A/N: AU to 5x01 where Erin never leaves. This also disregards the entire fiasco after 4x16, so Jay never moved out, and he doesn't have a wife, and basically yeah I'm erasing that horrible storyline because I can. Also because of that, Voight never broke up Linstead as partners, Jay stopped Erin from going in with the gun, and voila, nobody got in trouble. #ThePowerOfFanon
I've been playing with the idea of rewriting all the episodes this way, keeping the canon storyline, with the exception of Erin still being there. I'd love to hear your thoughts about it!
It's a perfect storm.
The term doesn't get used often in their line of work, but this qualifies. Everything goes wrong from the very second they go in. The kids that they didn't know were going to be inside; people getting caught in the crossfire of gunshots and screams—screams that still echo in her ears, as she wipes the little girl's blood off her hands. When Will comes out with an update, she hears certain words, but the shock of what happened has her numb. Looking down at the bloody white tissues she's holding, she knows that the little body she carried into the hospital will probably cause her insomnia for nights to come.
Bad shape. Doing everything they can.
Her eyes flick to her partner, and their eyes meet. No words are exchanged, because no words are necessary. Not this time. Not ever. She asks about the other two victims and nods at Will's reply. She wishes she could have a moment, but at least for now, she needs to pull herself together, so they can find whoever did this.
They question the victim that survived together, not having a clue that the worst is yet to come.
"We're stopping at home," she murmurs in the car, watching him nod. They both need to shower, get a fresh change of clothes. Preferably burn the ones soaked in innocent blood, but burying them in a plastic bag and throwing them away will have to do. Erin has no idea how many shirts she's lost to blood stains, and at some point, she has stopped counting. Some she could save by soaking in ice-cold water, for some it was too late.
She lets him set the water temperature, while she discards her clothes on the floor, not bothering to aim for the hamper. She knows that on a normal day he would nag her about making a mess and not cleaning after herself, but this time he just waits for her to join him, before closing the shower door. Neither of them has the energy for anything but standing there with the water washing away the red stains, as they try to offer each other some comfort.
"I hate it when it's kids," he whispers, and she nods knowingly. She does too. Seeing such an innocent life caught in the crossfire is painful, and it makes her feel like nothing she ever does will be good enough. Like the cause they're fighting for, is a lost one. Pressing a light kiss on his cheek, she shuts down the water and reaches for the towel. They're both in a hurry to get back to work, to catch whoever did this monstrosity.
"It could've been a lot worse," she says, before stepping out, and her words stay with both of them for a while after. It's not meant to belittle the tragedy of the little girl getting shot, but knowing the number of kids inside, and the bullets flying like they did, it could've been a massacre.
They finally get a location on the girl's mother, and they head there right after leaving their apartment. They might have washed of the blood, but the stain of tragedy is impossible to wash down the drain.
"I hate this part," she says. Jay is the only person she would openly admit that to, with the exception of Hank. But notifying somebody that the person they love most is in critical condition or worse—dead; watching their entire world collapse in front of their eyes, it takes a certain toll.
"Ramona Williams?" She waits for the woman to nod, and then continues. "We need to talk to you for a second," Erin says, trying to keep her voice normal. Truth be told, she's done so many of these, she's surprised her voice still shakes a little. She mentioned it to Hank once, and he only shook his head, telling her that when she doesn't feel anything doing a notification like that, then it will be cause for concern.
She remembers his words so clearly. That's the one part of the job, Erin, that never gets easier. No matter how many times you do it.
She understands now, as they follow the woman to the storage room. Jay takes the lead, explaining the situation. They work as a team, as always. While Jay breaks the news, Erin offers comfort, and as much assurance as she can due to the circumstances.
She nods when Jay promises the mother that they'll do anything in their power to find whoever did this, and puts a hand on her back as they lead her to their car. The silence on the way to the hospital is deafening, and the only thing breaking it is an occasional sob.
They don't talk on their way back to the precinct, but his hand does find hers, and somehow, that's enough.
She knows something is wrong when he exits Voight's office. He went in to update Voight, but when he exits, he doesn't look at her—at anyone—just walks out of the bullpen. But his hands are shaking, and his head is down, and she doesn't need another reason to follow him downstairs. She ignores the concerned looks that Adam and Kevin send her way, and tries to catch up with his fast strides.
"Jay, what's going on?" She asks when they reach the most private spot of the precinct. The room with the infamous cage is the only place that doesn't have security cameras installed. Concern washes through her when she hears his erratic breaths. He turns around, as if he hadn't realized she had followed him. His words come out then—unconnected. "That girl. She was shot. A 9mm. I shot her, Erin. I shot her."
His fist slams into a wall, and her heart breaks for him a thousand times. "How?"
"I don't know. I fired one round, and it hit the offender. I don't know."
"Okay. It's gonna be okay," she murmurs. She knows he needs her to be strong now. "We need to talk to a ballistics expert."
