Christmas
-:- Perfect Little Accident -:-
Too often, the thing we want most, is the one thing we can't have. That's how life is whether you want to believe it or not. That's how life keeps us wanting that one thing. Longing for that one thing. Craving for that one thing. Needing that one thing back because the betrayal won't bring us the peace of mind we plead in mercy for.
Desire leaves us heartbroken. Desire wears us out. Desire can wreck our lives. Desire can be strong, deadly. The thirst for desire can't be quenched but as tough as wanting something can be, the ones who suffer the most, are those who don't know what they want.
A bell is ringing. Just one bell. Where is that sound coming from? He's still at the hospital, he's sure of it. He was talking to a detective. Yes, he is. She's right in front of him, studying him ever so closely.
So, why is that bell ringing?
The familiar - which never should have been in the first place - slow tolling of a single bell rang and he looked over his shoulder.
It was all in his head. No one's around. Just the female detective, Det. Kate Beckett as she introduced herself, the smaller of the two detectives who enjoys harassing him with his wife's brutal attack and of course, himself. No one else was around and his brain now is in full capacity.
But the haunting sounds of the procession approaching the church continued and he's growing ever past frustrated with the tune. He hates that sound. He doesn't want to remember.
Seven minutes past midnight. Christmas is finally over now. Everything else was just beginning.
He held the edges of the plastic bag with immense care, almost reverentially, and turned it around to make sure he wasn't mistaken.
How did she get this?
A flat rectangle of red woven cloth with frayed edges beamed up at him. Greeting him. Clusters of embroidered mistletoe - French knots.
How does he even know that?
Someone must have mentioned it at some point - his sisters.
The lettering, large block letters in white - readable for a young child - divided by yellow stars.
Large, blocked and unfinished.
J * A * C *
"You...recognise it?"
Anywhere.
In a heartbeat.
But it wasn't supposed to be in an evidence bag. It wasn't supposed to be held prisoner. It was supposed to be in his safe at his apartment, hidden away like a treasure. Hidden away from Erin because it was the only leverage he had in their proceeding divorce, to keep her from pursuing their end. Because she had grew too attached to it, it was the one thing she valued most in life. It comes first before anything else and what happened to her - the attack - definitely atest to that.
Jay held it gently aloft between his fingers.
"It belongs to your wife?"
He nodded, and this time no one snaps at him to speak up. He nodded again, swallowed the lump in his throat. They waited and waited and kept waiting some more. They waited long enough for the larger detective who had been questioning him mercilessly - Esposito - to join them.
It was horrible of him for taking it from her, making her go through that anguish again. He can imagine her ruffling, tossing, shoving, pulling, yanking furnitures, clothes, papers, books, anything and everything in their home, looking for it in utter despair and frustration. But when she kicked him out that night, he had nothing and he knew if he had it, he'll have the upper hand.
So, how did she get ahold of it?
Finally he spoke.
"It was...well, it would have been...it's apart of a stocking."
"A stocking?"
He nodded, "A Christmas stocking." he said, looking at the red felt.
Ask your mother...That's what I want.
And just like that, he knows how Erin had the stocking, his last hope in their marriage, in her possession. Connection. It's something they share sacredly. She knows him, knows everything about him so well, she knows him more than anyone on this planet - they've known each other for ten years, married for seven - so she must know that he had kept the stocking in his safe and had figured out the password to it. It's simple, really - what would have been their happiest day.
1-2-2-5-1-3
She took the stocking, then took off.
What was running through her mind, then?
Relieved that she could finally move on?
She already has. She's supposedly been seeing someone, according to the detective.
Relieved that she had her baby back? Back to where he belongs?
They were all still waiting for him. "She...umm, no, my mother, uh, does this...embroidery thing, I guess, and then she sews it onto a stocking...when it's finished."
It was never finished.
Esposito looked at him, his head angled. "I'm not following. I'm sorry."
He took a deep breath.
"I think this is what she-"
This is why she was dragged.
She's still holding on, Jay. You have to talk to her. You have to help her let go.
They're still waiting. Again. The air in the hallway was hot and thick. Choking. He took a wheezy breath, and closed his eyes, saying words he thought he'd never have to say again.
"We had a son."
It's quiet now. We had a son. He can feel their knowing exhalations, nodding ever so slightly. We had a son.
"He was born premature."
We had a beautiful boy.
A myriad of scenes spun around him, his eyes burn to fight off the impending tears.
