A/N - This has to be my fastest update! Kudos to me (yeah? no?) ;) The weather in the UK has been awful for the past few days so I've been able to just write and listen to music so this happened as a result.

I don't normally suggest a playlist for reading a chapter, but if you're into that, the following is what I listened to/was inspired by:

Let Me In - Snowmine (which is where the lyrics are taken from)

Hologram - Snowmine

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

Take Me Somewhere Nice - Mogwai


A Fairytale By Another Name

I left my shoes under your bed

But I left my body outside

How did I get back into this mess?

I kept telling myself the temptations would do me in

And they did

She makes the decision to confront Charlie about his lack of plan when she's giving Jack his first bottle of the day with the very last of his formula. It's snowing again outside, thick, heavy flakes coating everything and anything so the whole street looks like it's been swamped by an unearthly white substance, but she figures she's going to have to bundle her baby boy up so they can make the trek to the grocery store.

She can't keep doing this: living this existence where she's torn between protecting the man downstairs and supporting the one who saved her all of those years ago. Jay's done nothing to deserve this; hasn't even put up a fight but Charlie's the one who brought her in from the street so she didn't have to sell herself to buy food (and, obviously, to buy worse things) and she owes him this, she figures. Owes him blind faith because she doesn't have anything else to offer, and so she'll tell him they need to end it. Tell him too, to forget about being paid: send a message, okay, but who's it going to reach when he's holding out for money he's never going to get?

She knows a place by the silos they could hide the body. Burn it and destroy the evidence of their fingerprints. Wipe the basement clean or torch that too. It all seems entirely plausible until the thought of charred flesh jars her stomach and she vomits into the sink, Jack crying into her chest as she holds him against her so as not to cover him. Erin knows she's never been a good person, not really, but she's never been this terrible a human being before - doesn't even know if she can call herself that when she's contemplating the best way to dispose of the innocent cop in her basement.

She rinses her mouth with water, cups some into her hand so it's cold, and then wipes at her face before drying her skin with the sleeve of the plaid shirt she's wearing.

"I'm sorry baby," she whispers against Jack's head, shifting him so his crying subsides. Those words seem to be all she says to him lately. "I'm so sorry."

Maybe they move. Maybe they can just leave Jay down in the basement and the cops will find him or he'll make enough noise to alert the neighbours. They'll be long out of the city before that happens, Chicago and all of its awful truths behind them. They can make a new life somewhere nobody knows them; maybe she can even get a job in a grocery store or something. Change their names. Cut Charlie's hair - grow and dye hers too. Be decent citizens who pay taxes and get invited to neighbourhood barbeques.

It's a fantasy and she knows it.

The stairs creak signalling Charlie's presence and she waits for him to enter the kitchen. He does, pulling a hand through his hair and looking about as rough as she feels.

"We're out of formula," Erin tells him as he pours himself a mug of coffee.

He sighs but says nothing, until: "Did you cook?"

"I was hungry," she lies, more than glad that she'd had the sense to wash the dishes and pan as soon as she brought Jay's empty plate back up from the basement. She doesn't want to lie to Charlie but she knows instinctively that telling him the extent of Jay's comfort is a bad move. "You want me to make you some?"

"Nah," he replies. "I'm going to head out."

"What about Jay?"

"What about him?"

"If we're both out, he might make enough noise to get someone's attention."

"Then don't go out," Charlie says like it's the most obvious solution.

"But Jack needs formula."

He sighs again. "I'll call by the store."

"Will you…" she pauses, realising she sounds like one of those girls who's paranoid. Maybe, she figures, she is. "Will you be gone long?"

The unvoiced question, along with that one, is where are you going? She knows he won't tell her; that it'll be something to do with his trade, and she has the smallest hint of hope that he's come up with something.

"No." He offers nothing more and Erin doesn't press.

"Okay."

Charlie drinks his coffee and she hands him Jack so she can have a quick shower, the feel of the hot water against her skin soothing until she turns up the heat so it burns, so her skin is so red by the time she steps out from the curtain that she looks like she's spent too long in the sun. The feeling she usually gets from being clean like this never comes: she still feels dirty. Polluted. Like all the bad things she's done have infected her body so her exterior matches her insides.

She towels off and takes a clean pair of jeans, a long t-shirt and a sweater from the single set of drawers in her bedroom, pulls on a pair of Charlie's boot socks too because they're warmer than hers, and then ties her hair into a ponytail so the damp strands don't soak her clothes.

The tangled bed sheets catch her eye and she reaches to strip them, but then decides against it, no real reason other than not now. Not now because she'd told Jay he could stretch his legs later, said later being when Charlie leaves and he's leaving now.

