Chapter Text
It was a quiet day at Chicago Med, at least as quiet as a hospital workday could be. Will Halstead was walking through the corridors, immersed in charts and monitors, when a familiar face caught his attention.
“I can’t believe it…” he murmured, almost to himself.
His friend from New York, the classmate with whom he had shared sleepless nights and ambitious dreams of plastic surgery, was there, in front of him. They had always kept in touch by phone, and occasionally met, but it had been too long since they had last seen each other in person. Will remembered well the difficult period that had pushed him to leave New York, to take a different path, away from friends and routines that once seemed like everything.
“Will!” his friend exclaimed, extending his hand and then hugging him tightly. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
Will laughed, surprised and happy. “Yeah, I’ve been here for several years now… I didn’t know you were here in Chicago too… It’s so good to see you.”
Soon after, the two sat at the small hospital café with two steaming coffees in front of them. Laughing and reminiscing about their youth, Will felt for a moment as if he had been transported back to New York, among the jokes, surgical competitions, and nights spent discussing future dreams.
“I really didn’t expect to find you here,” his friend continued, smiling. “But I’m glad I did.”
Will nodded, still unaware of the truth: his friend wasn’t there just to see him. There was something he hadn’t told him. The young man had come for an important medical check-up because, unfortunately, he had a serious illness.
At that moment, though, between sips of coffee and shared laughter, everything seemed normal, and Will simply enjoyed the time together, unaware it was a precious and limited gift.
A couple of months later, Will was on a night shift.
The corridors of Chicago Med were almost deserted, lit only by neon lights and patient monitors.
Will was laughing with Maggie at the nurses’ station, joking about how Ethan was always “slow as a sloth” when it came to filling out reports.
“Really, Halstead, you should teach him to move faster between patients,” Maggie said, shaking her head with a smile.
“Well, I only run when I really have to,” Will replied, glancing at April, who was approaching. “If you had seen me yesterday, you’d have said I was more of a snail than a doctor.”
April laughed. “Don’t worry, seeing you like this makes the world a better place… at least for us.”
Connor walked by nearby, carrying a roll of bandages and a smile.
“If you need someone to keep up with Halstead, call me.”
The two colleagues walked away, leaving Will and April to continue their conversation more quietly. Will felt almost normal, as if the night were just another shift among friends.
But the silence was broken by the sudden sound of the siren from Unit 61. A few moments earlier, Maggie had received a call alerting them to the arrival of a patient.
Will nodded and prepared, as always, to spring into action, but the moment the stretcher was pushed in… something changed.
As soon as he saw Brett and Foster approaching, he stopped to listen carefully.
“Male, 35, collapsed at home,” Brett explained, while Foster added some details about the initial condition.
Will nodded, focused, preparing to intervene as always, but when he saw who was on the stretcher arriving in the corridor… he went pale.
The man lying there wasn’t just any patient. It was his friend from New York. The man’s eyes met his for a moment, then looked away, almost protectively.
Will clenched his jaw, trying to remain calm. With a quick glance, he silently asked Maggie where to take him.
“Trauma 2,” she replied, understanding his unspoken request.
As April and the paramedics secured the patient on the stretcher, Will stayed slightly behind, observing, trying not to lose his professionalism.
“Will… are you okay?” she asked, noticing the change in him.
Will took a deep breath and, in a controlled voice, replied:
“Yes.”
Yet beneath the mask of calm, his heart was already racing faster than it ever had in the OR.
Will picked up the patient’s chart, flipping through it with steady hands. Every line, every note seemed normal… until he read the diagnosis.
It hit him like a punch to the stomach, but he maintained composure, as always.
He lifted his eyes to his friend, whose face was veiled with barely restrained tears, trying not to show anything. The man looked at him with a gaze mixing fear and affection but said nothing.
Will asked the patient a few more questions in a controlled voice, then turned to April:
“Get the monitoring bag out, quickly.”
When they were alone, Will leaned slightly toward his friend, professionalism battling silent pain.
“When we met at the café… you already knew, right?” he asked in a barely audible voice.
“Yes,” the man replied with a small, melancholic smile. “That day, I was at Chicago Med for a check-up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question came out louder than Will intended, charged with anger, fear, and disbelief.
The friend looked away for a moment, then met his gaze again. “I just… wanted to enjoy a few minutes with you, like the old times.”
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Will took a deep breath, staying still for a moment, trying to regain calm and think about the next steps while his heart continued to race.
He moved with precision, checking vital signs, administering necessary medications, ordering tests. Every gesture was professional and methodical; he worked meticulously, and eventually, the patient stabilized.
Will let out a silent sigh and, with a reassuring nod, said:
“All right, the crisis has passed. Try to rest a little… I’ll check on you again soon.”
