A/N - Huge thank for the reviews guys; please keep them coming.

Sorry it's taken a while for an update. The real world and having a proper, responsible (ahem) job is killing me! Finally finished this one this morning and I think you'll like it - it's my favourite so far ;)

Let me know what you think x

Let Me Love You

I should have brought Erin here a long time ago. I've seen her happy, but I'm not sure I've seen her this happy all the time. It's a little warmer than normal for the time of year - so much so that she's wearing only a t-shirt with her jeans, showing off just enough bare skin to make me look insanely forward to getting her in the hot tub later tonight. Although the fresh air has returned her skin to its normal colour and not the pale grey she's been sporting for the past week and a bit, it hasn't quite cured her of the vomiting. It's gotten a little less during the night, but yesterday we were out hiking when she threw up in the bushes. Every time I see her do that, it's reminder of what she's sacrificed so our unit could catch two guys and sign off on the paperwork. I'm starting to think it's too high of a price.

She's currently barefoot, relaxing on a recliner facing the lake with her eyes closed and her face tilted towards the sun. As great as the scenery is here, I'm more than happy just to watch her, especially when she notices each great little thing about this place: the way the setting sun bathes the family room in golden hues a little before dinner time; the swooping action of the darters as they grab the fish effortlessly; the view over the lake from the hot tub once it's fully dark and all the stars come out to play. My favourite light in which to view Erin's dimples is definitely that of the twinkling fairy lights strung above the wooden hot tub in the backyard of this place.

"Babe?" she questions softly, and my heart swells at her use of the endearment. She used it for the first time on the drive over here, when we stopped for gas and on her way into the store, she called back to see if I wanted anything. Babe, you want some gum or a twinkie or something? I got so lost in her words, replaying them over and over again in my head that in the end, she gave up waiting I think, and brought me some Jolly Ranchers back out. I hate the things. Ate them anyway.

"Yeah?"

"I'm kinda hungry. Can you make that ridiculous pizza again for dinner?"

I laugh. "You had that last night!"

"But it was so good," She cracks an eye open to peak at me and it doesn't matter if we'd eaten that pizza every meal of every day for the last year. I'd make it again for her in a heartbeat.

"You want the guacamole too?"

"I want an exact replica," she instructs, opening her other eye while leaning her body over towards me. She wants me to kiss her. I'm never going to not oblige. "Including the part after."

The part after she's referring to, is a dip in the hot tub, during which I make a play that involves massaging her back, but really it's just a ploy to get close to her bikini ties so I can accidentally loosen the knot enough that it falls open. We kiss - a lot - and then she'll climb on top of me, the water sloshing over the sides as she rolls her hips and I just about lose my mind. And afterwards? I'll carry her to the bathroom so we can dry off, and then we'll do it all again in the king bed I need to buy for my apartment.

"That," I say, leaning in to capture her lips with mine, "is something I can do."

We head inside around a half hour later, when the sun has sunk low enough that it's warmth is too weak to stay out without a sweater at least. Besides, I can hear Erin's stomach growling and I've been around hungry women before; I'd rather not keep her waiting.

She wants to help, and so I let her grate the lime zest and squeeze the juice into a dish, ready for the avocado. There's no way I'm letting her near a knife if she doesn't have to use one - especially after the Christmas Day fainting incident. Her trembles have just about completely subsided, yes, but I'm not risking that beautiful skin just so she can get her guacamole faster.

"You get all the good jobs," she faux-grumbles, but I know she doesn't mean it when I get a side-smile and that dimple display.

I wink. "You have no idea."

I light the fire just before the pizza's ready, but we both pull on a hoodie each (mine, incidentally) so we can head back outside to enjoy the sunset while we eat. The flames should warm the room enough so when we come in, I can show her just how soft that rug in front of the fireplace is. Maybe I'll get one of those for my apartment too.

X

I'm woken by the sound of the shower. From the proximity of the noise and the direction of the shard of light jutting out from the door, I can tell Erin's in the bathroom just off of this bedroom. Craning my neck to read the time, I see that it's a little after 3am and there's only one explanation for why she'd be in there: she's been sick. Again.

I decide, on my way to the bathroom, that regardless of her opinion, I'm taking her to the doctor's office in the morning. I'm pretty sure there's absolutely no way she should still be suffering like this, or at least, if there is, maybe she can get something to help.

I knock on the door and it pushes open. She's been following the rules I set regarding locked doors to the letter: apartment doors stay locked at all times but bathroom ones are always open. It goes without saying why this is the case.

