Sitting back in bed, unable to fall back asleep and staring up at the ceiling fan as it spins on its highest setting is what her early mornings typically consists of until it's a reasonable hour for her to give up on falling back to sleep and get out of bed. Her eyes fall to the digital clock beside her bed, the time flashes in red, it's a few minutes after nine in the morning. She had stared at the ceiling fan and zoned out for almost two hours. She's already bored out of her mind and the day hadn't even truly started yet. Erin hears movement out in the hall, assuming it's Jay probably returning from his morning run. He's now started to consistently take two a day, once in the morning and once after dinner. She only joins him for the after-dinner run. Erin remains in bed, hands clasped over her stomach as the ceiling fan above her head spins so fast that a part of her fears it'll drop on top of her. Just based on the way it's shaking has her sitting up and reaching even higher to pull the string to lower its setting, she pulls it twice because the first pull turned it off.
Erin sits back in the comfiest position she discovered this morning, pillows fluffed up behind her head, legs beneath the warm comforter and her hands reclasped back over her tummy. She shuts her eyes, wiling, begging sleep to come back, at least for another hour or two, but nothing happens, she remains awake yet again. It's no point in even trying on going back to sleep. It won't work. She throws the covers off her legs and moves to sit up in bed, throwing her legs over the side to face the bedroom closet that only occupies her empty suitcase. She's impatient for the day where Jay tells her to pack up because they're going back to Chicago. It cannot come fast enough.
She reaches for her sketchpad, the one that she'd used mostly back home and not the one she's been using since she arrived. She flips through the pages, the dates going as far back as when she started drawing in this book. It's worn. The leather binder holding the pages together is starting to wear thin but that just adds vintage to the book. It was her first sketchbook she'd ever received, getting it from her parents after her fifteenth birthday when they discovered a binder of loose-leaf paper filled with doodles, sketches, outlines and drawings. She flipped to another page, thumb grazing the outline of her mother's chin so smoothly as she recalled the day she sketched this image. It was the day of her brother's birthday and her mom was in the kitchen making his favorite meal, complaining about how she's been slaving over a hot stove and her kids were letting out the good, cool air. It's a side profile of her mother's face, including her shortened ponytail which was cut after her mother claimed to be going through menopause. She was, in fact, not going through menopause at the time. Erin felt her eyes tear up as she wondered about what her mother would be thinking now if she was alive. She'd probably shake her head and tsk because her kid of all people had to be the one at the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessing something so tragic and scary that she had to be shipped away to Montana with no contact from her family at all. That was a possibility, but the most realistic one was for her mother to practically force herself into coming along too.
Damn, she missed her mom. A little bit more right now than usual.
Erin flips the page, knowing that trail of thought doesn't end anywhere good and she lands on a sketch of her dad. The hard lines on his face contrasting with his youthful eyes cemented on the page a little over ten years ago. It was before he became sergeant and hardened by the decisions he's made and the many investigations he's conducted. He still has that hard exterior, unable to smile for her sketch even with prompting but that just added to his charm and character. She missed him now too, but the only difference between missing him versus her mom is she can actually call him. She slams the sketchbook shut and looks up, adding on to the end of her last thought, -if given the chance. She is not the sole decision maker here, regardless of the fact that she's an adult and she's not a prisoner, she does not get to make the decision of how and when contact is allowed between them. It sucks and she knows it's for her safety but that doesn't mean she won't pout about it. All of this really fucking sucks.
She pulls herself out of her head, it's only so much time she wants to spend in there, and she leaves the bedroom, making a pitstop at the bathroom to wash her face, brush her teeth and just stare at her reflection for a few seconds, scrutinizing the blemishes in her appearance created by the amount of stress she's experienced in the last week. She splashes water onto her face and then reaches for the nearest towel to dry her hands. She sets it back down and then hits the lights in the bathroom as she leaves, moving down the hall in the opposite direction of her bedroom.
"Good morning Jay," she greeted, entering the kitchen and going straight for the freshly brewed coffee; she doesn't wait for him to say it back before she's posing the question she'd been contemplating since her eyes opened this morning, "When do you think I can call home? Talk to my dad? Even if it's just for a few minutes, seconds even."
