Guys. I am so sorry. I meant to get this up ages ago, but it's been busy and I got stuck on some of the scenes and then all of a sudden like two months passed. I am so sorry. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

I think this is the end! There may be an epilogue coming, but I'm not quite sure yet. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I've had a lot of fun writing this!

-o-o-

Jay stands in the doorway to the balcony of their rented beachfront apartment, watching Erin. The sun is setting over the Caribbean, and the orange-red glow lights up her hair and her face. She's leaning against the banister, staring out over the sparkling water, seemingly unaware of his gaze. He props himself against the sliding glass door, unable to take his eyes off her.

She's so beautiful sometimes he can hardly breathe.

It's been a long day. They'd been up before 5:00 to catch a cab to O'Hare, followed by two flights and a ferry. Jay had sat on the plane beside her, squeezed into a middle seat while she curled up against the window, unable to avoid thinking of the last flight they'd taken together. The one that had brought them home from New York after Yates' trial. She'd been totally shut down then, her entire body a rigid mask of agony. He'd been afraid to touch her, afraid to talk to her, certain that anything he said or did would cause her to shatter.

It feels like a few minutes and a few lifetimes ago.

"Stop staring at my ass, Halstead," Erin growls, without turning away from the glowing sunset.

He laughs and comes to stand beside her, slipping his hand into hers and kissing her temple. "You're so gorgeous," he whispers, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

She shakes her head. "This is gorgeous," she says, nodding at the flaming sky. It is, but he doesn't turn away from her. She takes a deep breath, and for a second, her eyes darken and grief flits across her face. "Nadia loved sunsets," she whispers, her voice thick and barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. "She always said they made her feel hopeful."

"She'd be really proud of you, Erin," Jay says, reaching up to stroke his finger against her cheek.

"I know," Erin says, leaning into his touch. "I know that. I just—I miss her, you know? And I just...I wonder if it's ever going to get easier."

Jay sighs, considers that. He thinks that maybe it already is—that finally, Erin can mention her name without intolerable pain tightening her entire body. He thinks of the first days after Nadia's death, of the way agony seemed to lance through her when he'd suggested going to Kuma's for Nadia's favorite meal. "It will," he says. "You'll always miss her. But one day you'll think about her and you'll smile and it won't hurt so much, you know?"

Erin turns to him, her eyes searching his. "Does it hurt to think about your mom?" she asks.

Jay shrugs. "Sometimes," he says. "And I miss her. All the time. And sometimes I feel like I need her, for whatever reason, and she isn't there, and that hurts. But—mostly, I have happy memories. And mostly when I think about her...it's okay."

Erin nods slowly. "She'd be proud of you, too," she says gently, smiling shyly. "You're such a good man. I'm so lucky to have you."

Her words warm him inside, and he wishes his mother could have met Erin. He thinks it would have been good for both of them.

"We're lucky to have each other," he reminds her, as the last edge of the sun dips below the horizon.

-o-o-

It's freezing cold out, and Erin is only wearing a hoody. She shivers on the street corner, feeling desperately alone and scared. She'd fled the apartment a few hours earlier, after Charlie had threatened her with a knife, and she's been shaking ever since. She wishes she'd taken a coat, or some money, or some food, but she'd been frantic and terrified, and had barely managed to get her shoes on.

But Detective Voight said he'd be here. He promised he'd come get her.

She scans up and down the deserted street from her perch inside the entryway of a shuttered bodega, rubbing her hands up and down her arms and bouncing anxiously from foot to foot. It had been ages since she'd called, and he really should be here by now. There's no traffic in the middle of the night, and he'd said it was no trouble.

He said he'd be here by now.

Every noise, every breeze, every flashing light makes her jump. She doesn't want anyone to see her here, waiting for a cop to pick her up. She's terrified that Charlie will find her before she can get out.

Because this time—this is it. This time she's getting out.

A car pulls up and slows to a stop, the lights reflecting off the broken glass of a bus shelter, and she tenses, flattening herself against the wall. It has to be Voight, she tells herself, fighting to calm her racing heart. It has to be.

"Detective Lindsay," a familiar voice says, and she looks around, petrified. Detective?

But somehow that feels correct. She doesn't know why.

"Detective Voight?" she whimpers, although the voice isn't his.

"I have someone here for you," the man croons. She knows who it is. It's Derek Yates—she knows that as well as she knows her own name, but she doesn't know why she knows him, doesn't know why the voice is familiar and terrifying and gut-churning. "She's been crying out for you all night."

"No," she gasps. "Please, no."

