Title: Spring Forward

Author: ZombieJazz

Fandom: Chicago PD

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.

Summary: Erin and Jay work on surviving her pregnancy while still apart. They only have a handful of months left to sort out their relationship and their expectations for their careers and future as a family. Set in the Interesting Dynamics AU and post-S4 finale.

SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath, So It Goes and The Way From Here (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to SEASON 5 of Chicago PD.

Jay put his hand against Erin's forehead – through her hair first. He knew she wasn't sleeping but she'd been so still and quiet. So had he. Just like he knew that even though they had the TV on and had been staring at – neither of them had been watching it and likely couldn't recite back even the basic details of what had been going on right in front of their faces.

He almost thought she wasn't likely to acknowledge his touch from the position she'd curled herself on the couch and allowed herself to lean against him as some kind of support. At least in that moment. But he could feel the tension and anxiousness radiating off her – so he also knew he was only offering so much comfort. Still, she managed a little sound that at least told him she was aware enough – hypersensitive enough – to know that he'd grazed his fingers through her hair and cupped at her forehead and temple.

"Think maybe we should go to the bedroom?" he asked.

It really was a question even though he knew it really should be more of a statement. That it was the whole reason they were home. That the nursing staff in the NICU had encouraged – if not outright pushed them out the door – to try to get them some real rest in their exhausted exhaustion.

Jay wasn't even sure exhausted exhaustion fully covered it. It'd had long nights – long days, never-ending days – in Afghanistan. He'd had some more – though different – with CPD, in Intelligence. He knew how to operate on little to no sleep. He could do twenty-nine and a day with the best of them. And Erin was definitely the best of them.

He knew she wanted to be there when their babies woke up. Every time they woke up. To be there even when they were sleeping. And he got it. He did too.

And it wasn't empathy that he'd criticized her as having too much of in the past. The kind the left nothing for yourself. Because he'd learned really quickly – felt more instantly than he'd expected possible – that when it's your kids, you give yourself. Over and over again. Day in and day out. Or at least that's the kind of father – the kind of man and parent – he was going to be. It was the kind of parent it felt right to be right now. To these two tiny little human beings – who were his.

But he still was acutely aware that both him and Erin were really staggering exhaustedly into territory where they weren't leaving much for themselves right now. They were pouring all they had – selfishly and unselfishly, as parents and as human beings dealing with their own shit that expanded way beyond the NICU – into that hospital room. That ward. Those two babies – their babies. And he could feel it seeping out of him. Bit by bit. Kind of like a balloon. This little bubble they'd made for themselves to try to get through this was starting to deflate because they were putting all their strength into just trying to hold that bubble dome up. Just trying to keep it all together. And they'd been doing that for days. Weeks. Nearly two weeks of sleeping up right. And just hardly sleeping.

And that took him back to his own … empathy. For his kids and for Erin. And back to that line he'd fed her before. It wasn't that he wanted her to care less. He didn't know how they could care less right now with those pieces of them in those incubators with all wires and tubes and machinery attached to them. With them looking so small and fragile – translucent and pink all at the same time. But still so clearly theirs. So clearly them. The little bits and pieces of each of them he could already see in their kids in his hours and hours of staring at them and rubbing their little hands and fingers and feet and toes between his own thumb and forefinger that looked so massive compared against their entire bodies. He could see them. And he could see glimpses of the Halstead features – wisps that reminded him of himself and his brother as little boys and from scattered baby photos still kicking around somewhere. Other wisps of Ethan and Henry even though he knew – logically – there shouldn't be. But there was. Just like wisps of Erin were in her brother – even though there shouldn't be.

It wasn't about caring less. It wasn't about wanting her to care less. It was about wanting her to sleep. Wanting them both to sleep. So their bubble didn't collapse around them. So they had the strength to get through the … weeks more of this.

"I think one of us should go back," Erin mumbled. She sounded so far away.