I lean against the sink while she finishes off, then hand her a towel when she slides the door open.

"Thanks," she says softly, pulling the soft white cotton around her body.

"That bad you needed a shower huh?"

She nods sadly. "I just wish it would stop."

Erin doesn't let the sigh escape her mouth like I know she wants to, instead, reaching for a second towel to dry her hair. I help her out by passing it in her direction and she smiles gratefully.

"Me too baby."

I help her get dry, rubbing the cotton gently so it captures the water droplets trickling along her skin. Before long, she's succumbing to the tiredness I know she must be feeling - waking every single night to throw up the contents of your stomach must be exhausting, and even though she's putting a brave face on it, the slight redness under her eyes first thing on a morning gives her away.

Once I've brought her some clean stuff to sleep in, I leave her to it, heading for a glass of water to put by her side of the bed so she's got something fresh to drink. We settle back against the mattress, sinking into the comforting embrace of the feathers before I hold her to me, burrowing my face into the back of her neck.

"I'm taking you to the doctor's office in the morning; maybe they can give you something," I say softly, pressing my lips against the nape of her neck in a kiss. "No arguing."

I'm not expecting it, but she agrees in a single exhale. "Okay."

I fall asleep inhaling nothing but vanilla.

X

I figure I've done the right thing by insisting we see the doctor because when I offer Erin the chocolate chip pancakes I know she loves that following morning, she tells me she still feels a little queasy and would rather just have a slice of toast. The fact that all she does is nibble the edges has me worried because my girl usually loves her food, and this just isn't her.

By the time we're waiting to see Dr Manning, I'm feeling a little anxious about the story we're about to tell. I am not having her feeling ashamed that she took that cocaine, and so we've decided that I'll show my badge and explain the only reason we're here in the first place.

"Erin Lindsay?"

Erin rises and looks to me as if she expects me suddenly to back out and decide I'm not accompanying her into that room. I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile before kissing her forehead and placing my hand on her back to guide her in the direction of the female doctor.

Once we've closed the door behind us, I flash Dr Manning my badge, which - judging by the expression on her face - seems to freak her out a bit, but quickly elaborate while Erin fiddles with the zipper on her jacket. I'm not 100% sure she buys it, but she asks no further questions, instead, explaining that she'll need to take a urine sample so she can determine the level of drugs still in Erin's system.

There's an awkward moment after Erin heads to the bathroom, where Dr Manning and I are left alone and I try to fill the silence with questions. She must be able to tell I'm nervous (although, I'm not quite sure what I'm nervous about) and reassures me that they'll be able to give my girl something to help with the vomiting. I just want her to be okay. I need her to be okay.

I'm not sure how many minutes pass - during which I stare at the posters on the walls without taking in even a word of information - before Erin returns, self-consciously clutching her pot which she then hands to the doctor.

"If you give me a few moments, I'll take this for testing."

"How long will it take?" Erin asks.

"We should get the results within 48 hours, so make sure you leave your details with the receptionist so we can call you. When I come back, I'll talk you through some of the possible ways in which we might be able to help you." Dr Manning replies, excusing herself out of the room.

"I'm sorry," Erin whispers once we're alone and what feels like hours have passed in silence.

I have no idea how she continues to think that this is her fault, or what I can do to convince her otherwise. "You don't get to say that any more," I tell her, because it's the only option I haven't tried. "It's me who should be apologising, or Voight, or Burgess for not doing something to help the situation, or - hell - Szef, or…" I trail off as the door opens and Dr Manning returns with a smile that I feel is inappropriate, but I guess she has to appear pleasant in these kind of situations when the reality is anything but.

"Erin," the doctor says in a tone that immediately makes my panic rating ramp up from the 8.5 out of 10 it's been sitting at to a clear 100. "It might be better if you and I talked alone."

I glance at her and she looks like her world is caving in. I place a hand on her knee and do what I can to make her calm. "I'll be right outside."

I try to leave but she's clamped her own hand around mine in some sort of death grip; I couldn't disappear even if I wanted to. "I want him to stay," she says to the doctor. Her eyes turn to me. "Please stay."

Nodding, I turn to the doctor who smiles again. "That's your choice."

I press a kiss against Erin's forehead and feel her relax ever-so-slightly against me.

"Erin, the reason you've been experiencing the vomiting, might have initially been the after-effects of the drugs in your system," Dr Manning explains. "But there's also another possible explanation: you're pregnant."

