Christmas
-:- A Million Years Ago -:-
It must be difficult to be a man in grief. Since "men don't cry" and "men are strong", no tears can bring relief.
It must be very difficult to stand up to the test and field the calls and visitors. So she can get some rest.
They always ask if she's all right and what she's going through, but seldom take his hand and ask, "My friend, but how are you?".
He hears her crying in the night and thinks his heart will break. He dries her tears and comforts her, but ''stays strong'' for her sake.
It must be very difficult to start each day anew. And try to be so very brave - He lost you too.
"Mr. Halstead?"
In life, there are certain moments that crystallises, memories that etches into neurones. Strung together with all that comes in between, they make up life. They stand out; unforgettable and unforgotten.
The same number have been oh-so utterly persistent for the past five minutes as it continued to ring and ring and ring; nonstop. Call after call after call. And by the fourth call, Jay cursed under his breath before reaching out to grab his phone off the coffee table. He answered, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice for being woken up so early in the morning.
4:23am
"Yea, who's this?"
"You're Erin Halstead's husband."
Then, there is marriage. After a decade or two, the moments have grown together to be one, in a spiderweb so complex it gets harder and harder to differentiate one from the next.
It's a life of separation and sameness all at once, shoes tucked the same way in the closet downstairs, bodies spooned neatly in a sweeping king size. The baby you plan for. The one you don't. The tinkling sounds of laughter, fierce rage of fights and small, sticky fingerprints ruining things you didn't even know you cared about.
He stopped for just a fraction of a second to evaluate that sentence because it sounds so strange to hear it first hand after such a long time. Besides it didn't seem like a question but a statement instead.
Technically speaking, he still is her husband. Until his signs those papers, of course.
She'd be back to Lindsay and he'd be back to being alone.
"Yes." he swiped confusion and sleep from his eyes.
A sinking feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. It's either because of this certain uncertainty or the burrito he had earlier for dinner.
Fumbling to his feet, he looked out the glass door to the balcony, the sky looked to be a wide bruised black-burgundy. The beginnings of a sunrise.
Erin and he used to love waking up early to watch the break of dawn. He smiled, remembering happier times.
"Yes. She's my wife. What's this-"
Then his mouth flew open, hanging dry at the words on the other end of the phone.
"No, that's impossible. She's-" Jay swung his legs out of the couch where he had been sleeping on and ran down the hall of his all-expense paid apartment.
She has to be in there.
There's little time for evaluation, for introspection. Maybe that's the point. Maybe then you would think too much about the moments that could have changed everyday. The chances not taken. The chances taken. The words not spoken. The words spoken. Not the obvious ones - the things you said and did. The yes to a proposal. Deciding to go change Units. Agreeing to have a child.
"Erin!" he called out.
Shit!
Pushing the door to his bedroom open and only to be faced with the sheer confirmation - flat and rumpled covers - of what the person on the other line had been so calmly explaining.
She was just here.
"I-she was here. She was sleeping-"
She was just here three hours ago.
There are the smaller ones. Turning over instead of melting into an embrace. Choosing to interpret a murk as indigestion instead of pain. Standing in front of a mirror in a dimly lit bathroom. Arms wrapped around waist. Smiles and laughter filled at the ever growing two months. It will never be forgotten. The strong gripped. But that night was a reminder of ones limitations.
So close to falling apart.
The voice on the other end of the line was gentle, sympathetic. He knows that tone all too well. He has had used it himself. To families of victims. He's a cop. Well, he was a cop. Until one terrible mistake had him begging for forgiveness. Literally. With half of the District watching his humiliation.
"I'm very sorry."
The Night Before
(Flashback)
I'll see you in court.
Those were her exact words. Sharp, cold, cut throat, she didn't even shed a tear. Not like he had.
I'll see you in court.
That was the last time he had spoken to her. It was at the District, where she works and where he too once had until his application for a transfer to the 87th Homicide was approved. And because due to departmental policy, a married couple cannot be working together, cannot be partnered together, and the timing couldn't have been spot on. They were months away from their big day.
I'll see you in court.
That was the beginning of the hell Voight had so eloquently said he'd prepare for him if he was ever to do anything stupid to hurt Erin. While he did wrote a beautiful recommendation letter for him when he was applying for a position at the 87th, he too had some beautiful choice of words for him by the time he was forced to leave everything behind.
