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‘You know what the worst part is?’ Charles says. ‘Other than never getting to see my son grow up and not seeing you anymore and never going to town on Diane Wiest?’
‘Uh, missing out on time with Genevieve?’
‘Oh, yeah. I was gonna say losing my hair.’
They’re sitting on the floor, Blue Flu forgotten. Charles seems to gravitate to the floor whenever he’s upset. The fur coat is back, draped around his shoulders, and Jake keeps resisting the urge to stroke it just for something to do with his hands.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ he says. ‘You’re going to have so many more years of combing your hair over your bald spot.’
Charles glares at him. ‘I do not have a bald spot.’
‘You’re not gonna die,’ Jake says. His voice comes out too loud, but louder is better, right? That’s Jake’s whole life. If he says enough words loudly enough, some of them will be true.
The precinct is a weird place. Masks, hand sanitizer, no Rosa, no Hitchcock, even more hand sanitizer. And now no Charles. According to Holt, he’s ‘taking an extended medical leave’. According to Charles, he’s ‘sitting around waiting for death.’
It’s just not the same. Detective Cook refuses to talk about anything other than work, and Detective Brown eats a Tupperware of salad every day and never wants to get meatball subs together. Amy and Terry and Holt are slammed working on their reforms. Jake tries to help, tries to take on more cases, tries to leave on time every day to collect Mac from day-care. Thinks a lot about what Rosa’s doing.
Charles stops replying to the squad group chat. Mac pulls himself up. Franzia gets away again.
A few days before Charles’ surgery, Jake gives up and calls Genevieve.
‘Hey, Jakey,’ she says.
‘How’s Charles? He isn’t answering my messages.’
She hesitates. ‘Not great. But I think he’d love it if you came over sometime.’
‘Okay, I’ll do that,’ Jake says, relieved and nervous all at once.
‘You could bring Mac,’ Genevieve adds. ‘Niko keeps asking to see you guys.’
Jake could probably have gone sooner – it’s a short walk, even with Mac fussing in his stroller. He wonders, too late, if he should have bought something. Flowers? Food? A good luck with your nard surgery card?
‘How’re we feeling, bud?’ Jake asks Mac, outside Charles’ apartment building. ‘Nervous? I’m not. Psh. Why would you say that?’
Mac whines around his pacifier, wriggling.
‘Okay, we’ll go up,’ Jake concedes, and hits the doorbell.
They get buzzed in, and Jake leaves the stroller in the hall and carries Mac up the stairs. He knocks on the apartment door. He’s not nervous to see his best friend, that would be ridiculous. Mac squirms in his arms.
Charles opens the door. He looks normal except that his hair is a mess, grey showing at the roots. ‘Ah. Jake. Here to witness my downfall.’
Jake plasters on a grin. ‘I brought Mac to see you!’
That gets a little smile out of Charles, and he holds out his arms for Mac. Jake gladly passes him over.
‘Hey little buddy,’ Charles says, bouncing Mac in his arms. ‘I have some pureed cauliflower with your name on it. I’ve gotta make sure you’ll miss me.’
Jake follows him into the kitchen, where the table is covered in crafting supplies.
‘Hi Jake!’ Genevieve says. ‘We’re making flower crowns.’
‘The perfect symbol of life,’ Charles says. ‘Beautiful and ultimately temporary.’
‘Oh, shush,’ Genevieve says. ‘The flowers aren’t even real.’
‘Smort,’ Jake says.
Genevieve gives him a secretive little smile. ‘Charles made some maple-pecan scones.’
‘I did,’ Charles admits.
Apparently Mac is way more interesting than flower crowns, because Nikolaj is happy to sit on the floor with him and hand him toys. Maybe Jake should start enlisting eight-year-olds as babysitters more often. If he let Cagney and Lacey style Mac’s hair, they’d probably be on board.
Genevieve clears half of the table, and Charles makes coffee. With his hair unstyled, he obviously does have a bald spot. Jake opens his mouth to gloat, and then shuts it again.
‘How’s work?’ Charles says, setting a hand-painted mug down in front of Jake.
‘Super lame,’ Jake says. ‘Franzia got away again.’
Charles gasps. ‘Your white whale! Jakey, I’m so sorry.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Jake takes a bite of his scone – it’s delicious. Charles should focus more on the sweet stuff and less on the intestines.
‘Tell me about your other cases,’ Charles says. ‘Or something else! How’s Amy? Did you try out that massage oil I gave you?’
‘Nope,’ Jake lies. When he can’t think of anything else to say, he finds himself blurting out, ‘Are you okay? Does it, like, hurt?’
‘Not really.’
