Connor allows himself to breathe a sigh of relief. His father was safe, and was going to get the treatment he needed. One less thing to worry about. As much as he disliked his father, he didn't want his death on his conscience.
Onward to the next issue: the emergency delivery, and preventing his patient from bleeding out on the makeshift operating table, in a makeshift operating room, with practically none of the tools he actually needed to perform surgery.
Piece of cake.
He looks around the room at Maggie's face, then Natalie's, then Will's. Will nods at him, serious, but his eyes are soft. Supportive.
You shouldn't be here, is all Connor can think as he looks into his husband's eyes. You should've gotten out before all of this started. You're here because of me. You put yourself in danger because of me.
He looks down at Lily, lying on the operating table -- gurney -- in front of him. He pushes the current situation out of his mind. He pushes the guilt out of his mind. He's got two patients to save.
"Everybody ready?"
He doesn't allow himself to look at anyone through the operation, least of all Will. Getting the baby out was only half the battle... Lily's internal bleeding intensifies, and David's yelling certainly isn't making things easier.
"We had a deal! Your father for Lily!"
Somehow, he manages to stop the bleeding with a makeshift clamp. Somehow, she stabilizes. He's about to tell David that Lily needs to be moved to the ICU, and psyching himself up for that conversation, when David bursts through the door.
"Hey, Lily? We gotta go. Right now."
Connor shakes his head. "That's not happening."
"She can barely move in her condition," Will says in agreement, and Connor wishes he'd just stay quiet. He didn't like Will drawing attention to himself.
"Stop. Talking," David says, glaring at both of them. "We gotta go, Lily. We gotta go. Right now."
Connor tunes out the argument that ensues, trying to find an excuse to get Will out of the room, and watching as Sharon slowly and gently starts to pick up the newborn.
He must stare too long at her, because David notices and follows his gaze, turning toward her, fury in his eyes. "What are you doing?!"
Sharon freezes, the infant halfway in her arms.
"David. I..." she starts.
"Give me my son," David says, his voice icy. Dangerous. "Now."
"David," Connor starts, feeling responsible. He should have looked anywhere else. Sharon clearly had a plan.
"Shut up!" David yells, swinging the gun around and pointing it at Connor's head.
Will steps forward, almost instinctively -- Connor thinks -- but the movement is enough. David turns the gun in Will's direction and fires.
"Oh fuck," Maggie says as Natalie screams.
Connor's on the floor in a heartbeat, next to his husband, as the room descends into chaos. But all Connor can focus on is Will.
"Baby," Connor murmurs, feeling desperately for a pulse. "Will."
"I..." Will tries, choking as his mouth fills with blood.
"Shhh," Connor says, lifting up Will's scrub top, and feeling his heart sink at the bullet hole in the center of Will's chest. Even if they managed to get Will to a proper OR immediately...
There's another gunshot, and Connor looks up just in time to see David stalk up to him and glare down at him.
"You. Save her." He gestures with his gun toward where Connor can make out Sharon, lying on the floor just outside the room. "Save Mrs. Goodwin. If she dies, I'm killing everyone here. Starting with you."
Connor glances at his husband just in time to see his eyes grow lifeless, his hand falling from Connor's grip. And something breaks inside him. He didn't care anymore whether he lived or died. He was done with this fucked up game that David was playing.
"Go to hell," he growls, staring up the barrel of the gun.
"You first," David says, eerily calm.
And then everything goes black.
The feeling is disconcerting. He's never been in a place that was so completely devoid of light or sound before. He can't tell where his body ends and the environment begins. He can't tell if he's standing on a surface or floating. He can't tell if he's actually succeeding at looking around, when everything looks exactly the same. He tries to move his hand, and only vaguely feels his fingers twitch at the end of what could be his arm.
"Am I dead?" His voice sounds strange to himself, crystal clear and lacking any echoes from the environment.
"No," a voice responds, from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It's uncomfortably loud in his ears against the background of absolute silence.
"Where am I?" he asks.
"You feel responsible for Will's death," the voice says, instead of answering his question.
"It's my fault," Connor says, trying to squeeze his eyes shut and growing increasingly uncomfortable with the complete darkness. "He stayed in the ED because of me. He stepped forward because he wanted to protect me. He's dead because of me."
"It is your greatest regret," the voice says, simply.
"Of course it is!" Connor yells, angry now. "I love him more than life itself! And he's dead because of me! I'd do anything to fix it!"
"Interesting," the voice says.
Connor's about to ask what it means -- to demand an explanation -- when the world seems to shift around him, colors suddenly appearing and swirling around until they coalesce together, and he finds himself...
"Come here often?"
Connor turns toward the source of the voice to see Will, grinning at him. A distinctly younger Will, grinning at him.
"Will?!"
Will's smile falters, and he just looks confused. "I'm sorry, but... have we met?"
"We..." Connor starts, before allowing himself to properly look around, and it takes him a second to realize where he was.
This is the bar where Will and I met. In the Bronx. In New York City. Six years ago.
What the hell is going on?!
He glances at Will again, and the only thing he can see is Will's lifeless eyes, staring up at him. His husband growing limp in his arms. The way he...
"We haven't," Connor says, gulping down the rest of his whiskey and grimacing at the burn, as he stands. He had to get out of here, but he didn't want to be rude about it. "Met, that is. Sorry. I was just... thinking of someone named Will when you surprised me."
"Ah," Will says, the grin cautiously returning to his face. "Then it might also surprise you to..."
"Excuse me," Connor says, brushing past Will and heading out of the bar, not allowing himself to glance back at the man.
He knows he wouldn't have the willpower to walk away if he did.
He spends the rest of the night lying in his bed, trying to ignore how empty he felt inside, and convincing himself that he was really, actually here.
The first time after meeting Will -- in the original timeline? -- he'd laid in bed utterly content after an unexpected walk of a first date with Will, still feeling the ghost of Will's lips on his, and feeling a pleasant anticipation for a future call from Will.
Now he just feels miserable.
He asks himself why he'd left the bar. He tells himself it was for Will.
The ED is dangerous. If not David, any number of other situations could get Will killed. And any number of those could be my fault. I can't have Will's death be my fault. The best way to protect him is for him to never meet me. Get to know me. Fall in love with me.
He almost believes it. He almost believes that it isn't the way Will had looked at him in his last moments. He almost believes that it wasn't because of the way his heart split in two the moment Will's lifeless hand fell out of his own. He almost believes that it wasn't because he could never put himself through that situation again. He almost believes that it isn't for himself.
He tries to convince himself of it until the sun breaks through the window in the morning.
Chicago was probably the last place Connor should move to, but somehow, the familiar sights help. He rents the same apartment he'd had with Will, even though it was way too much space for just himself, but the familiarity of it allows him to continue to tell himself he's doing the right thing. It allows him to feel close to Will without actually having to see Will, because every time he thinks of Will, all he can think of is the way Will looked at the end.
He still can't really believe he's here, but he's gone to sleep and woken up and pinched himself so many times that he was sure it wasn't a dream. He'd actually gotten a second chance, and he'd chosen to save Will. He'd chosen to save Will, over his own happiness.
At least, that's what he tells himself.
There are still days when he regrets the choice. There are still days when he thinks that maybe he could've been with Will and still saved him. But that thought always reminds him of how he'd felt when Will had died.
He's going to be alive because I'm doing this. And I'm not going to have to deal with him dying in my arms.
He ignores the fact that he's currently trying to deal with the fact that Will had died in his arms.
He attempts to fill the hole in his heart with women instead, sleeping with someone new every night, and gaining a reputation at the hospital -- his new hospital, as he thinks of it -- for being the biggest womanizer on staff.
It doesn't exactly help his career.
He doesn't dare stop by Med. He doesn't trust what he'd do if he saw Will again. And his friends from his "old life", as he'd come to think of it, would just cause more heartache.
He reconnects with Claire, and more reluctantly with his father. He throws himself into work, and even though it isn't as high-profile or glamorous as his experience at Gaffney, it's satisfying.
