A/N - Thank you so much for your reviews guys. You're amazing. Hope you enjoy chapter 3 :) x

Let Me Love You

Things aren't exactly in full swing when I enter Bunny's but it's only 10:30 and I figure it'll get busier later. It is though, a Monday night in December, and so maybe this is it. Murders are less over the winter months, perhaps it's the same story for visits to strip clubs. All of these thoughts run through my mind as I'm making my way to the bar, expecting to see the older woman from Friday night pouring drinks with a sour expression. She's not there however. Instead, some guy with a tight black t-shirt and cold brown eyes is watching me walk towards him. He looks half-amused, half like he's going to stab me if I look at him the wrong way. There's something familiar about him and I silently wonder whether he's the guy I saw Erin with on the back steps.

I'm driving and really should order something without alcohol, but this guy already looks like he could kill me; I don't need to give him any more reason to question why I'm here so I order a Sam Adams and tell myself to drink it slowly. I haven't seen Erin yet and of course, there's a chance she's not here, but I decide to take a seat towards the side of the room where I can survey the place a little less obviously.

It doesn't take long for me to spot her. She comes out of the door to the side of the stage which I figure must be the changing room, and she's wearing another sheer shirt - this time in blue - with a short black skirt and heeled sandals. The music over the speakers changes without even a hint of a fade or mix, signalling the start of her routine to Nine Inch Nails. I wait for her to hook her leg around the pole so she can unbutton her shirt but tonight it stays closed. Instead, she's toying a crop between her fingers and I watch the way her eyes stay cast down at the floor until the chorus gets going and a few cheers join the poor-quality song. That's when she looks up and I know she's seen me.

Her eyes aren't just glassy this time, they're glazed. Whatever she's taken, it's clearly having a bigger effect on her than the stuff earlier in the day; she's having trouble focusing. I watch as her eyes flit across to the guy behind the bar who seems to smirk at her. Erin smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes and I rack my brains, trying to think whether I've ever seen a more depressing sight, and determine that I have, but only just.

Instead of disappearing off stage at the end of the song like last time, she waits for the vocals of The Rolling Stones to wash over the room while guys start throwing dollar bills in her general direction. More than anything, I'm pissed that that's all they think she's worth and before my brain can register what my feet are doing, I'm walking towards her to lay down a twenty. She may be high, but I can tell she registers that Jackson is staring up at her as she contorts her body around the pole and looks anywhere but at me.

Three more songs later, she's still up on that stage and I wonder why she's gracing the room with a significantly longer performance tonight. I've been scanning the amount of dollar bills on stage and make her grand total to be about $46 or so - including my $20. I hope she's getting paid a flat rate too because if not, she's going to struggle to buy groceries, let alone pay the rent on what I assume will be a pretty substandard apartment nowhere safe. With this is mind, I wait until she's turned away from me to lay down another $20 but she whips round as I'm busy settling back into my seat and the expression on her face is of sheer embarrassment. I want to go back in time and never have come on Ruzek's bachelor party but it's too late now and besides, I'm here to apologise. The look she's wearing tells me I'm going to have to work hard at it.

As I bring my beer to my lips, I realise I've forgotten to go slow, and silently remind myself to take it steady. I need to pee, but if she finishes her set while I'm in the bathroom, I might not get chance to speak to her so I wait. Luckily for me (but not for her bank account) that wait lasts only the remainder of the song, but instead of approaching me like I hoped she would, she disappears through the door to the side of the stage having gathered her money from the floor in a manoeuvre that told the room she's wearing lace panties. I can't explain why I hate the fact that even though I've just seen enough to determine that, so has everyone else.

When she comes back out, not in a change of clothes like I expected for some reason, I prepare to be ignored or even insulted but again, she surprises me. This time, it's by marching boldly over with a bag in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.

"Let's go."

She continues her march toward the exit and I rise, throwing a couple dollars onto my table as a tip but I'm not sure why because the service in here is awful. Maybe I'm subconsciously trying to buy my way out of the guilt I'm feeling.

"Where are we going?" I ask as Erin throws the door open before shuddering at the blast of cold air that hits our faces.

She shrugs. "Take your pick. Yours, mine, hotel, I'm not bothered. But if you want to go to a hotel, you're paying."

I freeze. She thinks I'm here to have sex with her.

"I'm not…" I trail off, thinking about how best to put this as she puts the cigarette to her lips and cups her hands around the end as she lights it. It takes several fumbles of her lighter but the end is finally aglow and I watch as she closes her eyes while exhaling.