‘Then why aren’t you at work?’ Jake says. ‘Your surgery isn’t until Friday, right? We could have been working on the Franzia case together! You could have seen Scully staple his paperwork to his pants!’
‘Holt and Terry don’t want me around,’ Charles says.
Genevieve takes his hand and squeezes it gently. ‘They want Charles to take some time for himself to prepare emotionally.’
Jake doesn’t know where to look so twists around in his seat and watches Niko showing Mac a picture book, pointing at a drawing of a golden retriever. He wonders what Charles and Genevieve have told their son, how much he understands.
‘Will you do something for me?’ Charles says, and Jake hastily turns back to him.
‘Sure, anything.’
Charles leans in secretively. ‘I want you to kill Lieutenant Peanut Butter.’
‘What? Charles, I’m not gonna do that.’
‘So you’re just gonna let that son of a bitch outlive me?’
‘He’s not gonna outlive you! He’s a horse!’ Jake taps his fingers against the table, beating out a rhythm. ‘I googled it, and it said you have one of the most treatable types of cancer.’
Charles keeps his voice low enough that the kids won’t hear. ‘It’s all up in my lymph nodes.’
‘I don’t know what those are.’
‘Me neither,’ Charles says. ‘But mine are trying to kill me.’
Amy decides they should take over some food.
‘But Charles and Genevieve can cook way better than us,’ Jake points out.
‘It’s the thing to do,’ Amy says.
So they make a casserole.
Genevieve seems happy to see them, and even manages to look pleased about the Tupperware they’re foisting on her. Jake cranes his head to peer into the apartment, but he can’t see Charles.
‘He’s taking a nap,’ Genevieve says. ‘His surgery went really well, though.’
‘That’s great!’ Amy says, her voice strained. ‘How are you holding up?’
‘Honestly?’
‘Absolutely,’ Amy says. ‘You can tell us anything.’
Genevieve exhales slowly. ‘I’m just so angry.’
‘At the universe?’ Amy says, sympathetically.
‘No, at Charles. He knew something was wrong and he didn’t get it checked out until he had to go to the doctor for work. He could have got away with just one surgery, maybe a round of chemo, but he’s looking at months and months of treatment. And if they hadn’t noticed it when they did it would have just kept spreading. And I’m so mad at him, and I love him so much, and I just wish he’d look after himself the way he looks after the rest of us.’
She looks a little taken aback at her own outburst.
‘And he spent twelve thousand dollars on cheese,’ Jake adds, and then realises it’s probably not helpful.
But Genevieve laughs. ‘I adore that man.’
‘Will you let us know if there’s anything we can do?’ Amy says. ‘Please. We’d love to help.’
‘That’s what everyone’s been saying,’ Genevieve says. ‘But I’ll let you know.’
Shaw’s feels like a return to real life, however briefly. Jake can almost pretend he isn’t suspended, that Rosa and Gina are playing pool on the other side of the bar, that Hitchcock is really there and not just on Scully’s iPad. That Charles is okay.
‘…and then Jake said, “we will do whatever it takes to get you off”,’ Charles says, and everyone laughs.
‘That’s not what I said,’ Jake says.
‘Uh, pretty sure it is.’
‘No, it’s not what I said because I was totally wrong about that case,’ Jake says. ‘Once we found that storage unit I thought for sure Genevieve stole the art. You were the one who kept fighting. Uh, turns out I’m wrong a lot.’ There’s a pause: Jake has killed the mood. ‘I’m getting another drink.’
He checks his phone while he’s waiting at the bar – his mom has texted to say that Mac has been good as gold and fallen asleep quickly.
‘Hey.’ Amy lays a hand on his arm. ‘I feel like I’ve barely had a chance to talk to you. How was your day?’
‘Well I cleaned the fridge and listened to an audiobook about racism and I’m definitely not losing my mind,’ Jake tells her.
‘You get to hang out with Mac all day,’ Amy says. ‘I’m kind of jealous.’
‘FOMOOM,’ Jake says, and she laughs.
Jake orders drinks for them both – he needs this, after the day he’s had. That fridge was gross. He does like all the time with Mac, though.
‘Charles was at work today,’ Amy says.
‘Oh. What?’
‘He came in to finish off some paperwork and brief the people taking on his cases. He had a look at some of yours, too.’
Jake glances over at Charles where he’s talking to Holt and Terry. Looking at him, you wouldn’t know that two weeks ago he was getting a cocktail of poison pumped directly into his veins.
‘Kevin reported that walking your dogs was ‘strenuous yet rewarding’,’ Holt says, as Jake and Amy re-join the table. ‘He would be happy to do it again.’
