Erin shoots up, eyes snapping open and heart pounding from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She tries to catch her breath. She's drenched in a cold sweat. Looking around the room, suspicious and paranoid that the subject of her nightmare had found her in real life, she finds herself sighing in relief when she realizes she's safe, or at least as safe as she can be right now.
It felt so real. It practically was real. The two men that chased her in her nightmare had the faces of the two men that wants her dead.
There's a soft glow of morning light shining through the window. She'd forgotten to close the curtains last night but as her pulse steadies and her shoulders relax, she's grateful they're still open, finding a peace at the sight of the morning dew pressed against the window.
"Get it together, Erin," she tells herself despite it being easier said than done. It's been less than 24 hours since she was hiding for her life, since the lives of two others were taken in front of her.
"It was just a nightmare," she reminds herself despite the fact it was based somewhat on reality. It was a scary dream with hints of real life sprinkled into it.
Erin throws the covers off her legs and cautiously, she gets up, arms crossing and hands moving to rub her arms up and down in an effort to generate some heat. She rapidly blinks, trying to fully awaken before turning to look in the mirror hung above her dresser. She looks exhausted. She covers her face with her hands, "Ugh," she groans because a part of her is still a little tired but she knew she was too on edge to get another minute of sleep. She drags her palms down her face, pulling and stretching her skin as they slide down, "Ugh," she drops her hands and straightens up.
She needs a shower to wash away the sweat and the vestiges of the horror that haunted her in her sleep. She needs a hot shower to loosen her muscles, to help kickstart the first official day of whatever this is, "Get it together, Erin," once again, she tells herself this yet it doesn't help much.
After leaving her room, she grabs a towel and a washcloth from the hallway closet before heading to the hallway bathroom located dead center between their bedrooms. She has the towel thrown over her shoulder and the washcloth laying on top of it. She's in her pajamas -a tank top and shorts that can barely be called shorts- and if she's quick enough she wouldn't have to worry about him seeing her, if she gets into the bathroom and shuts the door in time, she wouldn't have to be concerned about him seeing her in such disarray: hair wild, pajamas wrinkled and tired eyes.
But, if the last 24 hours was anything to go by, luck wasn't on her side because just as she used the sides of her fists to rub the sleep from her eyes, the bathroom door flew open and a body slammed into hers, nearly knocking her off her feet, "Be careful," he remarks just as his hands wrap around her waist to steady her, "you have to watch where you're going."
"Says the guy that bumped into me," is her quick retort.
"Well," he drops his hands from her waist and takes a step back, putting an appropriate amount of distance between the two of them just as Erin realizes that he must have just finished taking a shower, he was wet and shirtless, "it's hard to see where you're going if you're rubbing your fists against your eyes," his hand moves to the towel wrapped around his waist, pulling her attention towards it as he holds it where it's tied and connected to make sure it stays up and he stays covered.
Erin finds herself trapped in a reverie that she can't break out of. Her gaze is locked in on his hand tightening around the knot he tied around the towel. She's focused but at the same time she isn't.
"Hey," his voice snaps her out of it and she looks up to meet his eyes, clearly embarrassed from zoning out, "Good morning to you too," the grin he gives her is his attempt to break the ice but it doesn't work, it's too early and she's still a bit too on edge from her nightmare.
"Good morning," she says it back. It's whispered. And if it wasn't so quiet in the cabin, then he probably wouldn't have heard it. Her gaze falls back down, this time to the floor rather than to his chest or his towel and it takes him clearing his throat for her to look back up, "the uh, the bathroom is all yours," his thumb points over his shoulder into the direction of the bathroom, "I'll get out of your way and I'll make us some breakfast after I get dressed."
She doesn't stick around any longer for this to become even more awkward. She moves around him, shutting the bathroom door behind her and sighing in relief the second she hears the door down the hall close. He's back in his room. Hopefully he stays there, at least until she gets back to her own room. This is a moment where she wishes she had her cell phone to turn on some music as she moved the knob to hot and waited for the water to heat up. The shower isn't anything special and the one she took last night had felt ten times better, probably because after such a long day it felt good to have the heated water beat against her tense muscles. She runs her fingers through her hair, scrubbing the shampoo into her scalp in an effort to cleanse herself of all she's been through in the last 24 hours. It doesn't feel like it's enough.