You need to sign it, Jay. There's not much time.
Don't make fun of me, Jay!
Victims who get dragged like that during an auto theft are usually trying to hold onto something.
Get out! Out! How could you? That was all we had! It was his! Get out! Get out! OUT!
It's a tire iron.
I just don't want everyone standing around waiting for me to break or something.
Stop crying! Stop it, Jay! I can't stand you crying all the damn time! Stop! Please!
Don't let her get too attached. It will just be too painful to let go.
Try again! Try again! After what we've been through, you want to try again!
"His organs were underdeveloped. He lived for...six days."
He didn't have to meet their eyes to know what their faces looked like. Solemn. It's one he knows all too well. He can't look at them. He doesn't want to. His pain is still as raw as it was four years ago.
It's the Tragedy Olympics, baby edition.
They'll win. Of course, they will. They always win
"I'm very sorry."
The female detective gestured at the strip of red cloth. He's glad that it was her who had spoken. "So this is -"
"It's his. Yea. It's just, it wasn't finished. You can see here - the first stitch for the 'K'. It, umm, it would have been his name."
Except they ran out of time.
The bigger detective, Esposito, frowned at the letters he had held up so they could see what he was trying to explain. "Ja-"
But Jay had cut him off before the detective could say the name, "Jack."
It's the first time he had said his son's name aloud - long enough for it to taste strange and bitter on his tongue.
Unfamiliar.
Jack.
Christopher Jack Lindsay Halstead.
They went back and forth with potential names for weeks and weeks. He had found two prospective first names while she considered hyphenated surnames tacky. She ratified for Jack instead. Just Jack. Not short for Jackson or Jacob or James, not a nickname. "Just Jack." she beamed which prompted him to question why she didn't like the suggestions he had given.
Robin or Jamie.
At her scowl, he kissed her and assured her that he liked the name just fine. It's perfect. Truthfully, he preferred Christopher Robin, but she had insisted Christopher Jack was the better choice.
"You want our son to be named after a cartoon character?" she pointed out.
"Who?" he asked, and she shook her head in amazement.
"You have five nieces and four nephews and you don't know who Christopher Robin is! The Hundred Acre Wood? Winnie the Pooh?" he shook his head to indicate his lack of recognition. "Honey, these are things you're going to have to know when your son is born."
Her tone was light, teasing, but it stuck with him.
So, he slipped out of the station at lunch break the very next day and bought Winnie-the-Pooh at Barnes and Noble and left it in the nursery for her as a surprise.
She was asleep when he got home later that night but when he crawled into bed, she rolled over into his arms and molded herself to him, her growing belly in between, and whispered, "I love it."
During the agonising six days their son lived, he read to him from the book while Erin slowly regained her strength.
Neither of them managed to speak at his funeral. Not publicly and definitely not to each other. But the priest read from A.A. Milne, Promise me you'll never forget me, because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.
As he listened to the muffled sounds from the pews surrounding them, maintaining a grip on his wife's steel rod stiff back, the painful parallel washed over him like tears.
Jack - the priest seemed to be saying but he couldn't hear much through his tears - had been able to let go because he knew his parents would always remember him.
Promise me you'll never forget me, because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.
What would his son think of that promise now? Would it seem that, like so many others, it had been broken?
But he never, never forget him. Never. Jack, his boy. Unannounced, lingering at times. The thought of him rises unbidden and fierce every day, every morning because his room was right across from theirs.
It was just too hard. So, he decided to just stop remembering.
And what he had learned from that is sometimes you don't have to do anything at all to break a promise. A promise can be broken just as easily by doing absolutely nothing at all.
The detective's voice cut into his thoughts, "Losing a baby like that must have been terrible. I'm sorry to hear that."
Canned words. Canned thoughts.
Like he doesn't know that already.
The thing is, they don't even know the worst part. But at least they've stopped asking questions.
"Thank you." Jay said briefly.
When he looked up, the expression in the detectives' eyes were familiar. Pity. Understanding. Like he gets them. Like he understood what they went through. It's how people look when they finally know.
"Can I keep it?" he asked quietly, still holding onto the evidence bag. The words were sticky in his throat.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Halstead, but it's evidence and we need to preserve the chain of custody."
Oh. Of course. He knows that. He just figured, now that they know their story, know of it's sentimental value, priceless, they'd let him have it.