‘Thank you,’ Charles says. ‘You’ve all been – it’s so – thank you.’
Jake sips his drink, trying to look unobtrusive. He’s not used to it.
‘And you can take as much time off as you need,’ Terry adds. ‘We’re all here to support you, even if you’re not working.’
‘I should probably have cleared my desk,’ Charles says.
‘No way,’ Terry says. ‘We’re saving that seat for you.’
Later, before they leave, Jake gives Charles a hug.
‘It was awesome to see you,’ he says. ‘You seem… better? Not quite as much of an existential crisis going on?’
‘Oh,’ Charles says, flatly. Not making eye contact. ‘That’s good.’
Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool. He’s fine! He’s gonna be totally fine.
The day after Charles’s second round of chemo, Genevieve calls Jake in a panic.
‘I know this is a long shot but are you or Ames free today? I have to take Niko to a specialist in Manhattan and I promised we’d get hot chocolate while we’re there.’ She lets out a dazed laugh. ‘I spend my whole life taking people the doctors. But Lynn isn’t answering his phone and Rosa can’t make it until the afternoon and I can’t leave Charles on his own right now.’
‘Sure,’ Jake says. ‘I’ll be there.’ He’s supposed to take Mac to playgroup and run some errands, but he’s sure his mom can handle playgroup. Errands can wait.
‘Oh, you’re the best,’ Genevieve says. ‘Just until two and Rosa can come take over.’
Jake tries not to be upset that she called Rosa first. ‘Is Niko okay?’
‘He’s got wonky feet and his insoles don’t seem to be working,’ she says. ‘He’s basically fine, but I wish we’d caught it earlier.’ She sighs. Jake wonders if she’s still angry, or just exhausted.
This time, Nikolaj opens the door to him. ‘Hi Uncle Jake, I love you!’ he says.
‘I love you too, buddy.’ It’s so easy to say these days. ‘Good luck at the doctors today!’
‘Thanks! He’s going to sort out my funny feet,’ Nikolaj says, cheerfully.
When Jake was his age, he still thought his dad was going to come back. He tries to imagine having a father who is there, and who loves him, but has to go into hospital every few weeks and needs babysitting. Yep, that’s worse. That’s way worse.
Genevieve pulls him aside, her hand on his arm and her voice hushed. ‘Thank you so much for this,’ she says. ‘Charles has some anti-sickness meds but he’s refusing to take them because he says they don’t work. Get him to take some if you can. Make sure he stays hydrated.’
‘Sure, sure, got it,’ Jake says.
‘And call me if you need anything.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ Jake says, with feigned confidence. ‘You two enjoy your hot chocolate, okay?’
Her relief is palpable, even if she still looks nervous. ‘You’re the best. Okay, come on Niko.’
And then Jake is alone in the living room, and it’s silent except for the faint hum of traffic outside. He leaves his sneakers by the door, pads through the apartment, tries to look prepared rather than terrified. He finds Charles curled up on the bathroom floor. It smells real bad.
‘Heyyyy bud,’ Jake says, softly.
Charles moans.
‘How about we get up? We could watch a movie or something?’ He’s using the voice he uses for Mac.
Charles drags himself halfway to sitting, and then gives up and lies down again.
‘Okay, c’mon. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.’
It takes a lot of coaxing to get Charles to his feet. His pyjama shirt has puke on it, so Jake finds him a clean one. There are tubes sticking out of his chest, taped over above his heart. Jake looks away. He’s slightly worried the smell is going to make him throw up, but it doesn’t, and he’s not being too weird about this whole thing, and he manages to get Charles into the living room. Wow, Jake is good at this. Fatherhood really changes a man.
Jake turns on the TV, and Charles refuses to pick a movie so he puts on Bridget Jones’s Baby because he figures it will be cute and there won’t be any death. Charles curls up in the corner of the couch with a blanket tight around him, and almost immediately seems to fall asleep.
Turns out there is death is Bridget Jones’s Baby. Huh.
It’s a long morning. Charles wakes with a jolt and retches up bile, his face wet with tears, and then goes back to sleep. Jake turns the movie off. He makes himself some coffee, texts Amy, messes around on his phone and wishes he’d thought to bring his Switch. He realises that Charles is awake again, awake and trembling.
‘Hey,’ Jake says, softly. He lays a careful hand on Charles’ arm.
‘Jake.’ Charles’ voice is hoarse.
‘I’m here. I’m here.’ Jake slides off the couch and kneels on the floor so they’re almost face to face. But Charles isn’t looking, his eyes screwed closed. His eyelashes are wet. ‘Can I do anything?’
