A/N: Last chapter guys! I want to thank everyone who read and supported me in a way of reviews and likes. I love you all!

I hope you like this last chapter, and I'd just like to mention that soon I'm starting a new multi-chapter, so keep posted if you're interested in more Linstead.

A year later

"You alright?" She heard the tone in his voice and recognized it as laced with concern. In that moment, she felt relief for being able to truthfully and honestly give him the reply he wanted to hear.

"Solid," she teased, nudging his shoulder playfully. He grinned back. It took time, and endless hours of therapy. It took crying and fighting and being stupidly overprotective for weeks after, until they managed to put it behind them, so that now when they were standing over a dead body of a serial killer, it didn't stir up old demons.

Because for once in their lives, maybe for the first time, the demons have been dealt with (extensively) by both of them. It didn't mean Erin didn't wake up with nightmares for months after they saved her, or that Jay didn't still flinch or clench his fists with anger for not being able to protect her. But it was something they both accepted and learned to live with. The subtle reminders were still there—the wounds that never show up, and never bleed, and never scar, but are deeper and hurt more than any real wound ever does.

But when they talked about their feelings, when they gave their demons names, the became less overwhelming, less scary. And in sharing those demons with each other, they both felt less alone, and more equipped for dealing with them.

When you survive a trauma, it never truly leaves you. She remembered reading that somewhere. But Erin also remembered something Olivia once said to her when she visited after. Erin had strong suspicions that Hank put her up to it, since she was well-equipped for dealing with such things, and was also a person Erin trusted. Whatever prompted her visit, it was more than useful.

You survived the abuse. You will survive the recovery.

It was something, Liv said, she often told the victims of sexual abuse. But it really was something that spoke to Erin as well. She survived three long weeks of hell. Torture—physical and mental. She survived the hardest weeks that came after, when his voice never left her head. When she could hear and feel him. She would survive the easy part.

She also found solace in seeing all the brave women who survived the abuse as well—including Lieutenant Benson, who went through her own similar experience.

In the end, she did survive. She survived the weeks after McKinley's death, when they came after Jay, questioning the use of deadly force in McKinley's case. She stood by him, along with the rest of the unit, as he gave testimony and his voice shook, because taking a life is never easy, and she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't have done it, unless he felt threatened. She held his hand when he had to relive the horrible moments, so that the prosecutors could have their witch trial, and when she got called as a witness, she told them with brutal honesty what had happened. When Jay was acquitted of all charges, they sat in the car for two hours, just breathing each other in, unsure whether to feel lucky or angry.

Something that nobody told her after it happened, was that surviving the recovery was not a one-time thing. You chose to survive day after day. She was just lucky to have a very good reason to keep surviving.

"This is my favourite part of the day," she confessed, and when her hot breath tickled his neck he felt inclined to agree. The three of them were stacked onto the couch, Erin resting comfortably against his chest, while the sleeping dog was getting heavier every second on the top of his feet.

"Move," he groaned at the dog, who just groaned back in his sleep. He felt Erin start to rise. "Not you, babe. Freckles weighs a ton at least."

She chuckled under him, pulling him in with her. It soon became obvious that though Erin was initially the one to love the eighty-pound ball of fur, it was Jay the dog had special connection to. Perhaps because she named him after the cute freckles on Jay's arms, she thought, or most likely because he bribed him with food more often than not.

She nudged Freckles gently with her foot, and he opened his eyes, staring at her with an accusing expression, then resentfully jumped off the couch and settled on his pillow in the corner (where nobody would be nudging him).

"Thanks," he murmured, leaning over to kiss her. "I don't think I can feel my legs."

"Oh, you're not gonna need them," she teased, turning around to straddle him. She pushed her hair behind her ear and leaned down until their lips were touching again.

She soon found out he could feel all parts of his body just fine.

It was early. The absence of morning traffic through the windows and the small light peeking through the blinds was the proof of just how early. She stirred in the bed, reaching for him, but instead what she found was a cold emptiness where his body laid just hours ago.

