The fluorescent lights of the precinct were harsh this morning, buzzing faintly like the city itself was impatient. The smell of stale coffee and inked paperwork filled the air. I sat at my desk, rubbing my eyes, staring at the files spread across the table. Three victims, three smiles, and nothing connecting them. Nothing but chaos.
Alex sat across from me, dark eyes scanning every note, every photograph, every detail. He hadn't said much since we arrived, but I could tell he was fully present. Observant. Calculating. Reliable. That was Alex — always the calm center when I spiraled.
I sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "We've gone over these files a hundred times. And yet…" I let my voice trail off.
Alex didn't reply. He never did when he knew words wouldn't help. Instead, he slid a coffee cup toward me. Black, hot, just like I liked it. Small gestures. Small stabilizers. That was him.
I picked it up. "Thanks."
He gave the tiniest nod. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
I smiled faintly. "Yeah. Usually."
I had just opened the folder for the fourth potential victim when my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but instinctively, I picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Leo?" The voice on the other end was sharp, strained, familiar. "It's David… Mom—she's had a heart attack. Hospital… St. Claire's. They're… they're stabilizing her, but Leo…" His voice broke.
Time stopped.
"Wait. Slow down," I said, gripping the phone tightly. My chest ached. My stomach twisted. "How… what happened?"
David's voice trembled. "She was fine this morning. But—Leo, I'm at the hospital. You need to get here."
The words felt unreal, heavy, like my world had tilted on its axis. I sank back in my chair, blinking, trying to process. My mother. Heart attack. In the hospital.
Alex was suddenly at my side before I even realized it. His hand touched my shoulder. "What is it?"
"My mom… heart attack. St. Claire's." My voice came out tight, raw.
Alex's grip tightened slightly, steadying me. "We go now."
I nodded, barely processing, grabbing my coat. Papers fell from the desk, but I didn't care. Cases, killers, files—none of that mattered right now.
Alex grabbed his jacket, white hair falling slightly from the tie. Dark eyes sharp, alert. "Car's outside. Let's move."
We didn't speak again. We didn't need to. Silence filled the space, but it was comfortable, grounding. I was grateful for that. Grateful for him.
The drive to St. Claire's Hospital was tense. I gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, muscles tight. My mind raced, memories flooding in — Mom laughing at the kitchen, scolding me for leaving clothes on the floor, making me tea when I pulled all-nighters studying cases. All those small moments, suddenly precious.
Alex didn't speak. He never did when I was like this. His eyes scanned the streets, alert, cautious. I knew he was keeping us safe, even when he didn't say it. And in some strange way, that quiet reliability calmed me.
I tried to focus on the road, but my mind kept wandering. What if she didn't make it? What if I got there too late?
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and fear. Fluorescent lights buzzed above, sharper here than the precinct. I ran up to the reception desk. "My mother… she's been admitted. Heart attack. Leo."
The nurse's eyes widened. "Floor four, room 412."
I didn't wait. Alex followed silently, muscles tensed, eyes scanning for obstacles, for threats, for… something. That's Alex. Always scanning. Always calculating. Always protecting.
We ran down the hall, the echo of our footsteps loud against the sterile tiles. My heart pounded. I kept thinking, please, please, let her be okay.
When we arrived at the room, the sight almost broke me. Mom lay in the hospital bed, tubes and monitors surrounding her. Her skin was pale, sweaty, a stark contrast to the vibrant woman I remembered. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the room, almost painfully loud.
David was at her side, holding her hand. Relief flickered in his eyes when he saw me. "Leo… you made it."
I swallowed hard, moving to her side. "Mom…" I whispered. Her eyes fluttered open slightly, recognition shining through the haze.
"Leo…?" Her voice was weak, strained. "You… here?"
I grasped her hand gently. "I'm here, Mom. You're going to be okay. You're going to get through this."
She coughed lightly, the effort making her wince. My chest tightened.
Alex stood behind me, silent. Watching. Always watching. I could feel him even without looking.
The doctor arrived, calm and efficient. "She's stable," he said. "We caught it early. She had a severe blockage in her left coronary artery, but we were able to stabilize her. She'll need rest, monitoring, and treatment. She's going to survive."
I exhaled, relief flooding me like a wave. My knees felt weak. I sank into the chair beside her bed. Alex remained standing, his expression unreadable, but his hand rested lightly on my shoulder again. Support without words.
I looked at him. "Thanks," I said quietly.
He nodded. "You needed me."
"Yeah," I admitted. "I… I didn't realize how much I needed someone here."
Alex's scarred face softened fractionally. "I'm here. That's all that matters."
We spent hours in the hospital, talking quietly, watching monitors, waiting. My mother slept most of the time, occasionally stirring. I held her hand whenever I could. David tried to stay calm, but I could see the worry etched across his face.
Alex stayed by my side, his presence grounding me. At one point, I caught him watching me with a faint tilt of his head. "You're tense," he said softly.
I exhaled. "Just… worried. Can't help it."
He shrugged. "Doesn't mean you have to carry it alone."
I looked at him, half-amused, half-grateful. "You make it sound so simple."
"Maybe it is," he said quietly. "Sometimes, it's just about being here. Not fixing. Not solving. Just… being."
I wanted to argue, wanted to say it wasn't enough. But it was. It was exactly what I needed.
By late afternoon, Mom was awake more consistently, talking softly, smiling weakly. My heart ached seeing her like this, but she was alive. That was enough.
Alex finally sat down across from me, arms resting on his knees. "She's strong. She'll pull through."
"I know," I said. "But… it's hard seeing her like this. Makes everything else seem… meaningless."
Alex's dark eyes met mine. "Nothing else matters right now. Not work. Not cases. Not… monsters outside."
I leaned back, taking a deep breath. "Yeah… I guess you're right. For once."
As evening fell, the hospital quieted. Nurses came and went, machines hummed, monitors blinked. My mother rested peacefully, finally free of immediate danger. I sat beside her, glancing at Alex occasionally. He hadn't said much all day, but his presence, steady and unwavering, spoke louder than any words could.
"Leo?" he asked softly after a while.
I looked up. "Yeah?"
"You did everything you could today. And it's okay to… feel it. The fear, the panic. You don't have to pretend."
I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Pretending is usually all I know how to do."
He shook his head. "No. Not today. Today, you can just… be human. Brother. Son. Friend."
I felt a weight lift slightly. It wasn't about cases, smile balls, or killers. Today, it was about family. About friendship. About grounding myself in reality, not chaos.
Before leaving, I held Mom's hand once more. "I'm coming back tomorrow. I promise."
She smiled weakly. "You always were stubborn. Just like your father used to say."
I chuckled softly. "Some things never change."
Alex was quiet beside me, as usual, but I could feel his approval. Silent support. Consistency. Loyalty. Everything I didn't realize I needed until now.
We left the hospital together, side by side, walking back to the car. The streets were quiet, the city winding down into evening.
"Next time," I said, glancing at Alex, "I hope Sundays don't involve heart attacks."
Alex smirked faintly, scar catching the streetlight. "Unlikely. But you'd survive either way."
I laughed, the sound genuine and free for the first time in days. And for once, I believed him.
We drove back in silence, not uncomfortable, not tense. Just two childhood friends.
And for now, that was enough.