He kept his tone as even as he could, stroking the familiar embroidery through the plastic. "After the, um-"
"We'll take good care of it until the investigation's over." the detective said kindly, holding out a large palm and carefully he handed him the bag.
Like how he handed Erin Jack's body six days later.
Give him to me! Hurry! He needs me!
It will always feel like it's too soon to say goodbye.
"Thank you."
He walked slowly down the hall, feeling disconnected from time and space. The embroidery. The red cloth. It should have just been in his safe. Why does Erin have to be so stubborn? Now, it's in the hands of strangers. In a box. In a damp room. Locked away from it's rightful owners.
It was safe with him.
Déjà vu. He now has the same feeling he had that night, sauntering slowly through halls after halls while the rest of the hospital sped around him. Exhaustion. He knows he should sleep at some point. So, he decided to checkup on Erin, bumping into his brother on the way in instead, who confirmed that they'll be operating first thing in the morning.
"She's been dosed with medication to ensure that she sleeps through the night without any disturbances, but you can see her before she goes to pre-op." Will informed and he nodded. "Hey, go get some sleep. Take my office."
It was traumatic, a traumatic experience of loosing their son. So traumatic that Erin never recovered. Or maybe he never did too.
Sleep was thankfully dreamless. Just pitch blackness. Three hours of slumber and then the morning sun woke him, screaming good morning right in his face. But what it doesn't know is that this morning is definitely not a good morning. Erin's having surgery and the word surgery scares him.
Surgery to set the compound fracture in her right arm.
Surgery to start the preliminary grafting on her right side.
Surgery to place a metal plate into her crushed cheek and orbital bone.
There will be more surgeries down the road.
This is just the beginning.
Waking up alone in his brother's office seemed oddly acquainted. He had slept alone at the precinct more nights than he can count, but he had also slept beside Erin for the better part of the last decade. Sometimes, like a phantom limb, he'd forget that she's not actually lying next to him.
Rolling over alone on the narrow bed, he rose and tracked the bustling halls to Erin's secluded room.
It's like he works here now. He didn't even have to look up at the signs anymore. He knows every wing, every block, every turn and every corner. He has them all memorised. He knows where all the departments are.
Fifth floor Obstetrics and Gynaecology.
Fourth floor Neonatal.
Eighth floor Paediatrics.
Second floor Radiology.
Thirteen floor ICU and the burn centre.
Tenth floor surgery.
"How is she?" he asked as the Asian doctor, he can't remember his name, was walking out of her room as he approached.
"Vitals are stable. She's awake. They're going to take her down for prep in a few minutes."
Her visible eye was closed when he walked in and despite the doctor's comment, he took a moment to study her face. The damage done underneath the bandages. Her crushed cheek and eye socket. He watched her chest rise and fall under the blanket. He doesn't know how aware she is, and the responsibility of telling her settles on him like a weight.
Does she know she's having surgery soon?
Does she know the extant of her injuries?
Has she seen her face?
Reaching a hand towards her, intending to touch her good arm, he stopped midway when her uninjured eye gleamed up at him. Soft pale green, almost no hint of the dark forest.
"Jay?" her voice was soft. Her eyes were no longer angry.
Has she forgiven him already? Or was it just because of the medication?
It's doing something with her eye.
"Hi." he adjusted the blanket so it's even, covering her up to the neck with just her good left arm exposed.
"Is...is Voight here?" she asked, just like the last time. He touched her hand lightly, just like the last time. Her fingernails short and stubby now. So not how she likes them.
"Ruzek says he's on his way." he said quietly. "It's Christmas. It's hard to get a flight last minute."
She blinked, lifting her chin in a half nod.
"Do you want to talk to him?" he pulled out his phone, gesturing that he could call Voight for her if she wants. He's not too sure he would answer his calls but he has to, considering the situation his daughter is in. The last time they spoke, Voight was beyond furious with him.
"No, I - it's ok. He's probably on the plane anyway."
They fall into a semi-comfortable silence, patterned with the beeping of the machines. A tinge of awkwardness sat between them. Welcomed. He's still her husband even if they're in a process of a divorce. He can be here without prejudice. They've seen each other at their best and worse. They know every inch of one another. They've shared literally everything with each other. They slept on the same bed for a decade. So this shouldn't feel like it's lacking dexterity.
Should he say something? Something comforting. He doesn't know what to say, to be honest. She's not looking at him. What's running through her mind?
He brushed her fingers again, a thin smile plastered his face. "Do you, umm, do you remember anything of that...night, Erin?"