"Erin!" she hears a shriek, the sound piercing and horrible. It makes her stomach hurt. "Erin!"

"Nadia!" she cries, knowing instinctively who it is, although she doesn't know why she knows that. "Nadia! I'm coming! Voight's coming for me!"

Yates appears out of a shadow and laughs, so casually that she backs up against the wall again. His face is calm and cheerful and menacing all at once, and Erin feels for the gun that she thinks should be on her hip—it isn't there. "Voight isn't coming," he says sympathetically. "He isn't coming for either of you."

Erin looks around, feeling desperate and panicked and alone. Voight said he was coming. He promised. He said he'd save her.

And suddenly a memory comes to her, as clear as day and as powerful as a punch to the gut. She curls into the fetal position, struggling against the weight of the words. I will get you to the other side. She doesn't know where it comes from, doesn't know when she said that or why, but she knows it was a promise she made to Nadia.

She promised to save her.

"No!" she begs. She tries to run to Yates, tries to hit him or throw something at him or scream for help, but it's like she's stuck to the brick wall behind her. "Nadia!" she shrieks, reaching for her friend. "Nadia, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Erin!" Nadia cries out. "Erin! Erin!"

Someone is shaking her, hard, and she flails her arms, trying to fight them off. She can fix this. She has to fix this. "Erin! Erin!"

It isn't Nadia's voice, she realizes. Or Yates'. Or Voight's. "Erin, come on, open your eyes. Erin, you're safe. It's okay. Erin. Erin!"

She searches for the voice, fighting her way up to it through the fog of fear. Suddenly her eyes are open and she's in an unfamiliar bedroom and Jay is hovering over her, panic all over his face.

"Hey," he says gently, thumbing the tears away from her cheeks. "You with me?"

She isn't sure, but she nods, looking around the room to orient herself. She takes deep, rapid breaths, fighting off the remnants of the terrifying, nonsensical dream.

She's on vacation. With Jay. In the fucking Caribbean.

Suddenly, she bursts into tears. Goddammit. This isn't supposed to happen anymore. She's supposed to be healed. She's supposed to be getting better. Everything is supposed to be good now.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out through sobs that make it hard to breathe. "I'm so sorry, Jay. I just—I wanted...and I can't…" She doesn't know what she's trying to say, but she can't get the words out anyway.

"Shhh, shhh," he whispers, rocking her like a small child. "It was just a nightmare. It's not real, Erin. It's not real."

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I just wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted it to be fun."

"It is, Erin," he says, kissing her temple. "This doesn't change anything. I'm having a great time. Everything is perfect."

She sniffles hard, rubbing the back of her hand across her nose and burying her face in his T-shirt, already wet with her tears. "You shouldn't have to deal with this on vacation," she tries again.

"Look at me," Jay says, pulling back and taking her damp, puffy cheeks in his palms. She does so through tear-filled, blurry eyes. "My vacation is not ruined because you had a bad dream. And neither is yours, okay?"

"I thought I was over these," she manages. She doesn't know why she's so upset by this—she's had plenty of nightmares over the past months. The past years. "I thought I was better. It's been a couple weeks, and I just…"

"It just takes time, Erin," Jay soothes, kissing her forehead. "Some days there'll be setbacks. You know that. And yesterday was a rough day. You didn't get much sleep last night, and the plane ride...all the travel…"

She tries to let his words, his logic, soothe her, but it's hard. "Yeah," she whispers. "Okay."

It's just a setback. It just takes time. But she wants everything to be perfect right now. Jay deserves that.

Jay gathers her into his arms again and she sinks into his chest, allows his steady heartbeat to calm her own racing heart. She breathes slowly, in and out and in and out, inhaling the scent of him.

"It's almost 5:00," Jay murmurs in her ear eventually. "Wanna drive to the east side of the island and watch the sun rise?"

Tears spring to her eyes again, but this time they're happy ones. She presses her lips to his collarbone, a tiny thank-you for everything he's given her, a small substitute for the real gratitude she'll never be able to express. "Yeah," she whispers. "Let's do it."

-o-o-

Jay is lounging on an inflatable raft on the calm, clear waters of the Caribbean. The sun is warm on his cheeks, the sea deliciously cool against his skin, and Erin's small fingers are laced through his. He's pretty sure this is heaven.

"Let's just stay here forever," he murmurs, dragging the fingers of his free hand along the side of the raft, through the warm water.

"That'd be nice," Erin says languorously. He tilts his head to the side and squints an eye open at her. She looks toned and tan and healthy on her own raft, her skin glowing in the late afternoon sun. She's wearing a stringy black and red bikini that's had him drooling since she removed her sundress earlier in the day, and she looks so hot right now that he's literally aching for her.

