For the sixth time in two days, Mouse's eyes involuntarily shut. It was a lack of control; it was all out of his hands. The exhaustion that living off of coffee while staying awake and alert for two days had his whole brain on autopilot; he honestly had no idea what he was doing right now. After retrieving three months' worth of surveillance footage from the club, he had dedicated his time to analyzing every second of it. He watched every frame –second by second- in search of the victims and the people whom they've come across that night.

Mouse jumps awake when Voight's hand taps against his desk, "You've been combing through this footage all day and night for the last two days. You haven't found anything yet. How about you go home, get some rest and come back tomorrow afternoon with fresh eyes to resume looking through the rest of the surveillance?"

"I'll give you a ride home; it's on the way," Dawson offers as he pulls out his car keys. The entire team pulled a double all-nighter. They were tired of being stuck in the same place they've been since they were handed this case so they decided to band together and figure something out. Mouse grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and waved at the team, "We'll see you guys tomorrow," Dawson called out; tossing a wave of the hand over his shoulder as he departed down the stairs of Intelligence.

Voight turned to face the remainder of the team –all of them just as tired as the two who recently left. He didn't want to dismiss the rest of the unit until they put every piece of information they had together. Hank approaches the whiteboard, lifts a marker and begins writing down the names of each victim. After jotting down the last name, he grabs the marker top, "Before we leave, we need to go through everything we know about each victim." He places the marker top back on before using it to point towards Halstead and Lindsay, "you two," they both look up, "you were the ones who questioned the family of the first victim; Michelle Danvers," he read her name off the board, "Tell us everything all over again as if it's our first time hearing it."

Erin rose from her desk chair, "Michelle was a recovering alcoholic; med student. Her family said she normally tried to steer clear of clubs and basically any place that has a bar."

"Her family and friends didn't even know she went out that night," Jay added, while leaning back in his desk chair –his hands resting behind his head, "They only knew that she met someone she saw herself having a relationship with; she talked about him nonstop, but never mentioned a name. They don't even know an exact description; all she described him as is hot, nice, sweet, funny, cute, so on and so forth. She broke her sobriety for him."

"We don't know that," Tyler interjected; he shoves his hands into his pockets and begins pacing; it helps him think, "I think she broke her sobriety before she met him. Her family said she tried to stay away from places that have bars yet she went to the nightclub. She was already going to break her sobriety."

Erin walks around her desk and approaches the whiteboard, "Michelle was tormented the longest out of our four victims. As far as we know, she told no one but the cops. She didn't want her family to find out about it. Before killing her, he cut out her tongue and cut off her lips."

Burgess scratched below her chin in thought, "The first victim was tormented for two weeks before he killed her. The second victim was tormented for three days. The third victim was tormented for one week and then the fourth for six days." Erin nods. And it pushes Burgess to continue, "The timing doesn't make any sense. There's no pattern anywhere. Someone these women don't even know preys upon and then kills them."

Erin shakes her head as she walks back to her desk, "It's possible she never made the connection that the person tormenting her was most likely the man she was 'dating'."

"How do you know it's him?" Tyler questioned; he remained pacing the aisle of the workspace.

"Everything points to him;" Erin replies; after crossing her arms, she takes a seat on the corner edge of her desk, "she meets him in a club, she tells her family and friends nothing solid about him, she starts to get tormented and when the police said there was nothing they could do, she most likely went to him for protection and comfort; she most likely ran into the arms of the man who killed her. And she didn't even know it until it was too late."

"How does he decide when to kill again?" Voight asks, "There's no pattern here," he points to each date written under the victims' names on the whiteboard, "He kills, takes a break for a differing amount of time and then kills again. What's his motive? What drives this guy?"

Hank grabs the DMV photos of each woman and tapes them above their written name on the whiteboard. His hand presses each photo down to ensure it sticks and after pulling his hand away Tyler stares. The chattering around him is lost as Detective West focuses on the images of each victim. He's not paying any attention to what's being said about the case as the smiles on the victims' faces hold his focus; his mind is warped into a distant daze of imagining the victims. Erin is the only one who notices his silence; she notices him staring at the photos with his mouth agape, "Hey," she rises from her leant position against her desk, "are you okay?"

