The next four months flew by. Gradually my doctors let me add more hours to my work week, and I was even given permission to participate in "occasional, non-contact, non-confrontational" questioning of suspects. I had no idea what that meant, and neither did Cavanaugh, so I just questioned whomever I felt like and started ripping confessions out of people like I'd never been told not to interrogate anyone.

Cavanaugh was impressed with my work, but I could tell he was worried, too. Our conversation the day he picked me up from Tommy's apartment all those months ago was usually at the forefront of my mind. I had to pass my physical requalification when the next academy class was getting ready to graduate, or it was possible that Cavanaugh would have to put me out to pasture. I knew that Cavanaugh would fight for a second chance for me with everything he had, but ultimately that decision was out of his hands.

I still couldn't leave the precinct and the morgue was still off limits, but I was gradually doing more investigation and not just rote paperwork. I started watching Frost more often, learning some of his computer skills from him. Soon I was running searches for him when he was bogged down. He seemed impressed with my newfound prowess, though I knew I'd never come close to the computer genius he was.

Frost, for his part, was getting much better at playing the "bad cop" when it came time to question a suspect. I suspected he'd been forced to take on the role after I left, which would have been rather difficult for him, but with each new interrogation that he did, he got better. I was proud of the way that he had grown.

Korsak was exhausted. There was no denying that the man needed more than just a vacation. I'd see him speaking to Cavanaugh frequently, and wondered if he was making arrangements for a more desk-centric position. I hoped that if I was able to come back to work, that I'd be paired with Korsak and Frost again. I couldn't imagine working with anyone else. It didn't take long though, for Korsak to begin hinting that when I came back (he never said if, I noticed), that he was looking to take on more of a supervisory role. He'd still work with us, and be the same sergeant he always was to us, but he'd like to see fresher faces out on the streets with us. I couldn't blame the guy, but the idea of him aging out into some sort of desk position made me incredibly sad.

Things in therapy had continued to progress well, too. Derrick was relentless when it came to working on my gait, and we were working harder than ever on the skills I would need to qualify for duty. Over the months, my lurch had transformed into a limp, and with each new day, my limp was fading away. It came back when I was tired or sore, but I was better able to hide it in everyday situations, and I was really progressing when it came to jogging and sprinting. Derrick and I were spending as much time as we could on working on skills I would need for my physical qualifications. He was also quietly encouraging me to work out on the days I didn't have therapy. He was as invested in my return to work as I was.

My psychotherapy was going well too, for the most part. I rarely fought Dr. Gilfried on things anymore. I just answered her questions and did my homework. I was more open and honest with her than I had ever been, and because of that, I felt like I had come a long way. We focused mainly on my recovery and going back to work, but my stubborn unwillingness to come up with contingency plans should I not be able to return to the BPD clearly had her concerned. She constantly pressed me for ideas, giving me what-if scenarios and trying to teach me ways of dealing with disappointment. At times I played along with her, and at times I deflected her questioning, and she would promise me we would "revisit this scenario in another session".

The problem was, I didn't want to be anything but a homicide detective with the Boston Police Department. And I'd worked so hard, and gotten so far, that all I could see was going back to work with my old partners. There could be no failure because I wasn't set to fail. I'd worked too hard to fail. That's what I kept telling myself.

Dr. Gilfried was also helping me to deal with the stress of preparing for my physical exams. Occasionally I'd get frustrated with myself, or with Derrick's expectations of me, or even just with the people around me, who seemed to all think I was still some fragile patient stuck in the ICU. I had a tendency to lash out at times, and more than once I had to apologize to the people around me for the way that I'd acted. Dr. Gilfried had said she was proud of me for approaching her with my concerns, instead of Derrick or Dr. Grossberg telling her about them. We did exercises together that helped me to prepare for those outbursts and avoid them.

And at times, we also visited my recoveries from Charles Hoyt and Bobby Marino during our sessions too. Back when things went down with Hoyt and Marino, I had leaned heavily on Maura, and she healed me. There's no doubting that. But speaking about those many incidents years later with Dr. Gilfried, and getting her professional input on them took me beyond healing. It finally allowed me to give each of those incidents closure. I don't think I'll ever know if it's simply because of the injuries I sustained and the losses I incurred, or if it was the time that had passed, or if it was Dr. Gilfried's magic, but I finally felt like I had put those incidents behind me. They were nothing more than bad memories, and they couldn't haunt me anymore.

It wasn't just work and therapy that had continued to improve as time went on. Life with Maura got better and better with each passing day. We had our ups and downs just like any couple, of course. Me taking off my shoes at the front door and just leaving them there whenever I came home quickly became a bone of contention between us. So was Maura's constant need to clean up after me. It took us awhile to balance things out between us, but that was the beauty of our relationship. We always found the middle ground that made us happiest, and we thoroughly enjoyed the time we spent looking for that middle ground.

It was other little things that made us both incredibly happy together too. Things like surprise bouquets of flowers at home or at the precinct. Random baggies of fudge clusters left in places where I knew that Maura would find them, even if she was completely devoted to healthy eating.

One Sunday morning I sat down for breakfast with Maura as we mulled over our plans for the day. It was rainy and unseasonably cold for October, and our plans to go check out the fall foliage looked like they were going to be a washout. I had just come back from a run, soaked and toweling off from the rain, as we discussed our options for the day. I pulled the box of Lucky Charms that always seemed to appear out of the cabinet above the fridge and poured myself a bowl.

"Do you eat this stuff?" I asked her as I sat down.

She looked at me quizzically.

"It's just that there always seems to be a new box of them here. And they were here when I came home from rehab, before I'd been here to stay for good. The box was open. I thought maybe you'd taken up eating Lucky Charms. It's okay if you did. Everyone's entitled to a guilty pleasure," I teased.