It's almost enough.
"Dr. Rhodes," says Agatha, the charge nurse, as he strolls into the ED one morning. "Patient in room C. Abdominal laceration. Intoxicated, too."
"Lovely," Connor mutters, taking the file from her. "I'm going to hang up my coat and then I'll..."
His blood runs cold as he reads the name on the file. Pleasantries forgotten, he pushes his way into exam room C, coat and all, and is met with the sight of Will, sitting shirtless on the bed, his hand pressing against a large gash on his side.
"Will?!"
At least it's easier to see him, this time. Somehow.
"That's my name," Will says, looking over at him with absolutely no recognition in his eyes. "Stitch me up, doc, so I can get out of here."
Connor refuses to let the sight of his husband -- not his husband, he reminds himself -- distract him from the task at hand. Remaining professional was the only way he was going to get through this.
"What happened?"
Will shrugs. "Bar fight. Never bring your fists to a knife fight, or whatever it is that they say. Stupid fucker had to play dirty."
He's slurring his words, and Connor notes it means he's had more than a few. Tipsy Will gets talkative. Drunk Will gets angry. Connor had, fortunately, only seen drunk Will once.
At least, before today.
Connor catches himself just before his hand reaches Will's shoulder, an instinctive desire to comfort the man. Despite the time that had passed, his feelings for Will clearly remained as strong as ever. "I'd like to send you for a CT scan, first. See if it..."
"I don't need a CT," Will says, frustration in his voice.
"You're being stubborn, Dr. Halstead," Connor says, automatically, before he can catch himself. He and Will had started calling each other "Doctor" when they wanted to knock some sense into the other, after they'd revealed to their colleagues that they were married, but before...
Before whatever was happening in this life.
Will stares off into space. "No one's ever going to call me 'doctor' again," he mutters, before shaking his head. "But I still know what I'm talking about. It's superficial. I don't need a CT. Stitch me up and discharge me, Doctor..." he glances over at Connor's scrubs, and Connor realizes his name is obscured by his coat. "Doctor."
Connor bites his lip, trying his hardest to resist the urge to ask Will what he meant, when it suddenly hits him.
Jennifer Baker.
The timing was right. Only a few weeks ago, in the original timeline, he would've had a fight with Will in the elevator. Only a bit before that, he would've comforted Will in a storage closet as his husband broke down in front of him.
Not his husband. The other Will. This Will isn't his husband.
"I'll need you to..."
"I'll sign the paperwork," Will says, dismissively. "Going against medical advice and yadda yadda, I know. Gotta cover your legal bases, huh, doc? I know a thing or two about that."
Definitely Jennifer Baker.
Connor pulls out his prescription pad. "And I'm going to write you a prescription for..."
"I don't need an antibiotic," Will says, seemingly growing angry. "I just had an injection of Ceftriaxone yesterday. For gonorrhea."
"Oh," Connor says.
Gonorrhea? As much as he and Will had talked about previous sexual partners, he'd always known Will to be an extremely careful person. If Will had gonorrhea...
"I guess reading charts isn't one of your strong suits, huh?" Will quips, pulling Connor out of his thoughts. "Also your bedside manner is shit."
Connor had honestly forgotten where he'd even put the chart -- he spots it lying on a chair next to the door -- and hastily apologizes. "I promise my suturing skills are better than both my reading comprehension and my oratory skills."
He expects Will to laugh at the joke, but instead Will just scoffs. "Whatever. Your listening is obviously shit, too. Sew me up and get me out of here. I'm sick of repeating myself."
It's yet another reminder that the man in front of him isn't his husband, and has clearly had a much different -- and rougher -- past few weeks than his husband had, in the original timeline.
Not that Will's appearance suggests otherwise. His hair's a tangled mess, his stubble is more than a few days old -- practically an unruly beard, at this point -- and his eyes are hard and not full of any of the playfulness and happiness Connor's used to seeing in them.
What's your life been like for the past two years, Will?
He sutures in silence, trying not to think about Will's flesh underneath his fingers. How it felt to grip Will's side. How...
Professional, Connor. Professional.
"A nurse will be in with your paperwork," Connor says when he finishes, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash.
"Sure," Will says, and Connor doesn't dare look back at him. He doesn't realize until he's already out of the room that he'd left Will's chart on the chair.
He doesn't go back for it.
"Do you believe in second chances?"
Claire looks up at him, fork halfway to her mouth, clearly surprised by the question. "I'm sorry. What?"
"Do you believe in second chances?" Connor repeats, feeling sheepish now at the question. He'd never talked to Claire about the entire time-travel-other-timeline thing, of course, and it was a fairly random question to spring out of nowhere, even if he'd been ruminating over it all day.
Claire chews, looking thoughtful, then shrugs. "Sure. I believe that everyone deserves forgiveness. If they understand what they did wrong, and are trying to fix it, of course they deserve a second chance."
"That's not what I meant..." Connor starts, before realizing that it maybe wasn't too inapplicable after all. "But... sure. Let's say someone was trying to fix something they did, but they just made it worse."
"What did you do, Connor?" Claire asks, looking concerned now, and setting her fork down.
Connor shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. "Nothing! I just... I had a patient today who got me thinking about second chances."
It's a flimsy explanation, but Claire seems to accept it. "Must've been one hell of a woman."
"He was a man, actually," Connor says, unsure why he feels the need to correct her.
And, yeah. Will is one hell of a man.
"Man, woman, whatever. Must've been one hell of a person to get you thinking about something like that."
Connor shrugs, trying to act casual, even as his heart pounds in his chest. "He just seemed like he'd had a rough few weeks. He used to be a doctor, and lost his license recently." Connor knows he's making assumptions, but he's pretty sure it's the truth.
Claire nods. "Well, whatever he did, if he's willing to work at a second chance, I'm sure he'll get one. He can get a job somewhere else, right? A different state or something? Another hospital?"
"That's... not how it works," Connor says, regretting the topic of conversation now. "If his license was revoked, he..."
He doesn't want to complete that sentence. Will had told him, many times, that his purpose in life was to be a doctor, to help people. He knows how utterly lost Will would be without his career.
Kind of like how Connor felt utterly lost without Will, even if he'd been trying to ignore that fact for the past almost-three years.
"I just mean," Connor says, starting again, trying to subtly shift the conversation, "maybe he was doing what he thought was right, but just screwed things up even more by doing them."
He's talking about Jennifer Baker, but hates how much it describes his situation, too.
But at least Will's alive.
"If you're talking about us," Claire says, surprising Connor, "then, sure. You did what you thought was right by leaving. It screwed me up for a while. It screwed dad up, too. But now you're back, and you're making an effort. I don't think you're screwing things up more, Connor."
It's absolutely not what Connor was talking about, but he takes the conversational out anyway, agreeing with her and making some sort of toast to family -- that makes the bile rise in his throat -- before hastily changing the subject completely.
It isn't until he's back at home, in the bed that he and Will should be sharing, that the guilt hits him again. The way Will looked in the exam room. The way Will sounded broken and defeated. The way he knew that Will wouldn't...
He sobs into his pillow until exhaustion claims him.
Connor expects to wake up in his bed, of course, alone and missing Will like he'd been every day for the past three years.
Instead, when he opens his eyes, it's utterly dark, and silent, and...
"I'm here again?"
"Will died last night," the voice says, emotionless, as if the sentence was just another bullet point in a list of headlines for the day.
"He what?!" Connor's mildly glad that he didn't have to experience Will's death, this time, even as he feels responsible.
"The man from the bar tracked him down and finished the job."
Connor thinks over it for a moment. He doesn't know what Will had gotten involved in, and finds that he doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to know how deep into despair his husband could have slid without him. It would just make him feel worse. He should've been there to help Will. To comfort him. To prevent him from making the mistake that would end his career.
His vows -- said what feels like a lifetime ago, now -- spring to mind. I will always take care of you. I'll always love you, with every damn part of me, and I'll fight for you to the bitter end.