He snaps out of his daze, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Tyler laughs and directs his gaze towards her, "Yeah, and if you keep asking I'm going to start to think that you're beginning to care about me." Their side conversation remained undetected due to the discussion currently being held in the room.

"Just don't," she muttered in response; she moved from his side and went back to her leant spot against the corner edge of her desk. This time her arms are crossed over her chest and a hardened look crosses her face. She tunes back into the conversation to hear that the subject has moved onto the second victim and her family and friends.

"You two," Voight points at Burgess and Ruzek, "you spoke with the family of our second victim; Claire Montgomery. What do you have for us?"

Kim looked to Adam to figure out who was going to speak first; he remained silent, so she used that as a hint to start it off, "From what we gathered, she was the polar opposite of Michelle Danvers. The only thing they have in common besides the party beads found around their neck was their physical features; brunette hair, physical build and white skin. They're not even in the same age range. Claire is ten years older than Michelle."

"Michelle was 23 and Claire was 33," Adam chimed in, earning a roll of the eye from Burgess due to his minor add-in to the conversation.

"Anyway," Kim directed the focus back to her, "our second victim was a lawyer at the public defender's office; she went out with a friend to the club, the friend got drunk and doesn't remember anything from that night. It's all a blur to her."

Halstead's eyes were on his partner; he watched her shift uneasily against the edge of the desk. She looked uncomfortable; she looked as if she got a whiff of something horrible. Her face gagged, but she fought to keep a stoic expression plastered onto it. She sensed his eyes on her and turned to meet his; she read his orbs, and she nodded her head to ensure him that she was fine. To divert his attention off of her, she raised her hand in order to chime into the discussion, "She was killed three days after going to the nightclub." Erin reiterated an earlier point, "Something obviously changed in her relationship with our perpetrator."

Jay nodded to back her up the second Voight's confused expression settled on her; his hands clasped and he leaned forward and added, "He killed the first victim two weeks after she went to that nightclub, but he kills the second victim only three days afterwards. There's something we're not seeing. I don't know what, but something definitely changed."

"We find that out, we get one step closer to figuring out who did this," Ruzek asserted, earning another hard look from Burgess; physically he was here but mentally he was somewhere else.

"…maybe it's the lack of sleep," Voight shouts; snapping his fingers to earn the undivided attention of everyone in the bullpen, "but I need for everyone to focus. The sooner we lay everything out and discuss it, the quicker we can go home and get some sleep. Atwater," he pointed towards Kevin, earning an immediate straightened posture from the detective seconds after calling his name, "you and Dawson spoke with the family of our third victim; Linda Foster. Remind us again what you and Antonio found out."

Atwater sits up in his seat and sets the pencil his fingers were playing with down. He clears his throat as he recalls the information he and Dawson discovered, "Linda was a hairdresser going through a divorce from her husband. She was 40 so her age doesn't tie her close to the previous victims," he clicks the back of a random pen he lifted from his desk drawer as he thinks back to the conversation he had with the victim's family weeks ago, "Her sister took her to the club to get her out of the house –and away from the kids- to have some fun. She was looking for a rebound. Her sister got a text from her saying she was leaving with a man; the sister never saw him. That's all we got," Kevin snapped his fingers immediately after his last statement; he remembered something else, "She was killed a week after visiting the nightclub."

"Okay, so what about the first woman had her tormented the longest?" Olinsky questions while rubbing the skin beneath his chin in thought.

"If we find that out, we get another step closer," Voight remarked, sliding his hands into his front jeans pocket; he glances up to the board and stares at the picture of their fourth victim, "Al and I talked with the family of our fourth victim; Amanda Scott," Hank notices Erin continuously shift in discomfort; her face is flushed green and seconds after he notices, she stands and rushes off into the direction of the restroom; he continues, knowing she was going to be fine, "She was killed a week ago and after her death, we were brought in to take over the case. From what we were able to find out, she was unemployed and the only reason she was at the club was for an interview with the manager," his eyes meet Halstead's when Erin walks back to her desk as if she was perfectly fine –this was the fifth time in two days she ran off to the restroom, "She must have met our suspect while she was there," Voight decides to continue; he knows Erin, and he didn't want to draw too much attention to her, "After six days, she was killed."