He'll wait as long as she needs. But God, he wants her so badly.

Erin laughs, and he realizes that she's watching him stare at her. His mouth is practically open. "You're hot," he says by way of apology with a cheeky grin, which quickly turns into a gasp as her fingers trail gently down his abdomen. He grabs them before she can slide them inside his waistband. "God, Erin," he groans, his heart racing, and she laughs.

"Sorry," she whispers, in a tone that says she isn't sorry at all. "Couldn't help it."

He shifts his weight, angling his raft lower so that more of his body is submerged in the water, and tries to calm down. And then he turns to look at her again. She's smiling, laughing—she looks happy.

And he realizes—she's okay. She's not doing this to prove a point or to bury anything. She just—wants him.

Well, two can play at that game then. He waits until she closes her eyes against the sunlight, then rubs his thumb cautiously against her hipbone. She jerks upright, nearly falling into the water, and he laughs, pressing her back against the raft.

He glances around. There's no one on the beach, no one else in the sea. No one around to see them. And it feels dangerous and illicit and exciting, so he tugs at the bow keeping her flimsy bikini bottoms together. "Jay!" she gasps, her eyes widening anxiously, but her cheeks are flushed and her chest is heaving. She doesn't make any move to push him off.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, reaching over for the other tie. She doesn't protest as he releases the strings.

"We're in public," she offers weakly.

"There's no one around," he whispers, sliding his fingers downward along her hipbone. She squirms, barely able to stay on the float. "Keep still," he instructs, rolling onto the side of his own raft and using his free hand to gently hold her down.

She whimpers, and he glances up at her face to make sure she's okay with this. She looks more aroused than he's ever seen her, and warmth floods his chest. He checks anyway, just to be sure. "Okay?"

"Please, Jay," she begs. "God, please." She's practically whimpering, her head lolling back and forth, eyes squeezed shut.

He slides a finger inside her, pressing his thumb oh-so-lightly against her. Within minutes, she's shattering around his hand, gasping for air. He kisses her stomach as she comes down, then carefully re-ties her bikini bottoms.

"You like that?" he whispers slyly, kissing his way up to her sternum. He's barely on his own raft now, frantically treading water, but it's worth it.

"God," she gasps. "I've missed that."

He plies his lips along her collarbone. "Me too." He kisses her lips, then rolls back onto his raft, leaning on his side to watch her. He grabs her hand as she reaches for his shorts. "Later," he says. "This is just for you, okay?"

Her eyebrows knit in concern, and he leans over to kiss her forehead. "It's not because I don't want you," he says. "Believe me, Erin, you should see how bad I want you right now." She laughs and shakes her head. "But let's just start with this, okay?"

She presses her palm to his cheek and meets his eyes, watching him with a mixture of wonder and joy and sadness. "Yeah," she says, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. "Let's start with this."

-o-o-

Erin's body is still buzzing that evening when they sit down to dinner on a breezy porch, under palm trees and tea lights, steel pan music playing softly in the background. Jay had made her feel so good this afternoon, so wanted, and she's aching to return the favor.

And to have his hands on her again. Today wasn't enough, could never be enough.

But they're in public, at a fancy and way-too-expensive Italian restaurant. So she smiles gratefully at the waiter as he hands her a menu and unfolds her red cloth napkin and settles it over her lap. Jay is watching her again, that sly grin on his face, and she knows he's reading her mind.

Instead of rolling her eyes, she smirks at him. She can torture him just as easily as he can her.

When the waiter comes by to take their drink order, she asks for iced tea. Jay glances at her warily, then orders the same.

"You can get a beer," she says, when the waiter has walked away. "Or wine, whatever. You don't have to...not drink. Not because of me."

Jay looks cornered. "I just—didn't want to…"

"I'm not an alcoholic," she says quietly. "You're not...triggering me by drinking in front of me. I was…using alcohol to bury it all. I just—didn't want to feel it, you know?"

"Yeah," he says, reaching over to run his knuckle along her cheekbone. The light touch feels so good, she nearly closes her eyes. "I get it."

"Good," she says, then grins. Enough of this. "Besides, I want to save those calories for dessert. Do you see that woman's chocolate cake?"

"There's always room for dessert," Jay jokes, scanning his menu. "That's why you have a dessert stomach."

Erin laughs out loud. "A what?"

"A dessert stomach," Jay say, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Everyone has a dessert stomach."