The front door closes and the car engine starts and she takes Jack upstairs, setting him in his crib with a stuffed dog that barks when its paw is pressed. She presses it a couple times, smiling involuntarily when the baby does, and nuzzles his neck with the dog's soft material. Pressing a kiss to his head, she tells him she loves him then leaves the room, the door only slightly ajar.

Erin stops by the kitchen for another cable tie, then notes the amount of coffee left in the jug and figures she could extend the courtesy to Jay: take him a mug of it as a silent apology for the thoughts she'd had earlier. He deserves more than coffee though, she knows, and yet it's all she can offer (except, of course, his freedom - only that isn't an option really)

Stuffing the cable tie and the small pair of scissors into her pocket, she plucks two mugs from the cupboard, pours the coffee into one and then adds a healthy spoonful of sugar. The hot liquid sloshes a little over the side and only then does she realise her unsteady hands. The other mug waits on the counter and in a snap decision, she adds coffee and sugar to that one too, sliding her gun into her pocket before heading down to the basement.

Jay looks somewhat surprised when he sees her, like he's forgotten all about the fact she said he could stretch his legs when they talked earlier.

"Brought you coffee," she tells him as though it isn't obvious from the mugs she's carrying.

That expression in his eyes flickers again. "Thanks."

"You want to stretch first?"

"Please," he answers gratefully and she sets the coffee mugs down on the stairs, far enough away that if something goes terribly wrong, he doesn't get the chance to use the crockery as a weapon. She thinks she believes that he wouldn't hurt Jack, but she's not sure he would hesitate to hurt her given half a chance, and so she knows she can't allow him even the smallest window of opportunity. Her gun she sets on the floor, barrel end towards him and she thinks there's the hint of a smile ghosting his lips as she leans towards him to untie the rope.

"You didn't point your gun," he says softly, "when you came down."

"It was by my side," she answers. Then adds, "ready - if I needed it."

"It was nice," he continues like he hasn't heard her. "Not to have that as the first thing I saw."

It isn't nice, Erin thinks. And he shouldn't be grateful for it. She hates herself all over again but concentrates on the rope so that the mistiness in her eyes dissipates before she looks back at him.

"You've got five minutes," is all she says, contrasting his softness with her hard angles so she feels more comfortable, if only slightly.

"Tha -"

"- Don't," she cuts in, unable to hear the word. "Don't thank me. Stop thanking me."

Jay says nothing more, adhering to her request and she thinks she might actually be grateful about it; grateful to not hear him regard her as something good in all of this. Something not monstrous: she doesn't deserve it. Instead, as she picks the gun back up he sucks in a long, low breath as he pushes himself up off of the radiator. She hasn't made it easy - hasn't cut the cable tie yet because having him up off of the floor and his hands free would be stupidly risky, even for her - and she knows his ribs must be screaming at him. His leg too, in its awkwardly bent position.

Finally though, Jay manages to haul his body up into a standing position, the blanket pooling by his feet and the pillow she'd given him dropping back towards the floor too.

"I never asked," he starts, "about your kid."

This time, Erin sucks in a breath as she watches him lean against the wall for support.

"Boy or girl?"

She's not going to answer that: not going to give him even a breath of information that would put Jack in any more danger. And he seems to realise this when all she does is stare ahead.

"I never wanted a sister," he starts, raising his bound hands to touch the swollen side of his face, trying (and failing) to hide his wince at the pain. "Always thought girls were gross and stupid. I just wanted a younger brother so I could boss him around like my brother bossed me."

She stands stoically, torn between wanting to tell him to shut the fuck up and asking him why. In the end, she says neither.

"I didn't get a brother. Didn't get a sister either, or...not really. Now though, I think it would be kind of cool to have a little girl. Scary as shit," he laughs out a one syllable burst of air that she doesn't return with even so much as a smile. "But kind of awesome too."

Well, she doesn't have a daughter and Jay'll never have any idea how glad she is about that. How grateful she was in that hospital theatre to discover that the doctors had cut a baby boy out of her stomach - one who'll never fear growing up in the image of his mom. And selfishly, she knows too, that he'll never look at her in the way she looked at her own mom.

Jay takes a slightly unsteady step forward and Erin backs away a little, feeling the weight of the gun in her hand grow heavier. For the next couple minutes or so, he shuffles along the back wall, never leaving it and she realises it's because of his injured leg: he can't stand on it, not properly, and she relief she feels at this silent revelation makes her awash with guilt yet again. She's relieved because the innocent man she's holding captive in her basement can't walk unaided. She really is a shitty person.

Eventually, Jay returns to the floor with some effort, sliding his body back against the radiator and Erin takes from this that he's done stretching his legs.

"Coffee?" she asks and he nods.

"Yeah."

