Chapter Ten

Imogen looked down at her phone. 7:12. She stood a bit away from the main entrance of Chicago Med, an early morning breeze blowing her dark hair across her face. But the chill running through her veins, causing her chest to tighten and throat to close, wasn't from the weather.

She'd heard nothing but praise about Dr. Charles. Kind, patient, understanding. He was everything a psychiatrist was supposed to be. But looking away from her phone and watching the steady stream of nurses, techs, and doctors wandering into or out of the hospital, Imogen's heart raced.

Leaning against the grey column she'd been half hiding behind, Imogen tried to focus on her breathing. She had to pass this psychological evaluation. Now she just had to figure out how. What exactly did Dr. Charles want to hear? What could she say that would satisfy him?

"Back again, Detective?"

Imogen startled at the male voice, pushing away the column. She turned to find Dr. Rhodes with a coffee in his right hand and a curious half smile on his face. She nodded.

"Dr. Rhodes," she said. "I've got a follow up with Dr. Charles."

His smile widened just a bit. He took a drink. "I hope it goes well."

"Same." As he started to move away, continuing towards the front doors, Imogen followed. "Is Will here?"

"Should be. What time are you out of your appointment?" said Dr. Rhodes. "I can let him know you're here. If you want."

Imogen almost laughed at the way he suddenly backpedaled. No doubt he remembered their confrontation the night she'd come in. "I should be out by nine."

"Great."

The doors opened with a gentle swish. There wasn't too much going on but no signs of Will. Nurses in blue scrubs and doctors in red moved about cleaning, treating patients, or otherwise. She split from Dr. Rhodes to find the main elevators.

Imogen stepped into one. She pressed the button for the Psychiatric floor. A few others filed in, some patients and some medical personnel. With steady breaths that quivered only slightly, Imogen counted the buttons. One, two, three, four...

When there were no more buttons, Imogen counted steps. Fifty-nine from the elevator through the sterile while halls until she came to a door labeled "Dr. Daniel Charles."

Her first paused just short of the wooden door. In the game of fight, flight, or freeze, apparently her body chose freeze. A spark of anger settled in her chest. Since when did she choose to freeze?

Imogen knocked. Moments later, Dr. Charles' kind and wrinkled face appeared behind an opening door. He wore a red tie over a light blue button and behind a navy sweater vest. Dark glasses framed keen brown eyes and as Imogen stood there, waiting for him to greet her, she felt inspected.

"Detective Adler, how are you this morning?"

There it was. The gentle tone, the disarming question. Imogen couldn't help but think of every time she'd used psychology on persons of interest. Take the cuffs off, play nice, lull them into a false sense of security-

Stop. Imogen smiled. She followed him into his office. "I'm well, thank you. How about you? Hopefully not too many patients to keep you busy?"

"Oh, you know, just doing my job best I can." He wandered over to a set of comfortable red cushioned chairs in the corner. "You can take a seat if you like. I have to grab some papers."

Imogen wanted to do anything but sit. Still, she swallowed the tension and did as told. Taking the seat furthest into the corner where she could watch the door and clock, she took a moment to force herself to uncross her arms. No need to give Dr. Charles such an obvious tell of stress. No self soothing.

She watched him gather up papers and clipboard from his desk. Part of her felt she should speak first. Show no fear, be assertive. But the grip on her throat that always seemed to crop up around shrinks wouldn't release her. Like fingers crushing a windpipe.

He settled across from her. Another small smile. Then he sat back. "How have the last few days been?"

"Fine," was all she could say at first. Another deep breath, another count to five as Dr. Charles allowed the silence to linger, and she sat up straighter. "It's been nice. Being back in Chicago."

Dr. Charles nodded. "I'm sure. You were born here, right?"

"Yeah. Canaryville, born and raised," she said.

The office had a mechanical clock above the door. The excruciatingly slow ticking from second to second filled the air. After the count of four, Imogen conquered the grip around her neck.

"I actually grew up a few houses down from Will Halstead," she said.