"I don't have an answer for you just yet," he admits, sipping his coffee, "but I'll let you know when I do. It's just very hectic back in Chicago right now and with you safe here, their priority back home isn't initiating secure and direct contact between you and your dad." He hates to admit it but it's the truth. With her miles away, being protected by a federal agent, their top priority is the case, it's not finding a time and day to schedule Voight to come into the office to speak to his daughter. As harsh as it sounds, it's the truth and she deserved to know it.
Erin doesn't push the topic despite her annoyance to do so, it's just the two of them here and she'd rather not be irritated by the one person she has for company. Instead, she focuses on adding sugar and milk to her coffee to get it just right before clasping the warm mug in both hands and turning to face him, hoping that she gets a better answer to her next question, "Do you think we can go for a ride around the area? We don't have to get out of the car or anything."
"Anything we do that leaves the property of the state perimeter surrounding this cabin, we have to get approval for," he admits, purposely avoiding her eyes so he doesn't see the disappointment in them, "we have three miles around this home, most of it is undriveable."
"I want to explore," she argued after taking a sip of her morning brew, "I want to do something."
"It's plenty to do around here."
"…like what? And don't say watch television, exercise or board games!"
"You can draw," she rolls her eyes at that predictable answer before he starts attempting to throw out other solutions, "there's also cooking, cleaning," she not only rolls her eyes again but she follows it up with a sigh, "you can read, reorganize the food cabinets, try meditation, it's plenty."
He doesn't get it fully and maybe that's his personality or the introvert in him that can thrive in this type of environment but that's not her. It's why she's so good at bartending. She's an extrovert through and through, and she needs the social connection, the dialogue, the change in hobby, something to fill her days with besides the same old same old activity. She finishes off her coffee and sets her mug in the sink, not bothering to give it a second look despite its need to be cleaned.
"I'm feeling like a prisoner, Jay, and I don't want to make your job difficult but just as we discussed yesterday, I'm getting cabin fever and the only cure for it is getting out of this cabin."
Erin turns to leave, her sock clad feet nearly slipping and sliding on the hardwood floor when she turns a little too fast. She steadies her balance after her hand hastily reaches out for the countertop. She hopes he didn't see that near tumble because she's trying to walk away with a purpose and that'll simply ruin her sulky mood. She wraps her arms around her waist and thinks that maybe if she lays in bed, she can try to get another nap in, maybe sleep in until around lunch time, but when his hand stops at her shoulder and he tugs to turn her around, she can see based on his facial expression that the nap will have to wait, "I'm working," he announces out of nowhere and based on the look Erin gives him, he can tell she's not following along, "I'm not here to have fun. This isn't a vacation, Erin, for either of us so I'd really appreciate it if you can meet me halfway and not make this job more difficult than it already is."
She rips her shoulder from beneath his hand and steps away from him, "You don't think I know you're working and that this isn't a vacation? I don't need that reminder. I know you're only here for a job, I know I'm just a responsibility, I'm a government paycheck to you, I know that! I know the sole purpose of you keeping me alive is so I can testify in court. I'm also painstakingly aware that this is the opposite of a vacation, that I was flown miles away from my home to go into hiding because men that I don't even know want me dead, I know that and I keep thinking about that and doing nothing only makes me think about it more so I'm sorry if I'm nervous and thought filling my days with something to do will take my mind off of the fact that they hunted down and killed their last witness and will most likely hunt me down and kill me too," she shouts, voice trembling and betraying her wish to hold herself together, "I'm scared," she surmises in absolute defeat.
Jay didn't expect any of that. He turns away from her, his back facing her temporarily so he can set his empty mug down in the sink next to hers. He wasn't great with words. He was even less great with cheering people up, but knowing no one is here or will be here, he has to step up and try because the alternative is to leave her feeling like this and that was out of the question.
"Erin," he calls her name as he takes a step towards her, "I get it," by the furrow of her brow, he can tell she doubts that he truly gets it, "I'm scared too," he admits.
And she scoffs, a bitter laugh that comes out unintentionally, "That's the last thing I want to hear from a guy that's getting paid to protect me. That's doing the opposite of making me feel better."