He should've been there to love Will.
"Why am I back here?" he asks, instead, blinking back the sudden tears.
"Will died again," the voice says simply. "You said you wanted to fix it."
"But I didn't mean..." Connor starts to object before the world swirls around him, and he finds himself back in...
"Come here often?"
Connor does everything as close to the original timeline as he can remember. He gets kissed by Will. He allows Will to start a fight with him over money. He goes to the karaoke bar with Will and brings up his own bad memories again as he bares his soul to the drunken patrons.
It was the least he could do, given what he'd done to Will. Given who Will had clearly become in his absence.
Connor had to make things right, this time.
"I got fired today," Will says over dinner, one evening.
Connor had expected this. Connor had been waiting for this moment every day for the past year. Connor had been ready to tell Will to take the position in Cleveland, instead. Connor had been ready to save Will from Med.
But then Will's kneeling in front of him with a ring, and the only thing Connor can think of is Will lying on the floor, a literal bullet through his heart, looking at him with desperation and fear in his eyes, and Connor can't do it. He can't run the risk of the man he loves more than anything dying, again. He can't run the risk that it'll be his fault, again.
Connor says no to Will's proposal.
Connor isn't sure what he'd expected when he'd declined the proposal. He knows, of course, that they're finished, but he still holds out hope, going through the motions of a relationship with Will even as he can tell that Will's heart isn't in it anymore.
And he knows an apology would just make things worse.
"I'm going to take a position at Gaffney," Will says over dinner, one evening. "In Chicago. It... it feels like the right thing for me to do. And I need a job. I can't afford to live here anymore."
Connor remembers how they'd had a conversation about this together, the first time. How Will had been willing to give up Chicago for his sake. How he'd been the one to tell Will to take the position. It hurts that Will had made the decision himself, this time around, but he supposes they never talked about anything important anymore anyway.
Connor makes a choice.
"Best of luck to you," he says.
Will is silent. It's the last thing they say to each other in New York.
"28 year old male, crush injury, severed artery, massive blood loss," Connor calls out as he's rolled into the ED, alongside -- or "on top of", he supposes -- the patient.
"Trauma 3 just opened," Maggie says in response.
Connor looks up at her and instead locks eyes with Will, who's staring at him in utter disbelief.
"What..." Will starts, as his expression turns to anger.
"Got a tourniquet on his right leg," Connor continues, turning away from Will. He had to focus on the patient. He was already regretting his decision to come here. "Tried to intubate but couldn't get his jaw open. Lost his pulse on the ride."
"Rapid transfuser," Will says, clearly trying to shake off the shock at seeing Connor again, and also focusing on the patient. "Four units of O-neg and a round of epi."
Connor lets the paramedics wheel them off into a room. He's glad he won't have to see Will's face when he finds out that Connor's working here, now.
Will, at least, has the professionalism to not confront him while Connor's with patients. But every time he sees Will, the man glares at him, and Connor thinks that he deserves every bit of it.
It isn't until he's alone in a room, trying to suture the gash in his arm, that Will appears, shutting the door behind him, and pulling the curtain across for good measure.
"What. The. Fuck."
"Help me with this?" Connor says instead of answering him, holding the needle holder toward Will. "It's an awkward angle for me, and I need to pinch the wound closed."
It's probably the wrong thing to say, but it at least lets him avoid the conversation a little longer. He'd been practicing the speech in his head for months, but he finds he still can't say the words.
"Fine," Will says, not looking happy about it as he helps Connor suture his arm. They're silent as they work, and even though Connor knows an explosion is going to follow, he allows himself to enjoy the calm, and the feel of Will's hand on his shoulder.
It was more than he deserved.
"You're stitched up," Will says, cutting the thread, and shattering Connor's temporary happy bubble. "Now. What the fuck, Connor?!"
"I just..." Connor says, his rehearsed speech immediately disappearing from his head. "I just... wanted to make sure you were... okay."
"I was okay until you showed up here," Will spits, tossing the suturing supplies onto a tray with more force than necessary. "And we both know you don't need this job, or the money from it." Will throws up his hands. "You always had something against this city, anyway. You were always uncomfortable when we visited. Now you follow me here?! Leave Chicago, Connor. I. Don't. Want. You. Here."
That hurts, but Connor keeps Will's gaze, refusing to look away.
Right. We never had the conversation about my father, and why Chicago had bad memories for me.
"Everything okay?" Natalie says, appearing from behind the curtain. "You disappeared in a hurry, Will, and I... Oh. Dr. Rhodes, right? It's nice to..."
"This is the asshole I told you about," Will mutters, still staring Connor in the eyes, neither of them refusing to yield.
"Oh," Natalie says, and her tone is significantly less friendly, this time. "So you're the one who broke Will's heart."
That really hurts, but Connor doesn't think he should have expected anything else.
"In the flesh."
He looks away. He can't stand the hatred in Will's eyes any longer.
"I'll let you two talk," Natalie says, and Connor doesn't miss the disapproving look she gives him as she leaves.
"I get it," Will says after she's gone, before Connor has had a chance to figure out what to say next. "This was the easiest place for you to pull strings to get a job. You couldn't get hired based on your own merits, so you went crying to daddy and asked him to get the board to hire you. Fuck the fact that I was here first, right? I guess your dad's an uncomfortable topic for you until you need something from him. What, you burn through all of your wealth on twinks and need a bailout?"
"That was uncalled for," Connor says, teeth gritted. Of course Will knew his fears and insecurities. He'd shared them with the man so many times over their year of dating. He'd just never thought that Will would weaponize those things against him.
"So's you getting a job here," Will retorts.
"In spite of what you might think..." Connor starts, hating how right he knows Will is.
"Yeah, 'spite' is right," Will says.
"In spite of what you might think," Connor says, again. "I still care about you, Will."
"Dr. Halstead," Will mutters. "Don't you dare call me Will."
That hurts more than anything else, but Connor refuses to let it derail his speech. "In spite of what you might think, I still care about you, Dr. Halstead. I just thought you might need... a friend."
"I have all the friends I need already," Will says, before Connor can continue. "Let me be very clear, here, Dr. Rhodes. Unlike you, I need this job. I cannot jeopardize it because of whatever bullshit you're suddenly trying to stir up in my life. So I will work with you, but that's it. We're colleagues. Don't expect me to talk to you unless it's about a patient. Don't expect to be my friend. Stay away from me. And the soonest chance you get, you're getting a job elsewhere, so help me God."
There's a lot that Connor wants to say to that, but he at least has the sense to swallow the objections, at the moment. "Fine."
Will stalks off without another word, and Connor lets out the breath he'd been holding.
That had not been the reunion he'd been expecting.
Connor remembers, in what feels like two lifetimes ago now, how the ED had been convinced that he and Will had been about to come to blows because of how much they disagreed. But he hadn't been prepared for what would happen when Will actually hated him.
He thinks it's a miracle that they hadn't actually come to blows.
Will reacts with such obvious hostility to what Connor intends as professional, legitimate criticisms that he finds himself flinching every time Will moves toward him. In the original timeline, he and Will had discussed their different working styles over dinner. They'd laughed about it together. Will had promised that he didn't take any of Connor's comments personally. And, over time, they had managed to adapt to each other.
That clearly wasn't happening here.
Will corners him in the lounge one day. "Despite what you clearly believe, Dr. Rhodes, I did graduate from med school," Will spits at him, voice dripping with venom, and Connor expects a slap or a fist or something, but Will removes himself from the situation first, both to Connor's relief and disappointment.
It's entirely unsurprising then when Sharon pulls them into her office.
"Gentlemen," she says as Connor sits. Will radiates rage from the chair next to him, and refuses to meet his gaze.
"What can we do for you, Mrs. Goodwin?" Connor asks, trying to remain as neutral as possible.
"Cut the crap, Dr. Rhodes," she chastises. "You both know why you're here. What I want to understand is what the two of you are going to do about it."
"It's my fault," Connor says, feeling terrible that he'd put Will in such a position.