Will continued to see other patients, maintaining the night shift routine, but every now and then his thoughts returned to his friend, to that smile he had tried to hide, to the sorrow of seeing him like that.
Then, at four in the morning, a code blue rang from Trauma 2. Will’s heart stopped for a moment—it was the room where his friend was.
Panic burned through his veins, but he masked it behind a focused look. He ran inside, doing everything to stabilize the patient: compressions, medications, maneuvers—all with surgical precision, even as something inside him was breaking.
April was beside him when he said firmly:
“Start chest compressions!”
He continued, ignoring the pain tightening his heart.
“No, he can’t be gone,” he whispered, pressing his hands on his friend’s chest. “April, adrenaline…”
The nurse gently grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him. “Will… there’s nothing more we can do.”
The doctor froze, stepping back slightly, shifting his gaze with a shattered heart. Every breath felt like a punch to the stomach, and with a firm but heavy voice, he said:
“Time of death: 4:07.”
He stayed still for a moment. The world seemed to stop. His friend… was gone.
Will slumped against the edge of the bed. His hands still trembled from the compressions he had performed.
April and Maggie watched him, attentive but calm, assuming he was simply processing the loss of a patient, as was normal.
But inside him, there was more…
A tight knot gripped his throat, a weight pressed on his chest that no one could ease. The memory of his friend’s smile, the lightness with which they had spent those few moments together, returned sharply to his mind, accompanied by harsh, cruel, relentless reality. The body of his friend lay there, cold and motionless.
Guilt consumed him.
“I should have… I could have done more,” he murmured to himself, words hanging in the silent night air. Every decision, every medical gesture, every missed opportunity piled on his chest like boulders.
His heart was in pieces, yet Will couldn’t let go completely—not yet. Every fiber of his body screamed against the injustice of death, against the fact that he could do nothing to change his friend’s fate.
April approached, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Will… you did everything you could to save him…”
Will shook his head.
Maggie came closer but remained silent, understanding that there was a pain here that no words could touch. Will felt every heartbeat as a reminder of loss, an unending echo of what he would never have again.
And in that silence, amid the distant sounds of the hospital and the controlled breaths of his colleagues, Will felt incredibly alone. Not just as a doctor who had lost a patient… but as a friend who had lost someone irreplaceable.
He continued moving between cases, checking monitors, reading charts, talking to colleagues. Outwardly, everything appeared normal, flawless as always, but inside, it was another story.
The weight on his chest remained, just like the knot tightening his throat. His breathing sometimes became shallow, as if the air itself had become too dense.
It was a sensation like sudden claustrophobia, making him feel trapped between the hospital’s white walls. He tried to focus, to do everything as usual… but his heart pounded as if it wanted to escape his chest.
Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore and, with heavy steps, approached the nurses’ station where Maggie was writing.
His eyes were watery and his voice barely a thread:
“Mag… I need a break.”
Maggie kept writing without looking at him.
“Will… there are patients.”
“Please… I need it,” he whispered, his voice choked with urgency and pain.
Finally, Maggie looked up. She saw his face: tense, suffering, the pain shining through despite everything.
“Just ten minutes,” she said firmly, extending a hand toward him.
Will didn’t respond, didn’t turn, even as the nurse called him. He walked away, leaving Maggie behind, and headed toward the stairs leading to the rooftop.
Once there, Will leaned against the railing, breathing deeply.
The cold wind whipped his face, bringing a sense of lightness he hadn’t found inside the hospital.
Above the city, the sky began to change: a soft orange faded into pink, then a delicate blue—the colors of dawn heralding a new day.
It was ironic, Will thought, how everything around him was being reborn and illuminated while inside him it was still the dead of night. Every breath was a memory; every flash of the rising sun seemed to challenge the pain tightening his heart.
The sky slowly filled with warm tones promising hope and new beginnings. Will closed his eyes for a moment, letting the fresh air and city scents fill his lungs. He still felt the emptiness left by his friend, the knot that wouldn’t untie in an instant, but for the first time since it all happened, he felt a slight reprieve: the chance to breathe, to face the pain one step at a time.
A soft sound behind him made Will turn. Maggie had come up to the roof, walking quietly, eyes attentive.
“I knew I’d find you here…” she said gently. There was no judgment, only presence.
Will didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the dawn, hands still on the railing, and with a small sad smile said:
“I needed to breathe.”
Maggie approached and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“That’s okay, sometimes breathing is all we can do.”
For a moment, Will closed his eyes and let the wind and the colors of the dawn wash over him, feeling a thread of relief amidst the pain. It didn’t erase the night inside him, but he was no longer completely alone.