A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter posted! I dislocated my elbow and broke my wrist at the beginning of November, and am just now feeling normal enough to begin writing again, so it put my way behind. This story is fully written now, though, and I'll try to post at least one chapter a week until it's done.
Three Days After Al's funeral
Hank Voight sat next to the hospital bed of the woman he thought of as his daughter, holding her hand. Three nights ago, the day that they'd buried Alvin Olinsky, he'd received a panicked phone call from Kelly Severide.
"Voight, Erin's in trouble. I got a phone call from her a few minutes ago. She kept saying she couldn't do it anymore. She said to tell you that she was sorry, that she did it because she couldn't hurt anymore. She dropped the phone, and then I heard something else fall, and she wouldn't answer me anymore. Casey called 911, and they were able to trace her location. They hung up her phone when they got there, and I don't know what happened, but…" Severide's voice had trailed off as he'd fought to maintain control of his emotions.
"Did she say anything else?" hank had demanded, already standing up from where he'd sat at his dining table and grabbing his keys before heading for the door.
"She said she couldn't live with the guilt anymore. She mentioned Nadia, and Bunny, and Al," Severide had replied. "She- she said it was her fault."
"Damn it!" Hank had shouted. "I should have known something was wrong. How did I miss this?" he'd asked, more to himself than to Severide. "Listen, Severide, please don't tell anyone else about this, okay?"
"Of course," Severide had replied. "But, uh, Voight? Can you keep me updated, please? Erin and I haven't talked since she left for New York, and I'm not really sure why she called me, but she's my friend…"
"I'll let you know once I know something," Hank had promised before hanging up.
He was almost to the airport when another call came in, this one from a New York number. He'd quickly answered. "Hank Voight."
"Mr. Voight? I'm calling from New York Presbyterian Hospital. We had a patient brought in a little bit ago who has you listed as her emergency contact. Her name is Erin Lindsay?"
"What happened?" demanded Hank. "Is she okay?"
"The paramedics found her in her bathtub; it appears that she overdosed on Percocet, as they found an empty bottle next to the tub. They're not sure how much she took, but the doctors are working on her now," came the reply.
"Is she going to be okay?" Hank had asked, his voice cracking.
"I don't have any more information for you right now; I'm sorry, sir."
"I'm in Chicago right now, but I'll be on the next flight to New York," Hank had informed them.
Once he'd hung up with the hospital, he had dialed Olivia Benson. "Olivia, it's Hank. Erin OD'd; she's at New York Presbyterian. I'm catching the next flight to New York, but-" Hank had broken off, unable to continue.
"I'll head there now, Hank," she'd assured him.
Hank had finally arrived at the hospital four hours after he'd received the call from the hospital. Olivia had met him in the lobby before taking him up to the ICU, where Erin had been taken.
He'd lost it when he'd seen her lying in the hospital bed. There were wires everywhere, and there was a tube down her throat connected to a ventilator. She'd looked so small and fragile and alone lying there, and it scared him. She was all that he had left; he didn't know what he'd do if something happened to her.
The doctor had been by shortly after to update him. Erin hadn't been breathing when the paramedics had reached her, but they'd been able to resuscitate her. She'd coded twice in the ER, but they were able to get her back both times. They were unsure of how long she'd been without oxygen before the paramedics had gotten to her, and they were concerned about brain damage. There was also the issue of her not breathing on her own yet, which is why she was hooked up to the ventilator.
Nothing had changed in the days since Hank had arrived. He'd remained at her side since he'd arrived, leaving only when the nurses kicked him out at the end of visiting hours. Olivia had graciously offered to let him stay with her, but he'd chosen to get a hotel near the hospital instead, just in case something changed in the night.
Outside of himself, Kelly Severide, Matt Casey, and Olivia Benson, no one else knew about Erin yet. He'd told the team that he was taking a few days off but hadn't told them why. He was sure that they all assumed it was related to Al's death, and, at this point in time, he wasn't sure what to tell them.
"I'm sorry, Erin," Hank whispered. "I told you I was with you until the wheels come off, and then I wasn't there for you. I should've known how much this would affect you. I should have checked up on you more." He reached out and stroked her hair. "I should have been there for you."
He couldn't help but blame himself for this. He should have known that Erin would blame herself for Al's death, just like she had with Nadia's death. He should have made sure she was okay. He'd been so wrapped up in hunting down Al's murderer and in appeasing his own guilt that he hadn't stopped to think of how hard Erin would take everything.
He'd known that Erin wasn't happy in New York; that she missed her old life in Chicago. She'd never told him, but he could tell by the way she sounded when he talked to her, by how she avoided talking about anything involving her new job or her new life in New York, and by how she'd told him that she didn't want any updates on the team because it was easier that way.
Erin had always been strong and feisty; she'd always been a fighter and had never been one to give up. For her to feel like she had no other choice but to take her own life, and like she had no one else to call who would care besides Kelly Severide…Hank couldn't imagine how much pain she'd been in. She wasn't one to give up easily, and even in her darkest moments after Nadia's death she'd never once considered suicide.
Hank's thoughts were interrupted by his phone vibrating. He pulled it out and looked at it, sighing when he saw Jay Halstead's name on the screen. He silenced the call before putting it back in his pocket. Anything Jay needed could wait. He knew that he would eventually need to tell the team what was going on, but right now he couldn't. Saying it out loud would make it real, and he couldn't bear for it to be real.