As promised and true to his word, Voight did made life a living hell for him. In just a span of twenty four hours, everything he've ever known disappeared. He lost his wife - he did that all by himself - job - Voight knows everyone and everyone knows Voight - and friends - no one wanted to speak to him anymore.
Stupid was a far cry from what he had ruined. A marriage of eight years - nine if they make it - accompanied with it's occasional ups and downs.
More than occasional to be exact.
He did what he did and now his marriage to the magnificent woman in all of Chicago was coming to an end.
The awful deposition yesterday with her and one of the best divorce attorneys in Chicago, whom Voight so conveniently had hired for her, who costs more than a man could count, couldn't have been more proof of that matter actually.
They're destructive for each other.
While he knows that the deposition was supposed to just be questions and answers based, a discovery device and leeway in what can be asked in trial - a compelled sworn statement - but somehow, by the end it turned violent and physical.
Well, it ended up violent and physical for him. Nothing he didn't deserve anyway.
Anyone who has had the pleasure of knowing Erin knows that she's got quite the temper, especially when things doesn't go as she had planned. Things and aspects that aren't in her control. For example, the things he did and didn't say or the thing he didn't and wouldn't give back.
Physically, he was the only one who had gotten hurt. He would never hurt Erin.
But he did though.
Not physically. Not intentionally.
Psychologically, they were both scarred.
Working his jaw back and forth, he shook his head as he reflected on their civil conversation yesterday.
He just knows how to tick her off. After all they've been together for more than a decade.
"Yea, we both know who it belongs to! Not me and not you! It's Ja-!"
"Don't you dare, Jay!"
She stared - more precisely, she glared - at him. Glaring into his soul and burning a hole right through him.
"C'mon Erin! It's been years. Just say it already! Say his-"
A searing pain surged through his tinged left cheek that second later and he held his hand to it, looking pretty damn shocked. Much like the two lawyers in the room.
"Don't you dare bring..." she swallowed hard, "Don't ever try and make me!"
It's been years and she still couldn't say it. He shouldn't have brought it up either way. It was pathetic of him, he just wanted her to listen.
It's a sensitive topic.
Always has and always will.
Now, he's in desperate need of something strong. Not whiskey or scotch because he's practically immuned to that clear brown liquid. It doesn't seem to do it's trick anymore.
Maybe absinthe could be of help.
He remembered, way back when he was a few months to becoming legal, his college roommate brought a bottle of the green potent liquid from Europe. And like most cultured college students, he drank it right from the bottle.
Drunk wise, it definitely did the job, though it burned like hell going down. It was worth it. From what he could remember, it was a different type of drunk. It was very clear-headed and everything had somewhat of a minor glow; beaming. Angelic. And the hangover wasn't particularly nasty. No hallucinations though or any of the said myth.
Too bad the liquor is banned here since he really needs a blast from the past.
A drink or two to wash away all that has happened over the past ten months away. It has been ten terribly long months of not seeing Erin.
And who's to blame for that?
Since it's Christmas Eve, it's all the more reason to get belligerently drunk. He's not too fond of Christmas anymore. Not since - well, not since that Christmas.
He made his way into the familiar bar, pushing past the crowd as he does. Joe's as it's called. The guy who bought the place named it after himself.
How pretentious!
Joe's is the only bar in a ten-mile radius that he's allowed to be in. Since many of the establishments in Chicago are either run by cops or firefighters, and most of those bar just happens to be around his neighbourhood, he's banned from entering almost all bars in the city. He knows for a fact that almost all, if not all of those bars, has a picture of him somewhere pinned on their walls.
Of course, as a courtesy from Hank Voight.
His deliberately clever plan was to make his life miserably miserable so he'd have literally nothing left in the end, just like Erin, and will be force to leave his city - as he phrased Chicago to be. But he's not going to give up so easily. Ten months has passed and he's still here.
Surviving the aftermath.
As he was starting to mouth his order, a very familiar grinch sitting at the end of the bar caught his attention.
He'd recognise that caramel hair any day.
"Erin?"
Why is she all the way across town?
She always drinks at Molly's. Always. Speaking of Molly's, they too have shut him out completely. And with good reason too. He can't blame them.
Knowing Erin, he definitely has a clue or two as to why she's here.
She seeks the freedom to knock back drink after drink after drink without the fear that somebody will run off and tell on her to her overbearing father. He isn't even her biological father. Pseudo-father. Either way he appreciates all that he's done for Erin and him, even if it was short-lived.
