A/N - You guys, THANK YOU SO MUCH for the response last chapter. I was overwhelmed (in the best way) by your sweet reviews and I've been eager to keep working on this chapter so I could have it posted for you within the week. Much love and appreciation.

Hope you enjoy x


A Fairytale By Another Name

Jay moves to hold her, drawing her against his chest despite the discomfort she knows he must be in. His lips rest against her forehead, much like they had the last time she saw him, and Erin breathes him in greedily, like if she doesn't get enough he might disappear.

Jack chooses that moment to reaffirm his presence, making a high-pitched shriek that's neither a cry or a sign of distress, and Erin feels the vibration of Jay's chuckle rumble through her.

"Hey bud," he says, running a hand softly through the mass of dark, wet curls on the baby's head. She knows Charlie loved Jack, but she's not sure she's ever seen anyone be so gentle with him. She pulls back from Jay reluctantly, trying her best to wipe her eyes on the shoulder of her sweater (and failing, as usual).

They stand for a moment without speaking, Erin taking in his clean jeans and the plaid shirt poking out from his open jacket. His eyes are still that same intense blue they were when she'd last seen him, and even though they're a little rimmed with red, the bruises on his face have faded significantly. There's more scruff on his jaw than when she last saw him too, but he looks good, she decides. Handsome. And then she tells herself she can't think that; doesn't get to look at this poor man objectively and make the silent decision that she finds him attractive.

Erin wonders what he sees when he looks at her.

"Have you slept?" And there's her answer, she figures. He sees someone who looks like shit.

There doesn't really seem any point in lying. "Not really. Have you?"

"Not really."

Jack shrieks again and Erin sighs. "I should get him dressed."

"Yeah." He waves his hand, indicating she should get back to it. "I'll get sorted."

She glances back at the bags again and finally makes the connection. "You're staying?"

Jay visibly swallows and she wonders whether he might be nervous. She wonders whether she should tell him she didn't bring the gun. "For a few days. Thought I'd get away from...well, everything I guess."

"Do you want us to leave?"

"No," he's quick to answer, and the response makes the side of her mouth quirk up just a little. "Of course not."

"Okay."

He nods and she turns to head back to the bathroom. "I uh, I brought some scotch," he tells her. "If you fancy some?"

He looks so earnest in telling her. "That'd be good," she replies. "I'll just get Jack ready for bed."

When she returns to the living room, Jay's stoked the fire, the flames devouring a huge log that hadn't been in the basket before he'd arrived. He's removed his jacket too, having hung it up on the peg beside the door where her own hangs beside Jack's snowsuit. There's such a gentleness about him, Erin finds, despite his strength and the way he looks. A softness she knows she herself doesn't possess.

Jack's seated at her hip, sleepy-eyed from his bath but clearly fighting tiredness. Unsure of what to do, she takes a seat on the couch in front of the fire, settling the baby against her chest. Jay brings her the glass of scotch, holding it out for her to take before making to take up a spot on the floor in front of the couch despite the leg brace.

"Here," Erin says, shifting over so he can join her. "You're...you must be sore."

The cushions dip as his weight sinks into them and she's overwhelmed by him all over again. She wishes she'd showered today; wishes she'd done something (or anything) with her hair rather than the simple ponytail it's starting to fall out of. With her fingers burning to touch Jay's, she takes a sip of the amber liquid so her throat will burn instead. It's an easier feeling to focus on.

Jack continues to blink up at her and she rocks slowly, careful not to jolt Jay with his cracked ribs and fractured leg; careful too, not to allow herself to get too close. They're not in that basement anymore and as much as she never really had an idea of where they stood back then, she has even less of one now.

"It's amazing," Jay says softly, gesturing at Jack. "How he looks at you. Like you're the centre of his world."

Erin looks up, fighting the lump in her throat and the burn that's returned to her fingers. "I guess I'm the only one he really sees."

He opens his mouth to say something else but seems to think better of it and closes his lips again around the glass in his hand. His sips are significantly bigger than hers and she wonders whether it's because he enjoys the taste or whether he's just trying to numb himself.

"The police found him," Jay says after a few minutes. Erin stops rocking Jack and almost throws up what little she's eaten today. "I kept an eye out on the reports coming in."

It takes her a while to be able to ask her question. "What did they say?"

"O.D. Assumed his girlfriend had left with the baby and he'd taken a bad hit."

