Hi all :) Thank you SO MUCH for all of the amazing reviews on the last chapter. I am so excited that I've had so much time this week to write, and I hope you're enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing ! Also happy almost Friday!

Chapter 10,

Erin's POV

I woke up the following morning well before my alarm, well before the sun had a chance to make it's grand appearance over the horizon. It took a long time for my eyes to adjust enough to read the time illuminated on my bedside clock.

5:02.

Well, I had managed to sleep over 5 hours. That's actually more than I would have expected. As my eyes continued to adjusted to the darkness of the room, I turned my body and allowed my gaze to rove over the other size of the bed.

The silky tan sheets were untouched and the floral blanket was completely smooth. The emptiness of the bed reminded me of all the times I woke up expecting Jay to be sleeping next to me, only to be met with the cruel reality that he wasn't. That, really, he wasn't going to be sleeping next to me ever again.

Because he was dead.

This time, though, it felt different. It was a different bed, it was a different blanket, it was even a different room, and quite honestly, it was really Paul's spot in the bed that was vacated, but even so, that's not what felt different.

This time I was met with the cruel reality that Jay wasn't asleep next to me, and this time it was his choice.

I closed my eyes again, trying to shove the thoughts of last night away. But even as I forced my lids to stay tightly fused together, I knew I wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep.

With one calming deep breath, I opened my eyes and slid my body out from underneath the soft covers. I slowly padded my way to the master bathroom, turning on the hot water of the tiled shower, thinking about the night before.

"Erin?" When I walked into the kitchen, with swollen eyes and tear stains on my face, Paul rushed from the wooden kitchen stool and moved towards me. "What are you doing here?"

He seemed genuinely surprised, and I knew right away my thoughts in the hospital room had been true. He had been giving me permission to stay in the hospital, to stay with Jay.

I didn't answer his question right away, though. Instead, I moved into his arms, and began to sob against his chest, the whole time wishing desperately that things could be different.

I wished that Jay would let me love him, would let me stay, and I wished that Paul would stay my best friend, that he would continue to comfort me through this entire ordeal, like he was doing right now.

But, of course, I knew it couldn't be like that. It wasn't fair to either one of them.

But knowing that, and acting on that after a day of intense emotions, were two very different things. So instead of pushing Paul away, I let him comfort me. "Jay didn't want me to stay with him," I revealed, finally.

And when the words left my mouth, the strangest thing happened. Instead of Paul's body tensing, the way Jay's had when I was pressed against him and spoke Paul's name, his body remained pliant. His breathing remained steady. He remained steady.

And that's when I knew.

"Erin," he said, "He's just going to need some time." He moved his body away from mine, but kept his hands firmly around my shoulders as our eyes met. "He has been through a lot, and he has a long road ahead of him." His eyes were as warm and brown as chocolate, but for the first time, I realized they weren't looking at me with intensity, with desire, or with love. They were looking at me with friendship.

Maybe that is all we had always been. Friends who found each other at the right time, who comforted each other at the end of trying days, who settled on a life together when the ones they had really wanted had slipped gracelessly away.

Paul continued to speak. "From everything you've told me about him," he touched my cheek gingerly, but their was no spark. Just tenderness; just caring. "He is probably going to resist your help at first. But you need to keep trying. You need to let him know you're there for him, and that you're not going anywhere. No matter what."

I let his words sink in, and I tried to open my mouth to speak, but no words came out. "Go back to him," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Go back to the hospital and tell him all of that." He lifted his hand from my cheek and moved it to squeeze my hand. "Let him know before he goes in for surgery tomorrow."

When he released me, I lifted my hand to my own face, and once again I noticed I was crying. It's shocking, really, how many tears as person has in store. I would have thought my entire body had run dry, that I had no more tears to shed. But then, I had thought that when I thought Jay had died, too. I had cried enough tears for one hundred people in the days leading up to the funeral; and then at the funeral, I cried enough for one hundred more.

"Okay," I whispered. "You're right." I wiped the tears away with the sleeves of my sweater, which at this point was soaked through.

"Why don't you change into something more comfortable first," Paul suggested. "And I'll pack a bag to bring you tomorrow, so you don't have to waste time gathering stuff now."

"Okay," I said, moving towards the kitchen door to go find a new sweater in our bedroom. But before I could bring myself to leave the room, I stopped at the door and turned around.

"Paul?" I said his name as question, even though I already had his undivided attention.

"Yeah?" He replied, never taking his brown eyes off me.

"Thank you," I said. The two words seemed too little, too insignificant, to capture all of the gratitude I had for him in this moment.

But he knew me well, and so he knew the meaning behind my words. He gave me a knowing look, and a slight nod, and then he moved his head slightly towards the door, giving me permission to walk out of the kitchen.