"I don't care who's fault it is," Sharon says, her patience seemingly wearing thin. "I cannot have this hostility in my ED. You cannot openly disagree in front of patients. You cannot yell at each other in front of patients, or in front of other staff! I have received enough complaints that I would be justified in firing both of you right now."
"It won't happen again," Will says, through gritted teeth, and Connor can tell that Sharon's words struck fear into him.
Will needs this job, Connor reminds himself. And I'm jeopardizing it for him.
"As you know, we're slightly short-staffed in the ED at the moment, so scheduling the two of you so you never overlap is not an option."
"Damn," Will mutters.
"But," Sharon continues, ignoring Will's outburst, "that shouldn't be necessary in the first place. The two of you are professionals. Start acting like it!"
"Yes, ma'am," Connor says, as Will nods in agreement.
"Now," Sharon says. "Consider this conversation a formal warning. If I receive one more complaint, or if I hear even a hint that some patient has received less than exemplary care thanks to your shenanigans, you're gone. Both of you."
"Understood," Will says, gripping the arm of his chair so hard his knuckles turn white.
"That won't happen, Mrs. Goodwin," Connor says.
She looks between the two of them for a moment. "Patient safety is the utmost priority to me. Don't you dare make me regret letting the two of you return to your jobs, right now."
"You won't," Connor says, trying to speak for both of them. "Neither of us would ever compromise the safety of a patient. I promise."
She nods, seemingly satisfied for now. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen."
Will seemingly rushes out of his chair, nearly knocking Connor over in his haste to get to the door. Before Connor can even understand what's happening, he's gone.
Things are going from bad to worse.
Unsurprisingly, after the meeting with Sharon, Connor finds himself overlapping with Will's shifts only once every week or two, instead of nearly daily.
Seeing Will less was also both a relief and disappointment. But it also was in direct opposition to the reason Connor had wanted to be here in the first place: to keep an eye on Will, and make sure he didn't repeat his mistakes.
In the original timeline, Connor had always steered clear of gossip. He had never found it worth his time, and Will had always kept him up to date on anything important that was happening -- or rumored to be happening -- anyway. But here, it's the only lifeline he has to what Will's thinking, or doing. And Dr. Choi, of all people, ends up being a surprisingly good source of information.
(Ethan also happened to be the only person who would actually talk to Connor. Connor had always known how much everyone in the ED loved Will, but he hadn't quite realized how much it would make everyone hate him, now.)
It ends up not mattering, in the end, when he walks into the ED one day to a rare overlapping shift with Will and sees him in a room with a frail-looking woman and what he assumes is the woman's husband and daughter. Something about the woman sends his alarm bells ringing, and he asks Maggie about her.
"Oh, her? Lymphoma."
The hairs on Connor's neck stand on end. "What's her name?"
"Jennifer Baker," Maggie says, dismissively. "She has a DNR, by the way, so disagreeing with Dr. Halstead about her treatment might literally get her killed. Leave them alone, Dr. Rhodes."
He makes a noise that he hopes come across as agreeable before he stalks into the lounge to change.
He had to figure out how to keep Will from doing something stupid.
He's sure he's going to be get fired when he literally drops what he's doing with a patient to respond to a code blue that he hopes to god is Jennifer Baker.
He beats Will to the room -- small victories -- and shuts the door behind him, holding it shut as best he can. Jennifer's husband -- Sal, he thinks, from what Will had told him years ago -- doesn't seem to acknowledge his presence, instead focusing on their daughter who's screaming for her mother.
"It's okay," Sal says, tearing up as he comforts her. "She's in a better place."
There's pounding on the door, and Connor is entirely unsurprised to see Will there. Sal looks up at the noise, seems to notice for the first time that Connor isn't Will, and then looks over at Will, confused.
"Did you ask her?!" Will yells through the glass. Connor knows Will would be yelling at him, instead, if he wasn't terrified of what might happen.
Sal stares at Will and shakes his head. "She wouldn't," he says, even though Connor's pretty sure Will can't hear him.
"Did you ask her?!" Will shouts again, making another attempt at the door. Connor's grip fails, and Will succeeds at pushing the door open.
"She wouldn't," Sal repeats, crying now. "Please. I would like to be left alone now."
"Mommy," their daughter sobs, in his arms.
"You heard the man," Connor says, grabbing Will and physically pushing him out of the room. He notices Natalie slip past them -- a combination of confusion and disapproval on her face -- as he gives Will a final shove into the center of the ED. Will stumbles against a counter, looking up at Connor, tears running down his face.
Connor hadn't been expecting that.
"I could've saved her," Will whispers, openly crying now, looking past Connor into the room as Natalie switches off the monitors. "I could've saved her."
"Will..." Connor says, hoping he's managed to avert catastrophe. "She..."
"I could've saved her!" Will yells, at Connor this time, before punching him square in the jaw.
Connor finds out the next day, from Ethan, that Will had been fired. It's entirely expected after the lecture Sharon had given them -- although he's shocked he hadn't been sacked as well -- but when he tries to appeal to Sharon on Will's behalf, she tells him it's out of her hands. It isn't until he has dinner with his father -- who makes an offhand comment about taking out the trash -- that the pieces click into place.
He brings an abrupt end to dinner by punching his father, channeling all of the pain and hurt and worry from the past months into his fist, and stalks out into the rainy evening, because of course it's raining.
He walks for hours, not really consciously heading anywhere, until he unexpectedly finds himself standing in front of Will's father's house.
The porch light clicks on and an obviously-angry Jay steps out of the house, a gun in one hand.
"Fuck no," Jay hisses at him. "You've got five seconds to leave before I do something we'll both regret."
"I just wanted..." Connor starts, even though he has no idea what he's trying to say. He jumps as a bullet hits the ground mere inches from where he's standing.
"That was a warning," Jay yells, and Connor can barely process the fact that Jay had shot at him. The man who he had seen as a brother -- and loved like one, at least in another timeline -- had shot at him.
He runs before Jay can demonstrate how accurate he is with his weapon.
It's almost a relief when he wakes up the following morning to find himself in blissful nothingness again. At least Will wouldn't hate him, anymore.
"But I... saved his license," Connor objects, not really understanding what had happened. There was no way that Will had died, again.
"After your visit, Will went for a midnight walk to clear his head," the voice says, as emotionless as always. "He got upset at the wrong stranger. The stranger was armed."
"That's not fair," Connor objects, hating the utter randomness of it, and feeling guilty. "What was I supposed to do? He keeps dying because of me."
The voice doesn't answer, but the environment starts to shift around him, and he steels himself for another attempt.
There's no way this could go worse than the last time.
"Come here often?"
"Not really," Connor says, calmly sipping his whiskey as he turns toward Will. He had a different plan this time.
It would work, this time.
Will chuckles. "Me, neither. I was supposed to meet some work colleagues, but apparently they all bailed on me." He gestures to the seat next to Connor. "Mind if I join you?"
Connor shakes his head. "Actually, I was just heading out. I was supposed to meet a date here, but she's apparently decided not to show up. Kinda like your colleagues."
"Ah," Will says, and Connor doesn't miss the disappointment in Will's eyes. "Then, have a good night."
"I'm Connor, by the way," Connor says as he stands, and Will grins at this.
"Will," Will says, shaking Connor's hand. "I hope your evening only goes up from here, Connor."
"Same to you," Connor says, finishing his whiskey and motioning to the bartender to close his tab. "Maybe I'll see you around, Will."
"I hope so," Will says, grinning again, and Connor's heart aches as he signs the check and walks away from his husband.
It wasn't any easier, this time.
Connor knew when Will had started at Med, of course, but he still worried that something would change this time around. That maybe, by not dating Will, it would lead to a different decision and Will would end up in a different city.
He reminds himself that walking away from Will before had still resulted in Will working at Med, and he had nothing to worry about.
Still, it's a huge relief when Will walks through the doors of the ED that morning, right on schedule, looking adorably nervous and eager.
