.: palm of your freezing hand :.
Hailey stood at the stove when the front door opened, an unopened box of mac and cheese in her hand as she debated whether or not she wanted to eat it for dinner. Whether or not she wanted to eat anything at all or just stick to whiskey. But the sound of Jay's keys clinking against the bowl on their entry table made her smile, distracted her from her thoughts and her half empty glass.
The smile slid from her face, though, when she looked over her shoulder and caught sight of her fiancé's expression. She immediately dropped the box to the counter with a clatter of pasta and rounded the kitchen island. "Jay? Are you okay?"
His brows were furrowed, his jaw tight, and he rubbed at his mouth, fingers scratching over his five-o'clock scruff. His knuckles...his knuckles were red, the skin broken.
She closed the last bit of distance between them and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand toward her and inspecting the blemishes. Then she reached for his chin and tilted his head to-and-fro, looking for any evidence that someone had landed a blow. Barring his cloudy expression, which worried her more than anything else, he looked like his normal, handsome self.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I—ah...I just talked to Voight."
She froze, her hand tightening around his as her heart leapt to her throat. She was surprised by the steadiness of her voice when she asked, "What did he say?"
Jay said nothing, and his expression didn't change, but he dropped her hand and ran his own through his short hair. Without him to hold onto, her hands started to shake, and she shoved them deep in her sweatpants pockets.
He knew. Oh, God, Jay knew. Voight had told him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.
"Jay...I-I-I didn't—" Hailey took a deep breath. Her throat already burned. Voight had told her to keep it to herself, but if she was honest, that wasn't the only reason she'd kept quiet. She whispered, "I was scared."
"Of me?" His voice cracked. "Hailey, it's me. You can trust me with anything, you know that."
She tried to say she did know that. Tried to say she trusted him more than anyone in her life. That she loved him, and that she'd wanted to tell him. It had killed her not to. But it all stuck in her throat, lodged behind her heart. She couldn't breathe, and her vision blurred with tears. Her sobs broke free—immediate, deep, guttural sobs that twisted up her stomach. Sobs that hurt.
She backed up blindly, one hand searching for purchase. They'd rearranged their furniture five times since moving in together, and in her panic, she had no idea where anything was. She stumbled over the corner of the area rug, but before she could fall, Jay was pulling her forward. Pulling her into his chest.
His arms were like vices around her shoulders, and her hands instinctively fisted his t-shirt, holding him as close as she could get him. She was vaguely aware of his low, comforting voice murmuring into her hair.
She cried into his chest, ear to his sternum. His heartbeat was quick, but his breathing was steady. She tried to match her breaths to his, tried to pull herself from the hole she'd dug herself into, but she just felt like she was falling further down. She stayed pressed against him until her chest stopped twisting and her shoulders relaxed, but she was afraid to unclench her hands. What if he left when she let go?
"Hailey…" he whispered. His hands shifted to her shoulders and gently pushed her back. Her heart dropped out of her ass, and she felt like that five year old she used to be. The one that had clung to her mother's legs when her dad attempted to drag her to her 'time out' spot. That horribly familiar childhood panic kicked in and apologies poured from her mouth in a steady stream of breathless nonsense.
"Stop, stop, stop," Jay said, his voice as soft as it ever was with her. Her fists shook against his sides, his t-shirt damp under her palms. "Hailey, take a deep breath, it's okay. Everything's okay."
She didn't know how he could say that when everything was falling down around her. When she'd murdered a man, covered it up, and lied about it—lied to him about it. Murder and lies. Something unforgivable.
He cupped her cheek, pulling her back to the present. He had tear tracks on his face, his freckled cheeks shining in the low lighting of their apartment. His eyes were bright and intense, but there wasn't a hint of anything angry or disappointed in them. She latched onto his gaze, onto the small piece of hope that blossomed in her chest at the familiarity of his green eyes.
"I love you," he said. His thumb swept over her cheek. "I love you, and it's going to be fine. We're going to be fine."
She nodded a few times, sniffing.
"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked. "Voight said...he said a lotta shit, so I wanna hear it from you. Not him."
"I…"
"Hailey, please. I need you to trust me. I need to know, so I can help you."
She found her voice. "I do trust you."
"Then why won't you let go of me?"
She squeezed her eyes shut. For some reason, she didn't want to look at him when she said this. Didn't want to see how he'd react. "Because I don't want you to leave." The me was unspoken, but it echoed in her ears like the ringing after an explosion.
"Okay," he whispered. He started to move away again, but before she could panic he was tugging her with him. Jay settled into the armchair to his left—the big, ugly, comfy one from his apartment that she'd insisted they keep—and pulled her right down with him. They fit together like the last two pieces of a puzzle, and with a weary sigh, she released her death grip on his t-shirt. "We're gonna sit here," he continued, "until you realize I'm not going anywhere."
It might have sounded condescending to anyone else, might've sounded ridiculous and cliché, but it was what she needed to hear and he knew that. She pushed her face into his neck and breathed him in.
He thinks Hailey is asleep. As soon as she'd collapsed onto his lap, she'd traded her death grip on his t-shirt for one on his arm. He doesn't think she even realized that her nails had dug into his skin, leaving little crescent moons behind. But now her hands were slack and her warm breath came in even puffs against his neck. And she'd stopped shaking.