Her eye remained open, glancing at him briefly before continuing to stare somewhere past him. Any readable expression within her features disappeared. "I don't know."
He knows her, and he knows her well. Maybe even more than she knows her own self.
He knows she never liked the crinkles by her eyes when she smiles. He knows she can't go to bed without a cup of tea and maybe that's the reason she talks in her sleep, but all those conversations are the secrets that he'll keep because he loves them endlessly. That's what makes her one of a kind.
He knows her like she knows him and he knows the effects of sedation, he knows the difference. There's something she's not telling him. Perhaps the guy she's been seeing.
Who is he?
He studied her face and waited. Nothing. He don't think she's going to say anything else. But like so many times in their marriage, he allows the lie to magically disappear. Puff! He didn't even want to know in the first place. But he hopes this one won't fester like all the others.
Looking at her, he thought of the red embroidery cloth - the unfinished product, the unfinished name, their unfinished baby - thought of her stashing it in her Audi, refusing to leave without it.
Almost giving up her entire life for it.
They'll have to talk about it eventually. But, also like so many times in their marriage, he chose not to because it's easier to ignore and pretend.
And whom had he learned that from?
"It's okay." he released her hand and gently touched her cheek. "Just - I don't want you to worry about anything until you're out, okay?"
Her lips curled in what could have been a smile if her face wasn't so swollen. "What if I don't...if I still can't remember what happened?"
Her eyes searched his. She wants absolution, he can see the plea in her eyes. Mercy is the only way out. He wants absolution too, the forgiveness she's withheld since the night she slammed the door at their house in his face.
"If you don't remember, then you don't remember."
It's the best he can do. And it's the truth.
It doesn't matter if she remembers or not because the only thing that really matters right now is her wellbeing, that she fights through the surgery.
"I'm so tired, I..." her eye fluttered shut again. "Is it...Is it bad, Jay?"
"You're with the best doctors, Erin. They're going to take care of you. Everything's going to be fine." he reassured, leaning over to kiss her forehead and she blinked her eye open. "Adam."
"Erin." Alarmed, he tapped lightly at her cheek. "Look at me. Who am I?"
"No, I, I want you to...call him. Adam. Will you call him for me?"
Adam? Why?
Of course, he's her partner.
He hesitated for only a second. "They're actually on their way here. He texted before."
She's making that half smile again or at least trying to and he ran his thumb lightly over her uninjured cheekbone. "I'm glad that you're..." he couldn't finish that sentence and she half nodded in acknowledgment. She understood what he was trying to say.
She's glad too.
His fingers lingered on her cheek. He's always loved the softness of her skin. He bites down the thought and tries not to think of her injuries.
"I'm glad...you're here...with me...even after..." her words were laboured but she sounds, underneath the deep breaths, like herself. And he smiled back at her.
"...Even after..." he looked up to see a pair of doctors, a nurse and the Unit at the window waiting. Kevin gave him a wave while Antonio scowled. Adam and Olinsky were there too. Voight will be coming soon.
"Oh, they're here." and he gestured for them to come in. "They're going to take you in now. I'll be right here when you wake up."
"Jay, wait!" she closed her fingers around his hand anxiously as he stood up from the seat next to the bed and he leaned over her, cupping her cheek not a second later.
"Hey, Hey, calm down."
Her voice was a whisper. "I'm sorry."
"It's ok. What did you want to tell me, Erin?"
Her voice was even softer this time; he had to lean in even closer to strain her words. "That is what I wanted to tell you."
She's sorry. He's sorry too.
Her eye was welling up with tears and he dabbed lightly at it with the back of his fingers.
"I'm sorry, Jay...I don't want to be mad at you anymore. I'm so tired of fighting...I just, I just...I..."
There's something else she wants to say, he can tell, but couldn't seem to find the right words.
Does she want to end this whole divorce debacle?
Because he's more than okay with that.
It's easier to distance himself when she's not speaking, when he's just watching her sleep. But when she speaks - when it's her inimitable voice; it was that voice that first drew him to her - it's harder to pretend that it's anyone but Erin under the disfiguring bandages and swelling.
He brought his face closer to hers - well aware of the hovering bodies surrounding them - and stroked her cheek to calm her down. "I'm the one who should be sorry, ok. But, hey, I want you to relax now. Can you do that for me? Everything else can wait."
She nodded, very slightly, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Good."
