Inspired by this bullet from "erin & jay: life can be hard"
erin starting to realize how important she is to jay when she limps into antonio's gym, crutches slowing her down but keeping her weight off the two bullet holes in her leg, and finds him with bruised knuckles and shaking limbs. he flinches at her touch. i want to go home, jay. come on.
(Credit to the creators of Chicago P.D. where it is due.)
It's one of the longest walks of her life. Hank hadn't been happy to drop her off and leave, but she knows that he understands. He's probably just parked around the corner, though; just because he understands doesn't mean he's going leave her entirely up to Halstead tonight.
Old habits die hard, and protecting her with the tenacity of a bulldog is one of them.
But she—they—have to do this now, tonight, while the figurative wound is more raw than the literal one or it's going to be an even longer road back from the guilt.
Her leg burns enough to make her eyes water as Erin makes her way up the sidewalk to the side door, fumbling with her crutches. Will had been kind enough to offer her heavy painkillers to deal with the pain, unwitting of her time AWOL just half a year ago. Erin had accepted them and then given them straight to Hank for safekeeping.
She'll stoop to a wheelchair before she'll go back to that black hole after Nadia's death.
Breath pluming in the cool night air, the detective digs Hank's copy of the gym key from her coat pocket—Antonio had made sure they all had one, but hers is still with her bloodied clothes—and grits her teeth as she balances on one leg to fight with the door.
Mouse had been waiting with his location when she called, still coming back to her senses after being put under to remove the .22 bullets from her thigh. Erin wasn't surprised to find that he was here—they all end up at Antonio's gym to blow off steam sooner or later. But the fact that he's here now, instead of home, with her, tells Erin everything about where his head is at.
There's nothing that could've been done. Erin knows it, Hank knows it, the whole team knows it, but Jay ranks her safety far above his own and failing in that duty means failing her.
Wrenching the door open, she props it open with her shoulder while maneuvering inside to the cool interior. The crutches are the worst part of the whole situation; she has to make sure they're gripping correctly before taking a step. A crack in the cement floor gives Erin the certainty she's looking for, digging the rubber tip into the edge as she hauls herself within the structure.
The heavy barrier falls shut behind her with a reassuring clang that echoes through the gym, heralding the arrival of another soul to her partner.
An exhausted smile pulls at Erin's mouth as she pauses to rest her protesting body. This gym is Antonio's pride and joy; sometimes she thinks it's the only thing that keeps him going after Laura left with the kids. An empty gym that needs constant attention is better than an empty house full of reminders, after all.
It's only after the metallic thud of the door closing stops ringing in her ears that Erin can hear him.
Jaw tightening, Erin starts across the sprawling space to where short, hard breaths and rhythmic thuds fill the air. Her hair, tied up and back, swings with every limping step she takes, and her breathing is almost as heavy from managing the pain as his when she rounds the jutting wall to see her partner.
The hour directly after she took the two rounds in her thigh and the one glancing shot to the Kevlar is blurry and disjointed. Jay had applied pressure, Hank rallied the team to finish the takedown, then the ambo was called. The ride to the emergency room is just blackness and pain. Erin remembers Jay though; holding her hand in his own bloodied one until she's rushed away to the OR.
That was hours ago. But her blood is still staining his skin, a visceral reminder of the day's events lingering on his forearms.
Erin comes to a stop, fingers spasming around the cross guards of her walking aids. Any evidence of their quiet morning—curled into his side, his slow, gentle kisses, her fingers along his jaw—is erased from her partner now.
Jay hits the punching bag with all the force he can muster, with a single-minded focus that's usually buried deep beneath an easy-going smile. Again and again, over and over. Erin doesn't know how long he's been at it, but even a short time like this, with minimal protection for his hands, will mean bruised and possibly cracked knuckles.
It's a concern for later.
As she watches the tight line of his shoulders, the detectable tremors in his limbs from exhaustion, something inside her finally gives and exhaustion rushes to the forefront. The fixed determination that got her this far, through a crippling wound, hours in the hospital, and being discharged against everyone's advice, dissipates in her chest and leaves bone-deep weariness in its wake.
Erin likes to pretend that she doesn't know it, but this is where she belongs. With her partner. With Jay.
Home has been Hank for the longest time, but that's been changing over the past year and a half and she's not wanted to admit it until now.
