So, this is the last chapter (epilogue will follow). I'm very grateful for everyone of you awesome rainbow sherbets for adding color to my day. Your kindness and your support has been incredibly humbling and for that I can only say thank you. Love. Peace. Cheer. It's been a wonderful roller coaster ride.
I'm sad the road trip isn't happening. I know the writers have the show's best interest at heart, but I'm still going to pout about it. Now, all you wonderful writers, get on it. Let's make this road trip happen. ;)
I started owning nothing, and that will be my swan song. Dick Wolf owns the world. Literally.
Jay carefully pushes the door open to what used to be Erin's room at Hank's house and finds his girls asleep. He breathes a sigh of relief and takes a moment and just watch them. Their breathing synchronized, mouths slightly parted, and arms loosely thrown around each other. Outside the early morning sun plays hide-and-seek with the trees and the sunlight dapples across the small room. Jay hopes his girls are dreaming of rainbows and ice cream and all that's good in this world.
Since their return from the hospital Jay has been evading his feelings. It's been a while since Jay felt this restless, agitated, aggravated, like nothing he is doing or is about to do is quite right. He was not ready to face this, and maybe he tricked himself into believing that it was all going to work out just fine, but it hadn't. And now he is helplessly standing by, watching his entire world collapsing around him.
He carefully closes the bedroom door and heads downstairs. The steps creak under his feet and Hank notices the distraught young man coming down the stairs.
"How's Erin?" Hank asks.
"Finally asleep," Jay says.
"Lucy?"
"Also asleep."
"I made coffee," Hank says and starts towards the kitchen.
Jay shakes his head. "I think I will just go home and clean things up before they wake up." Jay looks down at his shirt and sees the red stains staring back at him. "I don't want Erin to, uh, see…" He lets the sentence go unfinished.
"Jay, join me for a cup of coffee," Hank insists, his tone gentle, but firm.
Jay runs a hand through his hair and looks at the older man. "Hank, I really appreciate—"
"C'mon," Hank says. "You look like you need it."
Jay releases a gush of air and reluctantly follows Hank. He plops himself down on a chair and Hank pours him a cup of coffee.
"Does Erin need to go back to the hospital?" Hank asks.
"Not for this," Jay says. "But she has a check-up with a neurologists on Monday."
Hank nods and looks at Jay's anguished facade. "How're you holding up?"
"I don't know," Jay says never taking his attention away from the swirling dark liquid in his cup.
Hank sips his coffee and says, "Healing will take time."
"This is different," Jay says.
Hank frowns. "How so?"
Jay shakes his head and says, "I don't know. It's just different."
The older man places his mug on the table and says. "Listen, don't go blaming yourself—"
"I'm not blaming myself," he interrupts. "But I'm responsible for them."
Hank nods. "Jay, I know it feels like you just hit a brick wall. But trust me when I say this, everything will sort itself out."
"We lost the baby, Hank," Jay says and his voice breaks. "Our lives you'll never be the same."
Hank takes a long sip from his coffee. "You're right. Life will never be the same. But," Hank leans forward and says, "Everything will be okay."
Jay lets his head hang low. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore. He just wants to forget everything.
"Jay, take it from me. Focus on what you got and not on what you lost. You have Erin and you have Lucy."
Jay nods and slowly pushes himself off the table. He doesn't want to have this conversation, at least not with Hank. The wound is still raw and talking about it elicits waves of pain and anger through him. "Thanks for the coffee, but if you don't mind I want to go home and clean things. I don't want Erin to see the, uh, blood stains everywhere."
Hank nods and ushers with him to the front door.
"I will be back soon. Call me if anything," Jay says.
"Will do." Hank pats Jay on the back and watches the young man walk out into the sunny Chicago morning.
..x..