‘I feel like I’m dying,’ Charles whispers.
‘It’s just the drugs,’ Jake says, too loud. ‘They have to make you sick, that’s how you know they’re working.’ He strokes Charles’ damp hair, needing to touch him, needing to find some way to comfort him. If this was a movie, this is when it would start coming out in clumps.
The first night after they brought Mac home from the hospital, Jake and Amy sat on the floor watching him sleep, watching his tiny ribcage rise and fall. Jake couldn’t shake the feeling that if they stopped watching, he might just stop breathing. This is the same kind of aching, terrifying sense of responsibility.
Eventually, Charles seems to relax, although Jake thinks he’s still awake. Jake gets to his feet, his knees protesting after so long on the floor. He makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, wondering if he should try and get Charles to eat something. Just thinking that feels weird.
When he goes back into the living room, Charles opens his eyes but doesn’t say anything.
‘Do you wanna give TV another go?’ Jake says. ‘And when was the last time you ate something? Or drank something? Genevieve left you some ginger ale, if you want that.’
Charles makes a distressed noise.
‘Please? You’ve gotta eat at some point.’
Charles doesn’t say anything, but he’s not asleep or throwing up so Jake takes that as encouragement. He makes some toast, because that’s what his mom used to make when he got stomach flu as a kid. Charles doesn’t eat it but he allows himself to be coaxed into sitting up and sipping some ginger ale, sleeves pulled down over his hands.
‘Is it worse than last time?’ Jake asks.
Charles nods.
Jake hates problems like this, ones he can’t go after with a gun and a cool one-liner. It’s like the pandemic, systemic racism, his own childhood trauma. All he wants is to fix it, but he doesn’t know how.
The doorbell rings, and Jake startles. By the time he’s got up to let Rosa in, Charles has started throwing up again. Rosa disappears and comes back with a damp washcloth: Jake’s mad he didn’t think of it. ‘Here’s the plan,’ she says, briskly dabbing Charles’s forehead. ‘You’re gonna take your meds, we’re gonna watch some crappy TV, and you’re gonna be in bed before Nikolaj gets home. I’ll make sure everything’s clean and doesn’t smell like puke.’
‘Good plan,’ Charles says. And then, ‘I’m sorry you two have to be here for this. I’m so sorry.’
‘Shut up,’ Rosa says.
Charles struggles into a sitting position. ‘I’m serious. I’m gonna die and you’re just gonna remember me all pathetic and sweaty.’
‘You’re not gonna die,’ Jake says.
‘You’re not scared of death,’ Rosa says. ‘You’re Charles Boyle, you threw yourself in front of a gun for me.’
‘That was stupid, I’m totally scared of death!’
‘No you’re not. You’re brave. You can handle this.’
‘Whatever,’ Charles says. ‘I’m going back to sleep.’
‘Nope. Meds first.’
Jake clears up his plate and mug, and ends up washing a stack of dishes that have been left by the sink. It’s such a pathetic attempt at being useful. After a while Rosa comes in and leans against the fridge.
‘He’s asleep,’ she says.
‘Yeah. He’s been doing a lot of that.’
Jake finds a dishcloth and starts drying up. One of the mugs says world’s best papa on it, and Jake wonders how Nikolaj is getting on.
‘I told my grandpa I loved him when I thought he was dying of cancer,’ Rosa says, suddenly. ‘He got better. Made me feel like an idiot.’
Jake waits for her to say more, but she doesn’t.
Genevieve comes over to return a whole stack of their dishes from the food they keep giving her.
‘Is there anything else we can do?’ Amy says.
‘Everyone wants to do something,’ Genevieve says, with a tired smile. ‘But no, not really.’
Amy opens her mouth, and then closes it. Jake can tell she wants to argue. After a moment, she says, ‘How are you holding up?’
Genevieve shakes her head. ‘It’s rough. I keep thinking… if Charles really was dying, I’d marry him.’
‘You could marry him anyway,’ Jake says.
‘I don’t want to do it for the wrong reasons.’
‘He’s going to be okay,’ Amy says. ‘He’ll get through this. We’ll all get through this.’
Charles turns fifty in the middle of his treatment and can’t have a party because crowds are a threat to his damaged immune system, so Jake shows up by himself with a bag of his mom’s homemade cookies. He doesn’t like to bring Mac anymore, for reasons he can’t quite explain.
Charles looks like a different person. Realistically, Jake knows that he’s the same age as Terry, but he still looks all wrong without hair, like he’s not old enough to look this old. Or maybe it’s the bags under his red-rimmed eyes, the multiple layers of sweater he’s wrapped in. Jake hugs him, and wonders if he’s lost weight.