"I think I'm going for a run," he murmured when he saw she had opened her eyes to search for him. "Come with me?"

She buried her head into the pillow with a groan. Jay was a man of habits, and his morning runs weren't something he could give up, even if he wanted to. She joined him more than once lately, because she knew what would happen if she didn't.

The first time, she didn't pay much attention to it, because he distracted her with tender kisses down her collarbone, and soon she couldn't even remember her own name. A slight blush crept onto her cheeks when she remembered how he made love to her that morning, while the early sun shone through the blinds and the screams of his name echoed in the silence.

But a pattern was too obvious to miss. If she didn't go for a run with him, he'd shrug it off, instead coming back to bed. Always. Not that she was complaining. She just knew where it stemmed from.

But she was tired, and her limbs were heavy. They came home last night after a week-long case, which had dragged on forever. They had all stayed overtime, and in the end, nothing helped. All they found was a body after body. Cuffing the ruthless man who pulled the trigger didn't bring half the satisfaction it should have to any of them. Hank had even said they could all come in late the next day, so Erin really didn't feel like trading her option of sleeping in for a morning sweat in the cold spring morning.

So, she shook her head, giving him a sleepy grin, before burying her head back into the soft pillow and dramatically throwing her leg over the comforter.

The weight in the bed she was expecting never came, and when she re-opened her eyes she saw Jay was tying his running shoes. A smile escaped her lips, watching his muscles strain when he moved softly around the room in order not to wake her.

Then he came to the bed anyway, pressing a gentle kiss against her lips. "There is coffee in the kitchen." She grinned at the words. It was her favourite 'I love you'.

"You're so hot," she murmured, her voice still laced with sleep and a bit of lust, because in her sleepy state she was even more vulnerable to the effect he had on her, than normally. He just smiled in reply, stealing one more kiss before leaving her to catch the last minutes of sleep that she could.

And just like that, the last constant reminder of what happened went with him, and she knew they were finally okay. It felt like he gave her back a piece of her independence that she didn't know he was keeping safe for her. She knew he didn't take it on purpose, but they've both been rather clingy of each other for months even after McKinley's death.

And she knew just how to make it up to him.

"We haven't seen you in a while," the barista mentioned, while he passed her the two paper cups of coffee to go, along with a paper bag.

"Been busy," she made an excuse, though truthfully, it was the one thing she hadn't been able to do ever since that day. The habit she hadn't yet reclaimed. It was time.

She didn't think that the teenage boy that used to flirt with her every second week when she'd pick up the muffin, would remember her at all, but the grave expression in his eyes told her that he did, and that he knew exactly why she hasn't been around in almost a year.

Her suspicion was confirmed when she reached into her wallet for money and he shook his head. "On the house." It almost brought tears to her eyes—a small kindness in a cruel world that reminded her that everyday people impact other people in ways they don't even realize.

"Thank you."

"I'll see you in two weeks." She nodded, and left the place feeling lighter than she had when she walked in.

"Happy Wednesday," she said, grinning as she set down the paper bag onto his desk later that morning. The coffee followed and she saw his eyes widen with surprise.

"A muffin?" He asked, his voice full of hope.

"Blueberry Vanilla."

"What brought this on?" He asked, curious why after a year, she reclaimed a ritual they stopped with, because it was too painful to remember.

"You went for a run this morning," she explained, and it finally clicked to him. He did it without thinking, and for once, Erin being taken because he stayed home that morning, did not cross his mind at all. Things were back to normal again, and though the memories would always be there, and the faded reminders could still be found in different forms, they had found a way to fully move on.

"We should do something to celebrate. Go somewhere."

"I'll bully Hank into giving us the weekend off," she suggested. "We could go to the cabin."

The corners of his lips turned up as he flashed his pearly whites at her. It made him so ridiculously happy that she grew to love the cabin as much as he did. It was their escape from reality. It was a place where they could heal and refill, and when things were rough, they found themselves craving a visit.

