A/N: I would like to thank everyone who takes time to review, because truly, you are my inspiration for writing more. Your kind words are my driving force.
I realize this constituted another fix-it fic, so I feel I should get some sort of title but oh well. I will settle for your gratitude.
She isn't clear on all the emotions she is feeling, but the first one she can pinpoint, interesting enough, is anger. It comes in a flash, seconds after he kisses her cheek and murmurs his apology. It comes in an unapologetic flare, surprising her so much, she's surprised it doesn't burn a hole in the wall.
She wants to throw something at the empty space that was previously occupied by his body, but all she can do is stand still—still as the world around her crumbles, and the emotional turmoil she's feeling seems to be represented by nature, because she can hear the wind, the lightening illuminating the room, and the thunder echoing in her ears. It seems appropriate, she thinks. Ironic even.
But he doesn't get to leave words in her mouth. He doesn't get to just leave. So, she turns, with every intent of following him, with every intent of not giving him an easy way out.
He's not sure how he manages to walk through the door, the carry-on bag feeling ten times heavier than it actually is. His throat is burning, and his eyes are too, and he's suspiciously close to crying. His entire being is overwhelmed with that one feeling—the feeling that you're making a terrible mistake—and if that's not enough, it seems the universe is trying to tell him the same thing.
He surpasses the need to let out a juicy swear when he notices the storm that's raging on around him, and realizes that the same storm seems to have knocked down a branch of a big tree directly onto his car. There is no way he's driving out of here in that thing any time soon.
He lets out a breath, his body entirely soaked by now. He can hear sirens in the near distance. Apparently, the storm hasn't spared anyone else either. He thinks of just calling a cab, but it seems pointless, because he doubts anyone will come until the weather calms down a bit. So, he reluctantly makes his way back to the apartment number 3B, knowing that the storm inside might be even worse than the one outside.
She swings the door open with haste, and though her senses are in overload, she registers two things. One, it's Jay on the other side of the door, completely soaked, and looking like he'd rather go to hell than knock. Two, he must've forgotten his keys, because she grabbed his by mistake, and in the split second it takes her to open the door, she wonders if he forgot them of left them on purpose. And then a loud noise of thunder rips the world apart, followed by complete darkness.
"I thought you were leaving," she mutters, trying not to let her anger slip. It's too dark to actually see him, because the storm must've cut the power, so she just moves back in the general direction of the living room. Reaching for her phone, she searches for the flashlight app. "There must be candles somewhere," she says, searching for a long-term solution, as she doesn't want to drain her battery. She doesn't really say it to him, but more to break the uncomfortable silence.
"Here," he confirms, pulling a pack from the cupboard in the hallway. "Matches too."
It's ridiculous, she thinks. This could be considered romantic under different circumstances. Her mind flashes back to a stormy night when they ate leftover pizza on the floor of their candle-lit kitchen, talking about nothing in particular, so she could take his mind off of the storm. Or that night he spun her into a dance, and she laughed because it was so cheesy, but boy he looked good smiling in candle light. And now, here they are, in the safe haven of their candle-lit apartment, feeling further from each other than they ever have.
"I don't need your help, if that's why you came back," she mutters again, angry at the prospect of Jay thinking she can't handle herself anymore. "I took care of myself just fine before you came along."
"Actually, the wind knocked a tree on top of my car," he admits. "I know you don't need me."
But she does. She laughs—snorting out loud. Oh, the irony of life. At some point she started needing him, thinking he will be the one to stay. That he will stay when it will be hard, and wrong. She wants to hate him for it. She tries.
"Okay, so, since you can't be in the same room with me anymore apparently," she starts—her voice as cold as ice, "you can stay here, and I'll stay in the bedroom, and in the morning, you can get a cab out of here." And she'll just get a new job, she thinks, because she can't imagine looking at him across the bullpen, remembering he used to be hers.
She storms out of the room, forgetting that minutes ago she was intent on following him and making this right. It pisses her off that he didn't come back because he changed his mind, but because he had to. It ruins her fantasy of him appearing at the door, saying he'd made a mistake leaving. It's only been half an hour, and she'd already played it at least a dozen times.
"Erin, you got it all wrong," he tries, following her, but stopping when she slams the door in his face. That should teach him.
"Come on, babe. Don't do this." She can't remember the last time they've had a fight when one of them actually slammed doors. At hearing the word babe she gets so filled with rage, the alarm clock on her nightstand never stood a chance.
He winces when it hits the door. "Don't dare to come in. I might kill you right now," she mutters loud enough for him to flinch.
"Can I at least get a towel?" He pleads, dripping all over the floor.
He hears footsteps, and then the door opens and she throws one at him with full power. But now that she opened the door, he pushes his way in, grabbing her arm. She struggles against him, but he's strong—too strong for her. It doesn't stop her from trying to break out of his hold—her hands punching and hitting wherever she can reach. And she is fit enough to do some damage.
"Get off me! Son of a bitch!" She screams at him, and leaps and beats. "You weren't supposed to leave. You were never supposed to leave." The words come out as violent sobs, and it's when his hold on her loosens, and her hits lose their power. She crumbles into his arms like a badly constructed house of cards.