‘What’s up!’ Jake says. ‘How’s it going?’ He tries not to stare at Charles’ head, but Charles catches him looking.
‘Genevieve wanted to shave hers too,’ he says. ‘What, am I supposed to have cancer and not get to touch her hair?’
‘You’d obviously hate that,’ Jake says. ‘What was she thinking?’
‘Exactly!’ Charles laughs. ‘She filled in my eyebrows with makeup.’ He waggles them at Jake, and for a moment looks almost like himself.
‘I brought you cookies!’ Jake says.
‘Oh. Thanks.’
‘Uh.’ And Jake’s just standing there in Charles’ living room with his best friend, and it’s all wrong. He and Charles don’t stand places, they walk to coffee shops and roll desk chairs across the bullpen and chase people down alleys. ‘We should sit down.’
‘Right. Yes.’
They sit. Jake fidgets with the package of cookies, looks at the map of Latvia on the wall, tries to think of something to say. It’s not like he’s solved any cases recently.
‘Jake,’ Charles says, anguished.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jake says. ‘What can I do?’
Charles sighs, shakes his head.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
But you’re Charles! You always want to talk about it!’
‘Everyone keeps saying that. You’re Charles, you always want to talk, you’re not scared of death, you always want to go down on me while we watch the Great British Bake Off!’
‘That’s a thing you guys do?’
‘Not anymore! I just –’ Charles rubs his hands over his face. ‘I know I’m not acting like me. I don’t feel like me. I don’t even look like me – I was born with a full head of hair!’
‘That sucks,’ Jake says emphatically, but it’s not enough. ‘This whole thing sucks.’
‘And I’m never hungry,’ Charles says. ‘And everything tastes wrong anyway. Don’t tell anyone, but I tried one of Holt’s nutrition bricks.’
‘Charles!’
‘I know, I know.’
‘There must be something you want. Sheep’s milk ice cream?’
Charles shakes his head. ‘I’m just so tired. I slept for fourteen hours the last time I had chemo, and I was still tired. And I’m tired of throwing up and I’m tired of my hands hurting whenever I touch something cold and I’m tired of my chest hair falling out. I’m tired of being sick.’
‘I know,’ Jake says. ‘It’s unbelievably shitty.’
‘I know so many people have it worse, and for way longer. But I just – I hate it.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Jake has had enough of sitting here trying to be sympathetic. It’s time to do something. ‘Look – neither of us can go to work. What if we looked at this as an opportunity?’
‘Go on.’
‘Why don’t we get away for a few days? Maybe Holt and Kevin would let us use the Lake House? We could just hang out and play video games and yell at cooking shows together. We could have some fun.’
Charles hesitates. ‘I don’t know if…’
‘Come on! It’s gotta be better than moping around here!’
‘I’m not moping.’
‘I’ve literally never seen anyone mope this hard. You’re beating the record set by you after you got divorced. Come on, let’s go on a road trip!’
‘I was pretty jealous you went on one with Doug Judy,’ Charles concedes.
Jake grins, points finger guns at him. ‘There’s the Charles I know!’
He buys way too many snacks, hoping Charles will enjoy one of them. He packs DVDs and video games and makes a playlist of cheesy pop songs. He makes sure the fridge is well-stocked for Amy and Mac. And then he shows up at Charles and Genevieve’s apartment on Monday morning, and nobody answers the door.
Jake tries the buzzer again. Texts Charles, and doesn’t get a reply. Calls him: no answer. He sits down on the front step, wondering if he should try Genevieve or if that would be overkill. Charles is probably just running late.
He’s starting to worry twenty minutes later, when Genevieve shows up. She looks a mess: her eyes red, her hair dishevelled, clutching her phone and keys. Jake gets to his feet. ‘What’s wrong? What happened?’
‘Oh, Jake,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry, I should have called you.’
Jake is very aware of the blood pounding around his body, getting him ready to run, to fight. All the worst-case scenarios are playing out in his head, and he isn’t ready for this. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Charles is in the hospital,’ Genevieve says, her voice cracking. ‘He was running a really high fever last night, and he couldn’t breathe, and – I had to bring Niko to the emergency room with us, there was no time to call anyone. I hate that he had to be there for that.’ She takes a deep breath, wipes her eyes on her hands. ‘They think it’s pneumonia. They’ve got him on oxygen and fluids and he’s doing better already.’ She looks miserable though. Jake pulls her into a hug – she’s wearing one of Charles’ sweatshirts, and it still smells faintly of his cologne.
‘That’s good,’ he says. ‘That’s good, right?’