He can never hate the man.
Voight wouldn't be pleased if he knows what she's doing.
How long has she been doing this?
It's dangerous nonetheless.
Since Erin has already beat him to his plan for the evening, he better keep a watchful eye on her and not get belligerently drunk.
After all, she's still his wife.
The hunched creature turned around slowly. Very slowly.
"Oh." That's all she said when she saw him. Hooded eyes focusing only briefly on his face. Then, she turned back, hollering at the bartender, "Another." she slurred, obviously already pretty far gone.
Shit!
Jay glanced at Nick, the bartender whom he'd talk to ever so often about how he carelessly ruined all the good in his life, and he nodded slightly.
Carefully, he slid into the seat next to her. Grateful that she didn't protest. This either means that they're on the same level of civility or she's just too drunk to care.
From what he can clearly observe, the tumblers right before him, she's on her third drink. But judging by the state she's in and her high tolerance of anything potent, he doubts that's all she has had. She probably had a few shots before coming here.
He hopes she didn't drove herself. But now as he thought about it, he definitely saw a very familiar black Audi in the parking lot.
Why is she drinking alone?
It's Christmas.
That's why she's here and that's why he's here too.
They're drinking to numb the holiday away.
A tradition of theirs for years now. A tradition for them to be silent. But this silence is something else entirely; weighty, sticky. Like the silly seasonal drink she's nursing right now.
He leaned against the stiff back of the booth and waits.
They haven't seen or spoken to each other in months and if yesterday's screaming match at the deposition was any indicator of what their marriage have become by the end, he can attest to that.
She drained her glass and signals to Nick. When he brought her a fresh one, he met Jay's eyes with a hidden message that he deciphered in a second.
If she's the girl you've been talking about, you're an idiot!
He knows.
He is an idiot.
Jay nodded briefly at him.
Erin took another long swallow and set the glass down with little grace. A few drops slosh over the side; she had switched to a clear white liquid now and he's not sure the combination of the cocktail and the straight up is doing her any favour. It's a rough choice for drinking yourself sick but then again, Erin never made things easy for herself.
"What're you doing here?" her breath assailed him. He's pretty sure he got the equivalent of one drink just from that exhale.
"Having a drink." he simply says, pointing at his tumbler.
She turned her body away from his, with no small effort. She looks, well, she looks pretty drunk. That look she always gets from way too much alcohol is a mask she's now wearing. She also look exhausted and miserable.
He understands the feeling.
It's Christmas after all.
He glanced at her, uncertain of his next move, and sees that her eyes are bright with unshed tears. Her tolerance for alcohol and amongst other things has always been high, much higher than his, and the set of her jaw is noticeably tight.
Just like yesterday.
I want it back, Jay! You took it from me!
He didn't say anything after her third drink or even fifth, deciding that she needed it much more than he does.
Don't you say it, Jay! Don't you dare! You know!
She was just as shocked as he was as her palm connected with his cheek. He knows he deserved it.
Like she said, he definitely knows.
He knew how it would affect her and he still provoked her. But by the end of their legal union, it was all they've been doing.
"That's probably enough." he said when she was about to lift her tumbler up again. He wrapped his fingers around the cool cylinder of her glass, moving it carefully away from her.
He braced himself for her to protest, to scream at him like she would but this time, she's just looking past him.
"I want it back, Jay." she whispered, "I need it back."
"I don't have it. You know that."
He doesn't want to lie to her but it's really all the leverage he's got.
If he does give it back, he literally won't have anything left.
A tear rolled down her cheek and she jabs at it with the heel of her palm, "It's mine. You're mom gave it to me."
"Actually, she gave it to me."
It was a present for Christmas, four years ago. One that none of them got to use.
She raised her voice. "I want it back, Jay! Do you think I'm stupid! I know you stole it from me!"
Shit!
He glanced quickly over his shoulder, confirming that they've drawn a few unwelcome stares.
"Ok. Let's just talk-"
...when are lawyers are present.
"I want it back! I want it back!" Another tear fell and he angles his body along the booth to try to shield her from view, knowing how little she would want to be seen in such state.
He knows her.
Erin's not one for public crying. Hell, she's barely even for private crying. He then realised that he should have cut her off earlier and kicks himself for it. She's a bipolar drunk. Always have. And sometimes, it's just too nerve wrecking not knowing when she'll be switching her emotions. They need to get out of here since the longer they sit here, the more exposed they are.