They're making progress. For the first time in months, he smiled a genuine grin.
Turning around, he nodded at his ex-colleagues, and Olinsky squeezed his shoulder. Realising then that the only ones angry at him are Voight and Antonio.
"How you doin' kid?" he heard Alvin's calm tone before closing the door.
He shook his head. Erin's having surgery again.
Four and a Half Years Before
(Flashback)
"Where is she?"
His brother stopped him with a hard hand on his chest as he sprinted into the lobby of Chicago Med.
They were closing in on a murderer, ready to bust his door down with SWAT on standby when his brother rang for the fifteenth time, yelling at him but he didn't hear anything after "It's Erin...".
"Jay, slow down. Jay!"
He pulled out of his brother's grip, wanting to run pass the line that denies outsiders like him any access.
"Is she all right? What the hell happened?"
"She, I don't know what happened, we were meeting with her CI and she just fell out of nowhere. She c-collapsed. I don't know. There was just so much..." It was Adam who spoke, fisting at his hair. He hadn't noticed him until now. By the red stains on his hands and clothes, he didn't have to finish that sentence, Jay knew what he meant. Distraught and frantic, Adam looked like he was about to vomit. "I'm so sorry."
"There was a rupture during the fall..." A female doctor added and they fell silent as the gnawing reality sets in.
"Can I see her?" The words scratched his throat and he sucked in a desperate breath of air.
"She's already under. Detective Halstead, we don't have much time. You need to decide what you want to do."
"What I want to do?" he grimaced at that and looked at her like she had just asked the world's stupidest question.
What does she mean what he wants to do?
He wants his wife and child. He wants them both. Not just one. Both! There shouldn't even be a choice to make.
"What are the options?" his brother rephrased.
"Ultrasound showed foetal activity but revealed an intrauterine haematomain on the left lateral position relative to the placenta. We could use an infraumbilical midline laparotomy to allow exploration of the peritoneal cavity..." her voice was patient but urgent. "It's risky and we don't have time." she stressed on the don't, looking at him as she does, "However, the surgery does sometimes allow the foetus to remain in utero longer. And since gestation is barely at twenty-three weeks, that could give the foetus more time to grow. But..."
He was waiting for that 'but'. There's always a but.
"...there's already significant bleeding in the uterine wall and the detachment's cutting off the only source of oxygen for the foetus. In that case, delivery is imminent."
He whimpered, covering his mouth with his shaking hands. His name is Jack. Not the foetus.
He tried to pull himself together, tried to open his mouth since he's suppose to be the who's asking the questions. He's the father, the husband. He needs to be strong. Needs to not fall apart right now. For Erin. For their baby.
But he can't. Nothing is voicing out.
"The risks of the surgery?" his brother asked for him. They're all looking at him now. When did all these doctors joined them? He doesn't enjoy the attention, feeling like an exhibition on display.
"The baby," He's glad she changed her choice of noun. "...could go into acute foetal distress resulting in intrauterine hypoxia and asphyxia. There are risks for the mother as well. Severe haemorrhage. Sepsis which could lead to septic shock. DIC. And if the blood loss cannot be controlled, an emergency hysterectomy may be needed. There's a risk of mortality."
"How high a risk?"
"A higher risk than most people would be willing to take."
"And if we deliver?"
"We transfuse her and stop the blood loss, but the baby will have to survive on its own. We will give corticosteroids to speed up the development of the lungs. Twenty-three weeks is the cusp of viability. And we won't be able to analyse if any congenital issues are present until after delivery."
He stood there frozen. Sinking in everything the doctor had been saying. It's laughable now. All the planning, the Consumer Reports on cribs, car seat, stroller, the baby-proofing expert they had hired as half a joke, the baby shower his sisters were organising, all the preparation, the certainty that they'd bring a baby home, and now he's powerless to make a decision.
His brother stood by his side, pinching the bridge of his nose, Adam to his left who's on the verge of a meltdown, the rest of the Unit had arrived some time ago, the head of Neonatal, her arms were folded, is waiting, staring. Everyone is staring at him to make a decision.
"If it were me, my child, I'd sign." Will said quietly and passed him the consent forms.
In disolate, he's sat on one of the empty chairs at the waiting room - Adam and Atwater had supposedly gone to get coffee over twenty minutes ago, Voight was somewhere, probably and most likely smoking a cigarette or an entire pack - with his head clutching tightly in his hands when the familiar voices intrude on the eerie silence.