Erin wakes up to the sound of the garbage truck backing in the alley. She tries to force her eyes open, but it's like a million razor-sharp insects are gnawing at her brain. She breathes slowly and deeply, stilling her eyes under her eyelids. She runs her hand blindly around the small bed, but finds it empty. Slowly she props herself up on her elbows and feels her whole body hurt – from the top her head to the tips of her toes. She swings her legs off the bed and a ghost of a smile pulls at the corners of her lips when she hears high-pitched giggles echoing from downstairs.
Erin pads down the creaky steps and follows the sound of Lucy's laughter to the kitchen. She leans against the threshold and watches her little girl, propped up on a chair, helping Hank mix something in a bowl. Lucy is covered in what Erin thinks is flour and her hair is clumsily pinned up on her head. A soft chuckle escapes Erin's lips causing Hank to turn back.
"Hey," Hank says.
Lucy turns around and exclaims, "Mama!"
Hank helps the little girl get down from the chair and she runs to Erin. Lucy throws her arms up to be picked up. Unable to pick her up, Erin kneels down in front of her and checks if Lucy feels warm. To her relief Lucy feels fine.
"Whatchu doin, girl?" Erin asks, masking the turmoil inside of her.
"I mah-ke pans-cakes, mama!"
"Wow," Erin says. She looks at the clock on the kitchen wall and adds, "Making pancakes at three in the afternoon?"
"I asked what she wanted to eat and she said chicken nuggets, but I don't have it. So we settled on pancakes."
"I can go for pancakes." Erin smiles, but there's a sad quality to it. She looks around and asks. "Where's Jay?"
"He needed to run a few errands, but should be back anytime now."
Erin nods. "Do you guys need help?"
"No, no," Hank waves her off. "You just sit and relax."
Erin kisses Lucy's nose and retreats to on one of the kitchen chairs. She watches Lucy climb back up on the chair as Hank continues to add the remaining ingredients to the bowl. Lucy is as happy as can be and Erin desperately wants to disregard the feeling of loss swirling in her head. But how can she ever feel normal again or even truly smile when she is sobbing inside? She doesn't know how to dull the pain. She hopes watching Hank and her little girl fuss around the kitchen together, getting flour everywhere, serves as a distraction.
"Erin, do you want eggs and bacon?" Hank asks.
"Oh, uh, sure," she says.
Hank breaks three eggs into bowl and beats it with a fork. He then turns on a frying pan and lays down a few strips of bacon. Lucy watches Hank intently as he continues to pitter-patter around the kitchen.
"Papa, I 'elp," Lucy says pointing to the food cooking on the stove top.
"That's hot, kid. Papa is going to do it."
"No Papaaaa, I 'eeelpp," Lucy whines.
"Lucy," Erin chides. "Listen to Papa. The stove is hot."
Lucy pouts.
"Here," Hanks says, placing the leftover batter bowl in front of her. "Mix it while I make the eggs."
Lucy's pout turns upside down. "Oh-kay, Papa."
It isn't long before Erin hears the front door open and close. Erin stretches her neck and sees Jay.
"Something smells good," Jay says dropping a few bags on the floor by the door and making a beeline to the kitchen. "Hey," Jay says when he sees Erin seated at the table. He walks over and plants a kiss on her lips. "How're you doing," he asks. His voice just above a whisper.
Erin shrugs. "Sore."
Jay nods. "I went to the pharmacy and got your prescriptions." He kisses her lips again, lingering just a moment longer, then turns towards Hank and Lucy. "What do we have here?"
"Da-dee!" Lucy chirps.
Jay comes up behind Lucy and plants a kiss on her cheek. He also places a hand on her forehead to check if she's running a fever. "Are you making pancakes?"
"Yess. Pans-cakes'n eh-ggs,"
"I'm assuming Lucy chose the menu," Jay says with a chuckle and picks a crispy piece of bacon from the platter. He breaks a piece off and offers it to Lucy. She happily takes it.
"It's almost ready," Hank says. "You guys want some coffee?"
"I'll take tea," Erin says and begins to stand up, but Hank raises his hand. "You stay seated. I'll get the kettle."
