A/N: Dedicated to: my beautiful girl and muse Alejandra for her Birthday.

Enjoy!

She swears as she drops her keys to the floor, leaning forward to pick them up so she can shove them in the lock and finally be home. Or whatever home is supposed to be nowadays.

Kicking off her shoes, because she can, because there is absolutely nobody who is going to tell her to put her things away, she trails down the hallway to the kitchen. Her purse ends up on the kitchen counter, as she groans and fishes out a beer.

It's been a hell of a week, and she can't wait to head into bed and sleep for the next two days together.

Sorting through her mail, she mentally reminds herself to pay the bills or she's going to get cut off, and for nothing else than sheer laziness. Then, before she has a chance to properly collapse she checks her phone for messages. It's been turned off for the past two weeks while she was on assignment. Not that she gets many calls lately. None for that matter.

There is a telemarketer message, but then her mouth dries when she sees a number she'll never fail to recognize. There is a message on her phone. When she clicks play, the entire room gets filled with his voice, and she feels a sudden need to cry.

"Hey. It's me. Uhm, sorry for calling this late. You're probably working anyway. Or you just don't want to talk to me. Or both." There is a pause, and Erin recognizes the slight slur in his words as Jay being drunk. But the message isn't over yet. "I don't even know why I called. I just screwed up big time, and everything is shit, and I guess I wanted to hear your voice." He sounds broken. Defeated. "I just need you. You'd know what to say, or do in this situation."

His voice gets cut off, as it's reached the maximum length it allows. But before it cuts, she manages to decipher a sob so heart-breaking, it actually knocks the breath out of her lungs. He doesn't say anything specific about what happened, but if it makes Jay get drunk and call her after months of radio silence, it can't be good.

Sighing, she puts the rest of the beer away. She takes her phone back into her hand, as she already scrambles for her wallet mentally kissing her sleep goodbye. It's going to be a long night.

"Yes, hi. I need the first next flight to Chicago."

When he wakes up, the pounding headache immediately reminds him of just how deep into the bottle he looked last night. He's lying on the bed, half stripped, with one sock on, as if he passed out while trying to take off his clothes.

He picks up his phone to check the time and sees two missed calls from Will. Groaning, he plops back down on the pillow, also seeing three missed calls from Upton and a message. As he goes to his recent calls to call his brother and let him know he's alive, he swallows as he sees the last called number. Because it can't be.

Can it?

He throws the phone away on the bed, where it lands with a soft thump, already forgetting his intention to call Will. He needs coffee. And water. And a brain transplant.

He's just in the middle of his second cup when the doorbell rings. Assuming it's someone from the unit, he doesn't even bother putting a shirt on, as he swings the door open without even checking who it is until he's staring into the pair of beautiful familiar eyes, and he's second-guessing every single decision he's made, including not showering after he got up.

"Hey." It's all he manages to get out, distracted by the worried expression on her face, and the oversized sweater she's wearing, and the small carry-on in her hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Your message had me worried," she admits, recalling every single word that she's been replaying on the plane, if only to hear his voice. To remind herself how it used to be.

"My messag—right. Last night was a mess." He finally motions her inside, not really sure what to think that all it took was one drunken message after months of silence for her to get on a plane and come to him. It's not like he dreamed about this. Countless times. "You didn't have to come. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," she begins, serving honesty above all else. He looks tired. Not the kind of tired she is, after a long case, but the kind of tired when life is crushing you down, and you don't even have the energy to pick up a fight.

"Yeah? What do you care?"

Her face falls. "Of course, I care. Jay, what's going on?"

He finds it pitiful really, pathetic even, that that look and question is all it takes for him to crumble and spill. "I screwed up. Badly. I don't recognize myself anymore. I can't even tell you, because you'll never look at me the same way, and that's one thing I can't take."

She looks him straight in the eyes, forcing him to keep their looks locked. "After Nadia died, there was that thing, with Roland. They ambushed me in my apartment, do you remember?" He nods, so she can continue. "There was this moment there, where you looked at me, and I was a mess, it was the bottom for me, and I thought for sure that the way you looked at me would change. But it never did. Even after I quit, you wouldn't give up on me. And when I got us out when they took you, I thought you'd blame me. But you never did. You never stopped looking at me like I was the most important person in your life."

"You were." Are.

"And there is nothing you can say or do that will make me look at you any differently. I promise. There is nothing you did, that I didn't do worse."

Maybe it's her voice, or the words she chooses, or simply the fact that he trusts her—more than he trust anybody in the world, but it all comes rushing out. About Camila, and the case, and the trouble he's in with Voight, and how he's been digging his own hole for months. He tells her how it all started when Abby showed up, then Erin left, and he shot a little girl. It ends up coming out altogether in a very unconnected way, but she seems to connect the dots anyway.

It's easy, isn't it? Because they've never needed words to communicate and often a simple look would do. And she looks at him now—sees all the broken pieces scattered around, and wishes nothing more than to put them back together.

"You've been hurting so much," she chokes. "And I should've been here."

"No, Erin. This isn't on you. I fucked up all on my own." He refuses to put the blame on her, simply because she left in search of happiness. And Erin being happy is pretty much all he ever wants. "But really, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you," she tells him softly. "Anything you need."

"Anything?"

"Yes," she whispers, the tension between them suddenly weighing on her chest like a ghost of their old feelings. The electricity between them is almost tangible as he lunges for her, sealing his lips over hers in what is a first physical touch in months. His hands claw at her with bruising power as he pulls her closer until she melts into him, finally feeling like she belongs for the first time since he left her standing silent in their bedroom.

She parts her lips for him to deepen the kiss, moaning at the touch she's desired for so long. After a moments hesitation, there is no way back. The clothes are removed deliberately. Slowly.