Their eyes meet, and there's a brief glimmer of recognition before Will's engaged in a conversation with April. It isn't until later, in the break room, that they run into each other again.
"We've met, haven't we?" Will asks, in place of an introduction.
Connor nods. "The Bronx. Bourbon & Sage. Will, right?"
Will snaps his fingers. "That's right! Kevin?"
"Connor," Connor says, shaking Will's hand and feeling only a slight sense of disappointment that Will hadn't remembered his name.
"Sorry. Connor," Will says, looking a bit uncomfortable now. "It's nice to meet you again. What are the odds?"
"Astronomical," Connor says, trying to smile, even though he'd intentionally engineered this 'coincidence'. "Emergency medicine?"
Will nods, reading Connor's scrubs. "I'm just here to try it out and see if it fits. I see you're trauma, Dr. Rhodes. I guess that kinda makes you my boss?"
"Call me Connor," Connor says, feeling a sudden sense of urgency to convince Will that it's the right job for him. This hadn't happened in the original timeline. Will had committed to the job as soon as they'd moved. "And not really. The boss around here is Maggie."
Will laughs. "That makes sense. Obviously, I'm new here. You been here long, Connor?"
"It's been a few months," Connor says. "Turned out New York wasn't for me."
"Me neither," Will says, looking slightly less happy now. "For many reasons that I'm sure you don't want to hear about."
"I'd like to," Connor says, even as he's very aware of the clock on the wall, ticking away. "But raincheck? There's a bar around here that everyone frequents. Molly's. Want to head there together after work today?"
"I'd like that," Will says, smiling gently. "Ready for a full day of flu patients?"
Ready for a madman with Marburg to detonate a grenade in the middle of the ED? Connor almost says. He hadn't directly experienced this part of the past before, and even with the knowledge that things end more or less fine, he still has a large amount of anxiety for the day to come. Just another example of why the ED was dangerous.
"Nothing better," Connor says instead, reminding himself to keep Will distracted and out of harm's way.
Will grins and slaps his shoulder before disappearing out the door.
Here goes nothing...
"I think I'm going to stay," Will says, as they walk into Molly's. "At Med, I mean. It's been one hell of a day, but I... I feel like I made a difference today."
"You definitely made a difference today," Connor says, feeling a good chunk of his anxiety vanish. "And that's great. I was worried you'd run for the hills after the entire bioterrorism thing. That's not a normal day at Med."
He really hadn't enjoyed the reminder of how the ED has always been dangerous, even before David.
"Things can only get better from here, right?" Will asks, looking mildly subdued, and Connor can't blame him.
"I hope so," Connor says as they stand at the bar, and he's not just talking about work. "Anyway, can I buy you a drink? Whiskey?" He can't help but get in the jab, even as he knows that this Will doesn't know that Connor knows that he dislikes whiskey.
The wording was starting to get confusing.
Will chuckles. "I'm the senior resident. I can afford to buy my own drink, thank you very much. Also, I'm more a beer guy. Not really a fan of whiskey."
"Bet I could change your mind," Connor says, grinning now. This felt good. Comfortable.
Will laughs, and Connor hadn't realized how much he'd missed that laugh. "That feels like a bet you'd lose, but I'd also lose because you'd make me drink whiskey, and I'm not really a fan of lose/lose scenarios. So thank you, but I think I'll stick to beer."
"Fair enough," Connor says, feeling like he's already pushed the teasing too far, and they soon settle into a table in the corner with their beverages.
Will raises his glass. "To coincidences."
"I'll cheers to that," Connor says, even as he feels guilty about it, clanging his glass against Will's.
He watches Will swallow, watches his Adam's apple bob as he drinks, and he's suddenly hit with longing. He wants to kiss Will. He wants to do more than kiss Will. He misses his husband, more than he had expected he would.
But he couldn't allow himself those feelings. He had a mission to accomplish.
"So tell me, Dr. Halstead," he says, instead of everything he wants to say. "What brings you to Chicago?"
Connor's sure that Will's learned -- or figured out -- who his family is, by now. But Will never brings it up, and as they grow closer -- thanks in no small part to Connor literally knowing everything about him already -- Connor realizes one day that he's become Will's best friend: a position that suits him just fine.
At least, that's what he tells himself every night, as he goes to bed alone.
What threatens their friendship, though, is when they start butting heads over patients. Connor can tell that Will tries to leave those disagreements behind as they hang out between shifts, but he can also tell that they still bother Will.
It reminds him of when he and his husband Will had clearly separated their work and personal lives, and the reminder makes Connor's heart hurt for everything he was giving up, in this timeline.
It's for the best. I'm doing it for Will.
The tensions come to a head after a particularly rough argument over Maria Gonzalez, and Connor's concerned enough that he's legitimately damaged Will's confidence that he feels like he has to do something about it.
"Hey," he says, taking advantage of a rare moment where Will was alone in the lounge.
"What do you want?" Will snaps, unfriendly, before he deflates and sighs. "Sorry, Con. I just... sorry."
Connor shakes his head. "Can we talk?"
"I'm not really..." Will starts.
"I need to apologize," Connor interrupts. He really needs to have this conversation right now.
Will clearly hadn't been expecting that, and stares at him for a moment before responding. "Yeah. Let's... talk."
They sit on the couch together, and as usual, Connor has to suppress his instinct to grab Will's hand. He isn't sure why he still feels the urge, given the literal years it's been since he and Will had been together, at this point.
At least on the wild and ridiculous sequence of timelines Connor was on.
"I think you're an extremely talented, smart, skilled, and wonderful doctor," Connor says, to start.
That seems to catch Will by surprise, and he processes for a moment. "But...?"
Connor shakes his head. "There's no 'but'. It's the truth. And I'm worried that you think that I think otherwise."
Will frowns. "But you always... disagree with me on patients."
Connor shrugs, trying to be as casual as possible. "I've noticed that we have very different perspectives on treatment. You're more likely to go on instinct. I'm more comfortable going by the book."
"Going by the book costs time," Will interjects. "Seconds matter. People die in the ED because of a few seconds."
It's such a familiar statement that Connor can't help but smile at it. Will notices, and glares at him. "It's not funny," Will objects.
"It's not," Connor agrees. "And you're right. But my point is... I'm not sure either of those perspectives is necessarily objectively right, here, because you can't rote practice instinct, and become faster at it. But regardless, I would never actually stand in the way of you doing what you think is right for a patient. I don't take it personally when we disagree, and I worry that you do."
Will shakes his head, looking slightly uncomfortable now. "I... I do. I try not to, but I just..." He sighs. "This is embarrassing, but I... look up to you, Con."
Connor hadn't expected that. He doesn't really like that. He'd always thought of himself and Will as peers. As equals.
"That's why I owe you an apology," Connor says, pushing those feelings aside. "I don't want you to doubt yourself because of me. I don't want you to change because of me. I respect you as a colleage, Will. And I'm honored to be your best friend."
He hopes he isn't overstepping with that last part -- Will had never actually called him his best friend -- but Will smirks at him, and Connor knows it's an accurate statement.
"I don't think you can just declare yourself to be someone's best friend," Will says, full on grinning now.
Connor shrugs. "You fell asleep on my couch two days ago after we watched a game together. You made us breakfast the next morning without asking me first what I wanted. I'm pretty sure we're best friends, Will."
It hurts, every day, that you're not my husband, Will.
Will just nods. "Fine. I guess I can't object to that. And, uh... thank you for this conversation. I'll... keep it in mind the next time we argue over a patient."
"I also got you an apology present", Connor says, pulling the box out from behind his back.
Will looks adorably curious as he opens the box, and frowns at the tie inside. "This looks expensive," Will objects, clearly not understanding the significance of it.
Not that Connor would have expected this Will to.
"Family discount," Connor says, and it's as close to discussing his family with this Will as he's ever come. "Really, though. I want you to have it. Consider it payment for pancakes and bacon."
Will chuckles, nodding and putting the lid back on the box. "Then... thank you. For everything. For..."