Still blocking as much of her as possible, he rested a hand on her knee, she doesn't resist the contact and he gentles his tone as much as he can. "Erin, we'll talk about this at h- once we're outside. C'mon, let's go-"
"We'll talk about this?" she exhaled, "Seriously? Our whole marriage was based upon not talking about it! Ok! There's nothing to fucking talk about! I'm divorcing you and you are giving me back what's rightfully mine!" her voice was shrill and he winced at her tone and choice of curse.
"Calm down. You're making a scene. This isn't the place to do-"
"I'm making a scene! You're the one who's making a scene! You did this! You ruined our marriage! You ruined our home!"
It's true. Now no one's living in that house. Not him and definitely not her. It's just there, waiting for someone to fill it's emptiness.
"Enough, Erin, ok. I'm sorry." he patted her leg gently, "Let's go."
She shook her head, "I'm not going with you." her voice was coarser than usual. It's congested like it always gets when she cries.
"I wanna go home." she whispered, hitching on that last word.
Home.
He knows. He do too.
But he knows it'll never be the same.
"Ok. C'mon, Erin. I'll drive you." he started to stand to reach for their coats when her half-yell stopped him.
"I'm not going with you!"
"Ok, ok." he dropped back into the booth and she quiets down.
The other customers were somewhere between uninterested and compelled to watch. Erin turned away from him, salvaging the drink he had tried to take from her earlier. She took a long sip and he propped his chin in his hands.
Now what?
There's a Christmas carol playing on the speaker in hushed volume and he's reminded of all the Christmases he's had with Erin and his family over the years.
Family.
They all loved her and she absolutely loved being a Halstead.
His mom, well, she adores her too.
His sisters and Erin got along so well that it just seemed like they've known each other all of their lives.
And the kids. Oh the kids absolutely worships her! She's definitely the cool aunt. She'd play with them every chance she's got. Hide-and-go-seek, hopscotch, tag, tea party, princess, duck-duck-goose, whatever games the kids wanted to play, she'd be up for it in a heartbeat. And he, he just loves watching her chase after the little munchkins.
His, their - he don't know - nieces and nephews would scream in joy whenever they'd come to visit and he knows for a fact that they're only screaming for her.
She's really good with kids.
Now, they all miss her. And have been practically begging for her.
He reciprocates the feeling.
"Where's Auntie Erin, Uncle Jay? I haven't seen Auntie Erin in many many many years."
His five year old niece with tears in her ocean blues had asked a few days ago when he had went to his sister's to drop off the presents he had for them since he already knows he wouldn't be able to make it for Christmas dinner.
"It's one year, Bananabelle , not many many years. But, you know, your Auntie Erin is very very busy. She's catching bad guys, remember? To make the world a safer place."
He lifted her into his arms as he explained.
"Like a superhero? Auntie Erin has superpowers!"
Her blues, a definite Halstead trait, were glistening with hope. He and the rest of the family just couldn't break it to any one of the children that maybe, just maybe, they'd never see Auntie Erin ever again. And that last year's Thanksgiving may have been their last and only time to have fun with their aunt.
And who's responsible for that?
He doesn't know what to do now. They're silent, breathing, thinking, staring but not at each other. He feels obligated to stay with her. To protect her now, for all the years he didn't.
Besides it's not ethically right to just leave his very drunk wife all alone in a very foreign bar. Though he knows she wants him to do just that.
It felt like hours had past before she spoke again. Her voice pained with emotions. He knows that tone and he, to be honest, never liked it because it has that ability to tear him up.
"I can't be here, Jay. I need to go home. I gotta call - where's my phone?"
She fussed inside her bag. Movements; clumsy and jerky.
"I'll drive you home."
But he doesn't know where she lives.
No one would tell him.
"No! I'm taking a cab."
"Erin -"
"Jay, what? What? We're not married anymore! You don't get to play this game with me!" she said sharply.
"We're still married, Erin."
"Only because you're the one who's not making it easy on any of us. If you love me, Jay, just sign the fucking papers."
Divorce papers.
"I love you, Erin, and I'm not signing the papers ... It's Christmas." he said helplessly and regretted it almost immediately when she turned on him. Cheeks reddened with fury.
"Don't you think I know it's Christmas?!"
He has pretty much given up worrying about the other patrons at bar. Besides he thinks they too have gotten used to their childlike bicker. Neither of them had ordered anything in nearly an hour.