‘There was a moment last night when I thought that was it,’ Genevieve whispers. ‘I kept thinking, I’m not ready to say goodbye.’
‘He’ll be okay,’ Jake says quickly, firmly.
Genevieve steps away, wipes her face. ‘I just came by to pick some things up. I left Niko with Lynn, but I promised I wouldn’t be long.’
‘Can I, uh, see Charles?’
‘Family only,’ Genevieve says, and Jake tries to look disappointed rather than relieved.
He thinks about the first time Charles called him his best friend, all those years ago. How sincere he was. He thinks about Charles following him around, hyping him up, laughing at his jokes, buying a stupid fashion scarf because Jake did. He thinks about every case where Charles was the primary but Jake followed his own instincts anyway, and all the times he was wrong, because he’s wrong so much. He thinks about Charles taking a bullet for Rosa and how Jake laughed at him, and how well Charles took it. He thinks about the time they did door duty and suspected one of the guys they talked to of child abuse, and how Charles stayed up all night working to help those kids. About how much Charles always wanted a kid of his own, and how much he loves Nikolaj. About Gintars, and how badly Jake wanted to help, and how badly he screwed up. It’s only now that he really understands it was about so much more than a miscommunication. He thinks about his bachelor party: didn’t you make me less of a priority when you and Genevieve got together? The long pause before Charles said yes.
He thinks about every accidental innuendo and long-winded Boyle family anecdote and musical theatre reference. Every stakeout and drink at Shaw’s. Every hug and high-five.
He thinks about how wrecked Genevieve sounded on the sidewalk outside her apartment. I’m not ready to say goodbye.
Jake thought Mac was perfect as a new-born, but every week since he’s thought wait, no, this is better. The three of them are sitting on the living room floor, and Amy is naming body parts and Mac is pointing to them, and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened.
‘Show me your ears,’ she says, and Mac points at his left ear.
‘Mama,’ he says, in a way that means you too. Amy points to both her ears, and Mac giggles helplessly, and Jake is so in love.
‘Do you think it’s dinner time soon?’ Amy says.
‘No,’ Mac says.
‘Well it’s getting late,’ Jake says. ‘So I think it probably is, mister.’
Jake makes macaroni cheese with broccoli – he’s getting better at cooking. Real cooking, with flour and butter and milk rather than stuff out of a box. Maybe he’s just never had the time before.
‘Genevieve says Charles is doing okay,’ Amy says. They’ve been texting, apparently. ‘He’s got his last round of chemo next week.’
Jake keeps stirring the sauce, around and around in the pan. Can’t let it stick. ‘Great.’
‘I bet he’d love to see you.’
‘Hmn.’
Amy doesn’t say anything, and when Jake looks up he sees her holding a grocery receipt that he was scribbling on earlier. He meant to put it somewhere for safe-keeping, but Mac distracted him.
‘Diane Wiest infection,’ she reads. ‘My hands are covered in butter from making butter. Time to put some daddy into my mommy – what is this?’
Jake tips grated cheese into the sauce. ‘It’s a list of the best things Charles has ever said.’
‘Why?’
‘In case I need them!’ The words burst out of him. ‘For a best man speech!’
‘He’s not going to die,’ Amy says.
Jake puts down his spoon. ‘I know that, we all keep saying that, but what if he does?’
‘Testicular cancer has one of the best survival rates.’ She’s using her human-textbook voice.
‘But they chopped his ball off and he still has cancer!’ Jake says. ‘What if it keeps spreading? What if he gets another infection? What if there’s a new covid variant and his immune system can’t handle it?’
Amy looks away. ‘He just has to keep fighting.’
Jake stirs the sauce – it’s stuck a little at the bottom, but it’s good enough. He takes the pan off the heat, drains the macaroni, stirs the sauce into the pasta. ‘This is all so dumb,’ he says. ‘First your dad leaves, and then your grandma dies, and then your wife threatens to leave you on your anniversary, and then your friend quits her job, and then your best friend gets nard cancer.’
‘You know I wasn’t going to leave you,’ Amy says, coolly. ‘That wasn’t –’
‘I know, it wasn’t about me! Like Rosa leaving wasn’t about me, and Charles getting sick isn’t about me! But it just, it fucking sucks!’
‘I know,’ Amy says. ‘I know.’ Jake looks at her properly and realises that she’s tearing up, and that he loves her so much more than he’s angry. He goes over and holds out his arms, and she gratefully accepts his hug. ‘I feel like I’m doing everything wrong,’ she says, half-muffled by his shoulder.
‘It’s all so pointless,’ Jake says. ‘We’re making casseroles and buying birthday cards and pretending to help so we feel better about it, but he still might die. And what do we do then?’