"Move in with me?" That question hadn't been part of Connor's plan. But the reminder of the way he'd felt when Will had woken him up for breakfast -- and the thought of seeing Will's adorably bed-tousled hair again -- was enough to convince him that he couldn't bear to give it up again.
Will just stares at him, looking like he's sure he'd misheard. "What?"
"Move in with me," Connor repeats, even as he thinks the offer might be a mistake. "We get along well with each other. I have an extra bedroom. You're always complaining about your place, and how much your rent is. Move in with me."
Will stares at him for a moment longer and then, to Connor's surprise, starts laughing.
"I... I thought you were going to yell at me," Will says, even as he tries to calm himself down. "When you walked in here. And then you apologize, and give me a tie, and ask me to move in with you?"
I want to ask you to marry me, Connor thinks, despite himself.
"Glad you've been following along," Connor says, instead, more seriously than he intends.
Will, fortunately, doesn't seem to notice, instead laughing again at the quip. "You're just asking because the potential of future breakfasts in bed, clearly. But yeah. Sure. I'll be your roommate, bestie."
And Connor loves the feeling he gets from it.
Connor's surprised when Natalie announces that she's leaving Chicago -- and Med -- shortly after giving birth to Owen. He remembers Natalie -- in the original timeline -- musing for a bit about whether it would make sense to move back to Seattle to be closer to family, for help with her newborn. But he doesn't think it had ever been a serious option for her.
Everyone's saddened by the news, but Will doesn't seem nearly as affected as Connor would have expected. Then again, Will and Natalie weren't particularly close in this timeline. He supposes he'd taken the role as Will's best friend, instead, leaving Natalie without any particular ties to the city -- other than her slightly-overbearing mother-in-law.
He feels a bit guilty about being responsible for her departure, in some sense, but tells himself it's for the best. Things were, more or less, going to plan.
Natalie's farewell party, at least, is pleasant. Will gets pleasantly drunk and grabs Connor to dance with him the dance floor, and Connor allows himself to pretend -- just for a moment -- that this was romantic. That it was his husband swinging him around and laughing as Connor stumbles over his own two feet. That, afterward, Will would give him an affectionate kiss and Maggie would playfully tease them to get a room.
He excuses himself after one dance. He doesn't trust what he'd do otherwise. He doesn't trust himself not to get too lost in the moment, and kiss Will. He doesn't want to ruin everything he's been working for -- and torturing himself for -- over the past couple years.
But the look of disappointment in Will's eyes still hurts.
The dance sticks in Connor's mind more than it has any business doing. He and Will were usually physically affectionate, of course, but that entailed what he used to think of as Colleague Will physicality: a friendly slap on the back or a quick hug.
The dance was much more than that. When he closes his eyes at night, his mind seems to go back to how it felt to be held by Will. How right it felt. How much he'd missed it.
It bothers him enough that he wants to raise the point to Will, one evening as they're sitting on the couch, talking about anything and everything, and each drinking their preferred beverages. He has no idea where to start though, and picks something that feels as innocuous as possible, given the current conversation.
"Do you believe in soulmates?"
Will looks at Connor over his beer bottle, taking a sip before setting the bottle down. "That's a random question."
Connor shrugs. He'd also been pondering the question for a few weeks, wondering why the universe seemed so insistent that he save Will's life. He's pretty sure he doesn't actually have any say in the matter. "We're having a fairly random conversation. It's just the next random question."
"Mmm," Will agrees, thinking for a moment. "Can I say both yes and no?"
"You can, but you'll have to elaborate," Connor says, smiling at him and sipping his whiskey.
Will chuckles, taking another sip of beer. "Okay. This is going to sound stupid, but I think I'm drunk enough that I don't care right now. I never believed that there was a 'one for me', or whatever. Just an odds thing, you know? If there's only one other person for you in the entire world, how are you supposed to meet him? There are billions of people."
"That seems fair," Connor agrees, even as the thought makes his heart ache.
I met mine. He's sitting right next to me. And I can't have him.
"But more recently, I've started to change my mind," Will says, looking away from Connor and blushing. "Because I realized that maybe there's such a thing as a platonic soulmate."
That gets Connor's attention. "A... platonic soulmate?"
Will blushes harder. "Okay. I just... our friendship has so many coincidences that I can't believe it's random chance. We were both randomly in a bar in New York, where we both happened to be stood up by the people we were meeting there. A year later, we both randomly show up in the same city at the same hospital, in the same department, only a few months apart. We both randomly grew up in the same city. We both went to college and med school against our parents' wishes. Both our mothers are dead. We have the same favorite dish. We both like hockey and support the same team. And a million other little things. Con, that's... that's ridiculous."
Connor finds he has to agree with Will, even if many of Will's points had either been deliberately engineered by Connor, or were outright lies that Connor had told to get closer to him. "Okay, but... you like beer and I like whiskey. You're gay and I'm..."
"...straight," Will finishes for him, voice strangely stiff. "Hence platonic soulmate."
Connor's pretty sure he would've said 'bisexual', if Will hadn't interrupted. He's pretty sure he would've given up on this entire 'be Will's friend' plan. He's pretty sure he was just about to ruin everything.
But he isn't sure he likes this alternative any better.
Will turns away, and Connor stares at the back of his head, trying to decide if he should ask the next question. "Will. Are you saying you like me?"
Will doesn't say anything for the longest time, and when he turns toward Connor, his eyes are wet.
"I don't want to fuck up our friendship," Will says, voice shaking. "Con, you... you're my best fucking friend, and I... I don't know what I'd do without you. And I don't know how to answer that question without fucking up our friendship."
It's the hardest thing he's ever done, but Connor lets the question drop. He grabs Will instead, pulling him into a hug, and Will sniffles into his shoulder. "Okay. You're the best best friend I've ever had, Will. I love you."
I love you, but more than I should, for just being your friend. You're my soulmate, Will Halstead.
Will laughs into Connor's shoulder. "Same to you, bestie."
Connor tells himself that it has to be enough.
"You're good with people, Con."
"Well hello to you too," Connor says, smiling at Will as he walks up to him in the food truck line. "And... thank you?"
"I have a patient," Will says, without any further pleasantries. "Lymphoma. Stage four. Tried everything, and nothing's worked. She thinks she's terminal."
Connor's good mood immediately evaporates, and he kicks himself. He should have remembered the date. He should have remembered this was happening. "Oh?" is all he can manage.
"But there's a new experimental drug trial!" Will says, practically bouncing at the thought of it. "I need you to help me convince her to do it."
Connor thinks over his response carefully before he delivers it. "I love the enthusiasm, Will, but you have to consider the possibility that it won't actually help. And if she gets into the trial, she might get the placebo. And if..."
"By the book again, Con," Will says, and it's not entirely playful. "It's not the prescribed course of action, so you wouldn't do it. It's not guaranteed to work, so you won't do it. You'd just sit back and watch her die?!"
Connor grabs Will's arm, pulling him to a bench and sitting. Will reluctantly sits after him. "Will. Can I be blunt?"
"You're always blunt," Will says, his expression significantly subdued now.
"Is this about your mom?"
Will stares at him. "What?"
"You told me that your biggest regret was not making it back to your mom before she died. Not being there for her at the end. She died from cancer, too. Is it possible that you're seeing Jennifer as a way for you to atone for that mistake? Give her more time with her family?"
He's parroting Will's own words -- from another timeline, and another lifetime -- back at him, hoping it works.
"How'd you know her name?" Will asks, and Connor briefly panics.
"There's only one lymphoma patient in the ED at the moment," Connor says, hoping the explanation satisfies Will, even though Connor hadn't actually looked at her chart. "And you're ignoring the point."
Will makes a frustrated noise. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't! Does it matter? What matters right now is there's a woman in the ED who doesn't need to die, but she refuses to see that there's another option!" He stands and shakes his head. "Forget it. I'll talk to her husband again. Maybe he'll..."
"I'll talk to her," Connor says, formulating a new plan on the spot. He looks at his watch. He has about an hour. "To them. I just have a few patients I have to attend to first after lunch, so it might take a little bit."