"That's not what I came here for."

Her eyes snap open and then narrow in suspicion. "So what was the $40 for? Groceries?" She lets out an icy laugh and I feel offended by her impression of me.

"Just figured you could use it."

"You came here just to give me $40?" Her tone is skeptical as she takes another drag of the cigarette. I'm torn between wanting to yank it out of her mouth and stamp on it, or taking a drag myself. As a compromise, I do neither.

"I came here to apologise for earlier." I pull my jacket around my body. It really is freezing. "I never meant to make you feel...how you felt."

"Don't worry about it."

Thing is, I want to not worry. But I can't.

"Can I give you a ride home?" I ask in response.

"Why?"

"Because it's cold and you're wearing that." I indicate her less than suitable Chicago winter attire. "Because I don't like the idea of you walking around on your own at night."

"I can get the bus."

I sigh because she's making this harder than it needs to be. "Erin, just let me take you home."

She finishes her cigarette and drops the butt on the floor, stomping it out with the toe of her shoe, even though the snow on the ground puts paid to any chance of it staying lit. "Fine."

X

Everyone's seen the stereotypical grotty apartment in the bad neighbourhood in movies. That's the kind of place Erin lives. Her building is on a street I've been to a couple times over the past few years for various crimes and if I was concerned for her safety before, it was nothing compared to how I feel now. Englewood is a tough neighbourhood, especially for a white single woman who's obviously dependent on more than just being happy to get through her day.

"How long have you lived here?" I ask, stalling the inevitable as long as I can so she can stay safe inside the warmth of my car.

"A couple months. The last place I lived had a leaking roof and a landlord who didn't give a shit."

Something tells me she didn't pay that last month's rent. "What's it like? Living here?"

"Shittier than where you probably grew up."

"Canaryville wasn't all white picket fences."

She seems surprised at my response and, for the first time since I've known her, seems unsure of what to say. I cock an eyebrow and try not to smirk a little.

"How long are we gonna do this for?" she says eventually, and I frown, unsure of what she means.

"Do what?"

"Put off the inevitable."

"If you want to go someplace warm, we can. There's a decent diner not too far from here. The coffee's not great but it beats the hospital vending machine stuff."

That same icy laugh she used earlier escapes her lips. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what?"

"Are we having sex or not?"

"Erin," I take her hand and wince at how cold her skin is. Her palm is soft but she stiffens so I drop it. "I came to drop you off and make sure you got home safe."

For a millisecond, she looks hurt and I curse myself again because I have no idea what to do or say around this woman and I also have no idea why I care so much what she thinks of me. But I do. Care, that is. Taking her seatbelt off, she scrabbles in her purse and pulls out two $20 bills. "Here." She thrusts them towards me. I shake my head. "I'm not a charity case."

"I didn't say you were. I paid you for your dances."

She scoffs. "Nobody pays $40 for a dance in that place."

"Well I did."

"Then you overpaid."

I shrug. "I'm okay with that."

"I'm not," she returns, actually throwing the money at me before storming out of the car towards the front door of a building which looks like it's about to fall down at any given moment. I want to go after her but know it'd be a bad idea. Instead, I sigh and wait in the car until she disappears inside. I wait for longer than is necessary, just in case she comes back out again, but when fifteen minutes have past I cut my losses and drive home.

I think of her eyes until I fall asleep.

X

More snow has fallen overnight and the city is white again as opposed the grey it had become by the end of yesterday evening what with the traffic and pollution smoking the previously plain canvas. The sun shines all day though, making the snow look like white glitter while I finish paperwork and arrange to meet a few of the guys after work at Molly's. It's a slow day but I'm not complaining; we don't get many of these and a day without being called to any kind of violent crime-related incident should always be appreciated.

By the time we get to Molly's, I'm in desperate need of a beer or ten because I can't stop thinking about Erin. With every silver lining comes a great, huge black cloud. With great difficulty, I force her out of my mind when I realise I'm the only one not laughing at a joke Dawson just made and as a result, everyone is staring.

"You alright man?" Atwater asks.

"I'm fine," I tell them, taking a healthy swig from my bottle as though it proves a truth. Nobody seems to suspect anything else, and really, I am fine. I'm just worried about Erin and I'm also worried about why I'm worried about her. Maybe it's the dimples. Or because I kind of maybe don't have a girlfriend anymore. Lexi hasn't called or text and I strongly suspect I'm the one who's meant to call first. I'm just not sure what to say.