She nods. Just like he'd said. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"W-what about...what happened to his…" She can't bring herself to finish with the word 'body'.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about this now," Jay says gently.

Erin all but downs the contents of her glass, wincing hard as the liquid hits the back of her throat and burns all the way down to her stomach. "I can handle it."

His eyes seem to soften even further and she just wants him to stop being so good to her. "Erin…"

"Please Jay," she whispers, lip already trembling. "I want to know."

He sighs and she knows he's caving.

"Please."

"When someone dies and there's no available next of kin, their body is stored in the morgue until someone comes forward to...uh...claim it, so-to-speak. If that doesn't happen, they might seek out someone from the family if they can."

"And if they can't?"

"They body's buried."

She chokes out the next question. "With a funeral?"

His eyes tell her the word his lips don't speak, and she nods knowingly. "Will they try to find me?"

"Probably."

She turns her head away so Jay can't see the tears in her eyes. It's futile anyway: she knows he already knows they're there. "I hate what he did to you," she whispers, sniffing. "I hated so many things. But I still loved him somewhere amongst that."

"I know."

"And he's still Jack's dad."

"I know."

"I hate myself more," Erin tells him. "More than I hate what he did. And don't try and tell me I shouldn't."

Jay closes his lips but leans towards her a little, his hand reaching out to rest on her knee. He feels warm - too warm maybe, like he's searing her skin beneath the fabric of her jeans - but she doesn't want him to move.

"I hate him," he tells her honestly. "But I don't hate you."

"You should." She can't bring herself to look at him. "I want you to."

He moves closer and Erin can feel the heat of his breath on her skin. It smells like alcohol too, but in a good way - an almost sweet, malty scent that makes her mouth water - and she wonders if her own breath is coming out as hot as it feels.

"I don't want to hate you Erin." He says it in a deep whisper that makes her shudder and flame and erupt with goosebumps all at once. She can't really see him through the tears in her eyes, but she can make out the blue of his irises and the soft pillows of his lips and the bobbing of his Adam's apple. "Just…"

He grazes those pillows against her own lips, resting for a moment and then sealing his mouth over hers and suddenly she's falling off the edge of that cliff she was balancing on, nothing to hold on to, nothing to bring her back up to the surface and she feels like she's drowning in him. His touch is feather-light - so incredibly gentle - and his hand is holding her face in that crease where her ear and her neck meet. Erin thinks, somewhere in the midst of it all, that she's always wanted to be kissed like this.

Too soon, Jay pulls away and she feels cold, like she needs his skin back on hers to get warm again despite the roaring fire. She opens her eyes and his lips are moist with her tears, her own cheeks and lips wet too. If nobody ever kisses her like that again, she thinks, at least she got the chance to see what it was like.

"I've wanted to do that since I got here," he says roughly, eyes darting around her face so he can read whatever expression it is she's wearing. Erin can't be sure what it is. She thinks she probably couldn't be sure what day it is either.

Words it seems, are tricky to come by. Her mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out other than a series of shallow gasps. She looks down to find Jack finally asleep and rises from the couch so quickly that everything in the room spins and dips away from her momentarily.

"I…" He's looking at her like she's a wild animal. She feels like one. "I need to put Jack to bed."

She stays in that bedroom for the rest of the night, wide awake but exhausted. Maybe she hears footsteps grow closer at some point before they still and then disappear in the opposite direction again. Maybe she doesn't.

She doesn't open the door to check.

X

Erin doesn't expect to find Jay in the kitchen at 6am. He looks like he hasn't gotten much sleep either, body slouched against the counter as he waits for the kettle to fill with water.

"Want some tea?" he asks gruffly, only turning towards her once the kettle's full. "Little man still asleep?"

"Yeah," she replies. "And tea would be good, thank you." If nothing else, it'll give her something to do with her hands until Jack wakes. She's surprised at how rough her own voice is, but figures that's what'll come from so many hours without sleep and a mouth dry with stale scotch. "I'll uh…" she indicates the bathroom down the hall. "Just wash up."

"You want a shower?" Jay asks. "This kettle takes ages to boil. But you probably knew that."

"Yeah," she forces something she hopes sounds like a burst of a laugh, or at least something that appears smile-like onto her lips. "But Jack will probably wake up soon."

He shrugs. "I can watch him for a few minutes."