"Oh, Jay! We came as soon as-how is she, sweetie?"
He sat up slowly. "She's in surgery. They're -"
"What happened?"
He shook his head. "I don't know, Mom. It's just, I guess sometimes these things just happen."
And with no reason.
She touched his hand. "I'm so sorry."
"Thanks."
"Do you want me to try her mother, honey?"
He shook his head.
No need in dumping more stress on Erin with Bunny's presence, especially in a beyond stressful situation that they're now in.
"Jay." Kathleen's here as well, and she hugged him tight. He was too preoccupied to put his arms around her, but what he noticed when she pulled back was that there were tears in her eyes, in his eyes. In the eyes of his elder sister, the obstetrician, and that - more than anything - is what curdled the anxiety in his stomach into true terror.
Gripping the back of the chair, he tried to control his breathing. Telling himself to breath because somehow he has forgotten how to.
In front of him, his mother's broad, kind face was lined with worry. She fiddled with something in her purse; a corner of red fabric peeked up from her battered black leather.
"What is that?"
"Nothing." she stuffed it back inside her bag hurriedly. "I was just working on - it's nothing."
"Can we do anything?" Kathleen hovered.
"No." he shook his head. "We just have to let the doctors do their job."
Let the doctors do their job. He thought about those words as he sat on the stiff chair in the waiting area.
Just like last time, four years ago, he waited endlessly, tiredly, anxiously. And just for a split second - a quarter of a second - all his anguish disappeared when he laid eyes the baby they wanted so desperately. Jack. He was absolutely breathtaking, mesmerised by the few hours old, three months too early bundle of joy inside the incubator. But just as quickly, he panicked because Jack was so tiny. So tiny. Tinier than any baby he've ever seen. And he was terrified to even look at him.
Jack.
He would've been four years old now. He would've been in kindergarten. He would've been playing with his cousins in the backyard. He would've been spoiled rotten by grandpa Voight. He would've been enjoying Christmas with his family and with parents who wouldn't have drifted apart.
He wants to hold him one last time...he would never let go. He had already learned his lesson.
Now, he can vaguely see the people who he had once worked with for years as he started down at his palms. Everyone's scattered across the waiting area. And he was surprised when Antonio came up to him, handing him a cup of coffee.
"Thank you." he said and Antonio nodded in response, going back to pacing the hallway.
There's something odd about Adam, he noticed. Arms crossed. He's flushed, fidgety, sitting alone by another corner. He's been avoiding him, not talking or meeting his eyes. And he doesn't know why.
Oh, of course! Adam's worried. Erin's his partner.
Where's this dude she's been seeing? Why isn't he here?
Has anyone informed him?
Truthfully, he just wants to see this guy.
He's understandably jealous.
Jay looked down at his hands and at the wedding band that was still on his finger. He hadn't took it out since she slipped it on his finger on their wedding day.
What about him? Had he done enough? Had he done his job as her husband? Had he invested his all in their marriage?
He felt fresh tears burn at his eyes and let them slide down his cheeks as he twisted the band around his finger.
"Hey, hey, Erin's going to alright. You have to believe that she will." Kevin patted his back but what no one can ever understand is that he knows Erin will be alright - she's a fighter - he's crying because he misses his son and Erin never allowed him to grieve in front of him.
They had grieved separately, alone. She believed that it's something they ought to better by themselves.
It's a shared lloss. They ought to grieve together, be strong for one another but she never wanted that.
Stop crying, Jay! Just stop! If you cry, I'll cry and I'm not in the mood right now.
Why aren't you crying?!
He screamed back at her then. He was convinced that there was something wrong with her.
The sound of the doors opening tore his gaze from his hands and he was met with a exhausted Hank Voight. Breathlessly, he took a quick view of the waiting room and slowly his eyes lingered at him.
Bullseye!
He felt his stomach flip about a dozen times at the look the man who treated Erin as his own daughter was giving him.
"What did you do this time, Halstead?" Voight said as he took a seat on one of the empty chairs. "I knew I shouldn't have left her alone!"
Three Years Before
(Flashback)
"You could have called."
Her words slammed into him like the door he just released - hard - letting a gust of winter wind blow it close with a resounding crash.
"I'm tired. Let's not argue." His cheeks were burning from the central heat in the foyer, still cold under the skin. It's freezing midwest December and he had just stepped into their home not even a second before she started with her nagging. Again.
