A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you….
"Let's go clean you up" Jack urged. He wanted to get ice on her bruises and antiseptic in her cuts. He hoped she had butterfly bandages to keep some of those cuts closed. It would be a shame to carry permanent scars as a visual reminder of this day.
Erica slowly and stiffly sat up on the stair, her head hanging down. Jack stood up and reached out to grasp her hands and steady her as she rose. He slid her jacket off her slumped shoulders and draped it over the banister, then shrugged his own off and slung it over hers. With a hand behind her elbow, he led her to the bathroom on the main floor, flicking on lights as he noticed the switches. He lowered the lid of the toilet seat and pulled her over to sit down.
"I'll be right back."
Jack went into the kitchen, turned on the kettle for tea and grabbed one of the kitchen chairs. He returned to the bathroom with it and positioned it in front of Erica.
Erica's eyes had been staring blankly from her pale face until he began to tend to her, then her swollen red eyes began to follow his every move.
He found an elastic band and awkwardly gathered the strands of hair away from her face with fumbling hands, binding them loosely at the back of her head. He didn't try to engage her in conversation, but worked in silence, methodically searching the medicine cabinet for supplies and laying them out on the counter. He ran warm water in the sink and submerged a wash cloth below the steaming surface. He worked efficiently with the confidence of having done it many times before. Jack's expression was grim as sat down and pulled his chair close to Erica, her knees between his. He began wiping Joe's blood from her hands. Erica became fascinated by watching the muscles in his jaw flex.
Jack knew that Erica was a spiritual person, but in all their conversations they had never discussed it. She wasn't Catholic, but she had been very comfortable in the church right from the start, unlike Hobbes or Ryan or even Chad Decker, so he knew she'd had some sort of church upbringing. Knowing she would recognize it, he began to recite the 23rd Psalm almost under his breath. He didn't know if it would comfort her, but it certainly helped him.
The Lord is my shepherd;
He tilted her face slightly up towards him where the light was better, but didn't make eye contact with her. He was all business.
I shall not want.
He gently wiped the blood from the cuts around her eyes and applied disinfectant. She had exquisitely smooth skin.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
The blood around her nose and lip required more effort, but she didn't wince or move away. Her eyes remained fixed on his face.
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
His tranquility was a balm to her. Jack opened the box of butterfly strips and removed two for the cut under her right eye, mechanically unwrapping and carefully applying the strips as he'd often done for wounded soldiers.
He restoreth my soul.
He was done with her physical wounds and her stare was beginning to unnerve him.
He placed his hands carefully on each side of her face and tilted her head so he was looking directly into her bloodshot eyes and repeated the phrase.
He restoreth my soul.
Jack held her red eyes for a long moment wishing he could absorb her grief, give her strength and reassure her she was not alone. Then he unexpectedly leaned forward and laid his lips on her forehead. He closed his eyes and wished it was he himself who could restore her soul.
When he leaned away from her, Erica felt as though her face was dissolving. His tenderness and caring were almost too much for her. She didn't deserve it. She hung her head and his fingers which had been holding her face now pushed deep into her hair. She was struggling between building a wall around her heart and spilling emotions without control. Every few minutes she changed which side of the wall she was on. At this moment she was spilling.
"Shhhh," he calmed, lifting her chin with one hand and tucking loose strands of glossy hair behind her ear. "It's all right", he said and her face began to relax. He continued.
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Jack stood up and reached down taking Erica's hands in his and pulled her to a standing position.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death;
I will fear no evil:
for thou art with me
Erica's huge blue eyes were fixed on his once again, her pain so close he could feel it. They stood face to face, inches apart. Then Jack slowly reached out and pulled Erica against him, absorbing her in a healing hug. Erica buried her face in his neck and tried to melt into him as he whispered into her ear.
"And I'm with you, too, Erica." Always.
As he held her he moved one hand to cradle her head against him and almost imperceptibly started to rock. He wanted to surround her and protect her. Normally Erica was the protector – his warrior princess, protector of all. It was his turn to do the protecting, if it was possible. He went long past the standard priest-hug time limit, with his head snuggling in to press against hers. Erica was gradually relaxing and leaning more and more heavily on him.