"Thanks, Con," Will says, looking relieved. "But don't take too long. She's got a DNR, and I want to get her husband to lift it as soon as possible, just in case."
"I'll do my best," Connor says, trying to smile as Will slaps his back and heads back into the hospital.
Here goes nothing....
"Let me talk to him on my own?" Connor says, as they approach Jennifer Baker's room. "You've already pushed the idea with him, right?"
"Yeah, but I basically asked you for a consult," Will objects. "It's weird if you show up without me."
Connor slaps a patient file against Will's chest. "Let me talk to him on my own, because you're pulling me away from my own patients, so you owe me one."
Will stares at the file for a moment before smiling. "Fine. I guess that's fair." He takes the file from Connor's hand, opens it, and starts to head toward an exam room.
An exam room on the far side of the ED. That Connor had selected for that exact purpose.
"And thanks, Con," Will calls out.
Connor nods, feeling guilty at what he's just done, even as he knows it's for the best. And not just for Will.
He waits until Will's disappeared into a room before knocking on the glass to Jennifer's room. Her husband -- Sal, he reminds himself -- looks up at him as he slides the door open.
"Sorry for the interruption," Connor says. "I'm Dr. Rhodes."
"Sal," Sal says. "And this is Bailey."
"Nice to meet both of you," Connor says, smiling at Bailey. "Mr. Baker, can we speak outside for a moment?"
"Of course," Sal says. "I'll be right back, honey."
Connor waits until Sal leaves the room, sliding the door shut and positioning the two of them so they're deliberately blocking the door. "Mr. Baker. My colleague Dr. Halstead had asked me for a second opinion this morning about your wife's condition."
"He thinks there's a trial that could help," Sal says, nodding. "I already told him that Jennifer didn't want to do it. She doesn't want any more medicine, or experiments. She's tired of this, and I can't blame her." He pauses, and wipes a tear from his eye. "It's the hardest thing in the world, watching someone you love dying in front of you. But it... it would be worse to feel like you have the right to change it, you know? Like you have to fix it, when it's not something you can fix?"
"I'm sorry," Connor says, hating how much the words hit home for him.
Sal wipes away another tear. "I have to respect her wishes, and she's made them very clear. So if you want her to do the trial, it's her that you need to convince, not me. I..."
"Code blue", the speakers blare, as alarms start going off in Jennifer's room.
"Daddy?!" Bailey yells through the glass.
"Oh god," Sal murmurs, immediately reaching for the door. "Excuse me, doctor."
Forgive me, Will, for what I'm about to do, Connor thinks to himself, before slipping back into the room with Sal, who's wrapping Bailey up in his arms.
"Daddy! What's happening?!"
"Say goodbye to mommy," Sal says, crying now. "It's okay, sweetie. She's in a better place."
"Mommy!"
"Time of death," Connor says as he shuts off the monitors, ignoring the usual procedures he was supposed to do to confirm that she had passed. He had to finish before Will got here. "Fourteen..."
"Connor?!" Will appears outside the room, breathless and panicked and he stands in the door frame. "What's happening?!"
"Fourteen thirty five," Connor finishes, shutting off the last alarm. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Baker."
He pushes his way out of the room, forcing Will back into the ED, before shutting the door behind him. It seems to take Will a second to realize what had happened, then he's glaring at Connor with as much hatred as Connor had ever seen.
And Connor had seen quite a lot of hatred in Will's eyes, in a previous timeline.
"I'm sorry," Connor tries. "I was talking to him, and trying to convince him, and she just..."
"Fuck you," Will spits, shoving Connor for good measure before storming off.
Connor doesn't feel nearly as good as he thinks he should, at the moment.
Connor hadn't realized just how much Jennifer's death would affect Will. In the original timeline -- with husband Will -- she'd died at home after receiving the placebo in the trial. Will had been upset, but by that point, he'd admitted that maybe he'd made a mistake. That maybe Connor had a point when he'd told him that she deserved to make her own choice in the matter. That maybe Will had been a little too affected by his experience with (and regret around) his own mother's death.
But this Will hadn't had the time to process. As far as this Will was concerned, a woman had been wheeled into the ED in the morning, he'd tried to save her life, and Connor had killed her.
Connor doesn't think that's a fair assessment of the events, of course, but his objections are like speaking to a brick wall. Will doesn't return to their shared apartment and avoids him as much as possible at work for days until Connor finally grabs him and pulls him into the lounge.
"What?!" Will spits, jerking his arm free of Connor's grasp.
"We need to talk," Connor says, standing in the doorway back to the ED so Will can't make a run for it.
"I have nothing to say to you," Will mutters.
Connor shakes his head. "Will. I did what I could. I talked to him. You can ask him yourself! I was trying to..."
"You could've resuscitated her," Will says, glaring at him.
Even with the knowledge that that's exactly what Husband Will had done, Connor can't help but be shocked by the suggestion. "You can't be serious."
Will shakes his head. "You had a duty to save her life. Resuscitate her and convince her husband to enroll her in the trial."
"She had a DNR, William!" Connor says, almost shouting now. "You can't resuscitate a DNR patient! That's assault!"
"I'd rather assault her than kill her," Will says, deadly serious. "And he didn't want her to die! He would've wanted you to resuscitate. You didn't even ask him if he wanted you to resuscitate!" He shakes his head. "Clearly you don't value patients' lives as much as I thought you did."
Connor can't believe they're actually having this conversation. "William. This isn't right. You know it isn't right."
"What isn't right is that you let a woman die, for no reason. I trusted you, Connor! I trusted you to do the right thing for her! Instead, you betrayed me!"
Will grabs Connor's shoulder, forces him aside, and stalks out of the lounge.
Connor doesn't think the conversation could have gone any worse.
While Jay's not an uncommon presence in the ED, it's still always a surprise to see him. It's especially surprising when Jay shows up the next day, seems to scan the room for Connor, beelines for him, grabs his arm, and drags him into an exam room.
"What happened," Jay demands as he slides the door shut behind them. "Your words."
"Cancer patient," Connor says, unsure of whether he should be thankful or worried that Jay's involved now. "Terminal. Will found an experimental drug trial that might have saved her life, but she wouldn't agree to it. He asked me to talk to her. I talked to her husband, who has medical power of attorney for her. While we were talking, she went into cardiac arrest. She had a DNR, so we weren't legally allowed to resuscitate her, nor would I have even if it was legal, since it wouldn't be proper to ignore a patient's wishes. I declared time of death, and Will exploded at me."
"That's not how Will tells it," Jay says, staring at Connor, as if trying to determine if Connor was lying.
"Will isn't exactly unbiased in the matter," Connor says, refusing to yield, despite Jay's intense glare.
Neither of them speak for a bit until Jay lets out a long breath and shakes his head. "Yeah, that sounds like my brother," he says.
"I just... I don't think I did anything wrong," Connor says. "But I just feel bad that..."
"I'll deal with him," Jay says, sliding the door open again. "He's being an idiot about it. You're good."
"I'm just... worried about him," Connor says, and Jay's expression grows soft.
"Me too," Jay says, nodding, and gently slapping Connor's shoulder. "Thanks for being a good friend for him. He's gonna need you once he comes to his senses."
Connor nods, really not sure he deserves the praise at the moment, and reluctantly returns to his duties.
He hopes Jay manages to get through to Will.
The last place Connor expects to wake up to is the absolute darkness and silence again.
"What."
"Will died last night on the way back to your apartment," the voice says, as if bored with the explanation. "He was too caught up in his thoughts and apologies, and was hit by a car while jaywalking across a boulevard."
Connor's convinced that the universe is just fucking with him, at this point, given the contrived -- and conveniently timed -- ways that Will seems to be dying.
The environment starts to shift around him again, and Connor isn't sure he has the mental energy for another attempt at it.
"Wait," he shouts into the void, and to his surprise, the colors disappear, and the darkness returns.