Erin nearly chokes on her water laughing. "In that case," she says, reaching for a roll from the bread basket in the middle of the table. "Let's order appetizers."

-o-o-

They're lying on a hammock under a leafy palm tree, swinging gently in the breeze. Erin's spooning against him, her warm, mostly bare back pressed to his chest. Her hair tickles his chin, and he slides his leg in between hers as his fingers draw lazy patterns on her stomach, occasionally sliding down to trace along the top of her bikini bottom. He watches the waves lap against the shore, leaving trails of white on the glistening golden sand.

They only have three more days here. He doesn't really want to leave, and he wonders if it would be possible to stay in this bubble of sunshine and calm forever.

He thinks Erin might be falling asleep, and he closes his own eyes. Suddenly she says, so quietly he can barely hear her, "Could you still love me if I'm not a cop?"

The question punches him in the gut, but he forces himself to breathe. "Yes," he says, without any hesitation. He keeps drawing figure eights against her skin, refusing to react.

And despite the pain it causes, he's one hundred percent sure of his answer. He's loved Erin at her worst, and he's loved her at her best. He could love her as a cop, or a social worker, or a UPS truck driver. It doesn't matter. All he really wants is for her to be happy and healthy, and to love him back.

"Even though you fell in love with a cop?" she says, her voice small and fragile. "Even if it means I'm not the same person you fell in love with?"

"I fell in love with you," he says, leaning forward to kiss her temple. "Not a cop. You."

She bites her lip and stares out at the waves. He studies her face from the side, wishing he could see her eyes.

"You think—you're not coming back?" he says uncertainly. He can't help himself.

Erin rolls onto her back so he can see her face, but avoids his eyes. "I think for now...I just can't," she says. "I love being a cop. I do. But it's just—all the violence. It's more than what happened to Nadia, although that's part of it. I just feel like...my whole life has been about violence, and I'm so tired of it."

He nods. He understands that. Sometimes he gets tired of all the pain and suffering and fear himself, and he's only just started to realize how much violence and terror featured in Erin's childhood. But—"You know you make a difference, right?" he says softly.

She gives him a small smile. "I know we do. But I just don't think I can do it anymore. I'm not saying not ever, but—I just can't come back now. This job—it gave me so much, but it's cost me so much too. And maybe someday I'll feel differently. I don't know. I just know that I need to step away now."

He tries to muster up a smile. He's so proud of her, and so in awe of her—she's so brave. He's just—gonna miss her. "You're sure?" he says.

She laughs humorlessly. "I'm not sure of anything," she says. "And I'm scared, I guess, of what happens next. What I do next. I'm scared that I can't be anything other than a cop, but...I also know that right now I can't be a cop. Not a good one, and I can't have your back like this. So—this is what I have to do, Jay."

"I know," he says. "And I'm so proud of you for doing it. You know that, right?" He feels like maybe he needs to say it out loud, like maybe she needs to hear it.

She runs her palm along the side of his cheek, the expression on her face a mixture of sadness and serenity. "I'm also really scared about leaving you alone," she says, her voice soft and uncertain and full of pain. "We said we'd always have each other's backs, no matter what, and I'm leaving you alone."

His heart cracks just a little bit more. "As long as you're here with me, like this, you're not leaving me alone," he says, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I know you've always got my back."

"But out there, on the job…"

"It's gonna be okay," he promises, even though he knows that's a promise he can't really make. "We're together, and everything is going to be fine. Better than fine."

"What if something happens to you?" she whispers, and he has to gulp down the lump that forms in his throat. "Jay, if anything happened to you—or to Hank." She swallows hard, her breathing shaky. "To anyone. I don't think I could handle it, and if I wasn't there, if it was my fault…"

He sits up a bit, pulling her onto his lap. The hammock bucks a bit, but he doesn't worry about it, and she cuddles into his bare chest, her eyelashes tickling his skin. "Stop, okay," he says gently. "Please? You can't do this." She nods rapidly, pushing tears away from her eyes with her thumb. "I can't promise you that nothing will ever happen. You know that. But Erin…" He doesn't even know what to say. He just knows that it would devastate him to imagine her blaming herself if he ever got hurt.

"I know," she says. "I know. Just please promise me that you'll be careful?"

He kisses the top of her head and holds her tightly. "Always."

-o-o-

It's their last night in Anguilla, and Erin can't sleep. She's curled up in a lounge chair on the balcony, listening to the sound of the waves lapping gently against the shore and enjoying the feel of the breeze drifting over her bare legs. It's a little chilly out here, but she'll take it. The air feels too good.