Time appears to be fleeting because it had felt like she'd just hopped into the shower when the water was turning cold and it was time for her to hop out. She has to be quick to wash the rest of the soap off her body, to finish combing the conditioner through her hair before washing it out. She doesn't know if its because they're in the middle of nowhere or if it's because of the shower Jay had taken before her, but the water barely managed to give her a comfortable shower for longer than ten minutes. She can't really use the night before as a measurement because she practically showered for five minutes to wash the grime from her hair and body before throwing on pajamas and passing out the second her head hit the pillow.
Erin wraps a towel around her body and chooses to leave her hair out to air dry, to drip down her back and dampen the once dry towel. She leaves her toiletry bag behind because it's no point in bringing it with her. And she grabs her discarded pajamas, opens the door, and turns off the light just as she steps out and collides with another body, his body, but this time he's fully dressed and she isn't. Not again. He reaches out to steady her when she nearly falls over from the impact of his body hitting hers, "We uh," he steps back, dropping his arms from her waist, "we have got to stop meeting like this," humor is her method of distraction, her way of taking away the awkwardness.
He doesn't respond, choosing instead to nod and proceed to walk around her.
"Tough crowd," she mutters to herself. She heads to her room. She gets dressed.
Leggings and a tank top, it's what she packed the most of in her suitcase. She foregoes a bra, if she isn't leaving the house anytime soon, it's no point in being uncomfortable and walking around wearing one. It's the first day of what will be the worse time of her life and after reaching for her sketchpad, tucking it under her arm and grabbing her small case of pencils, she heads out of her bedroom. She has a feeling either drawing, sleeping, eating or watching television will be how she spends majority of her time here.
"Perfect timing," his voice carries as she enters the room. Maybe it's the windows or the open floor plan but his voice sounds much louder than what she's used to hearing from him, "I just finished up with breakfast," he nods towards the table; their food is already plated, "I made spinach omelets. It's a signature of mine."
Erin sits her sketchpad and pencils atop the bar top as she moves towards the neatly plated breakfast. Spinach omelets and a bowl of fruit, she looks up at him as he cleans the dishes he used to make breakfast. If she's going to be isolated in a cabin for months, at least she doesn't have to worry about eating her weight in food or living in a pigsty. This guy is fit and seems to actually care about keeping things tidy. He shuts off the faucet, dries the pan and places it back where he got it. He's probably the first guy she's met that cleans because he wants to, that actually desires to keep his surroundings tidy. That says a lot about the men she's associated with in the past.
"So," he dries his hand on a dish towel before looking up to meet her gaze, "let's dig in before it gets too cold." He sounds eager. Maybe he's a foodie like her? One can only wish because if he wasn't then he'd surely judge her for the amount of times she eats per day.
She moves closer to the table, choosing to occupy the nearest seat.
"This looks," Erin rotates the plate in front of her to gaze upon it from all angles, "really healthy."
The fork in Jay's hand stops in its quest towards his mouth. The bite of omelet dangles from it, waiting to be eaten, "Surprised?" He quirks an eyebrow.
"I'm more surprised that you're actually conversing with me more than anything but as for the food, I just don't typically eat breakfast and when I do, it's probably something quick and sugary."
He lowers the fork, setting it down onto his plate, "Quick and sugary," he repeats.
"Yeah," her attention is drawn back towards her breakfast and she uses the side of her fork to cut into the omelet, "…like pop tarts. It's never anything that involves a vegetable."
He gets back to eating his food. That bite of omelet attached to his fork had cooled and was finally being eaten. Just as he swallows, he asks, "You don't like to cook?"
"It's not that. It's usually because I work evenings and typically sleep through breakfast."
"You're a bartender," he says aloud to remind himself, "that's right. Do you like it?"