‘I don’t know,’ Amy says. ‘I’m sorry, I wish there was something I could say that would help.’
‘I –’ Jake tries to say something, but he can’t. He presses his face into Amy’s shoulder. The only man he’s ever seen cry like this is Charles, and that thought just makes it worse. Amy doesn’t say anything, just holds him tight, and eventually Jake manages to take a deep breath and wipe his face on the cuffs of his flannel shirt.
‘You’ve got therapy on Monday, don’t you?’ Amy says softly, rubbing his back in circles.
‘Yeah.’ His throat hurts.
‘Maybe it would be a good chance to work through some of these feelings.’
All Jake can do is nod.
‘Come on,’ Amy says. ‘Let’s finish this dumb food.’
He doesn’t see Charles before his last round of chemo, and he doesn’t see him afterwards. He doesn’t make himself go until Charles is in hospital again, recovering from another surgery.
Amy sips coffee and fills out the Times crossword puzzle, but Jake can’t stay still so he paces the waiting room. He hates hospitals. And why is it called a waiting room, when everyone in the building is waiting for something? For their shift to end, for a delayed appointment, for test results, to finish their treatment. Everyone here just wants to go home.
Genevieve comes to find them and Amy starts to put her things away, but she says, ‘Just Jake for the moment.’
‘Sure, I’ll wait here,’ Amy says. ‘I hate to leave a crossword unfinished, anyway.’
‘She really does,’ Jake says.
As he and Genevieve walk down the corridor he almost asks how Charles is but can’t quite bring himself to. And then she stops holds a door open for him, and there’s no time to prepare himself before he comes face to face with his best friend.
There’s a bunch of tubes sprouting from under the comforter that Jake tries not to think about, plus one in his nose and a drip in his arm. Even now, Jake’s taken aback by how sick he looks. But Charles lights up when he sees him. ‘Jake!’
‘What’s up?’ Jake says. ‘How’re the old lymph nodes?’
‘I have less of them now,’ Charles says, cheerfully.
‘Gotta be honest, I still don’t understand what they are.’ Jake holds up the paper bag in his hand. ‘I don’t know if you’re up to eating octopus balls, but I brought you some just in case.’
‘I always appreciate balls,’ Charles says.
‘Uh, I’m just now realising it might have been an insensitive choice.’ Jake pulls up a chair, taps his fingers against his knees as he wonders what he’s supposed to do now. He settles for a roguish grin and says, ‘So, been up to much?’
‘Yes!’ Charles says. ‘Gen, give him the thing.’
Genevieve hands Jake a sheet of notebook paper covered in Charles’ neat handwriting.
‘Alligator meat,’ Jake reads. ‘Gelato from Italy. Deep fried Mars bar. Is this your grocery list?’
‘Keep going!’ Charles says.
‘Meet Diane Wiest. Outlive that stupid horse. Learn to break down a door.’
‘It’s my new bucket list!’ Charles says. His face falls. ‘Jake, are you crying?
‘I love you so much,’ Jake says, crying.
‘I know, Jakey. Come here.’
Jake goes to him, allows himself to pulled into a hug. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s okay. I know I haven’t been a lot of fun recently.’
Jake pulls back. ‘Do not be nice about this. You’ve been going through something monumentally shitty and I should have been there. I should have looked after you better.’
‘It’s okay,’ Charles says.
‘No, it’s not. I feel like I’ve been making one mistake after another this year,’ Jake says. ‘But I’m trying to do better.’
And Charles, because he’s the best and Jake doesn’t deserve him, just hugs him again. They talk for a while, and it’s not quite normal but it’s still good. Easy. Charles starts coughing a few times – he’s still dealing with the pneumonia, but it’s on its way out.
‘Rosa came over when I was – a while ago,’ Charles says. ‘She told me she loved me.’
‘What?’
Charles looks exceptionally smug. ‘We had a long, emotional conversation about our friendship and how much it means to us. She cried.’
‘She did not.’
‘She teared up!’
Jake laughs, and Charles laughs too until it turns into coughing. Jake politely waits while Genevieve helps him take a sip of water.
‘So what happens next?’ Jake says.
‘Well if all goes well at my scan, I’ve just gotta get the dongle taken out.’ Charles points at his chest, where the central line creates a slight lump under his hospital gown. ‘And then that’s it. I’m done.’
Jake grins and holds up the list. ‘And what about this? Got anything else you wanna do?’
‘That’s all I came up with for now,’ Charles says. ‘Well, unless Genevieve wants to make all my dreams come true.’ He waggles his eyebrows at her.