Erin was half horizontal on her seat and he doesn't have to look down to see how tightly the heels of her boots dug into the floor. She couldn't have made it any clearer that she's ready to leave. And he's short of prying her fingers loose from the table and dragging her out of here by force was a plan he has no clue how to effectuate.
Reasoning with her has worked so poorly so far, a disadvantage. Then again, if they only knew how to avoid ineffectual patterns of behaviour, they might never have gotten to this point. So, it wasn't a surprise to him that he starts nagging her again, almost by rote.
"Cmon. Erin. I'll take you home."
"No!"
They're going in circles.
He lowered his voice significantly, hoping it will bring hers down too. "I'll give it to you..."
Her glossy eyes brighten in prospect.
"In one condition." he added the but.
The prospect shattered and he can clearly see it cracking into a million pieces right before him. "You asshole! No! No!" she palmed her fists on the wooden table.
"C'mon, Erin! Call your lawyer to drop this whole divorce thing and give me another chance. Please.."
"You're blackmailing me!"
"Erin."
If she put it that way.
But he wouldn't call it blackmailing, it's more like negotiating.
"I won't - " and she dropped her head into her folded arms.
Nothing.
He resisted the strong urge to bang his own head into the wooden back of the booth. At this rate, they're never going to leave this damn place.
He looked over at her. Her caramel hair, much longer than he remembered, was everywhere, sprawling across her arms and over the rather sticky surface of the table. If she wasn't so drunk, she wouldn't even have the thought to lean over it.
In this position, her white sweater has ridden up, exposing a few inches of her bare back. The lovely spot between the hem and the waistband of her jeans. He wanted to look away but something about that strip of skin - which looked particularly vulnerable in the low yellow light of the bar - brought back unwelcome images in his mind.
Kissing his way down her spine while she squirmed and laughed beneath him.
Resting his hand at the dip of her back, laced by her wedding dress, as they danced.
The rainbow shaped arc of her silhouette as the priest finally allowed him to kiss her.
He felt as though he ought to do something vaguely comforting now. Resisting the unwise urge to touch the bare skin in front of him, he rested his hand against the soft wool of her sweater instead. She stiffened under his fingers but doesn't pull away. Again, he's grateful for that.
She's not drinking anymore and no one's looking at them, so, he sighed, relaxing very slightly and reached past her for the remnants of her drink.
He definitely needs-
Gin?
When did she started drinking gin?
Vodka has always been her choice of poison.
Alcohol is still alcohol. It'll still work it's sole purpose.
She's quiet now and after long minutes, he's left to wonder if she has fallen asleep.
He touched her shoulder.
No response.
"Erin?"
She ignored him.
He moved some of her hair away from her face to try to see if she has fallen asleep. Failed when she drew away from him. At least she's awake.
It's so like her, either completely together or completely falling apart. Now, he feels like he has just that window of opportunity to get them both out of here.
She seems compliant enough now.
"Erin, just come outside with me. Ok? Let's just get some air."
To his surprise she nodded at his request and with the same slow and jerky movements, she began to gather herself to her feet. He wondered if he should feel guilty that a lie was what got her to moving or not since lies are what brought them here in the first place.
He draped her coat over her shoulders and kept an arm around her waist as they walked out. At first, it was to prevent her from doing anything irrational as they leave. But then, the gentle gesture, one that she used to appreciate, became more of support than anything, as she grew less steady by the second.
She's still mumbling something and he leaned closer to hear it.
"You know this is all your fault. If you'd just kept it in your pants, we wouldn't be here."
They actually eventually would.
"Erin."
He's having trouble holding her up since her coat is damp like she've dipped it in the shower and she's now increasingly just deadweight against him. "It's Christmas, Erin. We shouldn't be fighting."
She made a soft snorting noise, disgusted. "Puh-lease. Stop pretending like you care that it's Christmas! You didn't care last year!"
It hit him hard, an arrow between his eyes. He deserved it. But before he could press on it, she slipped through his fingers. And now, she's on her knees in the parking lot, back arching with what looked to be painful spasms.
He dropped to his haunches beside her and pulled her long wavy hair away from her face immediately, a fraction of a second too late.
Her clothes were spattered with the awful contents, even her coat. Her eyes glassy and miserable and she coughed after each spew. Throat burning.
He has never been good at resisting her when she's vulnerable and one thing that he've learned, unfortunately, was that it's just another form of avoidance.