Jay's eyes once again meet Erin's and behind those same eyes she reads what he's asking. He's just making sure she's okay. Her face was flushed, but she nods anyway; her nod implying that she's fine. When his eyes remained focused on her, she shifts in her leant stance against the edge of her desk, "Do you," she clears her dry throat; she couldn't keep anything down –not even water- clearing her throat was the only method to ease the dryness of it, "Do you think they're being killed dependent upon the assailant?"

"What do you mean?"

"…what if the women aren't doing anything to change the relationship?" Erin rises to her feet to answer Voight's question; her hands moving around to articulate her point, "What if something just snaps in our perpetrator, regardless of how long they've been seeing each other?"

"He didn't date the fourth victim at all," Olinsky added in a portion of the story that Voight had accidentally forgotten, "Her family said she was a lesbian."

Burgess shrugs as she offers an alternative, "He probably sought to woo her off her feet and when he was getting nowhere, he snapped," she nods to back up her point, "…maybe he hates rejection."

"Our first three victims didn't reject him," Halstead reminded.

"I don't know then…" Kim's hands disappointedly fly into air, "It doesn't add up."

Voight snaps in Halstead's direction, "How far did Mouse get in scanning the footage?"

"There are so many people in the club that it's hard to spot our victims; not to mention the lighting is horrible, it's hard for facial recognition to scan anyone so Mouse is doing it by his own eyes." Jay explained; throughout their two day all-nighter, he had been the one to always check in on any updates from Mouse; Halstead struggled to suppress a yawn as he continued, "When he rests up, he's coming back to finish combing through it."

"I guess we should call it a day," Voight covered his own yawn; his eyes water from the strain and exhaustion of it, "We all need to rest up and come back fresh tomorrow; nobody is any good when we're all running on a lack of sleep."

It was all the majority of the team needed to hear before grabbing what they could carry and departing from the precinct. It was in a matter of seconds –minutes to be more accurately. While the remaining few –Halstead, Voight and West- grabbed their jackets and keys, Erin simply stood and took a seat behind her desk.

"I dismissed the team kid," Hank asserted, and when she made no effort to move, he continued, "Erin, you can go home. We all worked tirelessly these last two days; go home and sleep."

"I want to stay here a little longer," without looking up to make eye contact she replied; Lindsay opened a copy of the file Tyler had initially brought over when he first started working with them. She eyed the water bottle at the corner of her desk, but looked away the second her stomach growled. Tyler's ears perked at the noise. No one else seemed to catch it.

Hank leaned over her desk and closed the folder, "Go home. Get some sleep. And if you're still sick tomorrow, stay home until you're feeling better."

"Hank," she immediately rises to her feet, "I'm fine."

"You're not."

"…yes I am," she muttered in affirmation.

"Have you eaten anything today?" Voight's question silences her and any response she may have planned to retort, "No, why? Because you can't keep anything down, can you?" Hank wasn't stupid; he could read her like an opened book. She couldn't hide much –nothing at all- from him.

"Just let me look over these case files; I need to think about this case. There's something in here," she slams her hand against the closed folder, "there's something here that we're not seeing. I just want a second of solitude to see if I can find it. I won't be here long. I promise. And once I go home, I'll eat and go to sleep and if I'm not feeling well tomorrow, I'll stay home."

She was stubborn. Voight knew that no amount of arguing would persuade her to leave now. Against his better judgment, he nods his head, zips up his leather jacket and leaves. Erin releases a breath of relief; Hank was always the hardest to argue against; he was just as stubborn as her yet he chose to give in for the benefit of both of them. Tyler leaves next and she's grateful that he can see she's not in any kind of mood to flirt and banter. Her eyes fell to Jay looking at her and in front of him was her water bottle sitting comfortably at her desk's edge. While her body was telling her no, Lindsay's brain was telling her yes. She swiped the water bottle from the corner of her desk and chugged down the remainder of its contents.

"Jay you can go home too," she states, pulling the empty water bottle away from her mouth to speak properly, "we both shouldn't go without sleep."

"I'm staying with you."

Her head shakes, "go home. I want you to rest."