"Just hear me out," he waits for her to finish before chiming back in, "I'm nervous too. I'm scared as well, but that'll only make me better at my job. It keeps me aware; it keeps me on my toes. I can't get too comfortable or complacent because then my guard will be down. And despite how I feel, just know, I'm going to protect you. I have your front, your back and both of your sides, I just need you to work with me here. We have to work together," he takes another step towards her, "I don't want to make things difficult, or make you go crazy during your time here, that's not what I want at all, but there is a protocol we must adhere to and it's in place to keep you safe."
Her shoulders relax and for the first time this morning, she finds comfort in his words.
"There has to be some type of middle ground though, right?"
"…pertaining to things to do?" and when she nods, he reveals a small grin, "if there isn't we'll try to find one. The list I assigned you to write yesterday, how's it going?"
"I finished it."
"Well go get it," he waves off for her to go to her room, "it's not doing either one of us any good by collecting dust in your bedroom." By the grin on her face, he can now feel his own shoulders relaxing. And in the time, it takes for her to leave the kitchen, go to her bedroom and tear the page out of her notebook, he utilizes that moment to think back on the last few days, knocking his hand upside his head to clear his foggy thoughts, approaching inappropriate territory. He wants to see her smile because he's a human being with a heart. He wants to keep her safe because it's his job and the bigger picture is locking the men that are after her away for the rest of their life. He wants her to be happy because they'll be staying with each other for six months, and it'll be in both of their best interests to make sure the one person they'll be rooming with can avoid bad moods. He tells himself that, over and over again, on repeat, until she's placing the list down on the island separating the two of them once again.
Halstead stared down at the sheet, listing approximately 38 activities Erin hopes to do while she's stuck miles away from home. He appreciated the fact that she numbered each one so he didn't have to count, however after just giving the list a brief scan, he knew it was unrealistic for them to knock out everything listed. He uncreased the edge of the torn-out piece of paper and flattened it to the best of his ability before hovering his phone above it and capturing a photo. It was to be sent off to his boss via secure email for approval. If it was up to him, he'd take her, but it wasn't. It was a full team back in Chicago that was to make this decision.
"What do you think?" He hears the hesitance in her tone. He'd forgotten she was standing on the other side of the kitchen island. He looks up, appearing almost startled before he clears his throat.
"It's definitely a lot of things on here I know we'll get approval for," he starts.
And she picks up on him needing to say more, "But-" she probes.
"…but there are also probably an equal number of things they'll reject," he admits that he feels a little bad when he sees her shoulders deflate, "but let's not jump the gun," he's quick to rectify, hoping that his words ease her disappointment, "my boss back home will assign someone to look over your list and cross check every activity with the nearest place it can be done in reference to our location. If it's too far, we won't be able to do it. If it's likely it'll be crowded, we won't be able to do it. And if it's deemed as high risk or unsafe, we can't do it. That's the only criteria."
Erin nods and peers forward to look down at the list, squinting her eyes at her barely legible handwriting and wondering faintly in the back of her mind how he was able to read this without assistance, "So, if you had to guess, what's one activity they'll probably reject?"
"Staying at a dude ranch," he points out the 37th item on her list, "anywhere that requires staying overnight someplace outside of the safe house will be declined," he states simply before following it up by the shift of his finger to number 29, "and that includes camping unless you want it to happen in the backyard," she shakes her head and he grins, "I didn't think so."
She bites down on her bottom lip and whispers, "I'm from the city," she announces as if he didn't know, "and I figured if I'm in Montana of all places, I should take advantage of it. I tried to think of some touristy things to do and since this is such a nature state, I figured those would be good options," she shrugs and then turns away from the paper, casually admitting defeat, "but I get it if it's asking for too much. I've already taken you away from your friends and family just so you can babysit me all on the government's dime. I should be more appreciative of it."
Jay circles the kitchen island and reaches for her arm, "Hey," his hand circles her upper arm and gently, he tugs her towards him, encouraging her to face him, "we've both equally been displaced. You didn't ask to be here either. You didn't ask to witness a double homicide," her face winces resulting in a cringe covering his expression because for a guy that doesn't like to talk much, he makes it perfectly clear as to why that is, he doesn't think he's capable of saying the right words and if he does then it's just dumb luck, "sorry, I should probably use gentler words but my point is, all of this is asking for a lot from you. You didn't plan to be here. You went to work that day and left with the assumption that the rest of your week would be just the same. It's a huge adjustment, anyone will feel the same, so it's no point in being hard on yourself."