"Yo Halstead!" It's Atwater again. "You with us?"

In body, I figure, yes. But my head's outside a crappy apartment in Englewood and there's a feeling I just can't shake. I'm a little concerned that going over there would be borderline stalking but my intentions are simply to see if she's okay. Surely that counts for something.

"Maybe he's got trouble with the missus," Roman laughs and when I don't answer, a few laughs of "oh shit," chorus around the table.

"I think I'm gonna take off," I tell them and feel kind of lame for it when they start apologising. "Kinda have somewhere I need to be."

There are jokes about make-up sex being the best and as I'm heading towards the door, someone (probably Ruzek) shouts at me to remember a rubber. I both love and hate my team at the same time.

When I reach her building, I park the car out front, pat my side where my gun sits and head towards the front door. It's only in this moment that I have no idea which apartment is hers, or what her surname is. I figure it's a small enough building that if I buzz a few different people, at least one of them will be her, or at least someone who knows her and is willing to let me in. Turns out though, that the buzzers are broken, as is the front door lock. I make my way inside and recoil at the smell of the hallway. That awful hospital smell would win out over this any day of the week.

I try a few different doors on the ground floor and get only one answer. The woman behind doesn't speak English and either doesn't know who Erin is, or just isn't telling me. I have no option but to try the next floor. I have no luck there and I'm about to decide between simply shouting her name or cutting my losses and going home when the door of number 15 opens and a grey-haired woman with a denim dress smelling of cooking oil appraises me from head to toe, then asks if I mean Erin Lindsay. When I give a description to confirm her surname, the woman nods and sends me to the second floor.

"Number 34."

I thank her just before she shuts the door in my face and make my way up the stairs, taking care not to touch the railing. Compared to this place, my building is a palace. I remind myself to feel grateful when I go back there, and not curse the superintendent when he fails to fix the sticking mail boxes.

Reaching Erin's front door, I notice - thanks to the dinginess of the hallway - that there's a light on, and feel thankful that I don't have to go to Bunny's tonight. I suppose I don't have to go anywhere at all. But in the back of my mind, I know if she wasn't here, i'd be heading across town.

I knock and there's no answer so I knock again, louder. A minute or so passes without the door opening and so I bang a little harder - this time with my fist.

"Erin?"

I hear a bit of a clang, a string of curse words that shouldn't make me smile but do, and I'm just getting ready to pound on the flimsy excuse for a barricade once more when it opens tentatively.

"Are you stalking me?"

Kinda feel like I am. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Wasn't that what you were doing yesterday?"

Yes. And I'm here again but so what? "Yesterday I was apologising."

She doesn't open the door any wider and it make me wonder what she's hiding. I can't miss the smell of liquor on her breath though, nor the way her eyes are glazed again.

"Well here I am. I'm okay."

"You're not gonna invite me in?"

"Nope."

I sigh and slide my foot across the threshold of her apartment, just in case she gets any ideas about slamming the door in my face. "Would you just," I reach out to tilt her chin upwards so she'll look at me and I can assess whether there is even a hint of truth to her words, but the action makes her jump and she stumbles backwards, wincing as her hands go to her left side and the door opens wider to reveal a shit-tip of an apartment. I don't know where to look first; there are bruises down her arm and even though I know they're not track marks, I feel a lump in my throat as I look over her shoulder to see a kitchen that looks like all it houses is booze.

"It's a little messy," she tries to smile but it comes out as a grimace and I step closer. She backs up.

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"Erin." I reach forward to take her arm in my hands and she won't look at me. Her other hand is still clutching her side and there's an indescribable rage building inside me that anyone would do this to her. Ignoring the state of her apartment, I survey the bruises which are consistent with grab marks before my hands tentatively touch the hemline of her sweater. I think I hear a wince and I realise the door is still wide open, so I close it with the heel of my boot and resume my attention on her side.

"I won't hurt you," I say softly. "But I need to see whether you need to see a doctor."

"I'm fine." It's a weaker protest than before and I crouch down a little so my eyes meet the level of hers.

"Erin, you're hurt and I need to know how badly so that we can get you care if you need it."

"I have no insurance. I'm not going to see a doctor."

Of course she doesn't. I sigh inwardly and figure if I can just get a look at her injuries, I can call Will and check the best course of action. "Then can you let me see? I'll be gentle."

Reluctantly, she lets go of her side and I lift her sweater up with my left hand. There are bruises everywhere. Her skin - which I can tell would be marble white usually - is spoiled with circles of red and purple and green and yellow.