That's what they've been doing for the majority of their marriage.
She's too tired, too drunk or both to argue any further so he loaded her into his car, turned up the heat because she's shivering. The enclosed space was claustrophobic with exhaust and the sour stench of vomit.
It's Christmas, Jay! We love Christmas!
They used to. It was their holiday.
It was too dark to see anything in the car until the lights of a passing car illuminated her face. Only then that he saw the emptiness in her eyes.
He did this to her.
Well, he's a contributing factor.
X X X
She was quiet when they got inside his apartment. He didn't really have much choice than to bring her here, she wouldn't tell him where she've been living. And besides he just lives a few blocks away.
The quietness will be short lived because now, she've turned to him with that peculiar look she used so often, half stammering. He's never been too sure whether she does it on purpose and tonight's encounter doesn't seem to be the appropriate time to ask.
"A BMW, a nice neighbourhood and a fancy apartment. So, sleeping with the lady boss does have it's perks."
"I'm not sleeping with Brianna, Erin."
He's not, though Brianna would really like that.
Brianna is the only person in Chicago who still liked him and at that time, he was in desperate need for a job. He had nothing when she kicked him out.
The morning after the incident, he returned for his his things to only find them lying incoherently in the front lawn; she've thrown them out into the pouring rain.
Not only did Brianna gave him a job, the job came with benefits a desperate man just cannot refuse. A car, a fully furnished apartment, great insurance, a security detail position that pays well.
How can he say no?
Besides he had worked for her before at the pot dispensary, part time. Now, it's just full time.
She snorted and rolled her eye, "You don't have to convince me, Jay. We're not married anymore. I've only cared what you did when we were married. You can sleep with half of Chicago for all I care."
They're still married.
Divorce is a process.
He lowers his head. He's not sleeping with Brianna, though he knows nothing he will say would convince Erin otherwise. This feeling that he's feeling, of being trapped in her sights is oh-so familiar to him, "Erin."
She covered her face with her hands, turning away and despite the still present store of frustration inside of him he feels a spear of guilt stabbing into his heart as he observed her shaking shoulders.
She used to cover her face with her hands whenever she cries. It took quite the while before she could cry openly. When they were first married, he would occasionally pry her hands away from her face, lacing her fingers with his, preventing her from hiding. It's something he feels differently, something he can't ever do now. It's just too intimate.
And who's fault is that?
Is it possible that after ten plus long years he actually knows her less?
He stood there, wondering what he should do. He used to be more certain of the right choices to make. The right thing to do. All that certainty has faded now and he wonders if he should just throw in the towel and hand it back to her. So, they could at least try and be civil to one another for a change.
But he just can't do it.
Struck with the thought that he can't really do anything for her, not the thing she so deeply wants, he went across the hall to turn on the shower, waiting preferably long moments for the water to warm up.
"Get in. You'll feel better."
She turned around at his voice, eyes widen and bloodshot; broken capillaries. She's a mess and where he expects he should feel tenderness, he can only access guilt and a strong sense of responsibility for what he's done. Cautiously he approached her and she covers her face again.
"Don't talk to me." her voice is muffled behind her hands.
The look in her eyes. He knows that shadow all too well. It's the look of the present that never arrived.
"Erin," this time the sound came up more of an entreaty than he intended, "C'mon. It's ok."
Her hands flew away from her face, her eyes redder that before. "If you say that again, Jay, so help me!"
Still a sore topic.
He held a hand up, "Calm down. Ok? ... Sorry."
He gestured at her ruined clothes. "Here." he handed her his sweats and a t-shirt, "You need to change."
"Brianna didn't sleep in these, now did she?" she pursed her lips and cocked her head to one side.
For someone who insisted that she doesn't care who if he sleeps with half of the city, she does seem pretty jealous and scrupulous.
"No- I mean I'm not sleeping with her, Erin. Please just get in the shower." he said tiredly.
"Don't tell me what to do!"
He threw his hands in the air in frustration, shaking his head. He can never get her to do anything he wanted. Not even when they were married - correction - not even when they weren't in the process of a divorce.
Fighting, that's what they've always been consistent with.
He saw that her hands are now at the hem of her sweater, clearly preparing to strip.
"What are you doing, Erin?"
She let go of her shirt, "What? I find it hard to believe that you've never seen a girl naked before."
She's back to herself.