Erin shakes her head. "I think I can boil some water."
"I know you can, but I'm telling you to sit."
Erin looks annoyed and Jay can see the ripple effects on her face. He walks to where she is seated and pulls her up and circle his arms around her. He can feel how stiff her muscles are under his fingertips.
"Do you want to go for a walk around the block with me?" He whispers in her ear.
She looks up at his hopeful blue eyes and with no thought, Erin reluctantly given in to his request.
"Okay," He says and runs his hands up and down her arms. "Let's go then." He plants a kiss on her lips and says, "Hey Hank, we are going to…" Jay motions with his head towards the door. "We'll be back," he mouths.
Hank nods and entertains Lucy, while Jay and Erin slip quietly out into the cool afternoon.
Jay pulls Erin close as they slowly amble down the street. For a few moments they just walk silently down the sidewalk. The chilly Chicago breeze nips at their faces and soothes their swirling emotions. The bustling sound of the street also helps drown their thoughts. When they round the corner, Jay finally breaks the silence and says, "You know, I thought it was going to be another girl."
Erin is taken aback by his remark. "What?"
"The baby. I had a feeling that it was going to be a girl."
"Oh," Erin says and places her hands deeper in her pockets. "It's a little cold, huh?"
Jay sees Erin trying to dismiss the subject, but he presses on. "What did you think it was going to be?" He asks, placing his jacket around her shoulders.
"I didn't," Erin says curtly.
"C'mon, you had to have thought about it." He squeezes her shoulders.
Erin looks up at him. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Talking about it."
"Because..." Jay pauses. "Despite what the doctors said, this baby was more than a lump of tissue."
Erin winces at the phrase the doctors used to describe the tiny baby in her womb.
"The baby was a piece of me and a piece of you. It was ours and we lost it and I think we should talk about it," Jay says.
Erin's eyes fill with tears.
Jay pulls Erin closer and kisses her hair. "It's okay to be sad and angry. This is not something we can or should tuck away."
Erin releases a tear-soaked breath. After a beat she says, "I thought it was a boy." She dabs at her eyes. "I thought it would be good to have one of each, you know? Boy and girl."
Jay nods, a faint smile pulls at his lips.
"But another one of Lucy would be nice too," Erin says. "I always wanted a sister."
"Yeah?" Jay asks.
"Yeah." Erin smiles at the sweet expression on Jay's face. "We could share clothes…Talk about boys…"
Jay shakes his head. "You were right. A boy and a girl is nice."
"But we will never know…" Erin adds soberly.
Jay nods. "Yeah, but," he says, turning a corner. "We will always remember this baby as a fighter. The kid persisted for 11 weeks against all odds."
Erin frowns sadly, so naturally Jay kisses her frown away as hard as he can."The little guy went down fighting," she says.
"He sure did and that's how we should remember him because to us he was real and he was ours."
The afternoon breeze picks up and Erin circles her arms around Jay as they turn back towards Hank's house. For the first time today, she feels slightly at ease with herself – like a partial weight has been lifted off her shoulders. A fighter. The anger and the sadness still remain, but it is wrapped in cotton – a bit softer, a bit more manageable. Erin feels like she can breathe again.
When they reach the front steps of Hanks house, Jay stops and turns so he is facing Erin. He smiles and waits to find the right words. "Look , we will get through this together."
Erin nods, believing it this time.
Jay brushes his lips against hers and says, "I love you."
"I love you too."
They go inside the house and together they have breakfast mid-afternoon. The sun has begun its descend into the horizon, like a slippery bar of soap that slithers between your fingers. Erin looks across the table at Jay, who is juggling their little girl in his arms, and he smiles and winks at her. She thinks of his words, he was ours, and the painful memories softens into sweet sepia images. She sees a small baby so beautiful, and so fragile and strong all at the same time. She lets herself smile. Erin knows it will be a little longer before she is done mourning, but she hopes the wort part is over.
Thank you. That's all. Thank you.