"Who did this to you?"

"I fell."

"Erin…"

"I said, I fell."

It goes without saying that I don't believe her, but she's obviously not going to open up. It goes against my nature as a cop - the whole not pushing for information thing - but right now, I'm here as Jay and not Detective Halstead. Besides, I haven't actually told her what I do for a living. My guess is she'd be even less likely to tell me anything if she knew. I continue checking her over as carefully as I can and when I tell her she can lift her sweater back down, the material covers her skin faster than I can blink. It's likely that she's got at least a cracked rib but painkillers will be the only treatment a doctor would prescribe anyway, so I figure she might as well rest at home for free. Just...not this home.

"Come on," I say quietly, turning to indicate that she should follow me out of the door. Needless to say, she doesn't.

"I told you I'm not going to the hospital."

"That's not where I'm taking you."

"Then where? I can hardly twirl around a pole tonight."

Something in my chest tightens at the fact that she's even thought that, let alone said it. "My place. It's warm, safe; I can make sure you're okay there."

Finally, she looks at me. Her eyes are still a little glazed. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I want you to be safe." It really is that simple.

"But…" her voice is almost a whisper. "Why?"

I take her hand and smooth my thumb across the skin. At first, she tenses but when she looks back at me again, seems to relax a little. "I just...do."

Though somewhat surprising, my answer seems to be good enough and Erin nods gently. We ride to my apartment in silence.

X

"I should go," Erin says literally the moment I close the door of my apartment behind us. I'm not sure why she's had the sudden change of heart; maybe it's the pathetic excuse for a christmas tree keeling over in front of the window. There's this look in her eyes - the glaze is leaving and is being replaced by what looks like the urge to run. I assure her again that I'm not going to hurt her, but that she really, really needs to rest. "Besides," I add. "My bed is unashamedly comfy."

This comment seems to bring her round and she curls one side of her mouth into a smile. It's the same one she gave when I saw her in Bunny's: false. "Come on then," she says, stepping close enough to graze her hands over the part of my shirt that my open jacket is revealing. Either she hasn't seen my gun or it doesn't phase her. I'll hide it when she's in the shower. "Lead the way."

She moves her mouth close enough to my ear and I don't miss the way my body responds. There are tingles shooting down my neck and arms and I have no idea where they've come from. This has never happened before. Right as her lips land on my skin, I manage to recover enough to take her arms in my hands gently enough that I don't hurt her, but just tight enough that I can pull away to put a couple inches distance between us. There's a small part of me that doesn't want her to stop if my body is going to respond like this, but I don't want her to think this is why I've brought her here.

"Erin." My voice is hoarse and I clear my throat. Her eyes focus in on my neck again and she leans forward so I step back. "Erin."

She stops and snaps her head up in annoyance. "What?"

"I didn't bring you here for that." I'm met with silence and I continue. "You need to rest."

"Fine."

Her injuries prevent her from stomping over to my couch and I fight the strange urge to smile because here is this girl I met a few days ago, pissed that I won't let her sleep with me because I want her to rest.

"I was going to order pizza," I say, figuring a change of subject is probably best. "You can take a shower if you like?"

There's that side-eye I first saw in the hospital (I make a silent reminder to ask her about what she was doing there later) as she judges either my seriousness or motive. Probably both.

"I don't have a towel."

"I have plenty."

She follows me slowly as I make my way to the cupboard in which the spare bedding and towels are kept, then as I go to my bedroom in search of some clothes for her to wear. She must not realise where we're headed because when she looks round as I flick on the light, I hear a quiet and surprised "oh," escape her lips.

"You want a hoodie or just a t-shirt?" I ask.

"Hoodie." Her tone is a little clipped but when I hand her the stuff she needs, her expression softens. "Thanks."

I don't dwell on her gratitude and instead, direct her to the bathroom, telling her she can use any of the products she likes. Her lips twitch into the smallest hint of a smile and she disappears behind the door.

When the delivery guy arrives with the 15" pepperoni pie, garlic bread, salad and fries, I'm starting to grow a little worried that Erin's been in the shower close to thirty minutes. I rack my brains, trying to remember whether there's anything in the cabinet she might try and...take...but just as I'm mentally working my way along the top shelf, the lock clicks and out she comes in a cloud of steam, drowning in a pair of my sweatpants and looking indescribably attractive in my police hoodie. Her hair is tousled and damp, her skin free of any makeup and I have the overwhelming urge to kiss her forehead. I don't. Instead, I grab the two plates from the counter top, hand one to Erin and direct her to the small feast on my kitchen table.