He knew she'd say that. It'd been about the only thing she'd said when he'd somehow got her to leave the NICU. To get on the elevator. To get in the car. When he'd somehow managed to get his feet and body to move that way too. He wasn't even sure how he'd done it. He wasn't even sure he remembered making the walk to the parking lot or getting into the car. Or driving to the townhouse. Of getting inside or turning on the TV. But they clearly had. They'd somehow gotten this far. In the door but not upstairs. Sitting in what had been the 'man cave' that Erin had both teased him about and not so secretly loathed. But that he already knew would become less of a 'man cave' and more of a 'family room' within the next two years. That it'd be a space filled with chaos and toys and hopefully memories and laughter. Less of a cave. A family space. A family room. That was the plan. That was how all of this was supposed to work.

But nothing was quite working exactly the way it was supposed to work yet. And even though he'd prepared himself for the twins arriving early, this still didn't meet the expectations he'd steadied himself for. He wasn't prepared for the way this felt. For the role he was having to take on for Erin. For his kids. As much as he thought he was – and as much as he was – he wasn't.

This was being a man in a different way than he'd had to be a man before. And it was riddled with emotions and feelings that he wasn't sure he'd felt in quite the ways he was feeling them. And he was trying to figure it out – who to be, how to be, as a … fiancée, not yet husband, and a father, and communicator to all these other fractions.

He gave her bicep a small rub. She tensed a little like she wasn't expecting that. Like it felt foreign or uncomfortable.

"I know," he muttered and rested his chin against the top of her head. "But they said they'd call us if there's an emergency."

"Calling us will be the last thing they do if there's an emergency," she said a bit more sternly. "We should be there if there's an emergency."

"They're stable, Erin," he said and moved his cheek to rest somewhere against her temple – the side of her head. To try to get some sort of mind-meld going that maybe would calm them both. But he really doubted it.

"Eli's not stable." And the force in her voice was gone. It was weak again.

And Jay held her closer. Because he'd seen too how up-and-down their son's vitals were. He'd stood helplessly through the alarms as the staff huddled around their baby's small body to get his breathing and heart and temperature stabilized again. He'd felt his own heart break over and over in those two weeks as they waited for their son's heart to seal over and heal. For his organs to start working the way they needed to. For him to catch up with his sister and to start following after her in their journey to get the hell out of Med. To get home. To be a family in that home that was ready and waiting for them.

"If something happens, we aren't going to get over there in time," she whispered.

And the same thought had been going through his head. Over and over. Calculating to the minute – nearly to the second – how long it'd take them to get to the truck and then to get to the hospital and to park and to get inside and to wait for the fucking elevator and to get back upstairs to their son and daughter. It was why he'd barely left the room. Why he'd barely left the hospital. Because they were in – or could end up in – a situation where seconds counted. And in that kind of situation – he wanted to be there. He needed to be there.

Eli and Mattie wouldn't be alone in a room full of strangers poking at them and making decisions for them. Erin wouldn't be alone having to make decisions – to live through those decisions – alone either.

That wasn't the kind of man or father he'd be either.

But "We need to sleep, Erin," was what he managed to offer.

He knew it. As much as he knew they weren't likely to sleep. He knew as her partner, her friend, her fiancée … her would-be husband. As a man and a father – he needed to say it. Needed to push it, no matter how anxious he felt about being out of the hospital too. How hard it would be to let his body and mind get the sleep he needed.

But she just gave her head a little shake against him.

"Er," he sighed, "your body needs the rest to heal too. It's not just about … sleep."

"I'm fine," she muttered.

Only she wasn't. Her incision wasn't closing properly. The doctors had already had to drag her out to look at it and treat it. She was having to go and get it packed because it wasn't healing as fast as it should. She was still anemic from the blood loss. And she looked it. The medications and supplements to try to keep it all under control and not span into her being re-admitted and in another hospital bed were taking their own toll. Not that she was going to admit any of that. She wouldn't. but he could see it painted all across her and the way she was carrying herself. Her complexion. She had more reason to be exhausted than him.

"Then you need to rest for …" and he gestured at her breasts with his one hand. But she did catch that out of the corner of her eye and knocked his hand and arm away before they got too close to a destination he hadn't intended to do much to. Because he also knew she was sore and raw from having the hospital-grade pump attached to her breasts every two to three hours. And because neither of them were in any kind of state of mind that any sort of breast manipulation sounded very pleasurable to either of them – in any kind of way.

