Author's Note: FYI, there will be two addendums (or, oneshots) to 3x14, "The Song of Greg William Yates". This one is set between Hank's phone call with Benson in the SVU side of the crossover and the scenes of Erin and Dawson in the NYC taxi. The next one will, hopefully, bridge the gap between what we saw between Linstead in 3x14 and Erin talking about love in 3x15. *coughroadtripcough*
His posture has been stoic, rigid since Voight's announcement to the bullpen this morning that she and Antonio are booked on the next flight out of O'Hare to LaGuardia. Since it was decided without his input that she and Dawson would be the ones to go; since he had tried to go over her head by asking to speak to Voight in his office and been publicly rebuffed by their boss. Been told that the decision had been made - she and Dawson would go to New York to speak to Yates while he and the rest of the team stayed behind to close out their latest case.
It had been Antonio who soothed over the hurt, who asked if Jay would drop him and Lindsay off at O'Hare so they wouldn't have to worry about receipts and reimbursement forms when they got back. But Erin figures he would have offered - insisted judging by the look in his eyes - and shown up on her doorstep anyways. Would have darken her doorway until she wordlessly stepped aside and let him in like she did twenty minutes ago.
Twenty minutes where he's stood leaning up against the dresser opposite her bed - arms folded across his chest, hard eyes watch her fold sweaters and tuck them into her suitcase, and a posture so rigid that the animosity and the hurt rolls off him in waves. Emotions that she doesn't appreciate having directed at her because she didn't ask for this trip, didn't volunteer to speak to the man who -
Her mind and her heart still stumble over Nadia's name and the thought of what was done to her. Of how Erin's star and her gun and her baiting comments put a target on Nadia's back. Of how Nadia went out for a birthday cake and ended up in a shallow, sandy grave across the country.
The thought, the realization that she might have to go back to that spot causes Erin's stomach to drop, and her right hand instinctively curls around the edge of her suitcase in order to steady herself. To keep her from tossing up that cup of coffee now churning in her stomach; to keep her from scrambling out into the kitchen to make that coffee Irish.
She had tossed most of that stuff when she bought her couch and got her fresh start, but some of it had started to seep back in as she got a handle on her life. The six-pack of beer in the fridge for the nights Jay came over to watch the Hawks play; the bottle of whiskey on the top shelf of the cabinet above the sink for the nights when they needed something stronger but didn't want to be at Molly's.
But Nadia would never get her fresh start - a second chance on her second chance - like Erin did and neither would those girls still listed as missing persons by the CPD. Those girls whose bodies lay unidentified in the New York medical examiner's office and whose identities remain locked away in Yates' twisted mind.
And that's why she has to go. Why she forces herself to release her physical grip on her suitcase and her mental grip on past so-called solutions. For Nadia. For the girls whose names she doesn't know. For the man in her life who trusts her to go and hold it together like she has been for the last eight months.
His trust stands in contrast to that of the other man in her life. The one who's watching her and waiting for any kind of sign that she's not ready to do this. And his animosity, his lack of faith in her is starting to irk her. To make her wish she had left him standing in the hallway of her apartment building because then she wouldn't have to see the words he won't say written across his face.
"I'm fine," she grits out through clenched teeth as she works on folding her red sweater. Tucks it into her suitcase next to the blue and purple flannel shirt as his jaw clenches in response, as his right hand grips tighter onto his left bicep. Sure signs that he's agitated and annoyed and all the other 'A' adjectives that don't come to mind because she's too focused on her own thoughts and her own pain to bother pulling out a thesaurus.
Jay has one - a curious addition to his rather barebones apartment - but Erin's not even sure she has one. Not unless Nadia purchased one to go along with the paperback dictionary she used while studying those ridiculously heavy law books. Said the printed version was easier and less distracting to use when Erin had pointed out that there's such a thing as the Internet.
And the thought of that memory, of how badly Nadia wanted to become a cop causes Erin's neutral expression to twist downward. Her pretense of being fine collapsing for just long enough that Jay's boots scuff on her hardwood floors as he moves to get closer to her.
She sidesteps him and his outstretched fingers to occupy his space over by her dresser, and she can practically feel his exhale of frustration on her skin. Hot air sliding over her body and leaving pebbled skin in its wake as she yanks open the top dresser drawer and riffles through the pile of underwear. She's only supposed to be gone for two days - out and back, Hank had called it - but her fingers pluck certain ones out in quick succession, and she ends up with turning back around with five in her hand.
Five pairs of panties that flutter and fall into a pile atop Jay's boots when she collides right into his chest, when she finds him standing directly behind her rather than maintaining the distance she thought she had put between them. Five pairs of panties that muddle around her feet when she tries to take a step backwards and only ends up smashing backwards into the dresser.
The picture frames atop the dresser rattle, and the commotion pulls Jay's gaze from her face to watch the one of her and Camille knock the one of her and Nadia over so it ends up faceplanting on the stained wood. His lips twisting into a small, apologetic frown that she catches through partially hooded eyes as she slips past him and strides over to her partially packed suitcase.
And she stares at the items already in the jet black rolling suitcase trying to make a mental list of what she still needs - socks, gloves, underwear that hasn't ended up on her floor - when she spies Jay out of the corner of her eye. Twists her head to the left to see him carefully wiping off the framed picture of her and Nadia with the hem of his shirt and then turns her whole body so she can watch him gather the dropped underwear off the floor. So she's facing directly at him - arms down by her side rather than defensively crossed across her chest - when he walks over to her and gently drops them into her suitcase next to folded up sweaters.