I think there's a ringing in my ears. I'm pretty sure I've lost focus and my skin is all of a sudden burning.

"Congratulations," the doctor adds with another smile.

There are too many questions in my head, all fighting with one another to escape from my mouth but in the chaos of my brain right now, not a single one manages it. How far gone is she? Is it mine? Have the drugs harmed the baby? Is Erin going to be okay? What about the last time - at Christmas? How can I make sure she's safe?

"How…" I hear Erin's cracked voice break into a whisper and it brings me back into the room. "How far...I mean...how...how many…"

"Five weeks," the doctor confirms.

Erin peeks up at me and I already know what she's trying to tell me with just her eyes. This baby is mine. There's an indescribable feeling swelling in my chest - kind of like pride, but also terror and excitement and...yeah...pride. I squeeze her fingers with mine, kissing her hair over and over as I watch a few tears spill from her eyes.

"Would you like a moment?"

I nod gratefully at the doctor, breathing a quick "thank you," as she heads out of the room to leave us to it.

"I didn't do this to trap you," are the first words that leave Erin's mouth. "I promise."

"Trap me?"

"I've been taking my pill. Ever since I got tested and the results came back negative. I haven't missed one."

She's defending herself. She thinks I'm going to think she did this on purpose. Does she think I don't want it?

"We made a baby," I whisper, completely in awe. "I'm gonna be a dad."

Saying it feels even better than thinking it. The thought of holding a tiny human in my hands though - one that has Erin's eyes and Erin's dimples and Erin's freckle-free skin - has me breaking out in what I know is a shit-eating grin.

"You're not mad at me?" she asks. "It's not too soon?"

I pull her into my arms because she has to know that I'm okay with this. More than okay with this. And yes, it's soon and we've got a ton of other shit going on - not least the fact that she did a line of coke only a week ago - but God, I want this. I want it with her. "I love you Erin. I'm not mad." I know she needs to hear it. "And granted, it's soon, but so was me falling for you, so...I'm in if you are?"

I hear her sniff back her tears but she finally lifts her head to look me in the eye and I think I see a spark of excitement there; she wants this too. "You sure?"

"That I love you? Yes. That I want this? Absolutely." I'll say it every day until she's convinced, and then every day after that because I know some part of her is always going to need to hear it.

She turns into me in response, pressing her lips against my shirt, right where my heart sits. I drop a kiss to her head and we rest.

X

I can't stop staring at Erin's stomach. We're lying in bed and instead of being wrapped around me like she usually is, she's currently on her back, hair fanned out across the pillows as I lie on my side, propping my head up with my hand so I can watch her. It's incredible to think that something the size of only a sesame seed growing inside of her can evoke so much love already. She's indulging me by letting me trace patterns across her bare skin with my fingers, dancing delicately below her bellybutton where she's soft and sensitive. I just want to shut us up inside of this cabin for the next eight months so she can grow our child inside of her and I can keep them both safe.

We won't know whether there are still drugs in Erin's system until tomorrow at the earliest, but Dr Manning had assured us the most likely cause of her vomiting was the new life inside of her. She'd suggested ginger ale and soda crackers to try and help, and so we swung by the store on the way back here. There is, apparently, very little risk to the baby regarding the cocaine, though I know Erin feels guilty because so do I. We're not really gonna get much sleep until we get those results (and even then, my sole purpose is going to be worrying about my girl and my kid, so that's probably pretty much it for life on the sleeping front) but I'm doing my best to keep her reassured that everything's going to be okay.

"If it wasn't yours," she says suddenly and without warning, "I don't know what I'd do."

A lump forms in my throat because we've always used some sort of protection, and this situation could easily have been different. When I reflect on it though, had this baby not been mine, it wouldn't have changed much. I'd love her regardless.

"I'd love you both," I say, breathing kisses across down her jawline. It's the truth and I know it. "But I'm so glad it is."

Erin doesn't say anything else, just closes her eyes with a soft sigh of contentment and I flick off the light. Her finger fidgets its way to my waistband and we're out.

When I wake, a couple of hours later to an empty bed and light peeking under the door, I feel less panicked than I have in the past week. Making my way towards the bathroom, the silver slivers of light from the moon are shooting through the expanse of glass facing the lake, illuminating the couch and its many scatter cushions. I make a detour, grabbing a couple and stuffing them under my arms before I knock lightly on the bathroom door and push it open.

"Hey," I say softly, offering Erin a small smile. She's resting her forearms on the edge of the toilet bowl and she looks utterly exhausted, but also kind of happy.

