A/N: Hello! I've been so happy to receive so much feedback on the first chapter. I'm glad you guys are intrigued and liking it.
As for their relationship before (I got so many questions) - all will be revealed in good time. Patience grasshoppers :)
I would like to promise my beta quesera1 my eternal gratitude. You're the best and I love you.
Erin is just about to tuck in and stay up watching reruns of Friends, when a knock pounds on the door. Because she isn't expecting anyone, she reaches for her gun, her barefoot feet padding the floor on her way to answer. A look through the hole reveals one of her favourite people, and she lowers the gun, unlocking the door. His eyes widen at the sight of the Glock, but she puts it away quickly, motioning him inside.
"I thought if you didn't want to hang out at Molly's, I'd bring the hang out to you." He raises the six-pack of her favourite beer in the air to demonstrate. She rolls her eyes and smiles. This was about the fifth invitation to hang out she somehow dodged, and she knows sooner or later someone is going to call her out on it.
"You're always welcome here," she assures, proceeding to give him the grand tour. She skips the bedroom, because it seems too suggestive, and she's not ready to go there yet. If he thinks it's weird, he doesn't say anything, being the gentleman that he always was. It is one of her favourite qualities of him.
Later, they settle on the couch, indulging in some light conversation. She asks about everything she's missed in his life. And considering they haven't seen each other for years, she imagined it's not little.
"I worked undercover for a while, mostly shorter stuff. It was interesting, but when I got the chance at Intelligence I grabbed it real hard."
"How did you? Get the chance I mean?"
He pulls the sleeve on his arm up, revealing hard muscles that have her swallowing hard, but also a bullet wound. "You got shot," she says, nodding with understanding. Cops who take a bullet on the job are more likely to get this kind of an opportunity.
"It didn't hurt that I was dating Dawson's sister at the time."
She throws her head back, laughing. That is such a Jay thing to say. "Was?"
"Turned out she couldn't handle dating a cop. She's married to a firefighter now, Peter Mills. He's a great guy. Oh, and she's one of the owners of Molly's, so if one of these days you decide to come, you'll probably meet her.
"What kind of a bar is it?" She asks carefully.
"It's a firefighter bar, but you've got cops, doctors. Mostly that kind of crowd."
"Maybe next time," she relents, because she really can't cut herself off from the world completely, no matter how tempting it sounds to move into a cave, away from people in general, so she can avoid getting hurt.
He looks as though he's about to ask about her life, so she fakes a yawn. He takes the hint, apologizing he's kept her up so long. She feels almost guilty for making him leave, but she has to. She thanks him for the company, quickly grabbing the bottles from the table, before he can offer to help her clean up and realize she hasn't had a sip.
He doesn't say anything, so she doesn't think he caught it, but the next time he shows up on her doorstep, it's with a pizza and coke, so she wonders if he can still read her that well.
"I don't like this," Hank scoffs at her, and Camille hushes him right away. They're apparently talking about her relationship with Jay, which makes her want to crawl under the table. But Hank has noticed they've been growing closer, and she's trying to talk him out of separating them as partners.
"You let her make her own decisions, Hank. She's not sixteen anymore. She can separate work and personal life."
Erin laughs, and reaches for more mashed potatoes. It's nice having someone in her corner. Why was she so worried about coming home? Home is laughter, good people, good food. It's a relief to see the love between the people who raised her still growing strong. She gazes at them with affection—how Camille picks off the sprouts from Hank's plate, because she knows he doesn't like them, and how he kisses her for it. It's not just home. It's family. It's roots. It's safety.
After dinner, when Hank excuses himself to take a phone call, Camille pours another glass of wine in Erin's glass. "One of these days you're going to tell me what's going on with you."
"Nothing is going on."
"Please, do not insult me. I'm more your mother than that woman ever was, and if you think that I don't know when something is wrong, you're just deluding yourself. Now help me clean this up."
Erin touches Camille's hand softly, regretting that she's upset her. In the whole world, Camille is the last person she wants to cause any sort of harm. "You're the only mother I ever had," she assures her, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry for prying, I just hate seeing you worked up about something."
Erin finds herself being pulled into a hug, and one she doesn't mind at all. Because this one smells like food and Camille's old perfume and it brings back memories of being a sulky teenager that got another chance at life because two people decided to give it to her.
"How about this—when I'm ready, I'll tell you."
Camille hums with approval of that option, and they stand side by side, washing and drying the dishes. That is the exact moment Erin knows she has made the right choice coming back. Because with everything that's happened, gratitude is exactly the emotion she needs to fill her life with. And the woman standing next to her is exactly the root of her gratitude.
She lets Camille talk her into staying the night, knowing that she enjoys fussing and taking care of her. And someone taking care of her doesn't sound so bad at this moment. Camille heads up to prepare her old room, while she sits with Hank for a while. He knows her well enough to know she didn't tell him everything that happened in New York. She wonders if he made inquiries about it to his contacts (she knows he has those everywhere). But he also knows her well enough to not push.