"I should be going with you. I'm your partner," he reminds her as though she would forget. As though he hadn't already tried to use that argument this morning on Hank, who had merely stared him down as he barked out that fact could change.
That comment hadn't gone over well. She can't seen the basis for such animosity on Voight's part given how hard she and Jay try to keep things professional. How, yes, they had slip up here and there, but they haven't flaunted it in his face or dragged their personal problems into cases or been putting in for transfers without thinking how such actions would have career-long ramifications. And Jay's behavior and his hardened eyes had made it clear that he didn't understand the basis for that threat, either.
"So what if Dawson hasn't been to New York yet?" Jay spits out. His voice has risen an octave; his anger becoming more palpable with every word. "He's worked with Sergeant Benson before. Tutuola, Carisi, Amaro. He can go next ti-"
She manages to silence him not by interrupting words but rather by the upward pitch of her left eyebrow, by the look of warning on her face because she doesn't want to think about there being a next time. About more kids ending up in prostitution rings pimped out by abusive foster homes like Teddy or another person as heinous as Yates terrorizing her city and those in the Big Apple so Intelligence and SVU have to create a cross-agency task force to catch them. Because if she never gets another all-expenses-paid trip to Manhattan, never has a reason to work alongside Sergeant Benson and her team again, then -
"I promised I would have your back twenty-four seven," Jay confesses softly after sinking down to sit on the bed beside her open suitcase. His gaze is focused on the loose thread of her purple quilt that his fingers have taken to picking and pulling at, and Erin has to lightly tap at his foot with her own to get him to knock it off. To stop pointing out the flaws in her apartment and look up at her.
"And you also promised Ethan that you'd be there with him as he testified," Erin asserts when Jay finally glances up at her because she knows how Ethan's case affect him. Knows that he's not the kind of guy who'd want to back out of a promise like that and that Ethan's in a place right now where he needs his male role models to follow through on things for him - not promise him things so he'll do something for them - because she's been in that place before and she's pretty sure Jay has too given everything he said while working that case.
And Erin watches his jaw clench shut once more as he processes the reminder. Sees the anger over what happened to that teenage kid flare up in the back of his eyes meshing and then overwhelming the anger already there over the way Voight doled out assignments this morning.
"His trial starts tomorrow."
"And he probably won't testify until Monday," Jay protests. "Friday, at the earliest. I can Facetime with him beforehand or-"
"Jay, he's a kid who's about to tell twelve complete strangers that his coach sexually abused him. That his best friend died because that coach hired someone to kill him. He needs you to do more than Facetime with him," Erin rebukes with a pointed look.
A look that falters as she shifts her gaze from Jay's face to the picture frame on the corner of her dresser and is then substituted with one that quietly begs for understanding as she sinks down onto the bedside Jay. As she fixes her gaze on the chilly, winter scene outside the large, bedroom windows across from where she and Jay sit on the bed rather than on Jay's face.
"I needed you to do more than Facetime with me," Erin reminds him. Her voice becomes gruffer with emotion, and the bed dips slightly as Jay twists his body around to look at her. His left hand sliding to curve around the inside of her right thigh; his head dipping downward as he tries to catch her eye. But she refuses to give it to him and, instead, she focuses on the swirl of white snow being picked up and tossed about by the wind. Focuses on how the wind had done similar things with the sand in fucking Pelham Bay Park.
"You should go pick up Dawson," Erin instructs after a moment. She turns her head just in time to see Jay's face falter at the suggestion, and she tries to offer him a smile as she adds, "He's probaby all packed and freezing his ass off waiting for us out in front of his apartment."
But it's clear from Jay's hard eyes soften as they slide back and forth across her face that her smile was weak and unconvincing. That she's done little to alleviate his anger over being excluded from the trip - even if it was for good reason - or his concern for her and what she's got going on upstairs. Thoughts and feelings that she pushes back as she pushes away Jay's hand, as she moves to stand on her feet and return to her packing.
"Erin," he calls out, but she moves past him. Ignores the ever mounting hints of concern in his voice as she strides over to the dresser and yanks open the second drawer. The one where she keeps that t-shirt of his they both pretend she hasn't stolen tucked behind a pile of socks, which she begins to riffle through with forced interest as he calls out her name again. "Erin."
"I'm fine," she snaps glancing up to look at his reflection in the mirror mounted above her dresser. "Go pick up Dawson. I'll be packed by the time you get back."
She watches his reflection in the mirror for a few more seconds, but Erin is forced to drop her gaze when Jay's fingers skim across the hairline at the top of his forehead because she can't stomach watching his tried and true tell of concern for her.
Which is why she keeps her head down and her posture as rigid as his has been all morning until she hears his boots against the hardwood and the telltale click of her front door slamming shut behind him. And it's also why she hadn't backed up Jay's public assertion in the bullpen that his status as her partner mean he gets to go to New York with her. Period. End of discussion. Why she had been the one to remind Hank of Jay's promise to Ethan when he pulled her aside to talk about Sergeant Benson's phone call asking for her assistance first thing this morning. Because she's certainly not going to be fine seeing that happen and that look from Jay over and over again for the next two days.