And it was just … fucking ironic. Erin had been … so unsure and reluctant about breastfeeding. About relinquishing that kind of piece of herself and connection to these other beings. To be that kind of … vessel … for another human being. To the point she'd outright said she wasn't sure she'd be in a mental or emotional place that she'd be able to handle it. That she wasn't sure she even wanted to really try. And then lead them into another agonizing conversation about what exactly that said about her as a mother or her capabilities as a mother.

He'd consistently tried to check his feelings on the matter. To keep it all in check. To try to relate. To acknowledge the baggage and violations and body issues and boundaries she had from what she'd gone through when she was younger. He'd tried to acknowledge that even though he thought he could sort of relate to some aspects of that – he would never be able to really understand exactly what she was going through with carrying their kids. What mentally and emotional and physical components came into play with feeding them from your own body. So he'd just tried to be the good guy. To maintain that she needed to take care of herself first – of herself – to be any kind of mother. That that was important. So if that meant that they didn't breastfeed – then they wouldn't breastfeed. That that said she was being the best mother she knew how to be – because she was making sure she was in the best place possible to be a mother.

In the end it … it wasn't that Erin wasn't sure about breastfeeding that was creating the problem. It was that she couldn't breastfeed. The babies weren't old enough or strong enough to suckle yet. Or swallow. (Though, Mattie was starting to get it figured out.) And her breasts weren't co-operating anyway – even if … when … either of the kids had it all figured out.

The milk wasn't coming in. The doctors weren't really saying why. There was some suggestion that it was just the stress of … everything … in the situation they were in. The trauma. The early delivery. That everyone was different and sometimes it took longer for new moms than other new moms.

And it was another thing that he knew he couldn't understand exactly what Erin was feeling and going through. He knew he just couldn't. But Jay also thought he understood on some level.

Because they were his kids too. Because he was in there with the room with Erin and feeling the frustration and sadness and anger and guilt come off her in waves every two hours when she hooked herself up to that fucking machine and she barely got more than a few drops out of her breasts. He knew she thought she'd created some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy in her questioning of if she even wanted to breastfeed. Like she'd somehow managed to mentally block her breasts from producing milk. Like it was somehow her fault that she'd gone into early labor. That the doctors hadn't been able to stop the labor. That even when they had – what happened … with Al – had emotionally pushed her and her body over the edge again. Like she'd let her emotions get the better of her and that was the reasoning behind their preemies' arrivals. Born into bad news. He knew she was thinking it – even if she hadn't said it out loud.

And he knew she was being too hard on herself. Just like she always was. He could see that too. But Erin was only letting him do so much in trying to comfort her and encourage her and offer her more logical explanations for the how and why of any of it than the ones she'd let her exhausted mind and body formulate for her.

The nurses went between being congratulatory and encouraging – in such a fucking patronizing way – to again talking to them like idiots every time Erin pumped and managed to get those few drops for all her effort. It was increasingly being done in such a a tone that clearly indicated they were verging on the point they were just going to have to accept this wasn't working. Two weeks. It should've – would've – happened by now.

But that wasn't stopping Erin. That 'liquid gold' they'd toted Erin's breast milk as in the hours and days after the babies were born – she was going to get every fucking drop of it for her – their – babies even if it was just that … drops. Jay knew that she'd go through that every couple hours even if she was only getting about 2 oz a day to ooze out of her, if they were lucky. Because even that little might help their kids. Help them get strong and well and out of this fucking place and home. So she was going to do it. Because that was the kind of person she was. The kind of woman. And the kind of mother.

"I'm not going to do that," she said. And the force was there again.

And Jay sighed. Again. "I didn't mean that," he allowed.

One nurse had told them that it might help it he got 'intimate' with Erin's breasts. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that. And he hadn't Googled it. But it brought all kind of visions to his mind of just what that meant. Their faces must've said that because the woman had corrected and said that 'cuddling' might help relax and also stimulate the release of whatever hormone was needed to let the milk drop down.