With his hand still gently grasping her upper arm, she covered his hand with her own, patting it appreciatively, "Thanks Jay, I didn't realize how much I needed to hear that…until now."
"No problem," the cheesy grin he displays for her brings a matching one to her own face, "so I saw bake a cake as number 23 on your list," he allows the implication to fill the air for a few seconds before continuing, "and we have the ingredients," he nods towards the fridge, "and we don't have to leave to do it, so what do you say to teaching me how to bake a cake from scratch?"
Halstead steps back, waiting for instruction, as he plays the role of sous chef in the baking process. Erin gave a brief warning that her cakes never turn out as well as her cookies but that's because she never follows a recipe and because she hardly makes them. However, she hopes with his partnership that they can crank something out that's at least halfway decent and edible. Erin lines all of the needed ingredients up on the counter and then looks over at him, as if waiting for instruction, "You're in charge, I'm waiting for your command."
"Oh," she says surprisingly, "okay," she moves to the oven to preheat it, and then reaches for the ingredients she'll assign him to utilize, "combine these wet items into that bowl." He doesn't question it, he simply nods and goes to complete his task while she works with the dry ingredients.
Moving through the kitchen, practically in sync, as they did their best to recreate a strawberry cake using actual strawberries they had in the fridge -Jay's idea because they were set to go bad in a few days- and the second two round pans are placed on the rack in the oven and the timer above the stove is set, the two of them sigh in relief that the hard part is done. The easy part comes once the timer goes off and that's decorating and then eating it.
"Want to knock out one of those puzzles until the cake is done?"
Erin stands in surprise, not necessarily at him offering to do another activity, but more so when she sees the time being two hours before noon and realizing that he hasn't questioned or tried to force them to have breakfast before dessert. Maybe he hadn't noticed? If he didn't, she wasn't going to be the one to point it out. Erin nods just as he sets the one-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle down on the coffee table. She lifts the box top to look at what the image will eventually become and then her eyes widen when she looks down at all of the mixed and overlapping puzzle pieces.
Erin takes a seat, legs crisscrossed on the floor and Jay takes a seat next to her, only his own legs are stretched out beneath the coffee table. The puzzle will face them so choosing to sit side by side will make it a little easier than it would have been with someone having to do it upside down. Jay grabs a corner edge and places it in the center, "How good are you with puzzles?"
"I'm not sure because I don't do them," she admits, lifting an end piece and trying to connect it, however when it doesn't fit another piece she lifts, she sets them both down. This is going to take forever. This is why he says there is plenty to do. She lifts another piece and before attempting that one, she looks over at him, "What about you?"
"I've done a few throughout the years. Never one with all of these pieces."
Silently, and just as in sync like they were baking in the kitchen, they attempt to connect puzzle pieces, some work, but most don't, not even a fraction of it is done before the timer in the kitchen goes off. Jay offers to take the pans out of the oven to cool while she attempts to connect another two pieces, and by the time he's back, he's found that not only has she connected two pieces but she found the matching one to the piece he'd been looking for moments ago. Proudly, like a child filled with glee, she looks up at him, holding the two pieces up for him to see himself.
"Good job," he complimented, retaking his seat next to her. He takes a hold of the two pieces and sets them down on the opposite end of the table, "I say we give the cake a couple of minutes and then start putting it together," he says just as a loud boom surrounds the cabin. Her head swivels to face him just he says, "I'll go see what the noise was."
Erin does not, she mentally repeats, does not want to be left alone. When he stands up, she does too. The thought of working on the puzzle being the last thing on her mind. She stays close behind him when a rumble fills the room. He comes to an abrupt stop but she doesn't stop in time, she merely runs into the back of him, "Sorry," she whispers when he looks back at her.
Jay gets to the front door of the cabin, throwing that open first before unlocking the screen door and pushing that partially open next. He pokes his head out and notices the fallen branches up ahead. He looks back at her, her hands clinging to the back of his shirt and the teasing grin that fills his expression has her loosening her grip, "It's a storm coming," he pushes the screen door open enough to walk out and she follows, "a few large branches fell," he nods towards the ones sprawled out not only on the grass but the ones that hit the porch too, "it looks like whatever is coming our way isn't going to be pretty. It's barely noon and the sky is as dark as night."