It has been like this since she can remember. Camille has always been the one to give her a soft nudge into the right direction. Not pushing but giving great advice that ultimately lead her to where she is now. And Hank has always been the one to let her come to it on her own, but he made sure she knew he was always in her corner.
That is what he does now, by placing a hand on her shoulder. A quiet reminder he's there. And she knows in her heart there is nothing in the world either of them wouldn't do for her.
It's way past eleven when Erin walks into the famous bar everyone keeps telling her so much about. She is caught up on her paperwork, and officially out of excuses, so she decides to join the guys for a drink. Her first impression puts her at ease. It isn't crowded, and the fairy lights over the ceiling make it look cosy.
"Wow, look who made it!" Erin should have known the guys would make a big deal out of this, after she ditched them for almost a month.
"Sorry. Let's just say I wasn't feeling like much of a company back then. This move has been exhausting," she responds, trying to look in a good mood, though her natural instinct is telling her to flee. But she jumps up on the chair, happy that Antonio and Ruzek immediately pull her into a conversation, while Jay gets them all drinks.
She chose a chair next to him for a reason. It's because he makes her feel comfortable like nobody else can, though she soon discovers the guys are a happy bunch. Except for Claire, who is still nursing a grudge because Erin stole her partner, she gets along with everyone, and she relishes in the feeling that was so desperately missing with her old unit.
Jay sets a beer in front of her, not missing the worried glance she throws at the bottle, as if it's going to attack her any minute. "You don't have to drink it. I can get you something else."
"It's fine," she whispers quickly. "I haven't given up drinking completely." Though lately she does prefer other beverages over the once-so-loved booze.
It's a strange feeling when she finds herself laughing at Ruzek's jokes and agreeing to meet Dawson at his gym in the morning to sign up for a membership. She misses being active, and despite the fact she hasn't been back in Chicago for long, it's been on her to-do list, and it feels good to check something off of it.
But the buzzing of her phone inescapably puts her in the sour mood, and she excuses herself, trying to leave money for her beer, but Jay wouldn't hear of it. He walks her to her car, as the gentleman he is, or maybe it's just an excuse to lean his head down and finally brushing his lips over hers. It doesn't even deserve to be called a kiss, because it only lasts a second.
But the tingling in her stomach tells her it was in fact a kiss, and she spends an entire ride home thinking about it.
They meet again next morning, when she shows up at the gym, regretting the promise a little. It's pouring rain outside, and she would've liked nothing more than to roll over in bed and sleep another hour or two, before miserably dragging herself to work.
But she comes, decided to make something out of the dreadful morning. The smile he sends her way when he sees her warming up brightens up her day a little. She keeps hers to herself, not giving away that she has seen him, as she focuses on the exercise. But the tingling in her stomach is back.
"Nice work," he comments, when she heads out. "How about some breakfast?"
"Sure, let me just grab a shower first," she replies, raising a brow at him. "Or were you planning on going to work all sweaty and smelly?" She regrets saying the word 'sweaty' the moment it leaves her mouth, as it carries entirely too much sexual connotation for her liking. She even blushes a little, hoping he won't catch it. She gulps, thinking way back, when for an entire night, his sweaty body pinned her to the mattress and she didn't mind at all. Her teeth catch her bottom lip as she tries to control her breathing.
"Of course not." He rolls his eyes at her. As if she didn't know he was a hygiene freak. "You know I don't like being smelly." He leaves the word sweaty out on purpose. The sentence is heavily charged with a sexual innuendo, and he enjoys the drop of sweat trickling down her throat.
She makes a quick escape to the showers.
Little do they know that as they let the water run down their bodies, washing away the sweat and grime of the workout, they're both thinking about the exact same thing.
That night.
"So, you just left?"
"I had my reasons. I just couldn't stay there."
"Why?"
"Maybe one day I'll tell you," she says, faking a smile as she stuffs her mouth with pancakes. He was generous enough to let her order a whole stack. Now he's sitting there, already finished with his omelette, looking amused by how she scarfs them down.
"How do you keep that body, with how much you eat?"
"If I tell you that… I'd have to kill you," she jokes. "Exercise. Also, I'm very bad at actually eating sometimes. Some days at work I just forget, and then I get home and wonder why my stomach hurts so much."
He chuckles at her, reading her face. She seems guarded, closed off. It might not be visible to someone on the outside, but from someone who has spent years sitting next to her in a patrol car, he can't help noticing she's changed.
He makes a mental note on making sure she eats from time to time, mostly because he's never gotten rid of the need to take care of her, and also because he just can't have his partner fainting from starvation.
"I don't think it's going to be a problem in this unit. With all those guys that are hungry 110% of the time."
"It's a great unit. I wish my old one had the same dynamics."
"Did something happen with your old unit?"
She hesitates. Her eyes dig into the one pancake she has left on the plate. It doesn't seem like she has any intention of eating it, but she looks at it like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Just as she opens her mouth to reply to his question, their phone ring simultaneously.
"We've got a case," he says, asking for check, while she gathers her stuff and they head to work. But he can't stop thinking about what she was going to tell him before the phone rang.
And she can't stop thinking if it was a good thing that the phone stopped her from potentially saying something she might have regretted.