He waits for the voice to speak, or to ask for an explanation, but when nothing happens, he feels like he has to explain himself.
"I... I don't want to do this anymore," he says, tears welling in his eyes. "I... I thought the worst thing in the world was losing your husband... losing your soulmate. But is it, really? Maybe it's worse to never know him. I can't live with knowing that he threw away his life because I wasn't there to help him through a difficult time. Maybe it's worse for him to hate me. I... can't deal with him hating me, when I care about him more than anything in the world. Maybe it's worse to have him as a friend but without the possibility of anything more, even though it's what you both want. Knowing how good your life could be with him, but not being able to have it. Maybe there are worse things than losing Will after getting years of happiness together. Of love. Of joy. Of support. Of just... being with him."
"What is your point?" the voice asks, and Connor swears it sounds impatient. Annoyed.
Connor isn't really sure what he's trying to say, but he makes an attempt at it anyway. "It's been too many years," he says. "Maybe you don't have any sense of time, but I do! I've lived too many years trying to find a way to fix the pain that I felt, but maybe that isn't the answer."
A conversation he'd had with Natalie, what feels like several lifetimes ago now, comes to mind. If the worst happens, it gets better. Eventually., she'd said. The funny part of having suffered through so many lifetimes was that it'd given him time to process Will's death. And maybe, finally, he was willing to contemplate a future without him.
"I've been running from the pain," he continues. "But maybe the pain of losing someone is just a natural consequence of loving them so much. Sal understood this. He let his wife go, even though it wasn't what he wanted. Even though it was too soon. He didn't try to fix things for her. He accepted them. Maybe it's time that I did the same. I'm done running."
He expects a response, or a followup question, but the voice is silent. The seconds tick by, and Connor grows increasingly uncomfortable.
"So... am I dead? David shot me and I'm dead?"
"No," the voice says, and before Connor can say anything else, he suddenly feels like his head is being turned inside out. He's screaming -- or trying to scream -- and then, as suddenly as it started, the sensation stops, and he blinks at the sudden onslaught of light.
He's in...
He's in the ED?
"Hey, Lily? We gotta go. Right now."
Connor stares at David, waving his gun around as he desperately calls for Lily. He allows himself a brief look around, at least to catalog what's in front of him. The infant's on top of a wheeled cabinet. David's standing in front of him. Lily's on a bed next to him. And Sharon is slowly walking up behind David.
Everything's exactly like he remembers it, even if that memory is now many many years old.
"She's in no condition to go anywhere," Will says, from somewhere behind Connor, and Connor doesn't dare look at him.
"Stop. Talking," David says, glaring in Will's direction. "We gotta go, Lily. We gotta go. Right now."
Connor forces himself to stare at David. Ignore the motion in the corner of his eye. Ignore whatever Sharon was doing.
"No, David," Lily says from the bed, her voice weak.
"She's lost a lot of blood," Natalie says, and Connor's thankful that someone's keeping David's attention away from whatever's happening behind him. "She..."
"No!" David yells again, waving the gun around in the air.
The baby makes a noise, and Connor's heart is in his throat, but when he allows himself a brief look, Sharon's got him a decent distance out of the room. David looks over at the cabinet, then spins around and spots Sharon.
"What are you doing?! Give me my son!"
"I can't do that, David," Sharon says, as she slowly walks backward toward the center of the ED.
"Mrs. Goodwin. Hand him over!"
"I said I'd help you, David," Sharon says, eerily calm, and Connor's sure she knows something he doesn't. "And I meant that. But I'm not giving you this baby."
"I'm not leaving here without my son."
"You don't have a choice," Sharon says, almost cocky, and Connor really isn't sure what's happening.
"No!" David says, advancing on her, menacingly. "You don't have a choice! I will kill every doctor in this hospital before I leave without my son!"
Sharon considers him for a moment. "Then you're going to have to start with me."
Connor looks away. He's sure Sharon's pushed David too far. He's sure the situation is about to go from bad to worse. He looks over at Will, who looks similarly bewildered and concerned.
"Give. Me. My. Son!"
There's a gunshot, and Will falls to the floor, and Natalie screams. Connor suddenly feels like his stomach is inside out.
"No!" He's at Will's side in a flash, lifting up Will's scrub top, hands searching for a bullet hole. "Not again! Will?! Where'd you get hit? What..."
"I'm okay," Will says, breathing heavily. "I'm okay, Con. It wasn't me. The sound just... startled me."
They turn, simultaneously, looking out into the ED. David's lying on the floor, gushing blood from his neck, as Sharon kneels over him, saying something that Connor can't make out. It takes a second for it to hit him, but then all of the strength seems to leave his legs and he practically falls against Will. "Will..."
Will's alive. Will hadn't died. Will wasn't going to die. The threat was over.
He wants to kiss Will -- he needs to kiss Will, after what feels like several lifetimes away from him -- but what if... what if this Will wasn't his husband. What if this was just another timeline?
Will takes Connor's hand in his, and Connor's fingers brush against a ring on Will's ring finger. Connor stares at it.
Will's wedding ring.
"Also... really, Con? You couldn't wait until we got home to start taking off my clothes and manhandling me?"
Connor looks back at Will, who's grinning now, not even noticing as SWAT swarms the ED. And then he's kissing Will. He's kissing his husband like his life depended on it.
And he supposes, in some ways, it did.
Connor knows he's clingier than usual over the next few days, even at work, where he sporadically stops by the ED just to give Will a kiss.
But one of the things Connor really appreciates about Will is that he never pushes, trusting Connor to bring up topics in his own time. And, a few days later, Connor figures it's time to have the conversation, even as he isn't exactly sure what he wants to say.
"I love you," Connor starts, curling up against Will in bed, trying to pull himself as close to the man as possible, pressing as much of their bare flesh together as possible.
"I know," Will says, kissing Connor's hair and holding him tightly. "You've said that literally a dozen times since everything happened."
It's as much a prompt as Will would ever give, and Connor seizes it. "It just... made me realize a lot of things, I guess."
Will nods, looking more serious now. "I'd say a near-death experience would do that to you, but it feels like you were more worried about me?"
Even though Connor had been thinking through this conversation for days, he still finds himself unsure of where to start. Instead, he just nods. "Yeah. I just kept thinking... you put yourself in the ED... in danger... because of me."
Will frowns. "I wasn't about to leave you and your father and Natalie in that situation by yourselves. I would've never forgiven myself if something had happened. If something had happened that I hadn't been there to do something about it."
Connor feels irrationally angry at the statement, and Will doesn't seem to know how to interpret Connor's sudden stillness, instead returning to gently stroking Connor's hair.
"I just," Connor tries, falling back on the words he'd been working through for the past few days. "I just feel like I could've lost you. And it... scares me how much that would destroy me. To lose you."
It scares me how long it took me to accept it.
Will nods, kissing his hair again. "And that's why I had to stay with you."
It makes sense to Connor, in a way, but it's also distracting from whatever point he's trying to make. "I guess what I've been feeling is that... Reese kind of had a point. The ED is a dangerous place. It just... the incident just made me worry about you, and your safety there."
"Crossing a busy street is riskier than working in the ED," Will says, his voice a bit stiffer than Connor would like. "You don't need to worry about me, Con. I can take care of myself."
Connor nods, closing his eyes and letting himself relax. "I know you can. I guess what I'm saying is that all of this just made me realize how different and worse my life would be without you. How important you are to me. And how much I love you."
"You needed a gunman to help you realize that?" Will asks, and when Connor looks up at him, he's smirking.
"Bastard," Connor says, smiling now, too. It takes him a second to realize why he feels like a weight's been lifted before he realizes: he's let go of the guilt now. The feeling that he'd been the one to put Will in harm's way. Because he absolutely would've done the same thing in Will's place.
Will chuckles, kissing Connor gently. "I love you too, Connor Rhodes. I don't want to imagine a life without you. But neither of us has to."
"I'm going to enjoy every damn day with you, William Halstead," Connor says, starting to tear up.
Will just grins. "You'd better."