"Jay." Her voice is raw, rasping more than normal after the events of the past hours. Come back. I'm right here.
The interruption catches him off guard. His fist glances off the punching bag and he has to catch himself when his rhythm and balance are thrown off. Erin struggles to keep her composure when he finally looks her way, because the last time this raw torture had been in his eyes was when Maddie—"we played scrabble like, once, at her apartment."—took a bullet meant for him.
"Why aren't you in the hospital?" he croaks, words uneven and strained, chest still heaving as he comes down off his mindless battering.
Three years working together, learning to synchronize everything they do on the job, finding a solace in each other off of it, has taught her a lot. Foremost, that they're more similar than they are dissimilar and the self-recrimination tearing him apart is an emotion she's no stranger to.
Come on, Jay. You know why. "Too much noise to sleep and I wouldn't let them put me on morphine."
A nod is her partner's only response to that and when his gaze drifts down to her bandaged leg, Erin knows if she loses him now she might not get him back. It's easy to slip away in the guilt, even easier to believe you deserve it, and she won't let him be dragged under. Not now, not tonight.
Stay. Please stay. I need you here.
"Jay. Jay." The force with which she says his name startles them both. Jay's attention snaps back to her, alarm forming as he takes a partial step towards her.
"Erin?" His first instinct will always be to protect her. The truth of it is in the green of his eyes, the flex of his hands. This is her Jay.
Relief almost makes her smile but the more pressing issue is the weakening in her arms and good knee. Voice soft and tinged with exhaustion, Erin searches for eye contact and murmurs, "I want to go home, Jay, and you're my ride. We can talk tomorrow but right now I'd really like to get off this leg."
"I—yeah. Yeah, okay." Jay rubs the bridge of his nose, then stoops to pick up his bag off the floor. "I just need to—lock up real quick. You good?" There's a hesitation before he asks that Erin wishes she could soothe.
If she were honest, she's not really okay, but there's no way she'll admit to it. Mustering a smile, she nods, "Yeah, just don't drag your feet."
Jay slings his backpack over his shoulder and jogs off, leaving Erin to draw in a breath and grit her teeth to buckle down and stand for a few more minutes. Heat and burning pain pound through her leg, reminding her of Will's strict orders to stay off the wound and not move around too much.
Erin had never been good about following anyone but Hank's orders.
Her thoughts drift as she waits, twisting and turning until Erin comprehends several minutes later that she's getting disoriented. Touching the tip of her tongue to her lips, she tries to gather herself enough to form a sentence and call for Jay.
"Hey, hey. Damn it." There's the sound of hurried footfalls and then warm hands are cradling her face, thumbs pressing into her jaw to tilt her head back. "Erin? Open your eyes."
She complies, staring up into Jay's face, processing the stress creasing the corners of his eyes with a hazy focus. "I think I need to sit down."
Jay releases her just to slide his arm around her back and there's a tightness in his tone when he responds. "No kidding, Erin. You're lucky I don't take you straight back to the hospital."
"Please. You enjoy my company too much to do that," Erin pokes back, her head clearing some with the combined stimulation of motion and conversation. That familiar muscle in the corner of her partner's jaw ticks at her when he leans close to stabilize his grip around her waist and pull her crutches away, leaning them against the boxing ring.
Entirely willing to let him take her weight and get it off her leg, Erin loops her arm around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt, not caring about the lingering perspiration that clings to his skin.
Jay takes over from there and Erin lets him without protest. All she wants to do now is sleep and heal, with her partner nearby so she can know he's safe. The walk out to the car is painless because Jay carries her out to ease her into the passenger seat before going back for her crutches.
It's a longer drive to his apartment than hers but that's where they've agreed to stay this week so all her pertinent stuff is there. The radio thrums, deep and smooth, the words unintelligible but calming in their nonsense.
Erin reaches for his hand, lacing her fingers through his and then pulling his hand up so she can lean her cheek against it. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Jay."
The silence lingers as he eases on the gas to turn left through the intersection, but his hold tightens on her hand for a moment. Then, low and with a promise Erin can almost taste, "I won't let it happen again."
"I know, Jay." I know. Just like I won't let Keyes happen to you again.
Perhaps the realization is a long time in coming, but Erin understands now.
She's home for him, too, and has been for a long time.
And nothing cuts deeper than the fear of losing that safety.
Thank you for perusing this scrawl! Comments, critiques, and concerns are always welcome.