A/N: I was rewatching the episode where Al is killed, and this idea popped into my head (and then it took on a life of its own). We never got to see or hear how Erin reacted to Al's death on the show, but I'd imagine she'd feel incredibly guilty since she's the one who asked Al to help her move the body. This is my take on what happened when she found out.


Erin sat on the edge of her bed, holding a pill bottle in her hands, turning it round and round. Today had been the day of Alvin Olinsky's funeral, and yet she was in New York rather than Chicago. She thought back to the day that Hank had called her to tell her about Al's arrest.

"Hank! Hey; I wasn't expecting you to call today. What's up?" she'd answered cheerfully. Calls from Hank always made the day better. He was her last tie to Chicago. Bunny had died of an overdose a year ago; found in an alley by some homeless man. Teddy had taken off after that, blaming Erin for Bunny's death, and she hadn't heard from him since.

"Erin," Hank's voice had a weight to it that she hadn't heard in a long time, instantly letting Erin know something was wrong. "Al was arrested today. They're charging him with the murder of Kevin Bingham."

"What?" Erin exclaimed. "They can't do that! He's innocent. What evidence do they have?"

"They found his DNA on the body, Erin," Hank replied. "A grand jury chose to indict him, and IA came to the bullpen today and arrested him."

Erin remained quiet for a moment as the news sunk in and she was hit with a wave of guilt. She knew why Al's DNA was found on the body, and it was her fault. She'd called Al that night; she'd asked him for his help with moving the body. She sunk to the floor of her kitchen, still gripping her phone tightly in her hand. This was all her fault.

"Erin? Are you still there?" Hank asked, concerned.

"I'm here," she replied, fighting to maintain control of her emotions. "Hank, what are we going to do?"

"You're going to stay in New York and keep doing exactly what you've been doing," Hank informed her, his tone revealing to Erin that there was no point in arguing. "This isn't your problem, Erin. It's mine. I'm going to take care of it."

"How?" Erin asked, her voice rough with unshed tears.

"I'm taking care of it. That's all you need to know," Hank stated.

The next time she'd heard from Hank was when he'd called her with the news that Al was dead, stabbed by another prisoner. She'd held it together while she was on the phone with Hank, as she'd been at the office at the time, but the minute they'd hung up, she'd gone home under the guise of being sick, and had cried until there were no tears left to cry.

She'd tried to fight the urge at first; she really had. But she couldn't; she didn't have enough strength to resist. She'd called up one of her CIs under the guise of needing information about a dealer for a case she was working on, and had purchased Percocet.

She'd taken two pills that first night, just enough to take the edge off and make her feel better. The next morning, she'd called in sick and raided both her liquor cabinet and the pill bottle. Hank had called that morning with the details of Al's funeral, but she'd let it go to voicemail, knowing that the minute she answered the phone, Hank would know she was drunk.

She'd called in sick the following day, as well. She'd been high, trying to chase the relief she'd felt that first night. She hadn't found it. Even high, she was wracked with guilt. First Nadia, then Bunny, and now Al. Everyone she cared about ended up dead or hating her. And it was all her fault.

She wondered if things would be different had she never left Chicago. She hated New York, hated the bureaucracy of the FBI, hated that she had no one here. She wondered if she would have been the one thrown in jail instead of Al had she remained in Chicago. She wondered if Bunny would still be alive, if she and Teddy would still be on speaking terms.

Erin was sure that everyone back in Chicago hated her now. She'd left without saying goodbye, and then she'd gotten Alvin killed. Even in New York she was still screwing everything up for the team that had been a family to her.

She put the pill bottle down and picked up the picture that had been sitting on her nightstand since she moved in two years ago. It was a picture of her with Jay, Kim, Ruzek, Atwater, Antonio, Al, and Hank. It had been taken shortly before she left Chicago and was a constant reminder of what she'd left behind. She knew it would be easier if she'd put the picture away and never looked at it again, but she felt as though she deserved the pain of the constant reminder.

She threw the picture frame across the room, watching as it hit the wall, the glass shattering and the shards falling onto the floor. It was appropriate, considering that her life had shattered into just as many pieces.

She let the tears that had been gathering in her eyes fall freely then, no longer bothering trying to hold them back. Grabbing the pill bottle again, she walked into the kitchen, grabbing her cell phone off the counter before heading back to her bedroom. She paused as she walked by the shards of glass, wondering what would happen if she picked one up and used it to slice her wrists. It would be easier, after all. And it's not like anyone would miss her…

She slipped her phone into her pocket, bending down and picking a piece up. She stood back up, fingering it, debating before continuing to the bathroom and running water in the tub. She set the shard of glass on the bathroom counter and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts until she found the name that she was looking for.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end answered.

"I can't do it anymore," she whispered. "It's all my fault."

"Erin? What are you talking about? What's going on?"

"I can't live with the guilt anymore. Nadia's dead and it's my fault. Bunny is dead and it's my fault. And now Al is dead and it's my fault. I can't do it anymore. I just can't," Erin cried.

"Erin! Talk to me. What do you mean you can't do it anymore?"

She slid into the tub, having stripped down to her underwear. She held her phone in one hand and the pill bottle in the other. "Tell Hank that I'm sorry. I tried to fight it, but I can't anymore. Tell him…tell him that I did it because I can't hurt anymore," she sobbed before dropping the phone to the floor.

With a shuddering breath, Erin emptied the remaining contents of the bottle into her hand. She stared at them for a moment before putting her hand to her mouth and swallowing them. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

The voice on the other side of the phone continued calling for her. "Erin! Erin, answer me, damn it! Someone call 911!"

She let the empty pill bottle fall from her hand, landing beside her phone on the rug outside the tub before leaning her head back and closing her eyes, waiting for the darkness to overtake her; waiting for it all to end.