He says it like it's no big deal, like this whole set-up is no big deal and Erin wonders whether Jay expects her to trust him with her son when she's done the unthinkable. He must see the hesitance in her eyes because he steps a little closer, voice dipping in carefully measured cadences.

"I'm not going to hurt either of you," he tells her. "I promise. I'm not that guy."

"I don't know how you can promise that," she says softly. "When I did what I did."

"'Cause I don't want to hurt either of you. 'Cause it's the truth."

"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispers. "But I did."

It's silent for a moment, save for the lapping of the flames on the stove. Erin wonders where they'd be right now if she'd driven straight to the police station or - in contrast - the silos that night. More often than not, she wishes she'd done one or the other. The present reality is too fucked up; too much of something and yet nowhere near enough at the same time.

"I missed you, you know," Jay says after a while. "That's why I'm here. I actually missed you."

She gets it. She missed him too.

"I didn't want to. And I didn't want to feel….like...this about you."

He looks consumed and it makes her feel guilty all over again. Her words are choked. "Then don't. Switch it off."

His eyes cloud with confusion. "Is that what you want?"

No. "Yes."

He steps closer and lowers his voice to nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "Really?"

Erin's breath catches in her throat and her feet feel unsteady. His arms are close, slowly raising upwards so his hands catch around her wrists, just holding them at first before his thumbs begin rubbing soft circles on the underside. She feels slack and heavy and her pulse is thrumming against her temple. "No."

Right when she thinks he's going to kiss her, he drops his forehead to hers, just resting it there with closed eyes and weighty breaths that hit the bridge of her nose before fanning out across her cheeks like a spreading wildfire. She's starting to wonder whether he'll make her go up in flames before Christmas Day arrives. Maybe it'd be the best way to go, she considers. And then a whimper filters through the heat and the fog and Erin exhales her own breath against him.

"Jack's awake."

Jay pulls back and she looks at her wrists like she expects there to be a burn mark. There isn't.

She leaves the room and plucks her son from the centre of the bed he's been sleeping on, passing the bathroom on her way back and maybe it's the sight of the showerhead or the aching in her bones or maybe it's Jay's scent clinging to her, but she hands him Jack wordlessly, tries to turn her lips into what she hopes is a grateful smile, and then heads back out again.

It's quiet when Erin returns, fresh from her shower, from the bathroom wearing the only other outfit she brought out here with her. A flare of panic seizes her chest and spreads throughout her when she spots the slightly-open sliding doors, but then she sees her baby boy in his snowsuit seated in Jay's arms.

It's early - dawn's only just starting to break beyond the trees - and it's cold too, but there's a magical calm that only fresh, undisturbed snowfall can bring. She slides the door open enough that she can join them in the yard, her feet sinking into the soft white flakes, and everything seems such a million miles away from Chicago that it could've all just been a terrible nightmare. But then Jay turns to her, face still coloured with the faded bruises and her heart sinks again.

"He seemed to like the snow," Jay says by way of explanation. "Thought we'd just come out for a couple minutes."

Erin strokes her fingers down Jack's cheek with a small smile. "He does."

"What about you? Do you like the snow?"

"I'm always cold," she replies.

"Right."

"But it's beautiful," she decides aloud. "When it's like this. Unspoilt."

"I like the peace," Jay says, turning his gaze from her to Jack. "What do you say little man? We should get you inside before your mom freezes."

He's overwhelming. She follows him inside without a word.

X

Later, after tea slurped in an uncomfortable silence punctuated only by Jack's gurgles, Jay suggests they head into town to get some groceries. Or, more accurately, he suggests Erin head there while he rests his leg, but she apologises for having no money "hence the soup rations," she tries to joke (except, of course, it falls flat when he blinks at her, confused).

"Jesus Erin," he mutters. "You must've barely eaten."

"I've been fine."

"Well it's Christmas," he seems to decide aloud after a moment. "It'd be criminal not to buy enough groceries to feed a small army. I'll just have to come; make sure you do it right."

He's coming because she's unwilling to spend anymore of his money; rely on him for anymore help and they both know it. For some reason, she finds herself seated in the driver's seat and navigating the icy road into the centre of town anyway.

He pushes the cart around each aisle of the little grocery store and Erin has no clue what it is they're supposed to put in it. Jay however, appears to know his way around the shelves and adds all the accompaniments for what she thinks could pass for a royal feast. Jack's asleep in her arms, his head resting against her chest by the time they reach the cashier who beams at Jay, then wrinkles her nose at the leg brace.

