we were closer than that,” Will said, keeping his voice steady, measured, even, non-accusatory. “But of course I don’t blame you.”
It felt like eternity before Connor’s lips broke into a sad smile, an echo of what used to take its place.
“We were closer than that,” he said gently, turning his hand over, fingers curling around Will’s. “I just...couldn’t come to you. I couldn’t bear the thought—“ he broke off with a sigh, rubbing his eyes.
Will squeezed Connor’s hand, chest swelling with something akin to hope. “It’s okay.”
Connor shook his head, but he didn’t pull his hand away. If anything, he held on a little tighter, not letting go as they sat in silence finishing their drinks.
“Come on,” Will said gently, placing a few bills on the counter before Connor could order another. “I’ll walk you home.”
“That’s in the opposite direction to you,” Connor said, though it didn’t sound like a protest, and he hopped off the bar stool anyway, following Will’s lead.
Will had thought that once they were outside, fresh spring air hitting their faces, that the spell would be broken and things would seem awkward, uncomfortable, like two old friends who realise they’ve not got much in common anymore, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Connor seemed to lean into him, intertwining their fingers as they walked, head turned away just enough that Will couldn’t read his expression. He didn’t dare try, though. He just walked silently, hand in hand with what could have been, once upon a time. What could be now if he played his cards right.
“Is this unfair of me?” Connor asked quietly, finally looking at Will.
“What?” Will asked dumbly, both surprised and confused by the question.
Connor lifted their joined hands between them, giving Will’s hand a small shake. “This.”
“I think you’ll find I started this,” he teased with a soft laugh, nudging Connor gently.
Connor laughed in response, light and airy and genuine, some of the tension finally, finally leaving his shoulders.
He knew he couldn’t fix everything, he knew there was no magic cure, that it was a process that Connor had to go through and he may never be the same, even when he was okay again, but this was a start. Here, hands joined, summer breeze blowing around them, smile lighting up Connor’s face in what looked like the first time in months, was a start, and that’s all he could hope for.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Chicago Med
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Will Halstead/Connor Rhodes, Rhodestead - Relationship
Characters: Will Halstead, Connor Rhodes
Summary:
“‘M not even sick,” Connor mutters thickly, but hangs his head over the toilet anyway as a hiccup rolls through his body.
He heaves painfully this time, throat aching, tears forming in his eyes, back arching into Will’s hand with the effort, and a voice in the back of his head tells him that maybe he is sick after all, even though it came out of nowhere, because in all his life, this has never happened. He’s had the odd reflux attack, but never like this, never a swirling nausea that leaves him gagging emptily over a public toilet, sweat coating his forehead.
For @lets-get-rickety-rekt for always being amazing xxx
Did you do this to yourself?” And rhodestead please
READ ON AO3
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Empty. Lifeless.
Connor flexes his knuckles, tests that painful stretch of swollen flesh before clenching it into a fist again.
There’s blood speckled on his shirt, likely more than he can see without taking it off. He counts the flecks for something to do, something to take his mind of the pain rattling around his ribcage, the giant hole that’s opened up inside of him that only seems to be getting bigger and bigger with each day that passes.
He squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring the painful throb from what is likely to be a black eye blossoming, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. It’s intended to ground him, but it does nothing more than remind him that he has nothing and no one, that he’s isolated himself from even the one person who could always make everything better. He’s sitting in a jail cell, completely alone with no one to call, no one to ask for help, absolutely no one in the world to turn to. He sucks in a sharp breath as the hole inside him seems to grow, and as the locks clunk and a gate slides open he bows his head, skin crawling at the thought of having to share this cell with someone else.
He counts the steps as whoever’s entering walks towards him. There are two sets of footsteps, then one once his cell opens, but there’s no struggle, no voices, nothing to indicate this person doesn’t want to be here. Connor’s about to lift his head out of curiosity when the person crouches down in front of him, familiar pale hands covering his own gently.
“Hey,” Will whispers, thumb brushing soothingly across the back of Connor’s hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Connor’s throat tightens, tears springing to his eyes, and for the first time in weeks, he actually feels something other than that gaping, painful emptiness that’s slowly consuming him. He feels shame and hope and fear and embarrassment and love and something far, far more painful, something he can’t quite describe, something that feels like his chest is going to crack open. It makes it hard to breathe, hard to think, so he follows Will wordlessly, swallowing hard against the rising lump in his throat, fighting back tears because he doesn’t want Will to see him cry, not when he’s already seeing him like this.