"Come," he whispered, sad to break this exquisite embrace, but worried that she might collapse again, this time on the bathroom floor.
Jack released Erica carefully and walked her into the livingroom with his arm around her. He sat her down on the couch, then knelt in front of her to remove her boots – the boots she had been wearing for a family motorcycle ride that had never happened. She watched him with eyes that were still numb. Jack swung her legs up so she was lying down then covered her with the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He perched on the edge of the couch looking down at her.
"When is your family coming?"
"Tomorrow" she answered.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"Don't remember", she whispered after a pause.
"I'm going to get some ice for your face and see what I can find for us to eat", he replied. He pulled the blanket a little farther over her shoulder. She wasn't racked with sobs now. They came less and less frequently. He rubbed her arm and leaned over to look at her to make sure she understood. He smiled his reassurance and she returned a slight nod in reply, but she remained far, far away.
Jack sat on the floor with his back propped against the couch in Erica's livingroom. Erica lay quietly on the couch behind him. She switched the icepack to the other cheek. Some color had returned to her face since she'd eaten the warm soup he'd prepared. The glazed look was gone.
While he'd been familiarizing himself with the kitchen, Jack shook his head and marveled at where life had brought him. How in heaven's name did he get here? How had Erica ever picked him to do this unlikely job of fighting on the front lines of this war? And how had he been the chosen one to come to her tonight?
He wasn't completely obtuse; he'd seen the effect she had on men. It amused him that so many heads swiveled when she went by. Her height and confidant posture initially attracted attention, but her beauty was stunning and would attract a double-take at times. A few short words with her while she was wearing her FBI personae enlightened any potential suitors that she had no interest and would take no prisoners if you crossed her. Jack and Erica drew some questioning stares when they were seen together in public. The priest and the FBI agent. Yes, indeed, how had that happened?
He found and prepared soup – comfort food – for them. They both felt better for it. It had been many hours since he'd eaten, too.
He made her lie down again with the icepack, then took up his sentinel position beside her, leaning his back against the couch, his legs stretched out on the floor and ankles crossed.
"Tell me what happened today, Erica." He purposely had his back to her. Although they always spoke face-to-face and she freely told him things she never shared with anyone else, he thought it might help for her to be speaking into the dimly lit room. Almost a confession, he mused. He reminded himself to stay calm and quiet. This was no time for discussion or outrage; it was time for her to unburden her soul.
So she began. She told him of Eli's phone call, that Ryan tried to kill Eli. She told him she tried to phone him, but realized he would be at Mass, so she went alone to confront Ryan. Eli's men had already beaten him. She told him of her fury at Ryan and that she would never be able to forgive him – that he should have come to her and told her Anna had his daughter. Her voice tightened at that point and she became quiet. Jack thought she might have fallen asleep, but then he heard the icepack move. Her voice changed again.
"Jack. You'd tell me if the Vs were holding something over you, wouldn't you? You wouldn't be afraid to tell me, would you?" Erica could see the curve of Jack's cheek change and knew he was smiling.
"Yes, Erica" was his simple reply.
The question had been completely unnecessary because Erica knew the answer before she asked it. But it was comforting to hear the question answered aloud.
Erica took her hand off her icepack and reached out, letting her fingers play absently with the hair at the nape of his neck. Jack didn't move and she continued to play. Then suddenly he sucked his breath in sharply. Erica's fingers stopped moving as she realized what she was doing and to whom.
"Your fingers are freezing!" Jack quietly exclaimed and looked over his shoulder at her. In the low light, he could see the initial surprise on her face and then the start of a beautiful smile that even touched her sad eyes. You're still in there, my Erica, he though with relief. He smiled back at her.
Jack reached over to grasp her hand then turned away again, placing her cold hand on his shoulder and covering it with his own warm hand. Knowing the exact location of that hand made him feel in control. Those roaming fingers had been doing spectacular things to his central nervous system in spite of their temperature.
"Tell me more. Why did you stay after you confronted Ryan?"