"Erin-"

"We drove separate cars into work two days ago for a reason." Erin had always planned to stay later than the team; sometimes it's when she worked best. She wanted the peace and quiet.

"How long are you planning to stay?"

"…an hour tops; go home."

"Call me when you're on your way."

She salutes and smiles, "Yes sir."

Jay leans over her desk to peck her lips, but her head turns and he's forced to brush his lips against her cheek. She chuckles as he pulls away seemingly hurt. Her hands fly into the air in apology, "I puked five times in two days. All I had to clean my mouth out with was water and gum. You don't want to kiss me; trust me." Halstead chuckled and kissed the side of her head.

"Don't forget to call me."

"I could never," she blew a kiss and waved him off. The sound of Jay's deep laughter fades away as he departs down the stairs and out of the unit.

Once silence surrounded her, she smiled and cracked open the file. Laying each document out in front of her, the top of the highlighter pulled off, Erin began reading each piece of evidence and highlighting the portions that stood out to her. Linda Foster's husband said the day before she was killed they had a conversation about reconciliation and were looking into going to marriage counseling. She highlighted it. Whatever changed in each victim's life either the day of or before they were killed she highlighted. Michelle Danvers broke her sobriety. She highlighted it. Erin grabbed a sticky note and jotted down a reminder –look into whether or not there have been any more deaths of females that match their victims' description that were found strangled and with a missing body part. She'll have Mouse look into that. It's strange for their perpetrator to just start killing out of the blue. Four victims in two months; there was a possibility that there were more. It's possible that it didn't even start in Chicago; he could have started somewhere else and moved to Illinois, if so, they had to find him because there would be no stopping him from moving on to another state.

When her mind goes blank –she's stuck in thought- she feels forced to look up and stare at the photos of each woman taped up on the whiteboard. Each woman was smiling; short brunette hair, slim frame and white in skin. She fit that description. Burgess fit that description. There were a lot of women –in Chicago alone- that fit that description. Anyone could be next and they had to find something before he struck again. Lindsay stuck the sticky note onto the corner of her desk –a reminder for tomorrow. She grabbed another and began jotting down the questions that immediately entered her mind; what was his motive, why did he kill some victims sooner than others, why does he take body parts, what determines which body part he will take –she ripped off that sticky note, attached it to her desk and then grabbed another- what made him snap, who is he, where did he come from, and when is he going to strike again? Erin looked up in thought; Tyler said the man was Asian and between the age of 40 and 50. Voight stripped that piece of information from evidence due to a lack of witness testimony; he wanted to start from scratch with no bias and misinformation in the mix.

Erin looks up at her empty water bottle; it wasn't much of a substitute for food, but it was definitely something. She grabbed the bottle, rose from her seat and headed towards the water fountain. She needed to at least stay hydrated until she got home to put some food in her belly. Lindsay balanced the opening of her water bottle under the pour of fountain water as she thought about the case. The club played a huge factor in solving it. Every night, the club hands out party beads to the entering clubbers; they're neither plastic nor cheap, but they're bright in color, hard in material and spikey in shape. They were specially made with the club's logo on them. The party beads provided the most solid evidence that linked all the victims together. Erin felt the water overflow from her bottle and soak her hands; she releases the water fountain button. She shakes her soaking wet hand to sprinkle off as much water as possible; the remaining drips of water on her hand she wipes it against her pants leg.

Lindsay takes a small sip of water as she guides herself back to the bullpen of the Intelligence unit. Leaving the room empty, but returning to find company, she pulled the water bottle away from her lips and sighed, "What are you doing here?"

Tyler grabbed an empty chair and pulls it to the side of Erin's desk, "I brought dinner," he points towards the brown paper bag sitting on her desk, "I figured you were hungry."

She shakes her head, "I'm sick."

"Stomach virus I assume?" He replies, opening the brown paper bag and withdrawing the containers of food from it, "It's why I got you some soup and saltine crackers. You need something that you can keep down." He pushes all of the files back in order to have space to set her food down. He waves her over, but her hesitance earns his full attention.

"No thank you."

"Come on Erin, it's just food." He pulls his own container of food out of the bag, "I know you're hungry; your stomach has been growling all day. Eat something."