Imogen kept her voice light, moving her arms away from each other to play calm. She knew he'd want her to talk about him after the display between her and Will that first day. Needing to be sedated when confronted with a person from her last certainly hadn't won her any favors towards being placed on duty again.

"Really?" he said.

"Yeah. We all went to school together at St. Gabe's, and then De La Salle."

"Did I hear right that you're staying with Detective Halstead while getting back on your feet?" he said.

Imogen nodded. "Yeah. Jay and I go way back."

"And how's that been going?"

"Great," she said. Imogen wasn't sure where he was getting at with his questions, but the longer the small talk interrogation went on the more suspicious she got.

More ticking. More silence. Imogen didn't know what he wanted. Finally, Dr. Charles offered her a small smile.

"Why don't I tell you what I know of what you've gone through the past five years. You can elaborate or correct me as you want. But I think it would be good to get on the same page."

She gave a short nod.

"Five years ago, you took a job with the FBI. In order to do so, you had to... disappear." Dr. Charles paused for a moment, letting two clicks of the clock go by. "You couldn't tell anyone where you were going or why, so either the FBI or Chicago PD staged your death and you went off the grid."

Imogen nodded again.

"About four years later you're given a job in Chicago. So you move back, but no one knows you're alive so you can't see them. That lasted-," he checked his notes, "-six months?"

"Correct."

"Your mission ended in a firefight, and that's how you ended up here." He looked up at her. "It must've been hard, to see Will after all that."

"Of course it was," Imogen snapped. She shifted in the chair, sitting up straighter against the cushioned red back. "But I'm good at what I do. I love what I do," she said. "I don't regret my choice for even a moment."

Dr. Charles didn't say anything right away. He just took a few moments to breathe as Imogen reigned her emotions in. She could feel the inspection starting again.

"I'm good at what I do, Dr. Charles. My entire life trained me for undercover work, and I love it."

"What do you mean by that?" he said. "Don't most detectives have undercover experience?"

It was true. Detectives and any officers involved in specialized units had some level of experience undercover. But she had more than that. She was good at it. Great it.

"I studied acting," she said. Imogen couldn't help but smile at the memory. "I was in drama from the time I was in kindergarten. I did one act plays in high school. By college I was minoring in it and doing improv comedy."

"You minored in theater? What did you major in?" he said.

Imogen glanced up, looking him right in the eye. "Psychology."

Dr. Charles cracked a smile. With a small shake of his head, he just let out a small laugh. "No wonder you don't want to be here. You know all the tricks."

She laughed. Imogen relaxed a bit, shrugging. "I never wanted to be a therapist," she said. "But I like figuring out how people think. I went to college because my mom wanted me to. She said I needed something to keep me busy with Jay in Basic. Psychology was the only thing that interested me. Criminal psychology, in particular."

Jotting something down, Dr. Charles towards his papers. Then he looked back up at her. "You needed something to keep busy. As a distraction? From what?"

The ease that had settled over her evaporated in an instant. The clawing fingers gripped her vocal chords again and she didn't respond. It took counting backwards from five to form words. "With all due respect, Dr. Charles, that has nothing to do with whether I'm fit to return to duty after my UC work."

He nodded. "You and Jay Halstead, you're close? Former partners, correct?"

"Yes."

"Probably been through a lot together?"

"I would die for Jay."

The words came out faster than she meant them to. She hadn't meant it to come out at all, but as her knuckles turned white from gripping onto her skin beneath her black leather jacket sleeves, she knew they were true. Imogen glanced up at Dr. Charles.

He just smiled, his cheeks pushing his dark glasses up just a bit. "I believe you."

"We've kept each other safe for the better part of two decades," Imogen said. "I plan to keep that streak going. If you authorize me for work, I'm not gonna go out and get myself killed or forget who I am. I'm going to do my job. The job I'm damn good at."

With every word, Imogen felt herself leaning forward more. Dr. Charles looked her up and down, wrinkled-framed brown eyes seemingly interrogating her in silence the way she played with words and gestures in grey boxes for criminals.