And maybe, to walk out of his life.

I didn't go to the hospital, though. I made it halfway there before I lost my nerve and turned around. Paul may have thought Jay would want to see me, but he didn't see Jay's face when he begged me to leave.

He didn't see the way Jay sat silently as I moved in slow motion towards the door, practically begging him to change his mind.

So instead, I turned the car around and drove to the only place I knew I would always, always be welcome.

I checked the time on my iPhone before deciding I should knock instead of using my key. I knocked three times, loudly, and then waited two minutes. Then, I knocked again.

I heard the slow, nearly silent footsteps on the hardwood on the other side of the door. "Hank, put the gun down." I said against the door frame. "It's just me," I repeated the line I had used nearly ten years ago, when I came to this door asking for my job back.

I had come here looking for answers that night, too. I guess things don't really ever change.

When Hank opened the door, his response was the same. "You lose your key?" I couldn't tell if he was trying to lighten the mood, or if he honestly forgot that is what he had said.

"It's been a rough day," I said, because even if he hadn't been trying to lighten the mood, he had certainly succeeded. "I didn't want to get shot, too."

He gave me the kind of rare Hank Voight smile that actually met his eyes, before moving and wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug, and for the first time all day, I felt my body completely relax.

"Coffee?" He said, even though it was nearly 10:00 at night. But I knew it was just because he didn't want me to hitting the hard stuff.

I couldn't exactly blame him. When Jay died, I had been pregnant. Jacob was probably the only thing that kept me sober. Even now, I don't know how I did it. "Coffee would be good."

We moved towards the kitchen, and I sat at the table while he brews a cup. As I took in my surroundings, I realized that I was really glad I came. This was the house that had healed my heart when I was 15. This was the house that had healed my heart when I was 28. This was the one place that would always, always be home.

And it was exactly what I needed.

"Hank," I finally said, after a very long strength of silence. The coffee was nearly done at this point, the pot three-quarters full of the black liquid.

"Yeah, kid," he said, and I could tell he had been keeping his distance to give me room to start the conversation on my own terms. But now, he left the coffee to finish brewing and sat in the seat beside me.

"I don't know what to do," I said, and then there they were. The tears again. They flowed and flowed as I told him everything.

"I think Paul's right," Hank said, after I finally told him the last piece of the story. "Jay has a long way to go. And you have to find a way to let him know you'll be there for him."

"I know, but-"

"I wasn't done," he continued, cutting my rebuttal off mid-sentence. "You need to let him know you'll be there for him, but you can't force it. You were right to leave tonight, and you were right to come here instead of the hospital." He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. "Jay spent three years not able to make a single decision for himself," he said, shaking his head at the magnitude of the statement. "If he wants you to leave, you leave. You tell him you love him, you tell him you'll be there when he's ready, but then you leave."

He reached for my hand and squeezed it, almost as if he was trying to instill some strength into my hands, into me. Almost as if he knew this was going to be a lot harder than in sounded, that it would likely be the hardes thing I would ever have to do. "Give him back the control he lost."

I let out the deep breath of air I hadn't even realized I'd been holding. "Okay," I whispered, feeling completely defeated.

Except, how was I supposed to do that?

"When you find yourself caving in, and driving back to see him," he said, answering the question I hadn't even asked out loud. "You come here instead."

"Thank you," I whispered, a fresh batch of tears welling in my eyes. "Thank you." I repeated, even softer this time.

This time when he reached out, he touched my cheek gently. "You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, right?"

I nodded without a moments hesitation.

With everything that had happened today, with everything that was changing in my world, at the very least, that remained constant.

There was nothing in the world that Hank Voight wouldn't do for me.

Or for my son. Or for my husband.

I stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, until my body was wracked with shivers so drastic I could no longer physically stay immersed under the spray. When I turned off the water, I closed by eyes and placed my head against the cool tile and just stood silently. I'm not sure how long I stood here, how many minutes I lost trying to calm my breathing and gain strength for my day, but by the time I opened my eyes and stepped out of the shower, I was nearly dry. I dried the rest of the way and wrapped my terry-cloth robe around my naked body before walking back into my bedroom.

Paul was there, already dressed in his maroon scrubs, tying his shoes, and looking ready for the day.

"You didn't have to sleep in the guest room," was the first thing I said, even though when I came home last night to find that he had chose to sleep there, I was incredibly grateful.

He seemed to catch that I didn't truly mean my words, so he didn't answer them. Instead, he finished tying his shoes and stood. "I'm going to head to the hospital and round on my other patients before I pre-op Jay," he said, all business, the way he is most every morning. "Are you going to bring Jacob in this morning to meet him before surgery?"

