Basically, CPD 3x01 is in my top five favorite Chicago P.D. episodes and I like to watch it while I run at the gym, thus allowing for lots of mulling time over where Erin's head is at during the episode. And that's where this meta set is from.
(credit to the creators of chicago p.d. where it is due.)
erin using her sunglasses as a shield, another layer to keep halstead–not her partner, not jay–at arm's length.
("say what?" "that you're no longer my partner. that you're throwing it all away. look me in the eye and tell me it's over." stop. stop. "are you done talking?" get away before i hurt you too. "i don't know who you are, but tell lindsay she made me a better cop… if you ever see her again.")
(at least she didn't get you killed.)
erin refusing to recoil from the sting of (jay) halstead forcing space between himself and her wreckage. (she forgets the last time he called her just lindsay.) it feels like they're strangers again.
erin slinking back home after watching halstead drive away in (their) his 300, letting bunny press a bottle of jack into her hand and feeling it burn on the way down.
erin sleeping the afternoon away, downing a handful of pills at her mother's insistence and they fade everything. from the dull throb ofnadia to the fresh wound that sounds like his voice and tastes like his kiss.
(she misses him, she misses him, she misses him.)
"jay's been kidnapped."
erin hanging up on alvin and stumbling to her bathroom to be violently ill. bending over her toilet, gagging on the alcohol that burns on its way up her esophagus. the fear is crippling.
i just saw him, he was just here, he was fine. he has to be alive.
erin flushing the pills still clutched in her palm down the toilet when she's done and laying on the bathroom floor to try and get her nausea under control. the tiles are cool against her cheek and they help her focus.
erin spending the remaining hours before sunrise getting sober, leaving her apartment and bunny behind to go find cheap, hot coffee and carbs to soak up the liquor that's making it hard to see straight.
(she has maybe half a day before withdrawal kicks in from the drugs.)
erin calling for a cab to get her to the district when the gym where she showers reads seven-thirty but her hand doesn't tremor when she hands over cash to pay the fare.
erin swallowing the bile that rises when she stands in front of the old brick building and knows that if she can't do this, jay won't come home.
(you've always been a good cop, jay. it's us who are stronger because of our partnership. i threw that away and you're the one suffering for it.)
erin waiting ten minutes for platt to deign to speak to her–or even glance her way. i know he's gone, sergeant, and i'm here to bring himback. please. buzz me up.
hank's pissed at you. don't say i didn't warn you.
erin being glad that she has to go alone because sitting in the 300 stops her heart in her chest, fingers wrapping around the steering wheel while she forces herself to breathe. it smells like him, carries the evidence of his presence.
(his aviators attached to the visor, a forgotten gatorade bottle in the back seat, a bag of almonds ensconced in the door since she's not been there to move it.)
erin not feeling anything when she stares down the revolver's barrel and demands, again, to see her partner. (there's no point without him.) and she wins.
"she wouldn't hand over the box without seeing her guy." and erin realizing she's screwed if they can't get out before the files are checked. derek keyes knows,and he will use it against me.
erin putting herself between jay–jay–and keyes when they are forced to remain while the files are checked. (they're probably going to die here but erin is where she wants to be.)
erin sitting close enough that her leg is pressed against jay's and she draws off his presence for strength–of course he hadn't broken. of course not. (he's always been the strong one.)
erin helping jay sit up after everyone else is dead, freeing his hands. touching her (stained) (bloody) trembling fingertips to his cheek for a moment. i've gotta let hank know we're okay.
(there is pain and exhaustion, but grim relief in his eyes that she doesn't want to look away from.)
(we're gonna be okay. i'm not walking away from you again.)
erin sitting in the 300 after, with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a stack of cotton squares, scrubbing at the blood on her skin until there are tears in her eyes and scratches marring her flesh.
(i'm just glad it was you.)
(i should've been here.)
erin knowing she'll accept hank's terms–both of them knowing it–because it is with him that her loyalties lie, in the end, because he is always there. (bunny never was.)
erin leaving the district but not going back to her apartment that night, turning off her cell to block out bunny. she watches the sunset from the riverwalk as the shakes set in, no longer warded off by adrenaline, and when she turns around, voight is there. i almost lost him, hank.
yeah, you did. but you should know; will said that he'll make a full recovery. come on, let's go. you've gotta dry up still tonight and i expect you at work in the morning. always moving, always the sergeant, and when it counts, her father.
(hank grips the back of her neck with one hand and that's how she knows. he accepts her decisions, no matter how painful, but the porch light will always be on to guide her home again.)
(this time it was an honest smile and green eyes and a laugh that warms her soul, her anchor in a storm, that showed her the way.)
erin having nightmares about jay's blood smearing her skin that night, not coming off no matter how hard she scrubs, how deep she tears, as she trembles in the corner of hank's bathroom.
when the sun dawns again, a day and a lifetime since she lashed out at her partner to keep him safe, erin is weak, nauseous, and fighting a pounding headache, but she's never seen more clearly.
thank you for perusing this scrawl! comments, critiques, and concerns are always welcome.