We eat on the couch in front of the christmas tree, mostly in silence, though the background noise of the evening news eases the tension a little. The way she wolfs down her first two pizza slices make me concerned that I haven't ordered enough, but by the time she's had a slice of garlic bread and a handful of fries, she's groaning in that 'so-full-you-can't-move' way.

A knock at the door makes her jump and I don't miss the fear in her eyes. Seeing it is a confirmation that since her shower, she's relaxed a little around me. Whoever's on the other side has just shot that to hell. Rising from the couch, I offer her a smile which she doesn't return, then make my way to the door. It's Lexi.

"Are you seriously just not going to call?" my girlfriend...ex-girlfriend? shrieks. "The least you could do is call me to apologise! You didn't even -"

I know why she's stopped mid-sentence. Following her eyes, I see her gaze has settled upon the back of Erin's head. I don't know why, but I don't even bother to try and explain. "You bastard!"

She slaps me. Actually slaps me. And like an idiot, I just stand there, take it and then watch her leave. Maybe, somewhere, there should be sadness. Just...I don't feel it yet.

"Are you okay?" Erin asks as I close the door. She's making her way over like a timid child might seek out a parent after an argument. It's kind of nice. But I can see the effort she's putting into getting to me, and I just want her to rest.

"I'm fine." It's not a lie. I really am.

"Was that your girlfriend?"

"I think she was my girlfriend."

"Oh." Something in her eyes softens and all of a sudden, the way she's looking at me is making me nervous; I'm pretty sure I might be looking at her the same so I move, guiding her back towards the couch.

"You need to stay still."

"You got any beer?"

I do, but I don't think it'd be a good idea if we start drinking. After my body's response earlier, I'm not sure my self-control would win out if there's alcohol involved. Besides, Erin needs to heal and I don't think beer will help. "Uh, how about coffee?"

She raises an eyebrow so I match her and she rolls her eyes like a stroppy teenager. "Fine."

X

It's late and I've got work in the morning but it turns out Erin's more of a night person. Figures. I thought after she'd relaxed a little, she might tell me more about how she got her bruises but she hasn't and I know better than to push too hard. We've been watching some crappy tv movie for the last forty minutes and I'm fighting sleep so hard that twice I've caught her smiling at me as I've managed to drag my eyelids back up and focus on my surroundings. They were real smiles too: dimples on display and everything.

"Go to bed," She tells me after my head drops towards my chest and it takes pretty much all of my efforts to lift it back up. "I'll be fine here."

Obviously I'm not going to let her take the couch, but while my sleepy brain is processing this, she's misinterpreting my lack of response for concern for my possessions. "I won't steal anything. I might be a mess, but I'm not a thief."

It hadn't even crossed my mind. I turn to face her. "You're not a mess, Erin."

The sound that escapes her lips is what probably started off as a disbelieving laugh, but with the pain of her injuries, turns into a cross between a gasp and a wheeze. "And I hadn't thought for a second that you would steal anything. But you need to rest - in bed - even if you're not particularly tired."

"I'm fine here."

I ignore her and make my way to the closet where I keep the spare duvet and pillows. She's still sitting on the couch when I return to dump the duvet there, and remains while I take the spare pillows to my bedroom. I've had enough cracked ribs over the years to know she won't be able to sleep lying down so make a padded backrest for her to lay against. When I'm done and I've softened the lighting by flicking on the bedside lamp, I head back to the living room where Erin is eyeing the refrigerator.

"You still hungry?" I ask, even though I know the real reason for her interest in the single most expensive kitchen appliance I own.

"I'm fine." Her response is cold. Seems kind of fitting.

"Come on then," I nod towards the general direction of my bedroom - not that there are many options of rooms to head to.

I know she doesn't want to follow me - she's pretty much dragging her feet - but she does and when she spots the little cocoon I've made for her, I think I see her eyes fill with tears. She doesn't let any fall though and I figure I should leave her to it, right after I bring her a glass of water and the painkillers I know she'll need.

"I'll be on the couch," I say softly after I've set them down on the nightstand. "If you need me."

I'm almost out of the door when I hear her voice. "Jay.."

I both hate and love the way she says my name. "Yeah?"

It takes her a while; a few twitches of her fingers which I know are probably withdrawals. "Thank you."

No need to make her feel like she owes me anything. I smile, nod and close the door on my way out.