She snips off the cable tie first and then retrieves both mugs from the step, handing him one which he takes without a voiced thanks, though she doesn't miss the way his lips open in automatic response, then close again when he realises his mistake just in time. She shocks him - and herself - then, by sitting down beside him on the cold floor, her gun placed beside her far, far away from his hands. He looks at her new position but says nothing and they sip in silence for a good few minutes, the noiselessness only broken when Jay comments - or questions, she can't be sure - "black with sugar".

"I like it strong."

Silence again, but then, "You think," he starts, looking up at her with those intense blue irises of his. "If we'd met in another life, you'd have talked to me without being afraid to say what you're thinking?"

She isn't sure whether his words are meant to stab at her. To twist and sting in their directness. The coffee sits in her mouth, unswallowed, as she looks at him, struggling to breathe. Struggling too, to work out how he's figured this out about her in the brief period of time they've spent together. He's watching her. Staring even, like she's the only thing that exists, and she feels suffocated by it.

Somehow though, she manages to swallow the coffee and dredge up the words from somewhere. "Doesn't matter," she replies. "You wouldn't have talked to me anyway."

"Say I did," he says, shifting with a slight wince so he's angled that little more towards her. "In a bar."

She can't help but scoff. "We wouldn't have been in the same bar. Not unless you were lost."

"A coffee house."

Her eyes roll. "You think I've got the money to sit in Starbucks?"

"Okay, in the grocery store then," he challenges. "We're pushing our carts along and we meet by the candy. What would you say to me?"

He wants to play, she thinks, and she knows she's at the stop sign right now. She can make the smart choice and turn around, head back up those stairs and park this conversation or she can blaze past the sign; ignore all the warning lights and the red flags. Of course, she picks the latter.

"Depends."

"On?"

"On what you're reaching for."

"Why would that matter?"

"You want me to answer or not?"

"Fine," he says, with something dangerously close to a smile on his lips. "Candy corn."

"Is it Halloween?"

"No."

"Then I'm going to call you out on it."

"I tell you I like the taste."

"Nobody likes the taste," Erin contradicts. "In fact, it doesn't even have a taste - it's just a horrible combination of sugar and corn syrup."

"We agree to disagree and then I ask what you're buying."

She thinks for a moment. It's been a long time since she's bought anything from the aisle they'd be standing in but they're playing and so she says the name of the candy she always begged Bunny for when she was younger. Never once did she get it. "Hershey's Kisses."

Jay's mouth does actually twitch into a smile at that and Erin feels her heart start to beat unceremoniously fast. He's close, she realises. Too close and she's warm. She isn't sure whether they started out further apart or whether they've always been seated like this since she joined him on the floor, but either way she knows she needs to move. Knows too, that she's made yet another mistake.

Jay seems to sense her unease and clears his throat, setting his empty mug on the floor and turning his head so he's looking in front of him rather than at her. She stands up, grabbing the gun so she can point it accordingly.

"You like soup?" she asks.

"Yeah. Why?"

Erin shrugs like it's nothing. "Thought maybe I'd bring you some. For dinner," she adds.

He doesn't thank her but smiles and nods and they both know it's pretty much the same thing. This time however, she doesn't bite at him for it.

"Erin," he starts, using her name like it's a loaded word, and she figures in some ways it is. Knowing the name of one of your kidnappers isn't how it's supposed to be. "How much longer?"

He doesn't have to elaborate. How much longer have I got? How much longer until you kill me?

"Until your brother pays up," she answers, slipping the cable tie into place quickly.

"What if he doesn't?"

She swallows. "He will."

X

Lunch time passes. The snow outside is still falling - albeit a little lighter than before - and Charlie doesn't return. Erin makes herself a sandwich with some stale bread and chokes it down as Jack fusses on her lap, his missed bottle not going unnoticed.

"Daddy'll be home soon," she tells him - more for herself possibly, than for the little boy who has no understanding of her words. "And he'll bring you enough formula that you can have ten bottles." Her voice is bright, stealing the very last of her optimism.

Charlie doesn't return - not when the clock ticks past 2pm and then 3pm, nor when she leaves the half dozen voicemails on his phone, nor when Jack's screams threaten to deafen her and she's about a single deep breath away from screaming herself.

There are two options: she waits for him to come back, allowing her child to go hungry because she's hiding a hostage in her basement and can't leave the house, or she risks leaving said hostage alone for a half hour while she runs through the snow to the store to steal a can of formula.

Her legs bounces uncontrollably, her teeth gnawing at the stumps of her fingernails while she tries to make a decision and in the end, she can't watch her child cry any more. Setting him down in his crib - at which Jack only cries harder - Erin gathers just enough resolve to march towards the basement, gun at the ready in her outstretched hand as the light flickers on, then off, on again and off, until it finally decides to do its job.