That could be interpreted in a lot of ways too. The vast majority he wasn't sure either of them were really up to. At all.

This was about as close as they'd come to cuddling in the past two weeks. There'd be some hugs. Some tears. Touches. Hand holding. There was intimacy. Intimacy that again felt different than what they'd had before. That maybe was supposed to be – had to be – while they sat there together watching over their sick newborns.

"We could go shower," he offered. "I could help you change your dressings."

"You don't want to see that," she muttered.

"I've seen worse," he tried.

And he was pretty sure it was true. Though from what he had seen that he'd done to her in the emergency C-section and their rather botched efforts to retrieve the babies that had ultimately almost lead to Erin bleeding out. He'd felt like he was watching her slip away on that table – while he was pushed back and his babies were whisked away out of his sight before he barely got a chance to look at them. So even though he knew he'd seen worse – that he'd watched people bleed out and die before – it had been different. So fucking different. And the gut-wrenching terror in those long minutes had been real. It'd be another helpless emotion he hadn't had to cope with in quite that way before.

But he tried to tease her. He tried, "I see it now, imagine how much better it's going to look later."

She cast him a look at that. The first one she'd given him in a while. "Yea. Real sexy."

He managed a thin smile and gripped her hand. "You're amazing," he said.

Scars and baggage and all. She was approving again and again in those weeks that … she was the most amazing person he'd ever know. The strongest. A person who made him better. A better person and a better man. She made him want to be those things. Just better.

"Er, let's just call the nursing station and check on them and just try for a couple hours. Please."

She let out an annoyed huff. "Outside of … knowing I won't sleep, Jay, it hurts too much to lie flat. Or roll over. I won't sleep."

"Bet you're wishing you let me get those recliners and turn this into a real home theater den," he tried in tease again.

It got a small – unimpressed – sound.

And he held her again. "You want to go over to Hank's," he tried carefully, cautiously. "See if you can claim the recliner or Eth's bed. We can ask him to go over and be with them for us. Just for a couple hours."

He hated that solution. But it was a solution. And right now they needed those – however fucking distasteful.

And she sat there – against him – weighing it. He could feel from the weight of her against him that she was weighing it. Moving her own baggage from hand-to-hand too.

But then she shifted and gazed at him. This exhausted exhausted gaze that had some minor acceptance.

She was proving that Will was right – for once, on something. That she didn't need saving. She didn't. As much as sometimes she did. She didn't. But she'd saved him in a lot of ways. And he could at least offer her a hand because of it. Take her hand.

And he did.

AUTHOR NOTE:

Again, no promises on the frequency any of this will be updated. Or how many more chapters there will be. It's likely not going to be many. But I'm trying to provide a bit of closure for people.

Twin names:

Elias James Vito. Jay and Erin will mostly call him Eli (E-lie not Ellie/Ali). Hank will likely mostly call him E.J. Vito was introduced as Camille's maiden name. A loyal reader pointed out to me that Jay's full name might be James, not Jason. I found that interesting and highly plausible in my personal experience as well. But James had been picked out prior as a middle name. Partially out of its origin meaning of "he who supplants", which I think might be appropriate for Jay's approach to the promise and purpose of fatherhood.

Matilda Eloise Quinn. Jay will mostly call her Mattie. I see Erin mostly calling her Tilly and references to her as that would evolve over time, because I foresee the little girl as referring to herself under that name. I feel Ethan and Hank would pick up on the Tilly aspect. And that Hank would also shorten it to "M.E." (pronounced Emmy) regularly. For reference, Eloise would be a vague memorial to Al. Eloise is the female version of Aloysius, which has the origin of "famous warrior". It is also often shortened to El or Ellie — with El/Al meaning "loyal friend". Eloise is the correct spelling for the Germanic variant of the name, which I suspect Erin might pick as a minor shout-out to Hank's side of the family. Emmy/M.E. generally means "rival, laborious and eager", which I suspect will capture the little girl's persona. Quinn was introduced as Jay's mother's maiden name.