Maura smiled at me sheepishly. "Tommy brought over a box for TJ once when I was babysitting for him. Although I had reservations about feeding a toddler food that was so high in sugar and processed ingredients, Tommy said that TJ really enjoyed eating his 'Aunt Janie' cereal. So I fed it to him, and when Tommy picked up TJ the next morning he accidentally left the box here. I told him I'd keep it there for the next time I watched TJ."

She paused, picking up the box of cereal to look at it before she continued. "I was pregnant at the time and having the strangest cravings. I was also completely alone and missed you terribly. So one morning when I woke up, I poured myself a bowl. I was dying for something sugary and carby, and this seemed to fit the bill. What I didn't realize was that it was satisfying two cravings at once. My hunger for sweets and my hunger for you."

I squeezed her hand, and she continued speaking. "I was hooked then. I would sit here every morning and have a bowl of cereal, either imagining you here with me doing the same thing, or imagining you in New York, all dressed up for work, happy and ready for your day. I had no idea you were just as miserable as I was. I always tried to picture you happy, because that's what I had hoped for you."

Maura shrugged. "Within a few days, the box was empty, and I knew I'd be watching TJ again, so I picked up another box. And together we had 'Aunt Janie' cereal every time he visited. Even after my miscarriage and when Tommy found steady daycare for TJ, I kept having a bowl of your cereal every now and then. It was oddly comforting, even if I was rotting my teeth, clogging my arteries, and slowly sending myself into a downward spiral of diabetes and sugar addiction."

"Maura," I chastised. "Really? From one box of cereal, you entered that death spiral?"

"There may have also been Snickers bars, ice cream, and more pizza than anyone should ever consume, ever."

I shook my head at her. "What?" she protested. "I was pregnant. And very depressed."

"Did you gain a lot of weight?"

"No, I didn't keep much of what I ate down due to extreme morning sickness. I also exercised a lot while you were gone. It was one of the only things that kept my mind clear. And off of you. Despite that, I thought about you all the time."

I looked at her sadly. "I missed you too, you know."

"I know," Maura said sadly, before she brightened up considerably. "But now I get to eat with you every morning. I couldn't ask for anything better."

Maura pulled a bowl out of the cupboard and sat down next to me. "Now pass me some of that diabetes-inducing stuff. I'm hungry."

We both laughed. We had worked up quite an appetite the night before.

November tenth dawned just like any other November day in Boston that year. The only difference was that there was no pre-winter blizzard of historic proportions bearing down on the northeast, like there had been on that date the year before.

I woke up early that morning and was surprised that Maura wasn't asleep half on top of me, her head against my chest, like usual. I sat up in bed and looked around. The light was on in the bathroom and the door was closed. I listened intently, and at first there was no noise at all. I figured Maura just needed to use the facilities and would come back to bed soon.

I sat there a few minutes longer, waiting for Maura to come back out, when I heard it. The tiniest of sniffles. I stood up, making my way to the bathroom door, when I heard a muffled sob. I rushed into the bathroom and found Maura on the floor, back against the tub, face buried in a towel, shoulders shaking with each new sob that made its way out of her.

"Maura?" I asked, terrified. "Baby, what's wrong?"

I sat down on the floor next to her, and pulled her up and into my lap. I wrapped my arms around her, pressing her head into the crook of my neck, and I rocked her back and forth, gently.

"Maura, please, talk to me," I begged. "What's wrong?"

It took her a few moments, but she started to calm down a little.

"It's just-" she sobbed, and wrapped one arm tightly around my neck, before she continued again. "It's just that a year ago today, you got hurt."

"I know, Maur. I know," I said softly.

"I'm not usually one to get so upset over a date," she continued, still crying, bordering almost on hysterics.

"It's okay, Maur. You're okay. I'm okay."

I tried to console her, but her sobs seemed to come harder instead of subsiding.

"A year ago today, you were considered among the dead, Jane," she whispered, terrified of the memory.

"I'm sorry, Maura."

I didn't really know what I was apologizing for. Was it for the drama and turmoil the accident had put my family through? Was it for leaving in the first place? Was it for the way that my family found out about me after the accident? Did it matter?

"I didn't think today would be that big of a deal," I said to her quietly. "But maybe we should just stay home today, and be together. Would you like that?"

I felt her nod her head against me.

"Maybe we'll call Ma, Frankie and Tommy over for dinner too," I suggested softly.

"I-" Maura hiccupped. "I d-d-don't kn-n-now if I'll be-e-e in any state to entertain," she finally sobbed out.

I tightened my hold on her even more before I answered her. "Maur, you know you don't have to entertain my family. But I think that instead of spending today mourning what happened, and what could have been, we should celebrate today. Let's celebrate today as if it was my birthday. Let's celebrate all the things I have to be thankful for, and how far I've come. Let's spend the day together and the evening with my family, and look at all the good that has come along in the last year."

Maura had started to calm down as I was speaking.

"I don't know why I am so emotional about this. You're not," she pointed out.

"Maybe I should be. But I'm just thankful I'm here, with you." I buried my head in her hair and waited for her to calm down a bit more.

When her ragged breathing started to slow down, I slowly, awkwardly, stood up, keeping her in my arms, and carried her back to the bedroom. I placed her gently on the bed and kissed her forehead softly.

"Wait here," I said quietly. I went downstairs and left a message for Cavanaugh that I wouldn't be in that day, and then I left a message for Susie Chang that Maura was taking a personal day.

I went back upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind me, intent on letting Maura know that not only was I alive, but I was ready to love her for the rest of my life. We spent the majority of the day making love. That night my family and I all met up at the Dirty Robber and celebrated together. Maura even turned a blind eye when I had a beer.