She'd scared him earlier. Her reaction had been so immediate and overwhelming, as if everything had caught up to her all at once and forced its way out. He'd thought she was going to make herself sick, so he'd done the only thing he could think of—he'd held her. Tight. Pulled her into him and talked her through it.
It'd taken him longer than he'd liked to figure out what was happening with her. In spite of everything—her distractedness in the bullpen, her restless sleeping, her lack of appetite—she'd kept insisting she was fine. He knew better, but he didn't want to push her. Didn't want her to find him overbearing. But when Hailey had jumped after Voight placed a friendly hand on her shoulder, Jay had decided to push.
He'd pinged Voight's phone after everyone had left for the night and tracked him to a random field in the middle of nowhere, a field Voight had spent two hours in the night they'd found Kim. It didn't take a mastermind to figure out what had gone that night, and when his sergeant had pulled up next to his truck, Jay put his gun in his glovebox.
He'd slammed his truck door so hard the vehicle had shook, and he'd stormed up to Voight with a burning in his gut he'd only felt once before—but this time, this time, he wouldn't stand for it. Wouldn't let Voight and a murder and a shallow, unmarked grave ruin a woman he loved. Especially when that woman was Hailey.
Voight had spun things, as he was known to do. He'd also talked in circles, shaken his head a lot, and uttered five different variations of "This doesn't concern you." It wasn't until Voight had taken a step forward and said "I don't think you know the woman you're sleeping next to" that Jay had swung.
Jay looked down at his split knuckles, flexed his hand against Hailey's waist, and didn't regret his decision for a second. He knew Hailey better than he knew himself, and fuck Voight for thinking he had the right to say otherwise. His boss was delusional if he thought he'd take his side over Hailey's, would believe his version of events at the drop of a hat.
Hailey gave a sudden jerk and popped her head off Jay's shoulder with a small, quick gasp. He ran his hand up and down her thigh to ground her. She looked up at him, tucked her feet into the cushion crease of the chair, and slowly smoothed her hand down his chest. He didn't say anything, just watched her as she stared at her own hand and breathed.
Another tear escaped down her cheek, and then her hand moved the other way, slid all the way up his neck and into his hair at the nape of his neck.
"Can I just…?" she mumbled, pulling his lips to hers. He went willingly and easily—of course he did. Her lips were chapped and salty from her tears, but they were also warm and oh so familiar against his. She clung to him desperately, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting herself from his lap to get closer to him, and he just held her and kissed her back with equal fervor.
He always went a little stupid when she kissed him, a little fuzzy in the head, and this time was no different. But he had enough presence of mind to know they needed to talk before they did anything else, so he gentled the kiss, slowed his roaming hands. She pulled back first, but the dimness in her eyes had him leaning back in for one, two, three more quick presses of lips. Then a lingering kiss to her cheek that had her relaxing, and he felt her take a deep breath for the first time since he'd got home.
He thought he'd have to prompt her. Thought he'd have to lead her into finally talking about it, but he should've known better. She was too brave for that.
"I lied to you," she began, "the night I proposed."
He tensed involuntarily, but she barrelled on, her voice steady.
"I did find Voight...and he'd already found Roy. He had him tied up, he was beating him—trying to find out where Kim was. I tried to talk him into bringing Roy in. I told him we could come up with a story, a good one. We've done it before and it's worked out, and no matter what Roy did, we didn't have any right beating a confession out of him.
"But...Voight said I knew what was gonna happen when I showed up. That if I wanted to be moral, I should've just left him to his own devices. But how is ignoring a murder 'moral'? I knew what he would do if I didn't show up, so what kind of person would I be if I didn't try to stop him?"
Hailey twisted her fingers in her lap, and Jay placed his hand over hers, stilling her.
"I've done things I'm not proud of, Jay. Crossed lines that I shouldn't have—I know that." Her voice shook. "But...this was different. And—ah—after your message about finding Kim came over the radio, I did manage to convince him to bring Roy in. But when Voight went to untie him, Roy grabbed his gun. I didn't have a choice—it was either shoot Roy, or let Roy shoot Voight."
"So you shot Roy."
Hailey nodded. She sniffed and used the sleeve of her red flannel to wipe at her nose. "I don't know what Voight did with—ah—his body…he wouldn't tell me. Said I didn't need another secret."
Jay squashed his annoyance, his anger. "I know where," he said. Hailey's head snapped up. "I followed Voight tonight. Out to a field in—"
"Wait, wait!" Hailey scrambled. "May-maybe Voight was right. Maybe I shouldn't know."
"Hailey." He shook his head. "I won't tell you if you really don't wanna know, but I think it's important that we have all the facts so we can be prepared."
Hailey stayed silent and enclosed his hand in both of hers, holding it in her lap. Her thumb swept over his skin, and she slowly traced a line between some of his freckles—something she used to do to tease him, but he knew better now. He'd been woken by her delicate fingers dancing across his back, across his chest, more times than he could count. He thinks it calms her, somehow.
"We?" she eventually said. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks puffy, and yet she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever known.
He pressed his forehead to hers, and said, "We."
thank you for reading! i haven't written anything in months, but that damn promo for 9x04 finally got the wheels turning. this is probably so so self-indulgent, but it's what i've got and i hope y'all liked it.
title from 'ivy' by taylor swift