The nonchalance with which he delivered the question threw me off, and he seemed to sense my discomfort. "I'm only asking," he said quickly, covering himself, "because I can call Donna and ask her to push the surgery back to 9. If you want some alone time before then."

I hadn't actually planned on bringing Jacob with me to the hospital this morning. I had talked it over with Hank last night, and he thought with a 7:30 surgery, it would be too much for Jacob, and for Jay, to force such a significant interaction into such a small time frame.

But if the surgery was at 9...

"I think," I began to speak, as I tightened my blue robe around my bare body. "I think I will bring him," the words tumbled out of my mouth before I realized I had even made that decision. "I think a 9:00 surgery sounds perfect," I nodded, trying to keep my voice as casual and nonchalant as Paul's.

Even though this was anything but casual.

The only thing that was keeping me sane was the fact that Jacob knew about his Daddy. Well, he knew about him in the way two year olds look at pictures and can recite exactly who the person is but have no real sense of them as a person.

There are pictures of Jay all over his room, and every night before he goes to sleep, we would say nightly prayers, and after we tell God to watch over Grandpa Hank, and Emily, and the Intelligence unit, we would finish by telling God to say hi to Daddy.

The funny thing is I don't even really believe in God, but I read about that on one of the books I read about grief. It was supposed to provide your child will an outlet, a way to have a private conversation with the person they lost, and not have it feel unusual or forced. And right now, I wanted to call up the psychologist that wrote that book and thank her. I wanted to kiss her feet for providing me with a way to give my son a nightly reminder of exactly who is daddy was.

After I got dressed and said goodbye to Paul, I moved towards Jacob's room. The small blue lamp in the corner is still illuminated, casting a shadow over my son's porcelain face.

Jacob is all Jay. From the freckles across his pale skin, to the blue of his eyes, to the way he seems to win me over with a single glance. I laid my hand on his shoulder, lightly tapping him awake.

"Baby," I whispered, softly. "It's time to wake up." I kept my voice low and soothing, hoping to slowly wake him and bring him calmly into this day.

Sure enough, he opened his eyes and let out a stretch and a yawn before giving me his very own Halstead smile. "Mommy!" He squealed, and then he turned his body slightly before standing up in his crib. He lifted his arms in a gesture that let me know he was ready to start the day. "Pick me up!"

"Okay, little man," I said, before obliging him and lifting him from the crib. I pressed a kiss against his forehead as I inhaled his familiar scent. No matter what was going on in my life, no matter what awful case the intelligence unit had seen, no matter how much I was missing Jay, Jacob's scent would ground me, and this morning, it served to do it again.

I took him over to the changing table, which was always our first stop in the morning. He liked to play with his toes and listen to me talk as I changed his diaper.

Usually, though, I just talk to him about school. I would say things like Guess what Jacob? Today you're going to finger paint in school today. Or guess what Jacob? Today after school you're going to have a play date with Emily. Or guess what Jacob? Today we are going to Grandpa Hank's for breakfast.

Not today, though. Today, I started right in with the hard stuff.

"Guess what Jacob?" I said, making sure my voice contained the same cheerfulness it usually did at this time. "Today, you're going to see Daddy."

Jacob is too young to notice the way my voice hiccupped and croaked over the word Daddy. But even so, he turned his face towards me, and the way he raised his eyebrow in a confused gesture was so much like his daddy it almost took my breath away.

"Daddy's in heaven," he replied. The way he said those words, it's almsot as if he was talking to a child himself. Almost as if he was explaining something that he knew to be true, but felt the need to let me down easily.

"Daddy's in the hospital," I said, as I laid the final strap on his diaper and pulled up the pants I had set out for him to wear.

He looked down at the pants he was now wearing, and put his hands on his bare belly. "Daddy's in the hospital?" He repeated my words, but this time it's a question. "With Paul? And Unc-ie Will?"

For some reason, Jacob, who can speak many more words than an average two and a half year old, couldn't say the word Uncle correctly in the beginning. Or maybe, it was become Kim insisted on being Auntie Kim instead of Aunt Kim, and so Jacob must've thought Auntie went with Unc-ie. But either way, the word had seemed to stick.

"Yes," I confirmed, as I lifted his hand from his belly and raised them up so I could shove his favorite Chicago Blackhawks t-shirt over his head. "With Paul and Unc-ie Will."

When his head reappeared after I pushed the fabric of the t-shirt down, his eyes were wide with wonder. But then he remained silent for so long that I was convinced that was the end of the conversation.

But then finally, he spoke again. "Daddy's home?"

I forced away the tears that clogged my eyes, my throat. I may not have been able to control them yesterday, but I could control them for my son. I could do anything for my son.

"Yes," I said, smiling softly. "Daddy's home."

xoxo

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And next chapter... Jacob will finally meet his Daddy :) :) :)