"Hey,"

"You been up long?"

"Ten minutes," she replies, shuffling on her knees. "Only been sick once."

"That's better, I guess?"

As if on cue, she doubles over and coughs her vomit into the bowl, flushing the chain with a shaky hand when she's done. My heart both breaks and swells at the same time.

"Here," I say, easing her knees up off of the tiles one-by-one so I can push the cushion beneath her. Laying the others down so she can sit back, I kiss each of her fingers so she lets go of the hair she's holding off of her face and I can take it in my own, teasing the strands backwards in what I hope is a soothing motion.

"You don't have to stay; you should get some sleep," she says, running her free hand over her forehead. I notice she catches a little sweat in her palm, so I pass her the cool flannel from the sink. "Thank you."

"I'm staying." I kiss the back of her head and feel her weight sink against me. My fingers continue to comb through the waves of her hair as her muscles relax somewhat.

"What's your favourite word?" Erin asks, catching me off guard so that my fingers momentarily stop their work.

"What?"

"I want to know everything about you, Jay Halstead," she says, turning slightly in my arms so I get to look in her eyes. She's so sincere that I'm lost for a minute. "I need to know who you were before."

To be honest, I'm not sure who I was before Erin.

"As a kid, my favourite word was grasshopper," she tells me and if anything, it makes me fall in love with her even more.

"And now?" I ask.

"Jay."

"What?"

"That's my favourite word." There isn't a hint of not being serious in her tone. "For so many reasons."

I want her to tell me them all, but I'm having trouble saying anything right now. I manage to seal my lips over hers in a shaky kiss which is a promise that I'll always do right by her; that my name won't ever become a curse word.

"Onomatopoeia," I finally manage to answer, and I get a soft giggle and an eye roll. Then she's serious again.

"I hope our kid's smart like you."

We spend the rest of the night holed up in that bathroom asking all sorts of ridiculous questions and laughing at equally ridiculous answers. I can't find the right words to tell her just how much I love her. She falls asleep against my chest and, reluctant to wake her, I cover her with a towel. Her eyes don't blink open until morning.

X

We get the results from the doctor's office the next day and, as Dr Manning had suspected, there are no traces of drugs left in Erin's system; the vomiting is all baby. The relief that everything is fine is like no other, and it confirms our plans to head back to reality, as much as neither of us want to leave this place. I'm in Voight's good graces right now, but I figure if I stay away too long, I'll soon know about it.

After spending a final day absorbing the rays of the sun and generally wishing we never had to go back to Chicago, we pack up the car and start the trip south so Erin can begin her job answering the phones in intelligence. I'm a little hesitant about her working while she's still feeling fragile, but she insists she's not sick. I flinch when she adds in that if things were different, she'd be going to work at Bunny's regardless, and she spends the next half hour apologising because all she meant was work is work, and she's more than grateful to be starting this job. I figure the less personal days I take right now, the more I've got for the upcoming months and so put in a call to Voight to let him know I'll be back in the morning. He wants Erin as soon as possible, but she's got stuff to work out with Gabby first, and he's not about to put pressure on her to be in two places at once. I realise, when he tells me that, that I've been more grateful for Hank Voight being my boss in the last few months than I have about it all for the rest of the entire time I've worked for him.

We stop for gas along the way and Erin asks me what I want from the store - adding her babe at the end this time. I reel off my order for an obscene amount of sugary snacks before she heads inside, the hem of her plaid shirt blowing in the breeze where it's come untucked from her jeans. I figure, as I'm filling up the tank, that I should buy some cookbooks that at least have a series of balanced meals gracing the pages; it's all well and good Erin and me eating this crap, but the baby's gotta have the vitamins and nutrients it needs. Making a mental note to hit up Amazon tonight, I pop the gas nozzle back into its holder and head inside of the store to pay.

I find my girl browsing the candy bars, already carrying a basket full of the most unhealthy stuff imaginable. There and then, I make a silent promise that I'm going to give her everything she needs, and so I start rifling through the basket, taking out the Skittles and M&Ms cookies first, at which she protests with an indignant,

"Hey!"

"Baby needs proper food," I say, brushing my lips against hers before putting the items I'm now holding back on the shelf. In the end, I decide we're not having any of it because there's a perfectly good Italian place a couple miles away and she can sit at a real table with real cutlery to eat. It's got to be better than the processed crap this place is selling.