"Alright Detective," he said. "I'm recommending they reinstate you. However, I do think it would be beneficial to continue seeing a therapist on a regular basis. I don't claim to know what your life has been like, but I think there's some things we could work on, if you'd be open to it."

Imogen's breath caught. She'd said very little about her life and yet he could see through her. He could see the pain. The memory of cold hands wrapped around her throat, of a fist slamming against her abdomen up against a wall, of a ripped dress the color of red wine, flashed across her mind.

"I'll consider it, Dr. Charles," she said.

He nodded. "That's all I ask. My door is always open, especially to a friend of Will's."

Dr. Charles stood first, and Imogen followed. He had her leave the door ajar. Moving a few paces down the white washed hospital hallway, Imogen tried to breathe. An odd mix of relief and anxiety had washed over her. She could get to work again. Nothing could stand in her way. No GSW to the arm, no bruised ribs, and no psych eval.

But the memory of cold hands trailing down her face, caressing her cheek and squeezing her mouth, grabbing at her throat, plastered her frozen against the wall. She took a moment to breathe. Just breathe. Breathe and count.

Where was Will? Imogen pushed herself away from the wall. He'd be down in the ED.

It had only been about 45 minutes, but already the Emergency Department looked busier. A doctor, male, asian, tall and muscular, moved beside a gurney while barking orders to nurses. They wheeled into one of the trauma bays. Imogen had glimpsed a lot of blood. She stood at the threshold from the back to the football shaped department and watched.

"Can I help you?"

She looked left. A nurse, Black, with a kind but tired smile had spoken to her. She had white long sleeves under her blue scrubs and an ID badge on a retractable clip on her left lower pocket.

"I'm Detective Imogen Adler, Chicago PD," she said. With a tiny smile, she gestured off into the ED. "I was hoping to catch Dr. Halstead before I left."

"Oh." The nurse's mouth twitched up into a little smirk. "You're Detective Adler? Will talked about you. I'm April Sexton."

Imogen didn't get a chance to ask what she meant. Will Halstead, in all his messy red haired, energetic glory, walked over spinning his tablet in his hands. Another woman followed him.

"Hey! Connor said you were here," Will said. "I see you've met April. This is Maggie. She's our Charge Nurse. Maggie, Imogen."

"Nice to meet you, Detective," Maggie said.

After a quick breath in through her nose, Imogen smiled and insisted they could both call her by first names. Detective felt too formal and Adler was reserved for coworkers. She turned back April as they moved out of the way of a patient transfer towards the desks in the center.

"So, what's he been saying about me?" Imogen said.

"Oh, all good things," April said. Though based on the list of her voice and Will's sudden hesitance, Imogen was skeptical. "Talked a lot about you and his brother."

Imogen turned back to Will. He instantly put his hands up, tablet in his right, almost like an offender surrendering. "Hey, nothing I said wasn't true."

"He also warned us we may see you in here more than he'd like," Maggie said. At Imogen's questioning look, she added, "Apparently you share Jay's tendency to jump into trouble head first?"

"Are you as scared as he is of needles?" April said. "Because I can only handle a difficult stick like him once in a while. I can't do two."

Imogen burst out laughing. "Don't worry. Jay's the scaredy cat with hospitals. I'm a model patient."

Will snorted. "Model patient, but also a frequent flyer."

A buzz went off from the device in Maggie's hands. She raised up her hand and pointed to Will. "Hey sorry to break this up, but I need you two in Trauma 1. We've got a gunshot victim coming in." She turned to Imogen, backing away towards the ambulance bay doors. "Good to meet you! We should all grab drinks at Molly's."

"I'll see you later, Midge," Will said, patting her once on the arm as he scooted past. His white coat fluttered behind him as he rushed away.

Imogen couldn't help but smile. Even surrounded by blood, sweat, and pain in this chaotic ED, falling back into normal rhythm with Will made the day infinitely better. For the moment, she could push down the memories of cold hands trailing under her dress. She could focus on what had happened after. Sitting in the Halsteads' quiet garage, Jay pacing with bruised and bloodied knuckles, and Will dabbing at the bleeding cut on her forehead in silence. And that memory wasn't quite so bad.