Nemo Resideo

Part III

Sleep was a long time coming for Jay that night, the conversation with the Corsons preying on his mind unremittingly. It was particularly Danny's revelation that put him in a state of nail-biting emotional turmoil. The older man's unflinching willingness to turn himself in for a murder that he hadn't committed if that would have been the only way to clear the detective's name had stunned Halstead weeks ago, but at least he'd been able to log it as accidental then. A premature, precipitous promise made in the spur of the moment. After all, Mr. Corson hadn't yet realized or been able to think about the serious repercussions a choice like this would have, not just on him but on the entire family, specifically Gail. However, at this point, it was no longer a hasty decision, much rather it was a premeditated, life-altering sacrifice.

It deeply affected Jay that someone considered him worthy of it, yet at the same time it ladened him with a heavy boulder of guilt. The Corsons had already been through so much; Ben's death had nearly broken them seven years ago, and his death had left behind a scar that would never fully heal. Why were they so eager to jump to his defense when it had been him who had failed to prevent the tragic event which had ultimately robbed the family of a beloved member, thereby mugging them of their happiness? "Because we owe you, Jay," Danny's strongly assured words reverberated in his head. The brunette merely huffed and shook his head. "You don't owe me anything," he whispered into the sepulchral darkness of his bedroom what he hadn't brought himself to say out loud earlier, then added an even quieter, raspy "I'm not worth it."

Halstead could almost hear Gail and Danny's forceful protest to both statements and could almost imagine the disapproving yet saddened expression on Gail's face, but it wasn't enough to drown out the torturous and self-loathing thoughts occupying his mind. If anything, it reminded him of the unpleasant reactions of Intelligence ten days ago when he'd been wrongfully accused of murdering Lonnie Rodiger and unjustly stripped of his badge. Their scornful stares, wary sidelong glances directed at him in oppressive and judgmental silence from the second he had stepped into the bullpen that day. Their righteously spat I-told-you-so's. The hostile pushes and punches.

Jay was used to the lack of support, had dealt with it most of his life, nevertheless it hurt that none of them had even so much as given him the slightest benefit of the doubt. They had almost made him feel like he was one the dangerous criminals they pursued on a daily basis, but certainly not like a member of their team. Most certainly not like part of the family that Voight always preached they were. They might as well have charged him for murdering Lonnie or worse, put handcuffs on him, and it wouldn't have made any difference.

Swallowing the lump of unbearable emotions clogging his throat, a cluster of loneliness, isolation, and rejection, Jay heaved a sigh, wincing immediately as the deep inhale pulled at the tight muscles in his back. He twisted his upper body to lay halfway on his left side, hoping the new position would both alleviate the painful strain on his vertebrae and ease the constant pressure off his ailing ribs – a mistake for it only jarred his injuries more. With a defeated grunt he flopped back onto his back and hit the mattress with his fist to vent his frustration. Oh, how he wished for the pain to finally abate and let sleep claim him, praying for his brain to shut off as well. But no such luck. His digital clock contemptuously mocked him with the red bulky glowing numbers, the minutes ticking away at an agonizing pace. 1:58... 2:01... 2:03... 2:09...

He must have fallen into a fitful slumber at some point because when he blinked up at the alarm the next time it switched from 3:19 to 3:20. The detective wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but a persistent ringing registered in his sleep-addled brain, presumably the culprit who had startled him awake in the first place. Fumbling for the buzzing device on his nightstand, he accepted the call without even checking the caller and pressed the phone to his ear. "Halstead," he croaked, suppressing a yelp when the searing pain from his back and ribcage returned with a vengeance.