Always throwing his mistake right in his face.
He sighed loudly.
She undressed, achingly slow with her back turned to him. He's not too sure if she's doing that on purpose.
Privacy.
He realised that each of them are now turned slight away from the other, not like it used to be. One mistake can really change the dynamics of who and what they were to one another.
He used to love to watch her undress after work and she did too.
"I don't feel so good."
"What?" he turned back just in time for her to pitch forward.
Shit!
She blinked awake on his carpet and looked stunned to see his face above hers.
"Jay?" her voice was hoarse and uncertain and he's left to wonder how much of tonight she'll even remember in the morning.
"Hey." he moved some of her hair out of her face, "How do you feel?"
"Awful...like I wanna kill you...for..."
Ok.
Well, he asked for it.
That's one way of expressing how she feels.
"I should have cut you off." he shook his head, "C'mon, a shower will help...Slowly." he cautioned her, helping her to her feet. Leaning heavily on him on the way to his bathroom.
"You should have and should not have done a lot of things, Jay." she turned to look up at him, except that was an obvious mistake because she straightens up abruptly. Her flushed face, now drained of all colour.
Green.
Yup, there it is. She's turned green.
"Erin." he said hastily "Are you-"
Yup. She is.
He was interrupted by the first of what he can tell will be a series of violent heaves. He managed to position her over the porcelain toilet just in time, wincing slightly as she hurled.
It's really no surprise that her stomach can hold a surprising amount. But still, she never fails to amaze him. He's not quite sure whether that's a good thing or not.
He mused when he realises she's still not done. Pulling her hair out of the way, he washed a cloth along the back of her neck. She moaned somewhere in between pain and appreciation and when she sat back up, he wiped her face.
If it wasn't for the mere coincidence of them being in the same bar, he's not too sure who'd be the one doing this for her.
"Done?"
She nodded slowly.
"Ok." he flicked a few sticky strands of hair off her face before helping her in the shower. "Be careful." he said, shutting the bathroom door.
His apartment smells better now that her clothes are in the washing machine and the pounding water from the shower is inexplicably soothing, almost as if it's raining down on his skin too.
What does he feel?
Well, he feels like a douche, trash, a lousy husband, an asshole and the list goes beyond infinity. But mostly he feels cold. His clothes are wet and he too reeked of bile.
Maybe a change of clothes will make him feel better but he doubts it. Nothing on the inside or the outside could fix what he's had destroyed.
Changing into dry clothes, figuring it will be a while, he dimmed the lights and drew the curtains waiting for Erin. It's snowing outside and he's taken back to the faint memory of the two of them snuggling on the couch with cups of hot chocolate in their grasps while they watch the first snowfall of the season.
Eerie.
The eeriness is too huge of a silence for him to savour. It's one that he hears on a daily basis now. Loneliness. No noise. Just him and his television. While most people craves tranquility, he begs for noise, people to talk to.
The only person he still really talks to is Adam and sometimes Kevin at the gym but it's not the same and it's always in secret. Like they're afraid of getting caught sneaking around.
If he could, he'd replace this quiet for Erin's nagging any day.
Speaking of Erin, she's now stumbled out of the shower in a cloud of steam, interrupting his thoughts. And the smell of the vanilla shampoo, one that he bought as a reminder and form of punishment, overpowered his apartment.
He used to love the smell, love burying his face in her wet hair, nibbling at her shower-damp skin.
Taking the towel from her hand, he rubbed it through her hair just like he used to because she hates it when her hair frizzes; muscle memory. If she had any indication of how inappropriate it was, she didn't voice it.
She didn't stop him.
This cannot be the end. He knows it can't. There must still be something left in their marriage that's salvageable.
Love?
He still loves her.
She's shivering in her his clothes and he went to turn the heat up.
"I'll sleep on the couch."
How many times has he heard that before?
It was as often as it can be, just as it is now - a pretense. Even though they had a guest bedroom at their house and a fully furnished office for that matter, there's nothing quite like the fuss of an I'm-sleeping-on-the-couch huff. It's the drama that comes after that statement she so exquisitely prefers. He knows this because he knows her.
Flopping on the oversized leather couch that they got on sale and waiting for him to venture after her with a peace offering. Sometimes he'd just sleep there with her, a millimetre away from her stern shoulders as she drifted off. He'd usually wake with her glued to him. Her cold toes mingled with his.