It's a habit. They don't think about it, they just do. The need for comfort mixed with their need to feel skin on skin overpowers any other logical arguments they might have against this.

As he lays her down on the bed, her hair spread around her like a halo, he realizes that he never wants to take this for granted again. Not after he told her what he just did, and she's still looking up at him with the love he doesn't think he deserves anymore. But that's not what love is about. He finally realizes it's not about deserve. It was never supposed to be. Her love for him is unconditional in its nature, just like his is.

He's decided he is never going to let her slip away again.

She looks up at him—her eyes full of stars and trust and love, and when he enters her finally, it's like for a second, they are one. And he doesn't know if it's because she's been away, and there was a part of him missing since she was, but he's never felt closer to her than he does in that exact moment, when her eyes become misty with pleasure and tears slip down her cheek.

They don't say it, their situation too fragile for those three words. But it's there between them. It's in every pore, in every corner. The love they have for each other is still there, powering through the moments of weakness and months of loneliness. It's still there, as strong as ever, making them both understand that walking away from this could potentially be the worst mistake of their lives.

And there is a sigh that escapes him, when he's somewhere between consciousness and sleep, and they're both feeling safe and loved like nothing can hurt them.

And there is a tear that escapes her. Her soft sniff making him pull her closer into him from behind, as he buries his face into her neck and into the hair he loves so much. He never wants to be the cause for her tears ever again.

The sun is high outside, but they sleep finally, and it's a sleep that heals the worn-to-the-bone tired, and helps and makes everything better. The kind of sleep you wake up after, with a clearer mind.

And he knows that there is no way he could ever sleep that way without her warm body curled into his.

They've been cocooned in his bed for three days straight, just talking. Talking about everything. All the heavy topics they avoided back then, that he avoided, which ultimately made him walk through that door so she would never have to see the ugliest part of him.

He tells her now, and she doesn't turn away. Her head is resting on the pillow facing him, and she lays her soft hand on his cheek.

"Come with me. We can get a fresh start. You can get a job in NY."

"I can't just leave." But he wants to. He wants to pack up his clothes and get on the damn plane with her right this instant, and the last thing he wants to do is say goodbye to her ever again.

"I don't want to leave knowing that you're hurting like this. I want to be with you. I want to know how you feel every day, and know that you're going to sleep with a peaceful mind. And when you're not, I want to be the one to wake you from the nightmares and comfort you.

I don't want to leave."

Her words still echo in his mind. They still haunt him now, weeks later.

But she had to leave. She had a whole life in New York, and neither of them could stay in that bed forever, though it sounded tempting enough. But he realized something. Right after that last call for her flight, as she pressed her last kiss against his lips, and walked away, breaking a little with every step.

There is nothing left for him here.

The silence around him after she left only made it worse, and the demons he's been keeping at bay have all found their way in. It doesn't get better. Instead he breaks over and over again, walking a path that only leads down.

There is only one thing that can make him better. Or one reason for getting better.

Erin.

It's why he's standing at her doorstep now, in the foreign city of New York. And when the door swings open, there are no words needed. Nothing is needed, as she takes him in, and the suitcases behind him tell her he's ready to start over. Her eyes widen, and there is a ghost of a smile on her face.

He steps forward, capturing her lips in a kiss as sweet as a promise. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down on her as tears trickle down her cheeks once more. She trembles in his arms, because this is how it's meant to be. This is the life she wants.

"Sorry, it took me so long."

"Welcome home."

He never imagined his life could be perfect, but as he lays in bed, waking up to see her sleeping face, it hits him that this is pretty damn close to perfect.

Her eyes flutter open after a second. She came home late last night, after a long case, so he wanted to let her sleep in, but it's as if she could feel him wake, so she does too. A grin slowly spreads across her face, as she reaches for him. Her arm wraps around him, and she lets out a cute little groan to signal she's awake. But barely.

"How was the case?"

"We got him," she tells him, and he grins right back, because of course they did. Because his babe is an amazing FBI agent and he couldn't be prouder. He's about to show her just how proud of her he is, when the door opens and someone enters at the speed of lightening and jumps on the bed.

"Mommy's home!"

"She's mine, wait your turn, buddy," Jay says, his possessive words negated by his warm smile as the excited little figure jumps on Erin now. He wouldn't trade these moments of anything in the world. Despite leaving his life in Chicago and never looking back, he has no regrets.

"Can she be mine, too?"

"I absolutely can," Erin assures their little boy. "You can both have me. My two favourite boys. Come here. Wow you're growing so much, stop growing!"

"I can't momma! I gotta grow big like you, so I can catch bad guys like you and daddy!"

Her throat aches with how happy she is. She wonders if this is just a phase. Aiden sees their parents as superheroes for catching bad guys right now, and every time his blue eyes look at her with pride, her heart swells with joy. She loves her job—always has. But she can't deny that since she's a mom, she has had another reason for loving what she does. Making the world a better and safer place for her precious little boy to live in.

She can feel Jay's smile without even having to look over at him, so she focuses on the freckled toddler between them.

"Did you catch the bad guy?" He asks, giving her a cheeky grin.

"I did."

"Yay! Daddy caught the monster under my bed too."

"He did, did he?" She feels Jay's laughter, and his arms around her, and she can't help but think about how many obstacles they had to overcome on their way to this moment. It was all worth it. Every heartache, every bad decision, every mistake they've made and had to fix.

Because now the only monsters in their life are the ones under the bed—and those they are more than capable of dealing with. Because now their life is full of happiness and laughter. Because they built a home from nothing.

That is not to say there won't be more hardships. Life is always full of ups and downs, as they've learned through the years. But they know that wherever life takes them—wherever they end up at—if they're next to each other, they will always be home.