She thinks quickly on her feet; she is hungry and she does need to eat something. She was planning to find something in her fridge afterwards, but if she ate now, she can just go straight to sleep when she got home. Erin reveals a small smile as she nods her head and walks around her desk to take a seat, "Thanks."

Tyler simply gave her the slight nod of the head as he opened his own food. He watched her lift the lid of the plastic bowl of soup; the overwhelming aroma of herbs and flavors swarmed their nose from the chicken noodle soup. It nauseated her stomach, but not enough to run to the restroom. To calm the nausea, she grabbed a saltine cracker and nibbled upon it.

"Do you always stay to work late on cases?" Tyler asked, grabbing a fork to dig into his food.

She dabs the cracker into the soup, "…not normally; only when something bugs me about a case. I hate unanswered questions. And this case really needs to be solved; we don't know when he'll strike again and that really unnerves me. We can't keep the city safe with him out there."

"Did you make any big discoveries?"

"…not really; I got more questions than answers." She takes her first spoonful of soup and while she fully expected it to have her running off to the bathroom, it settles her nausea.

"What are you thinking?"

"I think," she pauses to give her the opportunity to take another spoonful of soup, "I think he wants companionship –that's what my gut is telling me. However, if he wants companionship, why kill them off? That's what I'm stuck on. That's what confuses me. I don't know."

"Do you think he enjoys it?"

"Enjoys killing?" She questions for clarification; he nods, "I don't know. And I hate not knowing. It's all speculation. Why does he take parts of their bodies? That's what boggles my mind. He sloppily takes a body part –basically leaves the area the body part was at mutilated- and then leaves their bodies peacefully in an opened field. Is it because he feels remorse? Why destroy parts of their body, kill them and then leave them looking angelic and surrounded by pink," Erin hesitates; she cuts herself off, pushes the rest of her food away and leans forward to grab another sticky note.

"What is it? You just thought of something."

"Platt isn't here," Erin asserts, grabbing the nearest pen, "Two days ago, I received pink roses."

"What about them?"

"Their bodies," after writing down a reminder, she sticks it onto her desk next to the sticky notes full of questions, "They were found in opened spaces; parks and gardens. They were found surrounded by pink roses. I received pink roses two days ago."

"Oh, throw that away," he rips the sticky note from her desk and balls it up.

"Why?"

"I sent the roses," he answers, watching as she turns back to resume eating.

"You didn't leave a card."

"I didn't think you would accept them if I did."

"I didn't accept them because I'm married. Why did you send me flowers?"

"It was a peace offering."

"We weren't feuding."

"…just forget it," he resumes eating.

"Tyler-"

"Erin, just forget it."

And she does just that. She drops it. She can tell he's ashamed –more likely embarrassed. She never made the connection that they came from him and her first thought after she remembered how the bodies were found was that they came from the perpetrator. It made sense why they didn't. Why would he send her flowers to work? Why would he even know where she worked? She grabbed her empty food bowl and the balled up sticky note and walked towards the trashcan. She had plans to nibble on the saltine crackers if her stomach started to bother her again. Erin tossed the garbage into the trash and used her now free hand to cover up her yawn. Her eyes glance at the clock, and she's been here a little over an hour; she told Jay she'll leave after an hour so she knew that was a sign for her to start getting ready to head home. Erin slowly, and carefully, walked back to her seat and bumped into the back of Kim's empty desk chair, "Sorry."

Tyler looked up at the sound of her voice, "Huh?"

"I should be heading out," Erin replied, making her way back to her desk, "It's definitely time for me to get out of here when I start apologizing to a chair I bumped into," she smirks to ease the silence in the room, "I'll see you tomorrow." All she does is close the folders and grab her jacket and keys.

"I'm looking forward to it." Rejection certainly did nothing to deter Tyler; he waves and chuckles when he sees her bump into Kim's chair again, "Be careful."

"It seems bumping into things is a part of my regular routine," she joked, and the sound of Tyler's laughter fills the bullpen as she walks down the stairs, "Bye Tyler."