"You said you'd ever hurt a kid," she states, aiming the gun at his head so violently that Jay visibly blanches. "You said that. You told me you wouldn't."

"I wouldn't," he answers quickly, eyes darting from hers to the gun and then back again.

"I need you to prove it." Christ, her voice is about two octaves higher than normal and wavering. "I need you to prove you wouldn't hurt my kid even though you're here in this basement and -"

"- Erin," he cuts in, voice unmeasurably soft, like it's catching hers somehow. "I promise I won't hurt him. Her?"

"Him," she whispers.

"Is everything al-"

"- Everything is fine." It's her turn to cut in and she spits out the words, waving the gun but acknowledging too that if she can still hear Jack's screams, Jay can also. He can hear how much of a terrible mother she is. "Don't make a noise. Don't...I've been good. I've brought food and blankets and I...I…"

"I won't hurt your son, Erin," Jay almost whispers, and when she looks at him - really looks at him - she knows it's the truth.

She nods and says nothing more, just clicks off the light and locks the door behind her. There's a lump in her throat making it so tight that she can't swallow. Jack's cries are incessant and if anything, they stamp the rubber seal of confirmation regarding her decision: she can't take him with her to the store when he's screaming like that - there's no way she'll be able to shove the can of formula up underneath her coat without drawing attention. And so, taking one final look at the locked basement door, she pulls on her coat and heads out.

The streets are pretty much deserted save for the odd few people clearly having gotten off the bus at the stop nearest their intersection. The store, thankfully, has a few other customers and there seems to be a hold-up at the checkout so she manages to shove the formula under her coat without incident. On the back wall, the candy catches her eye and there, towards the bottom shelf, is a stock of candy corn. She shoves a packet into her pocket, and on her way towards the exit, spots a store clerk.

"Do you guys have any dutch-process cocoa?" she asks quickly, knowing the answer will be a no and she can leave with a legitimate excuse for not having made a purchase. "I'm making a cake."

"I'm sorry Miss," the man tells her sincerely and she feels like such a horrible person when she declines his suggestion that she might replace the stuff she needs with the Hershey's unsweetened kind and a dash of baking soda.

The journey home is a race but she makes it, somehow, in under ten minutes with her lungs burning and her legs and feet and hands numb from the biting cold. Jack's shrill cries are still audible and the basement door is still locked so she flies up the stairs to his nursery, her heart splintering when she lifts him from his crib and finds his sleepsuit soaked with tears.

"Come on little man," she hushes, heading down to the kitchen to fill the kettle while he continues to cry. As soon as he has the bottle in his mouth though, he quietens, drinking every last drop she's made before his eyelids flutter closed, giving way to the milk coma she finds utterly heartbreakingly beautiful. He'll be sick later, she knows, drinking in such a quick time and falling asleep before being burped, but Erin can't bring herself to wake him now. Not when he's so content. And so she catches her own breath, only just tuning in to the thumping in her chest and the bile rising in her throat, the sweat clinging to her back and the pins and needles in both her hands and feet.

There's still no sign of Charlie.

Around fifteen minutes later, Jack does in fact vomit his milk back up and Erin bathes him in the sink, dresses him in a clean sleepsuit and hums something indistinguishable - a hybrid of two different songs maybe, she can't be sure - until he drifts back off, his tiny hand clutching at her finger. She doesn't want to let him go. She never wants to let him go, she decides.

She does though. She settles him in his crib because Jay kept his promise and she'd pointed a gun at him (again) and despite her thoughts earlier - those awful thoughts of charred flesh and a bleached basement - she really, really doesn't want him to die. And so she tucks the glock into her side, unlocks the door and takes a deep breath as the light clicks on.

He's watching her warily and she wonders if the best thing for them all would be to turn that gun on herself.

"Hey," he says softly. She's undeserving of that tone.

"Hey." She moves closer, eyeing the rope and the cable tie and finally, him.

"I thought that maybe...earlier... you were going to shoot me."

"I…" her words catch in her throat. "I don't want to do that."

Somehow, when they finally tumble free, the words don't seem like an admission. Somehow, in his eyes, it seems like he already knew that anyway.

Untying him from the rope, Erin leaves the plastic around his wrists and hands him the packet from her pocket.

"As a thank you, I guess," she tells him as his eyes question her presentation of the candy.

Jay nods but says nothing again, clearly staying clear of verbalising how fucked up all of this is as she takes a seat beside him. This time, their arms touch and she shares the blanket.


A/N 2 - That moment some of you are asking for? It's coming, trust me ;)

Also, thank you for all of reviews for the last chapter.