I was inspired by a photo of a dog in the backseat of a truck overlooking a dusty road with jagged mountain peaks in the background and thus this was born. Alternate universe and with mentions of blood partway through, so you're duly warned.
(Credit to the creators of Chicago P.D. where it is due.)
The door creaks as Erin swings it shut behind her, settling into the passenger seat without fuss, much as she has this entire journey. It may be a matter of control, wanting to drive all the time, but her anal retentive tendencies had never allowed for Jay Halstead's truck. It coughs, rumbles, roars, and the gears stick on the regular.
Erin hates it.
Jay loves it.
He has driven every mile of their road-trip and Erin is still waiting for him to give up on his rolling wreck of a pick-up but that moment hasn't come yet.
There's a clank then a thud from outside and Erin twists around to watch Jay finish putting the gas nozzle away on the ancient pump they've located in the middle of nowhere Idaho, on their way down from Tacoma. The gas cans have already been filled so that when the gas guzzler has chewed through its twenty-gallon tank in a few hundred miles, they aren't stranded on the side of a road for days, waiting for rescue.
Her old car, a well-running little Civic, had been the first option for the drive, until Jay had researched what it would cost them to pay moving expenses out of pocket. So her commuter got sold and now they have a secondhand U-Haul to get the contents of their apartment from point a to b, with more boxes in the bed of the truck, covered with a tarp.
Reaching over the seat, Erin pats the dog sprawled across the backseat on her head, smiling at the low grumble from the Golden Retriever. Three-legged, blind in one eye, and missing a part of her ear, they'd rescued Nadia after the car accident that almost took her life and hadn't had to talk about it when she was well enough to go to a home. The owners didn't care enough to find her and she wouldn't have lasted long in a shelter.
Jay had bought supplies while Erin went to get their girl from the animal hospital and they've been a family ever since. It's her little bit of perfect that's going to be even more perfect. Warmth spreads through Erin, unbidden but not unwelcome.
"How're you doing, girl?" She asks in a low pitch, unable to keep from smiling. "Dad'll take you on a jog tonight, don't worry. I know you're cramped back there."
Tail wagging and hitting the interior, the dog noses at her palm, tongue hanging out and Erin can't help but laugh. Jay slides into the truck, bringing a gust of wind that smells like rain with him, while mirth still bubbles in Erin's chest and an answering grin already pulls at his mouth.
"Are my two favorite girls having fun without me?" He tries to sound offended but it falls flat, much to her amusement.
Erin's hand is pushed to the side as the dog surges to greet Jay. While Nadia might love Erin, she adores Jay, struggling to find purchase on the blanket draped over the seat so she can get to her feet and stick her shaggy head in Jay's face.
Scoffing fondly at the swap of affection, because this always happens, every time they get back in the truck, Erin goes about arranging the snack foods at her feet and pulls out the map while Jay growls at and bats around Nadia in their strange bonding ritual.
Although not as strange as when he lays on the floor and Nadia just flops over top of him and they'll stay there for hours.
Erin had to remind herself a couple of times in the early days that she will not be jealous of a dog. She gets Jay all night long, after all. It's only fair Nadia get a little of his time.
Adjusting her sweatshirt so it isn't choking her out, blue-green eyes trace the lines demarking roads, interstates, and highways on the regional map in her hands. After too many years, they're finally going home, Jay's job allowing the transfer, she having quit hers, and… Erin's ready.
Chicago holds everything—but two—that she loves and everything she fears. The decision to say yes when Jay asked her to marry him and follow him out west was both harder and easier than trying to stay and fight her demons would've been. She hasn't seen Hank since they left, even though the parting was amicable, because he doesn't have the time to travel and she hasn't been able to go back until now.
A gentle touch to her cheek draws Erin back to the present. Blinking, she focuses on Jay, the quiet attention he gives her, feeling the warmth of his hand on her knee. He knows—he always knows, when it comes to her—what this trip will do to her, the emotions it will bring to the surface.
"How's my girl doing?" He murmurs, gaze drifting over the clean edges of her features, fingertips tracing her cheekbone.
"I'm okay. Getting used to the idea of being back there. And just—tired." Erin admits, a quiet sigh leaving her as she leans into his touch, craving the comfort of proximity. Hearing the unspoken request, Jay obliges, hand settling just beneath the curve of her jaw, thumb stroking her skin and the rest of his fingers in her hair.
Her husband—four years later and Erin still gets a thrill, it's getting ridiculous at this point—presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. "We'll stop early tonight. We could all use to get out of the truck for a while and we've got another week before I have to report to the new bureau."
There were the days when she could've pushed as long as Jay, but the competitive days of Chicago cop grit versus federal agent tenacity are wearing off, fast. Nodding her agreement, Erin scoots across the space between them to settle her head on his shoulder and hold up the map. "Choose the next victim of the Halstead family, then, babe, and let's get back on the road."