Erin walks down the stairs and exits out of the gate; she sends the nightshift sergeant a nod of the head as she bid him a farewell. She walks out of the building and a whipping breeze blows through her hair; it's chilly. She zips up her jacket as she trudges towards her car. The blinking streetlight flicked a glimmering light overhead her vehicle; she sees it parallel parked, freshly shining with a flattened tire. Her pace picks up as she rushes towards her car, "Are you serious?" Lindsay stoops low to feel around the tire; hoping that it had enough air in it to get home. It was flat, filthy and unstable. It probably wouldn't even get her off the street. She pulls her hand away and discovers traces of dirt lining her fingers; she sighs. These last two days just have not been her greatest. Erin uses her clean hand to grab her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and speed dials her husband, "Come on Jay," she's still stooped low with her cell pressed against her ear. She sighs the second the beep on his voicemail signals for her to start talking, "It's me. I have a flat tire. You must be sleeping so nevermind. I'll just call a taxi." she hangs up.

"Is everything okay?"

Her soul almost jumps out of her body from the sudden voice behind her. Erin straightens her posture and turns to face Tyler, "you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"What's wrong?" He glances down to get an answer for himself, "That's unfortunate. Do you have a spare tire? I can change it for you."

"No spare tire," she sighs; her clean hand pressed stressfully against her forehead, "and I'm honestly too tired to be worried about this right now. I'm going to figure this out tomorrow."

He pulls his keys out and dangles them in front of her, "Well…come on then."

"That's okay. I'm fine."

"You're stranded." Tyler affirmed, waving his hand in the direction of her flattened tire, "What are you going to do? Walk?"

"Call a taxi."

"You would rather ride with a stranger than with me," Tyler unlocked his car door from his position beside her, "Come on Erin, I won't bite." He begins walking towards his car and the second he opens the driver's side door, he hears her sigh and approach.

Lindsay slides into the passenger seat of his vehicle and immediately buckles her seatbelt. Tyler adjusted himself; buckled his seatbelt, started the car, rolled down his window and turned to face her as much as the restriction of the seatbelt allowed, "Put your address into my GPS." Erin leans forward and types in her address as Tyler pulls out of the parking spot. In his peripheral vision, he watches as she carefully and sleepily types in her street name; her tired eyes squinting as she reads the bright screen.

"This is nice." He admits, once Erin sits back –done with entering her address.

Her head leans back against the headrest and her eyes are closed, "What's nice?"

"…just everything."

She peels open her eyes when the car stops at a red light. She needed to stay awake just in case Tyler got lost or started to doze off. She needed him to stay awake and in order to assure that, she needed to remain awake. Erin's hands rested in her lap, and she's staring down at the one clean one and the completely opposite dirty one, "I need a napkin."

"Check the glove compartment."

Erin leans forward and pulls it open –a few party beads fell out the second it unlatched, "How often do you go to that nightclub?" She chuckles, grabbing a few napkins before stuffing the party beads back into the compartment.

"I told you I go frequently," he grins.

She wipes the napkin against the dried dirt on her fingers; she's scrubbing the dried dirt away and particles of it fall onto her lap. Once finished, she balls the napkin up, shoves it into her pocket and then resumes her earlier position, leaned back against the headrest with her eyes closed. After releasing a deep breath, she reopens one eye and looks in the direction of Tyler, "I'm so tired." Erin takes her cell phone and sees zero missed calls; she sets it down into the car's cup holder.

He gives her a wink of the eye, "My place is closer."

Both of her eyes are open, and she turns to face him, "Whatever you're trying to suggest, just stop."

"I'm just saying; I can be the mistake you want to make tonight."

"The only mistake I made was coming into work today." Her face flushes as she feels nausea build up; she forgot her crackers at work, "I feel like I'm going to be sick." One hand grips the handle of the door, and she covers her mouth with the other.

"Don't puke in my car," he begged.

"…then I suggest you pull over."

Without wasting any time, Tyler pulls over to the side of the highway. They just turned onto it, and haven't made it far, but her exit was two exits down. Fortunately, many cars weren't out so it wasn't hard switching lanes and pulling off to the side. The second he pressed down onto the brake, she unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped out. Tyler placed the car in park and stepped out; cars barely passed them on the highway, and those that did were either traveling or going to or from the late shift at work. Other than that, the highway was empty.