"Yeah, Voight's waiting to go now. I just needed a moment."
She nods. Wishing she could do more, she places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She squeezes lightly to remind him she's there, she's his partner, and she's there for whatever he needs.
Somehow, she doesn't think that's enough anymore.
"How did it go?" She's waiting for him outside, avoiding Voight's glare from across the parking lot.
"The bullet that shot the little girl came from my gun," he blurts, getting it out there as painlessly as possible. "But I know I fired only one round. I swear."
"Hey, babe. I believe you. You don't have to convince me." She pauses. "What did Voight say?"
"He said if that's true, I have nothing to worry about. Then he said it's tricky, because of the spotlight on the precinct. I don't know. I'm supposed to take some time off. Tomorrow I have to have an interview with the shooting team."
She knows that's the worst part. Sitting around, waiting for others to solve a thing for you. She never could do it, even when it came as a direct order, so she understands the nervous pacing in front of the car. His whole body is tense.
"I'll drive you home," she says, getting into the car, away from the prying eyes of their sergeant.
"Thanks."
"Whatever you need, Jay. I'm here. Don't shut me out." The advice comes from personal experience. She knows how easy it is, but she's not letting him slip through her fingers. If this is how he felt after Nadia died, she hates herself even more for pushing him away. For not allowing herself to get lost in his comfort, and instead getting lost in oblivion the booze offered.
"I appreciate it."
He jumps to his feet when she comes home that night, his wondering eyes aimed at her. A simple glance around the apartment tells her how upset he is, and that he's probably been staring at the wall, thinking about what happened for a last couple of hours.
There are dishes in the sink, very uncharacteristic for him, and his shoes are kicked off on the floor. Judging by the kitchen's state, he hasn't eaten anything, because everything is exactly how they left it that morning, when they left the apartment so happy, so clueless. She's glad she thought of picking up some groceries. Setting the mushrooms and the zucchini on the counter, she searches the cupboards for the pasta container. She might not be a master chef, but she knows enough not to let them go hungry.
"Anything?" She shakes her head.
"Not yet. We're waiting for some leads, so Hank send us all home." He nods, looking as though he has no will to live left. She sets to chopping up vegetables. "You hungry?"
"Not really."
But he eats, and he has to admit that the warm food settles down his upset stomach just a little, and the simple action of eating makes him feel somehow normal.
"I think I'm gonna go to bed," he says, after he empties his plate, and she nods, wishing there was something she could do for him.
"Go, I'm right behind you." She takes an extra couple of minutes, doing all the dishes, cleaning the coffee maker. She knows him. He's so much like her in that way. He needs time to himself right now, to collect himself, and try to make sense of it. He would never say it, would never push her away, but she knows it's what he needs, and that's exactly what she gives. Erin knows that he knows she's there, and she hopes he'll reach out when he's ready.
She doesn't sleep much that night, watching his chest rise and fall with deep breaths. It's around 1 am, and she knows she only has about four hours of sleep left, but still, the oblivion doesn't come.
At some point, she curls up by his side, his arm wrapped around her waist. He shifts once in a while, his slumber everything but peaceful, as he battles demons in his sleep. She knows better than anyone, that when that demon is yourself, things get even more warped, more complicated. She doesn't pull away, and he only keeps pulling her closer to his body. His hand slips under her shirt, setting on the warm skin, and it's then he seems to calm down, but her eyes still don't close, and her mind still refuses to shut down.
Her hand reaches to the hand on her waist, and she laces their fingers together. That's how she wakes two hours after shutting her eyes, when the sound of her alarm wakes them both up.
She's there when he comes out after the interview, sitting right next to Voight, springing on her feet when she sees him. She's always just there, when his world is falling apart, and he hopes it stays like this forever. But the look in her eyes tells a tragic story, and she's the one to pull him aside, and tell him the news.
She's there when his world tilts (again), when all he sees is white, and the world loses all colours. It's her hand in his, preventing him from having a full-on meltdown in the middle of the parking lot. He focuses on her fingers between his, the softness of of her skin, and warmth radiating from her, until he can finally breathe again.
Then she's there when he's yelling at his brother, shooting apologetic looks at the red-headed doctor, and she's there with her hand on his shoulder when they exit the hospital and he finally breaks.
He's sworn to serve and protect, and yet yesterday, he killed an innocent young girl. A girl who will never graduate, never get to drive a car, never have a first beer. She will never fall in love, or see the world. Because of him. Because he took that away from her.
"Hey, I got you," she murmurs, repeating the same words over and over again, until they have the desired effect and he calms down enough for her to get him into the Sierra.
He insists on not going home, because he can still do desk duty, and she gives in, knowing the feeling of helplessness that must be overwhelming him. She drives him back to the precinct, where she gets a full-on lecture from Voight for not having the head in the case, because she's too busy coddling her boyfriend.