It will be Christmas soon, and if that doesn't improve her mood, nothing will.
Typically, like always, she chooses to only address the first of the two sentences he had just spat. "Well, I'm tired too."
"Erin." he sighed. "I have been on the McCormick case for the last fifteen hours."
"And what do you think I'm doing when I'm at the station, Jay? Sitting in a rocking chair with a foetus, playing pat-a-cake and feeding it strained peas?"
There's a moment of silence and he cringed at her choice of words. She had just jabbed too close to the one thing they don't dare speak about, and he attempts to make a joke out of it even though he knows he should accept the night as a lost cause.
"You think this is funny?"
"No, Erin." he kept his tone as patient as possible, despite the headache growing at the bridge of his nose. "I think this is ridiculous. I said I was sorry-"
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"You actually didn't say you were sorry. You said you were tired."
"I am tired."
"But not sorry, right?"
"Erin."
"Hey. I just want to be clear."
He looked at her up and down briefly. Her posture seemed poised and ready for a fight. He's anything but. "I'm going to bed."
"Because you're tired."
"Exactly."
"But not sorry."
He's sorry he came home at all.
The thought surprised him. He's not a man normally surprised by his own instincts. He's a thinker, a planner, and he paused for a minute to see if he can gauge when banter, or maybe nagging, started to turn into a real argument. They had been arguing less lately, but she's standing there, brows quirked, waiting for him to say something. He stepped forward and kissed her cheek.
"Goodnight."
"Are you punishing me for Quantico, Jay?" She called after him as he approached the staircase. He didn't turn around. "Because I'm not changing my mind."
Of course not.
He can hear her behind him, following, stomping purposefully, as he climbed up the stairs. Still not turning around. Not addressing her at all.
"Jay! Are you listening to me?"
He paused outside the door to their bedroom, stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. His mother always told him never to go to bed angry. But he's not angry, not exactly. He's just...tired.
"I have to be up in four hours, Erin. I need sleep. I need quiet."
She looks stung, taken aback, and he regretted his words for just a moment until she started nagging again.
"What about what I need? Do you ever think about that?"
Only everyday.
"Can it wait another night, please?"
"Of course it can. It's waited all this time."
He choose to read her sarcasm as sincerity and released her shoulders, opening their bedroom door.
Her movements were fast and furious as she readied herself for bed. Disappearing into the bathroom, she didn't come out until he's already under the covers. Most of the room was in darkness except for her bedside lamp. She slid under the covers, the rasp of silk against cotton sheets echoed. She's wearing that shiny, slippery red pyjamas that makes it impossible to hold onto her - not that he's planning on making any attempts tonight.
"Er."
"Now you want to talk?" Her voice sounds muffled.
"Your lamp."
"Oh. Of course."
His eyes were screwed tight against the glare, but he can still hear the pull and release of the chain as the room descends into welcome darkness and even more welcome silence.
He's nearly asleep, half of his mind walking through his duties for tomorrow - more like in a few fours - when he hears it.
Another sound escaped from her side of the bed and he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, willing away his annoyance.
What now?
When he opened his eyes, there's just enough moonlight to see shadowy silhouettes; her face pressed into her pillow, not muffling everything.
"Erin." he sighed. It's so like her. He counted to ten, silently.
...7...8...9...10...
"Erin, stop."
She ignored him.
Rolling onto his side, he reached across the bed to touch her shaking shoulder and she pulled away. His fingers slid off the silky fabric. Frustrated, he dropped back against his pillows.
What does she want from him?
"I'm still doing this. I'm not changing my mind." The words are muffled by her pillow and he let them linger unanswered in the eerie silence and didn't try to touch her again.
He pretended her sniffles were white noise while his guilt was just exhaustion as he drifted off to sleep.
He didn't see her again for two days. They're on different schedules, different day-offs, both immersing in work, both working on not remembering and when they finally pass each other at the lobby of District 21 - he had to meet with a detective from VICE - he leaned over to kiss her cheek.
"Rain check?"
She shrugged, looking at her phone. "No. We're taking down a gun deal so I'll be at the station most nights. We'll just do it spontaneously next time we're both off."
He's somewhat taken aback, but pleased. "Well, that's...very understanding of you."
She slid her phone into the pocket of her coat. "Don't sound so surprised."
Her shoes were loud on the linoleum floor and her retreating back as she pushed the doors, heading out to the snow was a clear and bold statement.
She didn't change her mind.
She went to Quantico.