"Erin," he quietly walked around his car.

"I'm fine."

She was stubborn and he may not have known her long, but he could tell she hated to be pitied, cared for or comforted. Tyler didn't care though; he watched strands of her hair fall forward to cover her face and obscure her vision; she was trying to puke in private, but he wouldn't let her be. He continued to walk further, and when he approached her side, he leaned forward to pull those strands back, "Is this better?"

"Stop," she swats him away; her hand wildly waving him off.

Tyler lets her finish handling her business and uses his time to grab a few napkins out of his car. As he counts out a few napkins, he sees her phone light up; Jay was calling. Tyler looked over his shoulder to see Erin still throwing up and by the time he looked back at her phone, the call was ended. Three missed call notifications lit up the phone. Tyler shuts the passenger side door and walks back towards her. His head is turned in a different direction when he hands them out to her. The sounds of her emptying out her stomach grossed him out; he hummed to himself to smother the vomiting noise. She draws back when she finishes, "Thanks," she takes the napkins from him, turns around and sits down against the guardrail, "I haven't been able to keep food down. I knew I shouldn't have eaten anything." She buries her face into her hands the second after wiping the corners of her mouth. Everything she just ate was out of her system.

He takes a seat next to her, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Erin asserts, dragging her hands down her flushed face, "You didn't force feed me."

"I'm a persistent guy though."

She smiles, "No arguments from me on that."

"Sorry."

"You've apologized to me twice in the last five minutes," Erin divulged, partially shifting her body to face him, "There's no need."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, I'm just really enjoying this fresh air. I don't know if it was the stomach virus, the food or the car ride that made me queasy just now, but this is nice."

He dramatically inhales the scent of fresh air, "It is."

Erin continued to enjoy the fresh and unpolluted air; it cleared her mind and eased her tummy. In her peripheral, she can see Tyler watching her as she stares up at the nightly sky. She felt him slide over –closer-, and she immediately whips her head in his direction, "Don't think anything of this," she warned, pointing her finger at him as if she were scolding an insubordinate child, "You have a way of seeing things that isn't there."

"That's going to be my fatal flaw." Tyler laughs in response; it's a short chuckle. It's one that isn't filled with humor but contains gloom and desperation, "The girls I date seem to think the same. I just need to find me the perfect woman; someone who is like you Lindsay."

She turns her head to find him still staring at her, "Thanks for the compliment, but I'm definitely not perfect. I'm a bit rough around the edges."

"People seem to think the same of me;" he whispers as his fingers trace an invisible pattern onto the guardrail; he can sense her looking at him –observing everything he does and every expression he makes, "they think I can be a bit aggressive, persistent and sometimes I can lack a little remorse. People always think the worst of me."

"It's okay to let people think whatever they want about you; just don't offer them any proof to back it up," she advises; her hand pats against his back in the most friendly and platonic way possible. She wanted to offer an ear to listen, but she didn't want to give him any ideas or lead him on. It's a shame that nowadays being friendly is sometimes mistaken for flirting.

"I just need to find my perfect match."

"Maybe you should take a break from dating;" Erin offered an alternative possibility, "be single for a while, there's nothing wrong with that."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't." He growls, immediately sliding away from her; the space now between them is the most it has ever been since she met him, "I just need someone who cares about me; all my life I've been around people who didn't."

Erin stands up; she's slow and careful as she takes two steps to approach him, "Well walk away from anyone that doesn't care about you and surround yourself with those who truly do."

"When I meet people who do," he looks up to find her standing right in front of him, "then I'll take your advice."

"I'm sure someone cares about you."

"No. Thanks for trying, but no. It's just me."

She shrugs in return, "Sometimes that's all you need." Erin is trying to make him feel better and is thinking of the positive in his situation.

"…coming from a person who is surrounded by people who care about her."

"Touché."

Lindsay continues to stand in front of his seated form. His hands hold onto the guardrail as he adjusts his bottom against the highway railing. Behind him is trees and who knows what animals of nature, but all of that was an afterthought as she remained in front of him. Her arms crossed over her chest, resting overtop of her nauseated and seemingly plump tummy. He gives her a kind smile and scratches the back of his neck in awkwardness, "You're really lucky, you know?" His eyes stare at her crossed arms, but focus more specifically on the wedding band wrapped around her ring finger, "You found that person who you want to spend the rest of your life with; it isn't so easy for people like me."