"You can yell at me all you want," she mutters to herself. "It's all for nothing." Al gives her a funny look for talking to herself, and she shakes her head. Because her primary concern is Jay, and even though she obliges her boss and buries her head in the case, chasing lead after lead, she still glances at him every now and then, with a mixture of concern and comfort.
The truth is, she's at a loss for words. It's not like she can say I'm sorry you killed a girl by accident. There are no words, nothing she can do, to make this pain less acute. No comforting gesture that can make this okay.
But she's there in the background all day, confiscating his phone when he spends too much time reading the nasty comments that are spreading all over social media. She even barges into Hank's office—something he's clearly not too happy about, but tough luck, because she needs some answers.
She patiently listens to Hank's explanation, when she finally pries the answers from him. He was likely expecting this, because he knows her too well to think she was going to sit around and wait. Especially when it comes to her partner, and yes, despite him not being too happy about it, her boyfriend.
Then she asks a single question.
"We have his back, yes or no?" She's not asking for herself. She knows she would rather die than not have her partner's back. She's asking if the unit does. If he, as their leader, does. Because a while ago, when during a different case, murder accusations were thrown around, she doesn't exactly remember the team being there for him much. She sure wishes she would have pushed harder back then, but he made it clear he didn't want her help, and their relationship as friends—as partners—was still so new and she didn't want to overstep any boundaries.
"Until the end," he promises. Her eyes soften, and she pats his back awkwardly before exiting his office.
"I don't know what you did," she admits, "but thank you." Jay is standing up there, as he should, looking as handsome as ever in the suit she picked, because he was too out of it to do it. His face is somber, but he always looks handsome to her. She might even allow him to go a couple more days without shaving, because this scruff is making her man very nice to look at.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Voight mutters back at her. She knows he did something, because the heavy fire Jay was under didn't just go away. Despite all the comforting and reassuring words she said to him in the last couple of days, she was seriously wondering if he'd get out of this with his job. Something happened that made it end this way—that turned Jay from a sacrificial lamb into a goddamn hero.
"Why don't you take the rest of the day?"
"Thanks," she says. "I appreciate it."
She waits for Jay, as he walks away from the crowd after the press calms down with the questions. Her little smile is meant just for him, because she knows he won't take it the wrong way. They both know they don't have any reasons to smile right now, because even with Jay cleared, the girl is still dead.
It's meant simply as an offer of a little sunshine on a cloudy day, because she knows from a reliable source (he's told her so many times) that he loves her smile more than anything in the world.
"I have no idea what prompted this," he admits, and she shakes her head.
"No idea either." Even though she has some ideas. Blackmail for example. "But I'm not complaining."
"Neither am I."
"You'll be okay," she promises, for what seems like a hundredth time that day. "You just need some time to make sense of it."
"Yeah. Listen, there is something I want to do. You can go back to work, I'll be fine."
"I'll drive you."
And he doesn't say where, and she doesn't ask, because that's how well they know each other. And as she stops in front of Williams's house, she sees his eyes shine with tears.
"You want me to come with you?"
"I think this is something I need to do by myself," he explains, and she nods, having expected this answer. She sits in the car, watching him do one of the hardest things in his life, and doesn't ask questions when he sits next to her. She doesn't speak. She just takes him home, where he can fall apart without the world seeing.
Home, where they sit on the floor of the living room, and her body supports his, and her heart breaks with every sob that comes out of him.
Home, where she finally realizes that if this is the for worse part of for better or for worse, there is still nothing that could make her walk out on him. It's rather odd, she thinks, that this—them sitting on the floor while he cries his pain out—is the moment she realizes that someday she's going to marry this guy.
They're lying in bed, both comfortable in their pyjamas. Her head is resting on his chest, cocking up slightly to be able to see him. His lips touch hers ever so slightly with a sigh. "I don't know what I would've done today, if you weren't here." Because however hard this day was, he knows it would have been unbearable without her silent, but unwavering support, and constant comfort.
It's the moment he realizes he would rather spend the rest of his life unhappy, but with her, rather than happy with someone else.
"I'll always be here," she promises. And means it.
"Think you can sleep without your pillows tonight?" He asks reluctantly. "I just need to feel you close."
"Of course," she whispers back. "Whatever you need."
"Are we okay?" She asks after a while, and his lips curve into the smallest of smiles. She didn't ask if he's okay. She asked if they are. Because whatever he feels, she feels it too, and whatever he's going through, she's not a silent observer. And he knows this, because if it were the other way around, he'd feel the same. And if he thought he couldn't possibly love her more, in that moment, he knows he was wrong.
"Not yet," he replies. "But we will be." He knows this with perfect clarity, because as long as she's there, nuzzling her face into her neck, he will always be okay.
He pulls her closer, as close as he can without breaking her. But it would take more than just him to break her. She's so strong, strong for him, strong enough for help him carry his demons.
Strong enough to help him weather any storm. Even a perfect one.