/
Blood, warm and slick, seeps between her fingers from the bullet holes in his chest. Nausea rises and Erin quells it with steely resolve—the last thing this situation needs is her throwing up from a combination of the day's events and the throbbing pain in her head. She has to be able to function.
If she can't, they both die.
Focusing on the special agent's features, Erin tries to find it in her to smile, leaning over to catch his attention. "Hey, stay with me. My guys are going to beat yours out anytime now and find us."
Halstead, face a sickly shade of white and tremors going through him at odd intervals, coughs a laugh. Erin is reminded of meeting him two days ago, hearing his laugh first before being introduced to the man himself and having to bury her appreciation. She doesn't exactly have a type, but if she did, Halstead would be it.
There's something reassuring in his attempt to respond to her weak jibe. "Keep telling yourself that, Detective. I'm sure Santa is listening right now."
Erin snorts then sucks in a breath, her eyes squeezing shut when the throb in her skull spikes in response. Please, Hank, we can't do this much longer. Please, Hank.
"Take it easy," Halstead—Jacob? Jonathan?—tells her, voice rough with his own pain, his hand finding her arm and offering a weak squeeze in support. "I haven't had the chance to ask you out for a drink yet."
Muscles trembling with the effort of keeping pressure to prevent him from bleeding out, Erin shakes her head at him, amusement a flickering warmth in her chest, almost extinguished by the fear threatening to choke her. "I don't go out with guys who resemble cheese, Agent."
"I figured you'd make a special exception, considering the circumstances." He's trying to hold on to dying hope that they'll make it through this too, but the truth weighs behind his gaze, the look of someone who's been here before.
"You're awful chatty for a guy who's bleeding on my jeans, you know." Erin quirks an exhausted brow at him before looking around their cement prison again. She'd tried to escape soon after they'd been trapped—has the damage to her shoulder to prove it—but now, if she leaves, he dies.
But if she stays, chances are high they both die. Erin knows the signs of a concussion and when she gets too tired, loses too much of her life-force from the sluggish wound to her forehead, she'll lose consciousness. Without medical attention, there isn't a good likelihood of waking up again. Halstead's situation is even more dire, one of the two bullets having hit in distressing proximity to his heart.
"We're gonna pull through, Lindsay. I've got to ask the prettiest girl on a date still and you have to say yes."
Erin wishes she could believe him.
/
It's a gentle pressure against her back, soothing up and down, that wakes Erin before she has to live through the following hours again—Jay losing consciousness, her struggling to focus through her hazy mind, having to start chest compressions and it was only the strength of will that she learned from Hank that kept Halstead alive until they were finally found.
"It's alright, Erin. Breathe. C'mon, deep breaths, babe." Jay murmurs, voice tight and low with worry as he bends over her.
Forcing her eyes to open, Erin searches out his gaze, needing to see the light there, to gain the assurance that she did save him that night. Her hand trembles as she reaches up to settle her fingertips on his pulse, lungs finally filling when his heart beats strong against her skin.
Jay must work out the nature of her nightmare, because he eases one leg across her and drops down onto the mattress on the other side so they're laying face to face. Water stains his shirt and lingers in his hair, telling Erin that he and Nadia have just gotten back from their evening job.
There's worry in the line between his brows as Jay slides his arm around her waist, a reassuring weight. The smell of him fills her nose and Erin shuffles close to tuck her head under his chin. He's okay. He's okay. We're okay.
"Are you okay?" Jay asks, tone muted but his message coming through loud and clear as his hands drift across her body in a check of his own.
Her own fingers move down between them to tug up the edge of her sweatshirt and find the gentle swell of her belly, just feeling it calming the pace of her heart. "Yeah, Jay, I'm okay. The hormones are dredging up old memories and it took me off guard."
The line of Jay's body relaxes when she finally speaks, the insistent movements of his hands calming and joining hers at the line of her hips, cradling the growing evidence of their child against his rough palms.
Quiet lingers between them for a time, Erin recovering from her nightmare. It helps to turn her thoughts towards the terrifying, riveting truth of the life that exists within her, a life that is equal parts Erin and Jay. They'd decided to wait and tell Hank in person, because he'd been there for the fall-out when her old Chicago doctor had said it was unlikely she'd ever be able to conceive—not after her childhood and early adulthood habits.
The shock will be as great for Hank as it was for Erin when she'd watched the ultrasound monitor for the first time.
"We're going to be parents, Jay," she can't help the joy that rises in her chest, crests on her tongue as she pulls back enough to see her husband's face.
Nadia bounds over to see what the ruckus is about when Jay laughs and seven years ago, Erin almost lost everything she has now before she knew it was there, but something had told her the federal agent insistent on a date even while bleeding out under her hands was worth fighting for.
Thank you for perusing this scrawl! Comments, critiques, and concerns are always welcome.