But this time, it wasn't to heal, or to escape. All Erin wanted was a weekend away, with cell-phone turned off, with all the time in the world to make love to her wonderful boyfriend.

Hank took some persuading, but gruffly let them take the weekend if they could manage to get their paperwork into order before they left. They both grinned at that, knowing that even if they had to stay until the very morning, the paperwork would be on his desk on Friday, so they could pack up their stuff, load Freckles into their car and head up North.

"It's exactly a year today," she told him, not really intending to start the topic again, but it just flew out of her mind.

"I know."

"We made it." She leaned back against him, admiring the nature blossoming. The air was still a bit fresh, so she had put on a fluffy pastel sweater and combined it with leggings so she'd be comfortable.

"We sure did." He nuzzled his nose into her neck, pressing a soft kiss onto the soft skin, causing her to shiver. He misread it, taking off his hoodie without a thought and hanging it around her shoulders. Despite not being that cold, Erin hummed with content when his smell enveloped her and she slipped her hands into the pockets to warm them.

"Jay?" She said, after a sharp intake of breath. "Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

He looked at her, confused, and then after a second it clicked and he cursed under his breath. "Shit."

She grinned, turning back to face him. The velvet box she held in her hand was exactly what she thought it was when she felt the familiar material under her fingers.

"This is not how I was going to do this," he told her.

"When have we ever done the things the normal way?" They both chuckled in agreement. "Ask me," she whispered, shaking with anticipation. She was never a big fan of marriage, not really having a good example until she was late in her teens, but after what she went through with Jay in the past year, she knew neither of them was going anywhere. And she found herself anticipating his question with happiness, instead of nerves, and she found herself loving the idea of him waiting for her at the altar, so they could promise to love each other forever.

"Last year when we were here, I made love to you right here in the grass. I remember looking at you, thinking I never knew it was possible to love someone so much. But every day I love you more. I decided then, that I would ask you right here. Marry me, Erin. Marry me so I can spend the rest of my life showing you exactly how much I love you. Marry me, because there is nothing in the world that we can't face if we're together." Marry me, because at this point it will be just a formality to confirm something I had already promised you.

She was never a person who loved commitments. She committed herself to exactly four things in her life.

The first one was to Hank and his family when she came to live with them. She had been too young, too ruined to understand what it meant when a girl that was scared to be loved promised a man who was trying to love her that she wouldn't fail him. But she stuck by it, and the initial gratitude grew into respect, which then grew into a love so deep, nobody could diminish it.

The second one was to the job, when she took an oath to protect and to serve. And with the exception of almost walking away one time, she upheld her promise every day since she graduated the Academy.

The third one was to Nadia. A promise she felt she broke, when she stared at Nadia's body in a shallow grave. She had failed her. Or so she believed for too long after. It took too long to understand that the last memory she had of her, alive, happy and healthy, was the evidence of her not breaking that promise. She did help her. She saved her in the only way that mattered.

The fourth promise she made was to Jay, and it was a long time ago. Before she asked him to move in with her. Before she told him she loved him. A promise to always love him, and be there for him. A promise to never leave him again, and to always have his back.

So there were no doubts in her mind. She needed no time to think, or process that the answer to that question entailed. A tear made its slow descent down her cheek. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"What did you think I was gonna say?" She asked between tears, and he let out a mixture of a sob and a chuckle, as he slid his mother's ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. Just like she was a perfect fit for him. "I love you," she murmured, "I love you in a forever way."

The cynical girl that grew up on the street, who didn't believe love existed until she was seventeen; the cynical girl that laughed at the idea of marriage, even when Hank told her that one day she'd meet someone who would destroy the cynic in her and make her believe in love again, grew into a woman who couldn't wait to walk down the aisle and promise to always love him.

After all, she thought as she pressed her forehead against his, admiring the flashing of the diamond in the evening sun, she had decided long ago, that with Jay, she would settle for nothing short of forever.