Erin looks up, noticing the darkened clouds filling with heavy rain and knowing that pretty soon the sky will open up and release a downpour. The wind is strong, whipping her loose strands of hair that fell out of her ponytail in the direction the wind blows it, forcing her to constantly push it behind her ears. Erin moves further outside, loving the feel of the wind and safety from the elements the porch gives her now that drizzles of rain fall out of the sky. It's comforting, peaceful in a sense to see the vengeance of the sky wreak havoc on the land beneath it. The tops of the trees blow in the wind, a few more branches fall, and leaves fly off their stems. This weather helps to clear her mind and when he moves to stand beside her, his shoulder nearing bumping and brushing against hers, she stares ahead and says, "Tell me a secret."
It catches him off guard, but what surprises him even more is the fact that he answers without pushback, without immediately shutting her down or changing the subject. He tells her a secret from ages ago, one that if it comes out now, it would suffer no consequences.
"I wasn't that good when it came to academics," he started, tucking his hands into his front pockets and leaving his thumbs exposed, "my grades got so bad once, I was pulled from the football team and had to get monthly progress reports," he cringed at the recollection of this event, knowing that the only other person that knows this story is his brother, "the progress reports would discuss how I'm doing in class, my current grades and what I need to do to bring them up, and at the end of every month when I was sent home with my progress report, I was supposed to bring it back at the beginning of the next month with one of my parent's signatures. I, of course, being the disciplined child that I was," he says jokingly, "I made sure they never found out about any of my progress reports and would have my brother forge one of their signatures. His handwriting was better than my chicken scratch," his eyes avert towards the deck of the porch when he adds in the last part, "my mother never found out and she died so she never will find out. My dad had no idea either. I knew if they found out, they'd be disappointed, I told myself I was protecting them and I swore Will to secrecy, he promised to take the secret to his grave. Looking back now, it's nothing either of them could do about it but at the time, oh my gosh, it felt like it would have been the end of the world if they'd found out. This was going on for two years before I finally got my grades back up and was able to play football again."
"How did you explain not playing to your parents during that time? And what about your quarterly report cards? They had to know something was up when they saw that."
He shrugged, "I told them I wasn't interested anymore in football and wanted a break. And as for the report card, some grades I managed to bring up by the end of the quarter and as for the other grades, I'd come up with some kind of excuse. Either I forgot about an assignment, my teacher is a hard ass and completely unreasonable, everybody got similar grades or some other bullshit."
"…and they believed it?"
"I guess," he chuckles, "if they didn't, they would have called me out on it. They never did," he pulls his attention from the ground and over to her, "and what about you? Tell me a secret."
"I should have known the tables would turn," Erin chuckles, walking over to take a seat on the porch swing; Jay follows and sits next to her, "okay, a secret, a secret," she whispers to herself as the drizzling rain turns into a downpour, "Okay, I have one. Only the people involved knows about this. No one else. No one knows this, not even my best friend so when I tell you this, you have to swear to take it to your grave."
Jay raises his pinky finger, "I pinky promise." It earns her a grin. She wraps her own pinky around his and then they shake on it, "Okay, so let me hear the good stuff."
"When I was a junior in high school, my best friend at the time was dating some guy who ended up moving to South Carolina because his dad got some job promotion," Erin looks up at the falling rain as she reminiscences back to that time, "it was her first love, blah blah, you know how it goes and she missed him and wanted to visit him for a weekend but she didn't want to go alone. Spring break came and we told my parents I'll be staying at her house for a few days and we told her parents we'd be staying at my house. So, to make a long story short, two teenagers went to South Carolina unsupervised for two days to visit my friend's boyfriend who ended up dumping her a month later. My friend and I swore each other to secrecy and other than my mother finding out, no one else ever did, especially my dad. You met him, even as briefly as you did, you know if he found out about this back when it happened, I probably would still be grounded today."
"How'd your mom find out?"