She looked to be somewhere in between defiant and manic at this point, with her hair still wet and uncombed, eyes glassy and he sighed.
"Erin," he ran a weary hand through his hair, "As a Christmas present from me to you, please take the bed. Okay?"
She winced at the word Christmas again and he feels bad that he has to keep reminding her.
"C'mon." he sensed her weakening on her stance. So, he wrapped a hand around her arm, guiding her towards his room.
She laid on her stomach like he remembered she would. Faced pressed into the pillow as always. He sat down next to her for a while, listening to the whistling wind outside.
He considered telling her that his - their nieces and nephews misses her and that she's still very much welcome to see them - she's still family - but he thought otherwise. They've been somewhat civil for most of the night and he doesn't want to ruin their streak.
"Jay?"
He nodded, "Mhmm."
"I feel horrible."
"That's because you drank half of Joe's in one sitting." he chuckled and so did she.
They're laughing.
He moved some of her wet hair off the side of her face and rested his hands on her head, tentatively digging his fingers into her scalp like he used to when she had headaches.
Looking at the clock by his nightstand, still massaging her head as her light snores filled his quiet apartment. "Merry Christmas, Erin."
Tiptoeing out to the living room, he gently pulled the door shut, peeking one last time to make sure she's alright.
He sank down on the side of his couch, massaging his aching temples, waiting to feel the relief he seeks for aiding his wife in need, instead of the hollow in his stomach that was carved since that night. But a dilapidated sense crept up his spine instead, that this would be their last Christmas together.
"I'm very sorry."
"No, I don't understand. She was here." his shaking hands lifted the rumpled sheets.
It was clear as the light of day that no one was under the covers but he was hoping, just hoping that she's playing a cruel joke on him.
"I don't know when she left. I-"
His voice was breathy, panicky, so uncharacteristic to his own ears.
Frozen.
Someone else has now taken the phone as a breath came through, "Just get here, Jay."
"Will! What's happened?"
A hefty sigh vibrated in his ears. Will does that when he doesn't know what else to say. "Just get to the hospital, Jay. Hurry!"
And that's what he did. With his keys and phone stuffed into his pockets, he grabbed his coat and rushed out. Not caring that he's still in his sleeping attire.
The roads were slick with frost, eerie and empty as ever.
Of course, it's Christmas morning.
It's Christmas, Jay! We love Christmas!
He was on the couch the entire time. How can he not hear her leave?
The distance between the bedroom and the living room and the front doors isn't a mile long for him not to hear her.
How can he not-
Hurry!
Calm, he's calm or at least he thinks he's calm. He's a detective - was a detective for a third of his life, was a soldier for a quarter and now a security detail. He's calm and collect as can be where others don't have the capacity to.
He knows control.
His hands doesn't shake and his voice wouldn't crack. He's calm.
She's ok. She has to be ok.
Images flashed before his eyes, reflecting on the icy windshield right in front of him.
Erin grinning up at him as she looked at the cup of coffee he had placed on her desk.
Erin standing over the incubator, pale and weak against the gown, begging him to stop.
Erin screaming and thrusting him out of the door, one regretful rainy Chicago night.
He blinked hard against the haze but she's still there, even bigger and brighter, still moving before his eyes.
Erin linking her arm through his as they happily step out of the District.
Erin flailing, hitting her fists hard against his chest, sobbing at what he had done.
Erin laughing and blushing as he admired her from all possible angles.
Erin stretching out her legs on their leather couch after one of their arguments, eyes drifting close.
He calm. She's ok. He's calm, right?
He forced his foot to ease off the gas before his car could spin out of control.
This is what calm is, right?
Will was already there, waiting outside by the automatic doors. His eyes were dark and pained like he've seen too much for one night and Jay swallowed hard.
It's Christmas.
There's a wreath of flowers on the exterior wall with a few strands of tinsel hanging loosely, a small Christmas tree on the far end.
One more holiday ruined.
"Is she -"
A flash of her appeared, smiling widely with those deep dimples that he loves so much, and just like that she disappeared.
Hey guys! What do you think? Interested? Confused? Craving for answers. Don't you worry. Answers will be given one by one in the coming chapters. So, bare with me! Trust me, you will know!
As you can see, I made a few tweaks in this universe like his mother is still alive and he has sisters. Just a few changes here and there in this story. I truly hope you guys enjoyed. Oh and this is a Jay-centric fanfiction.
Got any questions?
Let me know your thoughts!