And Genevieve sighs, a smile tugging at her mouth. ‘Fine.’
Charles’ eyes go wide. ‘Really!?’
‘Yes, okay,’ she says, smiling properly. ‘If you’ll live long enough to make it worth my while.’
‘You will not regret this!’ Charles says.
‘What is happening?’ Jake says, looking back and forth between them. ‘Wait, did you guys just get engaged? Or is this one of your weird sex things?’
Genevieve picks up Charles’ hand with the IV in the back of it and kisses his fingers. ‘I want to wait until you’re feeling better,’ she says. ‘When you’ve got your hair back.’
‘Obviously,’ Charles says. ‘I love you so, so much.’
Jake is a little dizzy. Is he going to faint? Turnabout is fair play, he figures.
And then Charles and Genevieve start kissing, and Jake takes that as his cue to leave. He’s grinning as he makes his way back to the waiting room.
‘How is he?’ Amy says, nervously.
‘He’s good,’ Jake says, pulling her into a hug. He can’t stop smiling. ‘He’s great. He’s awesome.’
Jake steps into the elevator as a detective for the last time and catches Amy’s eye as the doors slide closed. Okay, technically he has to come in to fill out some last forms and return his badge, and they’re probably gonna make him sort out all the crap he left in his desk drawers, but still. This is his last official day.
‘There are way too many of us in here,’ Rosa says. ‘I can feel Charles breathing on me.’
‘Whatever, you love me.’
‘I regret saying that,’ Rosa says, but Jake can hear the trace of a smile in her voice.
‘Yeah, this isn’t great for my claustrophobia,’ Amy says, a little breathless.
‘But it wouldn’t have been as cool if we didn’t all get in together!’ Jake says, and then they’re on the ground floor and the door are opening again.
‘What do we do now?’ Charles says, as they spill out into the lobby.
‘Shaw’s?’ Jake says.
‘Shaw’s it is,’ says Holt.
They trace the familiar route from the precinct to the bar, all nine of them, for what might be the last time.
‘Was it a good last day?’ Charles says, falling into step beside Jake.
‘Yeah,’ Jake says. ‘It really was. I’m sorry we didn’t get to do a last case with our matching leather jackets though, everything happened so quickly.’
‘It’s okay,’ Charles says. ‘I’m really happy for you, Jakey.’
It’s only been a few months, but he already looks different. He’s still skinnier than he used to be, his hair coming in fuzzy and uneven, but he seems revitalised somehow.
‘It’s nothing,’ Jake says. ‘You’re the one who just beat cancer. You’re the most badass person here.’
Charles hesitates. ‘I have to keep going for check-ups in case it comes back.’
‘It won’t,’ Jake says, automatically.
‘It might,’ Charles says. ‘And that’s terrifying, but I’ve just gotta live with that fear.’
Jake wants to argue, but he’s got nothing.
‘And I know if it does come back, I can kick its butt again,’ Charles says. ‘And I’ll always have you guys and Gen and Niko to help me.’
‘That’s true,’ Jake says. His heart hurts, but maybe in a good way.
‘Can I tell you a secret?’
‘Of course you can.’
‘I’ve been thinking about taking the sergeant’s exam,’ Charles says. ‘Maybe next year, if everything goes well. What do you think?’
‘I think that’s an amazing idea.’
‘I always thought you and me were going to be the new Hitchcock and Scully,’ Charles says.
‘Gross.’
‘But we’re both moving on,’ Charles says. ‘I really want to be part of what Holt and Amy are working on. I want to help.’
‘Me too,’ Jake says. ‘But, to be clear, I’m the Scully in that scenario.’
‘Sure, okay, I’ll be the Hitchcock. He was a totally smoke-show when he was young.’
‘By the way, I got Amy to proofread my BM speech and she says five pages is too much. I need you to tell her that it absolutely is not.’
‘I’ll be sure to do that.’
Jake thinks about saying, I’m scared too, I’ve been scared the whole time and that’s why I’ve been acting so weird. I’m scared I did more harm than good as a cop. I’m scared of what comes next. But they’re nearly at Shaw’s and anyway, he’s got a lifetime to tell Charles all of that. So he just says, ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ Charles says.
‘No look high five!’
They’re out of practice: Jake’s hand just hits air, and Charles’ bumps into his elbow. They’re both laughing.
‘Hey, losers!’ Gina yells at them. ‘Hurry up!’
Jake ignores her. ‘Future Sergeant Boyle, can I ask a favour?’
‘Of course.’
‘Will you catch Franzia for me?’
Charles gives Jake a soft smile. ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘It would be an honour.’