Here is the chapter everyone has been waiting for, I'm sure. The reuinion. I know one month seems like a long time for her to be gone, but I'm using it only because it fits into the pattern of my fic: minutes/hours/days/weeks. There is one more chapter after this, then it will be complete.

1 Month Later

It was cold. Too damn cold, even for a winter morning in New York. Danny puffed breath into his hands and rubbed them together briskly for warmth. He silently hoped that, after being caught, this killer would receive an extra ten years in the slammer just for dumping the body outside.

"I'd say he's been here about four or five hours," Hawkes spoke up, kneeling over the body. The victim had been discovered in a Brooklyn junkyard, in the passenger seat of a rusty Ford F-150. This was where they now stood; surrounded by vehicles in varying stages of destruction, encased by a chain link fence. The police had already quartered off the pickup truck with yellow tape.

"Four or five hours? That's it? It feels like we've been out here that long," Danny protested, taking a few pictures of the pickup's interior. While Hawkes had been on the scene for nearly an hour already, Danny had arrived just moments before. He had developed an unfortunate record of lateness lately; not having Lindsay there gave him less motivation.

Hawkes smiled, accustomed to Danny's penchant for voicing his complaints all too readily. "He bled out when his throat was slit. His jugular was cut, but the line is awfully jagged and rough for a knife. Too much even for a serrated blade," he said, prodding the wound gently.

Danny bent over to snap some close-up photos of the fatal injury. "Could our murder weapon be a key?" he suggested, wrinkling his nose. "I've heard of keying somebody's car when they piss you off, but their neck?" He shuddered. "I'll start checking the car for prints."

As he fumbled in his kit for fingerprint dust, his cell phone chirped, alerting him to a new text message. His heart lodged in his throat when he saw the sender: "Monroe".

Today.

JFK. American 14.

Gate C-7.

10:15am.

She was coming home. To him.

He instinctively checked his watch—it was already 9:30. Oh shit, he thought, dropping his kit on the ground.

"I gotta go," he told Hawkes breathlessly. "Can you get my stuff?" He took off towards the junkyard entrance without further explanation.

"An emergency?" Hawkes called to him.

"Hell yeah."

--

The next pulse-pounding thirty minutes were spent in traffic, thick and slow as molasses. Danny was tempted to steal the electric scooter from an elderly woman on the street corner. Even she was moving at a faster clip than he was. It had been a whole month since he had seen Lindsay, but now every gut-twisting, hand-trembling moment seemed like an eternity.

Finding JFK airport wasn't difficult, it was a major landmark and therefore hard to miss. However, finding his way around the inside of the airport was a different story. Danny hadn't been on a trip in years, in fact he rarely left the city. Navigating the various counters, security checkpoints, and gates was a mind-boggling experience. The fact that his brain was only focused on one thing—Lindsay--didn't help matters.

He wandered down the cavernous corridors aimlessly. Dozens of television screens displayed takeoff and arrival information, and he quickly scanned them for Lindsay's flight.

American 14… Arrived.

"Damn," he hissed under his breath. He was late – Lindsay would already be there, looking for him, thinking he hadn't come. Following the endless arrows and signs was becoming a most desperate scavenger hunt. At last, in an accidental blessing, he stumbled upon the C wing.

Danny began to jog, counting under his breath with each gate he passed: C-2, C-3, and on. When he saw the sign for C-7, a mixture of fear and elation caused his breathing to become less reflexive, more of an effort. He stood frozen in place, studying the many faces that were mingling about. What if she had assumed he wasn't going to show up, and had just taken off, heartbroken? There were so many people: young and old, tall and short, dressed in every color. He frantically tried to remember the color of Lindsay's coat. Navy blue? No, black, definitely black.

Then he saw her.

A group of passengers had departed, leaving him with a clear view of the enormous windows. She was leaning against them, staring forlornly out onto the runway. Her shoulders were slumped, a sure sign she had given up.

Danny squeezed past the people who were hugging loved ones, arguing over destinations, booking hotel rooms on cell phones. He walked right up to her until he was inches away, yearning to make some sort of physical contact but not wanting to startle her.

"Sorry I'm late," he forced out, wincing.

Lindsay jumped, and when she saw him, her face broke into a smile of relief. For a mere fraction of a second, they looked at each other, time itself having paused. Then as if automatically programmed to do so, they embraced, clinging to each other for dear life.

"You came!" she whispered, her voice muffled from both emotion and being buried against his shoulder.

"Of course I came. There's no where else on earth I'd rather be." Danny was overwhelmed as he held her. Having her here within the span of his arms just felt so natural, so damn good. He knew that from now on, he would always protect her, never let her go.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart, staring at each other in shock. People buzzed around them, unaware of what had just happened. Unaware of what these two people had been through in the past month.

"What are you thinking?" Lindsay asked him worriedly, shouldering her carry-on bag.

Danny looked grim. "I'm thinking I should probably kiss you now."

Lindsay laughed, breathless with relief once again. "Yeah. I think you probably should."

There was no hesitation on Danny's part. He took his fingertips and lightly touched her chin, guiding her face up to his. Leaning in, he could taste her already, before they even made contact. And when he yielded to the softness of her lips, eager and open, he felt as if he were standing in a surrealist painting, the world all melting and slippery around them.

When they broke apart for air, Lindsay brought her hands up to cup his face.

"I don't know what to do, where to begin," she sighed, her thumbs caressing his jaw line. "I messed up bad and I—"

"Shh." Danny silenced her by placing a finger against her lips. "Let's move on, forget the past, make a clean start," he begged. "I know what I want, and that's to be with you. You want to be with me. You're ready, I'm ready. Okay?" He felt as if his life depended on her answer to this question.

Lindsay looked him straight in the eye, unflinching. "Okay. Better than okay."

"C'mon," he said, grabbing her carry-on bag from her. "I'll buy you some lunch."

She stopped him, her hand on his arm. "Danny, I think I owe you. My treat today."

He shook his head. "Uh-uh, Montana, it's on me. Enjoy the chivalry while it lasts."

She paused, biting her lip, but there was a twinkle in her eye. Danny chuckled and lazily slung his arm over her shoulder. I got her, he thought. He was the luckiest man alive, and he was impatient to begin this new journey.

"Let's go," he said, guiding her away. "We've wasted enough time."

Up next, the conclusion: One Year Later