“Not even gonna ask who called me?” Will quips with a grin once they’re outside.
Connor angles his head in question but doesn’t say anything, still barely holding it together.
Will sighs before climbing into his car, starting it before Connor’s even inside. “The desk sergeant called Jay, who called me,” Will explains, voice quieter, more resigned. “Thought you might be happy to see me.”
He was, and he wanted to say as such, but he couldn’t quite form the words, tears still threatening to cloud his vision. There was a part of him that wished Will never came, that he was still locked inside a jail cell, alone and cold and aching, but without a witness. This…this was too much.
“Whatever,” Will sighs as he pulls out of the driveway. “I’ll take you to the hospital and then—“
“No hospital,” Connor croaks out, hand grabbing Will’s arm. “Please.”
“So he can talk,” Will says, raising an eyebrow. “Someone needs to check you over, make sure there’s no hidden damage, clean you up.”
“You can do that.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Will challenges with a stern look.
Connor lowers his gaze, letting go of his grip on Will’s hand as he settles back in his seat, making himself as small as possible. “Asking.”
Will doesn’t respond, and Connor doesn’t want to push, but after a while it becomes clear they’re heading to Connor’s apartment and not the hospital, and he relaxes a little, letting his head fall against the window.
They don’t speak for the rest of the drive, and with each passing minute, Connor finds he misses the sound of Will’s voice more and more, an absurd thought, he knows, but something he can’t shake nonetheless.
Connor winces as he hauls himself out of the car, and Will’s by his side in an instant, hands hovering, not quite sure what to do. Connor entertains the idea of leaning into his arms, of seeking that comfort he’s quietly been craving this entire time, but he knows that’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve it, and Will deserves better. So much better.
Muscle memory takes Will to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit, and Connor sits on the lounge, not really sure what else to do. He catches Will staring when he comes back out, eyes taking in the room, the stacks of empty pizza boxes and beer bottles, the unopened boxes of his father’s belongings by the door, the piles of mail he hasn’t touched. He knows how it looks, and shame fills him up once more.
Will crouches down in front of him again, positioned between his legs, and takes Connor’s face in his hands, gentle, always gentle, as he lifts a damp washer to his face.
“Did you do this to yourself?” He asks softly, and Connor has to laugh, this bitter, choked-off sound that feels wrong coming out.
“You think I beat myself up?”
“Did you start it?”
Connor doesn’t respond because responding either means admitting to it or lying, neither of which he wants to do, but his silence seems enough of an answer for Will, who sits back with a tired sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Why?”
Connor frowns. “Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? I know you’re hurting, Connor, but…” Will breathes out, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He leans in again, taking both of Connor’s hands in his, careful not to touch his swollen, cracking knuckles. “I know that pain, Connor. You know I do. I know it’s not the same, that we’ve been through different things to get here, but I know you, I know what you’ve been through. You could have turned to me. You can always turn to me.”
Connor lowers his gaze, vision blurring with tears until all he can see is a mosaic of colour instead of anything solid. He tries to take a deep breath in, tries to steady himself, but it stutters before breaking off with a sound that’s eerily close to a sob. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Will because, more than anything, he knows Will will try to comfort him and he doesn’t deserve that.
“It’s okay,” Will whispers, cupping his cheek, and Connor can’t help but lean into the contact, breath stuttering as he tries to keep himself under control. “Let it out.”
Those seem to be the magic words, because the dam breaks in an instant and Connor’s sobbing against Will, lungs burning, the pain he’d locked away inside himself spreading through his veins, making itself known. He hadn’t cried since his dad died, he hadn’t let himself feel, let himself express that grief in any way. He’d only locked it away, then locked himself away, only leaving the house when he was looking for trouble, looking for something to feel.
He’d almost been relieved when Will had stopped trying to call, but that was nothing compared to the relief he felt now, Will’s arms around him, hand rubbing soothing circles on his back as he cried. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s too far gone to care.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out between heaving breaths, pressing his face into Will’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Will assures, and strangely enough, Connor believes him.
For the first time since his dad died, since he was forced to question his entire existence, Connor feels like maybe it will be okay, that maybe okay is a possible future, and he can almost physically feel that darkness inside him receding, just a little, to give way to the light that Will was offering.