His strong arms catch her, before she reaches the floor. If he thought his heart broke before, when he left her right here, he was wrong. Because now, when her whole body is shaking, and her face is streaked with lines of tears and run mascara, he knows this is what heartbreak is—the exact feeling he has in his heart that's mirroring the pain he sees in her eyes.
It's the second time this week that he has failed her, and he knows she deserves better than this—better than him. And yet here she is, breaking down because he was about to walk out. In that moment, Jay would do anything, promise anything if it would alleviate the pain with which the tears come running.
"Don't leave," she asks, followed by a cute hiccup. "I'm tired of people leaving."
And then it hits him. It's funny that it took him so long, that she practically had to spell it out for him. All her life, people have walked out on her. First her father went to jail, then Bunny stopped coming home, then Camille lost her battle to cancer, Nadia died, Justin died. And she thought he was the one person who wouldn't leave.
And he did. He left, walking through that door, with nothing but an apology, and absolutely no promises he'd come back, except for a load of his stuff left behind. He didn't make himself clear, he thinks. He didn't tell her the most important thing—that he'll always come back to her.
He hushes her softly, wiping the tears away, because he can't look at her like this, knowing he's put them there. "I failed you. I lied to you about Abby, I hid it from you for weeks, until you had to confront me about it. I'm just going to hurt you more until I get better. Don't you get that?!"
"I don't care. We'll get past it." She exhales. It feels exhausting. Her entire body wants to collapse, and sleep until she wakes up and realizes it was all a bad dream.
"Abby didn't bring me the divorce papers. Do you know what that means? That I'm married. That I made you the other woman. All this time I thought our relationship was the one good thing that ever happened to me, and I was married. I never wanted to be this guy."
"It's all on paper, Jay. I understand that. I don't care. I'm the one you've been coming home to, and waking up to. It's all that matters. I just wish you would've told me."
"You should care," he tries to reason. "I don't even recognize myself this week. I lied to you, I kept this whole thing from you. We're supposed to be partners, I'm supposed to tell you these things."
"Maybe. But I don't care. You think you did this horrible thing? Well guess what? I did worse. And you fought for me, until the very end. You believed in me, when I couldn't anymore. You think you should hide from me, because you hit rock bottom? I can handle it."
"You shouldn't have to! You always handle things. Maybe someone needs to put an end to it."
"No. That's not up to you. I decide how much I can handle. I decide to stay, when it's hard and dark and you're turning away from me. This is what relationships are. I'm not naïve. I didn't think we'd go the rest of our lives without fighting. Sometimes we'll even stop talking to each other and it'll be weird and awkward until we realize we're being stupid. But even I know that relationship means you don't just walk away. We're partners, Jay. On the good days and the bad days. You don't have to be perfect for me."
"Partners," he repeats, as if he forgot the meaning of the word all-together. "I'm trying to protect you from this. I never meant to hurt you."
"I need protecting from you on the job Jay, not at home. I just need you to trust me."
"I do. You know I do."
"Then stay," she whispers. "Stay, and fight. We deal with it together. And if that's not a good enough reason, then stay because you love me. Because if you walk out that door, it will break me in a way I don't think I can come back from." Her voice breaks, as she finishes, taking in a deep breath. It feels as though her entire body is trembling with fear that he'll walk away and she will be left scraping the carpet, crying with a broken heart.
He looks at her for what seems forever, knowing that he can never leave now. Not after this earnest confession she just made. He just looks at her with such utter sadness, she's sure this is the end, and the knot in her throat deepens. "You know I was going to come back, right? I was never going to leave for good?"
"Does that mean you'll stay?"
He doesn't reply, only pulls her closer, so he can feel her breathing and her erratic heartbeat. It calms him.
"Is it the storm?" She asks, her voice barely a whisper. She doesn't like storms, she never has, because there was no one to tell her the 2-year-old self that storm can't hurt you when she was hiding under the bed. She's a grown up now, and she still feels anxiety when the weather gets particularly bad. But it's different for him. He told her once that every time a storm breaks, he goes right back there, and the thunder becomes hostile fire every time.
He gives her a small nod. "It's been worse lately. I think Abby just brought some stuff to the surface—stuff that I buried under a long time ago."
"Do you have to go?" She asks. "Because suddenly asking you to stay feels selfish, and I don't want to take away something you need."
"I'm not going anywhere," he assures. They're still on the floor, her body draped all over his, so he can hold her, and kiss her all over whenever he wants. He's glad her body is no longer shaking with sobs, but it's an image he won't forget easily. It will be a reminder of how easy it is for him to break her heart, and how he never wants to do it again. "We'll figure it out," he promises, "together. I don't need much. But I need you."
She lets out an audible sigh, and he chuckles. "I'll do better."
He has no idea how long they sit there, holding each other on the floor, but it's the moment he realizes he has to start talking to her. He has to start allowing her to be his rock again, like he was hers when she needed it. He needs to start trusting, and stop isolating himself.
He will check the support groups in the morning, check out some other options, maybe even counselling for both of them. But for right now, her warm body wrapped in his embrace is enough for him to weather the storm.
And he feels stupid that he thought even for a second that he doubted it would be.