"People like you?"

"…I'm very complicated."

She extends her hand and sets it upon his shoulder, "You'll find that special someone."

"And what happens when I find her and she discovers just how complicated I can be?"

Erin drops her hand down his shoulder and squeezes his forearm encouragingly, "You fight for her." She squeezes it again.

"I fight for her," his eyes settle on her hand wrapped around his forearm. To her it was innocent, but to him it meant a lot.

His eyes fall to her hand and eases up her body before settling on her eyes. The two made eye contact and she was the one who broke it. Her head turned away, she stepped back, removed her hand from his forearm and wrapped her own arms around her body. Erin sat back down beside him and stared down at the grass and dirt –doing everything in her power to avoid eye contact, "I can feel you staring at me."

"Is it making you uncomfortable?"

She clears her throat, and embarrassingly turns to face him, "Yeah, it kind of is."

"I apologize for that. It wasn't my intention."

Another silence falls over them and for the first time since they've been sitting outside, she sees two cars drive by. No one was speaking. No one wanted to break the silence and as time continued to tick on by, Erin chose to interrupt it, "Tyler, it's getting really late, we should head on out of here. If my husband wakes up and sees me not beside him, he's going to get worried."

"Will your stomach be okay?" Tyler stands up and he eyes her tummy in concern.

"It's going to have to be."

He extends his palm, "Can I hold your hand?"

"No thanks, it's not heavy."

"I mean can I hold your hand to help you up?"

She chuckles and sets her hand in his, "You're a sly fellow." The second he pulls her back to her feet, she removes her hand from his hold.

From their pulled over spot on the highway, her exit was two exits down. She watched the passing trees and road signs until they turned off of the highway. Her eyes fluttered occasionally fighting through the urge to doze off and fall asleep. She must have lost the battle for a brief moment because the second she reopened her eyes, Tyler was pulling in front of her house.

"Thanks for the talk," he said, placing the car in park.

"Anytime," Erin replied, unbuckling her seatbelt before stepping out of his vehicle, "And thanks for the ride Tyler."

"It was my pleasure."

She's out of the car, but her head is tilted to see him behind the wheel, "You're not so bad Tyler," she smiled and shut the passenger door; he rolled the window down afterwards, "…maybe I misjudged you."

"Trust me when I say it happens all the time."

Lindsay waves, but he doesn't drive off. Once she enters her house is when she sees him drive away. Erin shuts and locks her front door. She leans her forehead against the white frame and sighs loudly. It's quiet in the house. The only sound she can hear is from her kicking her shoes off her feet and to the side of the walkway. Erin didn't turn on the light; she knew the house enough to make her way down the hallway and up the stairs. The only thing she wanted to do was sleep. Her bedroom door is wide open and she hears heavy snoring radiating from the room. Jay was asleep, he was sleeping hard. As quiet as she possibly could, she grabbed her pajamas and changed into them. The second she was finished, she crawled into the bed, spooned her body behind Halstead and swung an arm around his waist; her face nuzzling into the back of his neck.

"I called you back," she hears him whisper; his hand covers the arm she has wrapped around him and the two cuddle closer together.

"Oh, sorry I missed it." She responds, her voice just as low as his; the pitch of it is filled with grogginess and exhaustion, "My car got a flat tire so I got a ride home," she squeezes him tighter and pecks the back of his shoulder, "I'm not feeling too great so I probably won't be going into work tomorrow."

"Okay."

It's quiet, and she continues –wanting desperately to get this off her chest, "And Jay…"

"Huh?"

"Thanks for caring about me."

This draws in his attention. He rolls over; her arm no longer around his waist, but his was now around hers as they lay facing each other, "Of course." He pecks the corner of her mouth before closing his eyes.

"I love you," she reminded, laying her head against his uncovered chest.

His arm pulls her in closer, "I love you too."

And with that, all felt right in the world. She had him and he had her. Sleep overcame her easy due to the lack of worries she had in this cold world. As long as she had him, the cruelness of the world they live in, felt nonexistent.