Erin reaches for a slice of cantaloupe, biting into it to stall for time as she chooses the best way to answer, "It pays the bills," and that doesn't answer his question, she can tell he wants to say that just based off the look on his face, "and the tips are amazing. It's perfect for sociable people like myself. I do like it but," she sets her fork down and straightens her posture; he does the same out of respect, "after what happened, I don't know if I can go back to it. The memories, you know?"
"I get it," he turns in his seat, giving her his full, undivided attention, "I mean, what you witnessed is intense. Even the most seasoned agents haven't actually seen someone get killed in front of them. My advice to you, if you want it of course," she nods because she does, "don't hold anything in and I mean words, emotions, whatever it is. It has to come out and you want to be in charge of how it does. If you hold it in, if you try to suppress it, it'll eventually come out on its own in a way where you have no control over it whatsoever. Take it from a guy who learned the hard way."
She takes a few bites of her fruit before washing it down with the glass of water filled halfway in her cup, "I don't know how I'm feeling right now. I don't know when I'll know. I don't even know how to process it all and put it into words but when I do, what then? It's not like I can take the keys to the car and go schedule myself a therapy appointment."
"It's no pressure and you can say no of course but I'm always a good ear to listen or at least that's what I've been told," he cracks a smile, -willingly- which is a bit shocking for her. Maybe it's his way of humanizing himself, of seeming less like a robotic agent with no human emotions and more like a regular guy, a guy that she's stuck with for six months.
"I might take you up on that."
Just before he resumes eating his meal, he says, "Well, you know where I live."
The rest of their meal is eaten in silence but it doesn't bother her; it's companionable. It's comfortable. And even though he has room to loosen up a bit, she does appreciate him listening and talking to her, giving her words of advice when needed. This conversation put the largest dent in the ice, in the strangeness between the two of them because she's a bit more friendly and sociable than he is, while he does seem to be a bit shy, a little rough around the edges and hardened by the many years he's been employed as an FBI agent.
"I can wash these dishes. You already cooked and washed the pans." She offers as she stands after finishing her meal.
He doesn't argue. He simply says, "You wash, I'll dry."
She washes. He dries and puts the dish away. It's a repeated cycle until their dishes and silverware are cleaned, dried and stored.
She thanks him for cooking. She compliments his chef skills.
It earns her another smile. That much she can tell even if he's not looking in her direction, choosing instead to focus elsewhere because he is shy and it pretty much put him on the spot. He's not that great at taking compliments. She's no investigator but she is perceptive.
Jay goes to his bedroom. His door shuts behind him and she assumes their time of talking is over.
Erin moves to stand in the center of the living room, glancing from the television remote to her sketchpad trying to decide what she wants to do to pass the time. She was bored out of her mind and the things available for her to do would only manage to cure her boredom for the next hour. She goes for the remote after careful deliberation, it's not like it was much to choose from and she can always sketch when she's in her room later.
She doesn't see him but she hears his footsteps as he approaches.
"I'm going to see if anything interesting is on. You're welcomed to join me if you would like?"
"No thanks," his answer causes her to look over her shoulder, noticing a change of clothes he's sporting "It's a nice day out. I'm going to get some fresh air. I think I'm going to go on the porch, do a few stretches, sit-ups and pushups. I might even jog a few times around the cabin. It's big enough," he shrugs, "you can join me if you would like…"
Erin once contemplated between sketching and watching television and now her dilemma lies between television and working out with a very fit Agent Halstead. She looks from his outfit, his long sleeve compression t-shirt and sweatpants and her current wardrobe. She can make something work. She may didn't pack workout clothes but she did pack shoes that could make what she's wearing into workout, bra added to it of course. It looks nice outside and of course the longer she waits, the more Jay starts acting as if she's not taking forever to give him an answer. It wouldn't hurt to have a routine. It wouldn't hurt to add something to her days besides just eating, sleeping, drawing and watching television. So, with that she nods and jumps to her feet, "Give me five minutes to get ready."
"No rush," he says despite the fact that he looks impatient, "we have all the time in the world."