After I've paid for the gas and Erin's forced me into letting her have a Butterfinger - just to keep her going, she says - we head to Picolino's for pasta and I spend the entire time watching her shovel in mouthfuls of Ziti, thinking about how nice it would be to bring our kid here on the way back from a family vacation to the cabin.

X

There's something different about heading to work this morning. Leaving Erin in my bed - because she's not at work until later tonight - was a bonus because when she's not forced to get up, she wears this sleepy smile when she looks at me and her hands always, always reach to pull me back down to her when I've just got dressed so she can kiss me lazily. They should have me talk to kids in schools about self-control because I've exercised it more since I've met Erin than I have in the rest of my life put together. She makes me lose my damn mind.

"Halstead!" Voight barks at me - just as I've taken a seat at my desk - and already, my positivity is taking a nosedive. It's not even eight. He can't be pissed at me already... I make my way to his office, much to the delight of Ruzek and Atwater who are making jokes about me no longer being the favourite (like I ever was) and take a seat opposite my boss.

"Sarge?"

He extends his hand towards me and I can feel my face forming a frown. "Congratulations."

I shake it dumbly, not quite knowing what I'm doing, and Voight perches on the edge of his desk.

"So Erin's pregnant?"

How the hell does he know? "She told you?"

"No. Your face did. I know that look." He pops his tongue inside of his cheek and nods at me. "Wore it every day for a month when I found out Camille was pregnant with Justin."

I'm already pretty certain that whatever this look is I'm apparently wearing, it's going to be etched into my face a damn sight longer than a month. Try the next eighteen years. And probably after that.

"It's really early," I find myself saying.

"But she's okay? After everything in Wicker Park?"

"Yeah, I think. The doctor seemed to think the baby would be fine."

"That's good," Voight replies, his voice gravelly but sincere. "You look after her, you hear me?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. We'll make sure she's alright here."

"No jobs."

He nods. "No jobs. Just the phones and research."

"Research?" That's been added since his visit to my apartment.

"She seems like she has an eye for this. We'll see what she can do."

I smile gratefully and think about the girl who's currently lying in my bed, almost undoubtedly tangling herself in the sheets I'll have to straighten later. It's the kind of life I didn't know I wanted until I met her. I'm interrupted from my thoughts by Voight.

"Get out of my office; find something to do."

And that's that.

X

I can't breathe. Can't see straight. Can't feel anything other than the blinding panic of searching for a way out of wherever I am - which I know somewhere in the back of my mind is the road leading to my apartment building, but that one rational thought is being suffocated by the noise of shelling, of screams and cries and destruction.

Somehow, I manage to steer the 300 to the edge of the road and my legs are shaking, my entire body drenched in sweat. When the vicious rumbling ceases for a few seconds, I hear the shrill wheeze of my breaths, laboured yet frantic and it takes me several attempts at finding the door handle before I manage to wrench it open, the bullets of white thrashing against my body in wave after wave of attack until I make it inside the door, and even then my skin stings with the relentless flashbacks. I feel sand coating the inside of my mouth, dry and grating every time I try and swallow. Everything is covered in black spots so navigating my way is near-impossible, but somehow I make it to the door of my apartment, where, for a few seconds, I can reason with my brain that this isn't Iraq. That we're not under attack. That there's salvation awaiting at the other side of the door.

But my apartment has windows. Hail against glass makes for an awfully accurate replica of the sounds of a siege you're on the wrong side of, and I'm back there again, desperately searching for a way out. A howling screeches, whistling shells dropping in flashes of orange and I need to get away from it; need to not see, not hear, not feel.

I stumble down the hallway, the walls pressing closer like the dry earth of a trench's protective shield but I can still hear the bullets overhead. There's a bang and a subsequent pained howl that I fear might have erupted from my throat, and I just need to get to cover.

I'm wet. It's the only thought I have. I'm wet. It's raining. I ache. My muscles are screaming but I'm wet and it's raining and it's making it so hard to drag my body anywhere. I have to rest. The walls are wet - it's really raining - and my hands slide as I try and steady them. It doesn't rain in the desert. It doesn't rain but yet it's raining now and my clothes are heavy.

There's a blast of air. It's warm. It's still raining but the air has changed and I can't open my eyes because I don't know what I'm going to see. I don't know how many bodies there'll be; what'll be left of the trench; what colour the sand will be - red on gold is such an ugly brown. And then comes a sound that isn't shelling. Isn't bullets. Isn't death. It's gentle: an oral white flag, but I can't prize my eyelids upwards because it could be a trick.