Erin shrugs, "I have no idea. She wouldn't tell me. I just know she found out a month later, around the time the guy dumped my friend. When I asked her, she says a mother just knows and that I can't run a fast one on her. I was on my best behavior the rest of that school year because I was damn near convinced, she had someone tailing me," she laughs. Her eyes glaze over at the thought of her mom, she missed her so much, "She lectured me almost every day. She even grounded me and my dad had no clue. I promised to never do something like that again and she promised not to tell my dad. She pinky promised me," Erin whispered, thinking back to the recent pinky promise she made with Jay, "she'd always say you can't break a pinky promise and she didn't, she-" a pause in her speech gives her a moment to collect herself, "she took that secret to her grave."
The storm picks up. The thunder becomes louder, the lightning becomes brighter, the wind becomes stronger and the rain falls even harder. When they go back inside, one of them would need to turn on the weather channel just to stay updated on the storm, especially on the predicted severity of it and how long it is intended to last. Jay hears Erin sniffle, even over the weather, he hears it and chances a look out of his peripheral vision. She's not crying, there isn't a tear descending down her cheek but with the constant sniffling, he knows that they will soon come if she continues to think about whatever is currently plaguing her thoughts. She needs a distraction, something that'll at least hinder the threatening tears from coming. The atmosphere was tense and the humidity in the air didn't seem to help at all. If he knew asking for a secret would lead to this, he wouldn't have asked. It was him that wanted to hear and for that, he felt it was his responsibility to change the lingering mood surrounding them.
"Do you want to hear a fun fact?" He spits out randomly.
Based on the small smile that covers her face as she peers out into the cloudy skies, he knows he managed to distract her, even if just a little, "Sure."
"Montana has more cows than people," this particular fun fact was not only interesting but random and she turns around to face him with the obvious question lingering behind her gaze, "I'd say google it but you might have to wait six months to do so," he cracks and she appreciates the light tone in his voice, he's getting comfortable with her, "but it's true, and what's even more interesting is if you consider the fact that out of the 50 states, it's the fourth largest in size but is the forty-fourth largest when it comes to population."
"How do you just know this? I thought you didn't do good in school," she eyes him suspiciously.
He shrugs, "I excelled at history. I can't say the same for everything else and besides, I know my states," he says it so nonchalantly as if it's common.
"Oh yeah, well," she thinks to herself, "tell me a fun fact about Nevada," she names randomly.
"…at least make it hard," he chuckles before spewing out a fun fact, "the federal government owns majority of the land in Nevada. I can't say the exact percentage but it's more than half."
"Texas?"
"…has the best barbecue."
"That's an opinion," she argues.
"You obviously haven't tried Texas barbecue before," he responds, using his feet to slowly swing them back and forth, "Are you just going to be throwing random states at me?"
"Yes, now what about New Mexico?"
"Every year they hold the world's largest international hot air balloon festival."
Erin slowly shakes her head side to side in disbelief before throwing out another, "Virginia."
"It's home to the Pentagon which is the largest office building in the world. It's huge."
"Rhode Island."
"It's smaller than the Grand Canyon."
"The United States."
He laughs, "…now you're throwing out countries?"
"We have to end it with a grand finale. Make it interesting."
"The US has nearly 800 known military bases around the world however there are no foreign military bases in the US. And it's more than any country or empire has ever had in history."
"I said interesting, Jay. The average American that has stayed awake in history class knows that."
"Okay, fine. How about this one? Some years ago, the Library of Congress signed an agreement with Twitter which allowed them to archive all public tweets from opinion threads, to stories, to rants, to talks about the weather, to celebrity updates and articles to life updates of your average person. After the agreement, they were given a backlog of tweets starting from the creation of Twitter but in past years the Library of Congress decided to no longer archive every tweet but instead archive only those on a selective basis. Is that interesting enough?"
Silently, she nods. Mouth agape as she thinks about that archive and the past tweets she made when she actually used her account. She doubts it was anything too bad or embarrassing; she mostly liked posts or retweeted others' opinions on the app. She hardly wrote anything herself.
Jay clears his throat before she can think too hard about it, "the storm is getting pretty strong, how about we head back inside," he pats her thigh and rises to his feet, extending his hand towards her, "I know the cake has cooled and the second we decorate it, we can have a slice for breakfast." So, he did notice they haven't eaten an actual meal yet. She grins, taking his offered hand and allowing him to pull her up to her feet before dropping their hands and leading him back into the cabin. She wanted to finish this cake so she can cut the two of them their own big slice before he changes his mind.