He makes up a story about getting injured on the job and Erin spends the entire time overwhelmed by guilt and biting back tears. He then reminds the cashier about the items they'd let her take the previous day, and close to forty dollars is added to the total. Without blinking, Jay hands his credit card over, signs the receipt and they head back to the parking lot.

Erin spends the journey home wondering just how the hell she's ever going to find the words to thank him.

In short, she doesn't.

And so, after she lays Jack to sleep in the centre of the big bed she's barely slept in herself, she gathers what little energy she has left and heads out to where Jay's drinking a mug of the newly-purchased coffee. She avoids looking in the mirror as she passes, knowing that what she sees isn't going to be good; knowing too, that it might just sow the final seed of doubt to prevent her from going through with the only thank you she can give right now. And Jay deserves something, even if it is as fucked up as this.

He watches her enter the room as he always does. She's not sure if it's because he was used to doing it in the basement in Chicago or if it's because he's genuinely curious about her, but she keeps her eyes cast down at the floor until she reaches where he's sitting on the couch, takes the mug between her hands and sets it down on the hearth. He looks at her questioningly but doesn't speak - not at first, anyway - as she reaches her fingers out to his chest.

She manages a couple buttons of his shirt despite the shaking, but then Jay finally seems to remember his words and asks, "What're you doing?"

Erin doesn't speak, just undoes another button and then another and then the final one before she stands back and removes her sweater and t-shirt together. The bra she's wearing is old - one she already had before Jack - and it no longer fits properly. He's probably used to girls who wear matching lace sets from Victoria's Secret, she figures, rather than unflattering navy cotton from J.C Penney, but it's all she's got so dwelling on it seems pointless.

She daren't look directly at Jay and so instead, she eyes the belt buckle at the waist of his jeans, leaning towards him so she can unfasten it. She's pulling the leather through the metal when he stills her hands with his own.

"Erin, stop."

She doesn't. What she does instead, is pull her hands out from under his, brushing his groin as she does so, before unzipping her own jeans. It's not really necessary - she can get them over her hips and down her legs without needing to loosen them first - but the aesthetics aren't quite the same without the sound of the zipper. They're in a pool around her ankles when Jay sits up, taking her hands far too gently in his so he can tug on them.

"Erin." He whispers it this time, something about the timbre of it making her shiver, and when she looks up, she immediately wishes she hadn't. "Please stop."

It has no right to, but the rejection stings.

Her face flames and burns and she's still standing there, stock still, with her jeans on the floor and her sweater tossed to the side too, all of her pale, ugly skin on display for him to recoil over - and she almost vomits at the thought of it.

"Hey," he's whispering, tugging at her hands again but she's not going to look at him. She won't look at him. "Hey."

Jay dips his head to catch her gaze so she screws her eyes shut, still bound to the floor somehow. And then she feels the gentlest of flutters on the underside of her left wrist, and then her right, like the brush of a feather against her skin. His lips, she already knows.

"Please open your eyes."

She does, but only a fraction. She doesn't allow them to meet his. "What do you want from me?" she whispers, face still red with shame.

"I don't know." She thinks this might be the most honest he's been. "But I want to try something if you'll... will you lie down with me?"

There's a blanket draped over the back of the couch and Jay must see her eyes flit to it because he releases her wrists tentatively, like she might run (she doesn't think she could even if she wanted to) so he can pull it around her. He's so tender in the way he closes the material, using the gathered ends to help guide her towards him. And she goes - like a sheep following its shepherd (or a lamb to the slaughter) folding herself against him.

There's no noise but the spitting of the fire and Jay's even breaths against her hair. Erin has no idea how long they lie there, nor at what point his fingers interweave with hers so their joined hands are cradled between them. Eventually though, he clears his throat and it his voice seems raw.

"I want to tell you about someone."

Erin lifts her head and catches sight of the cloudiness in his eyes.

"Nadia," he starts. "I met her when she was working as an informant for one of my cases."

He tells her the story of a serial killer and an island and his birthday - the event that got an innocent eighteen-year-old girl killed. Erin listens and wishes she could do anything to make it hurt less, but yet here she is being comforted by him. His voice breaks at one point and she finds herself squeezing his hand, just a little. She thinks she feels him squeeze back.

There have been some pretty crappy Christmas Eves over her past twenty three years. This is, she concludes, easily both the best and the worst of them all.