But then comes a touch. A touch that isn't rain or a bullet. It matches the sound: gentle and coaxing. It meets my eyes, fluttering like a butterfly tentatively exploring a new world until it forms a shield against the rain.

"Jay." The word breaks through. Somehow manages, even in its clemency, to overcome the rain and the shells, the bullets and the agonising shouts. With everything I have, I force my lids upwards a crack and I get white. An angel maybe. Heaven.

And then there's a touch. The shield keeps the rain off and there's a brush so light on my arm that my lids rise again in search of the feather that must have dropped. There's skin. Skin on mine and my head lifts - enough, just enough so I see her. So I know: I'm home.

"Erin?" Her name doesn't come out right. It's broken and in more than the two syllables it should be. I stare in case she disappears but her hands reach to stroke the sides of my face, her touch warm in comparison to the cold rain.

"It's me," she whispers, her voice dancing a trail of light through the darkness. "I'm here. I've got you."

My legs crash and I sink against the wall but she's got me, pressing herself against my chest so the rain doesn't penetrate my skin, and it's only then that I realise: we're not outside. We're not on the battlefield. We're at home, in my shower and her skin is covered in goosebumps. She's freezing. I'm freezing. The water's freezing.

As if she knows, she reaches behind her to the knob, turning it clockwise so the icy stream eventually warms and I realise we're both wearing our clothes, soaked to the skin and heavy.

"Erin?"

Her hands come back to me, tracing the outline of my jaw, my eyelids, my lips before she ghosts her own in a whisper across my skin. "I'm here," she breathes. "I'm here Jay. I'm here; I love you."

My eyes search hers with the last bit of strength they have left.

"I love you," she whispers again, dropping her head to the crook of my neck where I feel her exhale before she presses kisses against the skin there.

My hands reach for her t-shirt of their own accord, tugging it up and over her head so that it lands with an unforgiving clap on the floor. The noise makes me jump and her hands go to my chest, smoothing over my heart until it slows. When she's satisfied, my own t-shirt joins hers on the floor of the shower, but she's careful to lay it down gently, her eyes never leaving mine. I rest my bare chest against hers, feeling her stomach - still flat and unassuming - press against the belt of my jeans.

"Move in with me." The words leave my mouth in desperation. "And not just because you're pregnant, but because I want to come home to you. I need you." I'm panting suddenly, out of breath. "I love you."

Erin stares at me, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. And then she nods, wrapping her entire body around me so I'm surrounded by everything her that's good and pure and perfect.

I devour her mouth; a match for the storm outside because words aren't enough right now, and she responds with a soft moan that has me fumbling for the button on her jeans. I strip them from her body, along with her panties, before she forces mine off and I use the brief break in contact to slow my limbs; make sure I love her right.

Because she loves me too.

X

I don't know how long we stay in that shower, wrapped up in each other far away from the sounds and sights and smells of that battlefield but when we finally leave, the outside world is a soft, quiet white.

"Thundersnow," Erin breathes. "It used to be my favourite type of storm."

I don't say anything, just towel off and tentatively step out of the sanctity of the bathroom to find something to lounge in. It's not early enough for bed, and it's only now that I realise Erin is home way earlier than I'd expected.

"What are you doing home so early?" I ask as she joins me in the livingroom, then smile because I can use the word home now to mean home for both of us.

"The storm killed business. Nobody wants to go out in that and I volunteered to be the one to come home."

"I'm glad you did." It's the truth.

"Me too."

I sink into the couch, breathing my relief at the passing storm which has blanketed the world outside in white. I hate the stuff at the best of times, but this close to Spring - especially after the crazy-nice weather we had in Wisconsin - it's especially awful. Teamed with thunder and lightning just adds insult to injury.

Erin makes her way across to me, crawling on top of the couch so she can lay between my legs with her head on my chest. I comb my fingers through her hair after she settles so that I can hear her breaths even out to a calm serenity where she's flirting on the edge of sleep.

"Will you tell me about it some time?" she murmurs against me so that her breath does this weird thing where it burns goosebumps along my skin. "Iraq?"

I haven't told anyone about what happened on that tour. But confessing what I saw and what I did to Erin doesn't seem completely out of reach. Just...not yet.

I kiss her hair. "Yes." She snuggles closer. "Just not tonight."

"Not tonight," she repeats softly, her lips pressing against my chest. "But just know I want to listen." Judging by her yawn, she's just about asleep. "I love you."

I lock my ankles around hers so she's not going anywhere. "I love you too."