She's both ready and not at all prepared to go back home. To face her new life, to start over. She's excited to begin volunteering at the shelter, and she's looking forward to settling into a routine with Jay, a normal life. She's looking forward to date nights and talking about their days and making each other coffee in the morning.

But there are things she's been putting off facing, and when they get back to Chicago, she knows it's time to confront them. For starters, she needs to go back to her apartment, and that means returning to the place where she and Nadia lived together, where Nadia's room still sits untouched, as if its occupant might return home any minute now. It means cleaning up the blood and the glass that she's certain are still littering the living room, where the crooked Jackson Park cops tried to kill her and Landon.

It means cleaning up the blood on the kitchen floor and facing the fact that she'd tried to end it all. That she'd wanted—attempted—to end her own life. She hasn't even admitted that to Dr. Carraway yet.

Certainly hasn't told Jay.

She knows, with absolute certainty, that Jay loves her, that he'll love her through anything. But sometimes she worries about herself—sometimes love scares her off. All she wants is to be strong enough to stay with him.

"Hey," a voice says gently, startling her. "Sorry."

She shakes her head, settles back into the chair. "It's okay. Did I wake you?"

He shrugs, sliding into the tight space between her body and the armrest and gathering her into his arms. "Just you not being there," he says, pressing his lips to her temple. He's warm and languid and sleepy, and she relaxes against him. "Bad dream?" he murmurs.

"Just couldn't sleep," she says, pressing her ear to his chest. His heart thumps slowly and steadily against her cheek and she realizes—it's only when he's not beside her that her doubts and fears seem to paralyze her. When she's in his arms—that's when she feels like it all just might be okay.

She thinks back on the week they've had—on her first time snorkeling, on the incredible restaurants he's taken her to, on the gorgeous white sand beaches they've spent hours strolling across. She tries to picture that billboard over the highway, and it feels like a faraway, hazy dream. This is her Caribbean now.

She pulls back a little bit, just enough to see his face. He's half asleep, but he blinks his eyes halfway open and smiles. "Better this way," he slurs, letting his eyes drift shut again.

Her heart feels full, overwhelmed with love in a way she's never experienced before, never known was possible. Before she can think too hard about it, she's crashing her lips into his, pulling her to him as if their entire bodies can meld together.

He kisses her back, sliding his tongue into her mouth, his strong hands drifting under her t-shirt. She rolls over onto her back, pulling him on top of her and threading her hands into his hair. "I love you," she whispers, as his lips attack her neck. "I love you so much."

He slows down, taking gentle bites out of her collarbone. She writhes underneath him at the sensation, and reaches for the waistband of his boxers. He grabs her hands before she can get them inside and pins them to the chair, and her heart sinks just the tiniest bit.

Jay pulls back to look her in the eyes, but she doesn't see any regret or sadness or apologies there. Just love, and concern. "I want you so bad," he says breathlessly, and she knows that. She can see it all over his face, can feel it against her thigh. "You promise me this is okay?"

"I promise," she whispers. "Please, Jay. I'm ready. I promise."

"You'll tell me if it gets too much?" he checks.

"Absolutely," she says, fighting to reach his lips with hers. He lets her, then pushes her down gently.

"Okay," he says, grinning at her. He slides down her body, kissing at the patches of skin he can reach around her T-shirt. "But we're doing this my way."

She squirms in frustration. His way means slow, romantic, gentle, and she wants him inside her now. But as his talented fingers slip under the waistband of her—well, his, technically—boxer shorts, she decides that maybe she can handle the wait.

-o-o-

He watches her turn the key over and over and over in her right hand, taking deep shaky breaths as she stares at the door. Her other hand is clutched in his, and it's cold and clammy. He squeezes it tightly, running his thumb over her knuckles.

"We don't have to do this, you know," he says. "I can pack up the rest of your stuff. You can keep staying with me."

She nods, and the look on her face—determined and scared and strong—makes his chest ache. "I know," she says. "But I need to do this." She looks at the key in her hand again. "Just—at least clean it up, for now."

Um. "I—I did that already," he admits, and she turns to look at him, confused. "I just cleaned up the kitchen, and the living room. When I came over to get your clothes that day."

Tears fill her eyes and he frowns. Was that the wrong thing to do?

"Sorry," he says quickly. "I just—didn't want you to have to see it like that."

She leans up to kiss him. "Thank you," she whispers.

"Of course," he says, still confused. He wasn't going to leave her apartment like that for her to clean up. Even if scrubbing the dried blood off the kitchen floor had been absolute hell.

She takes a deep breath, then pulls away from him and in one swift, fluid motion, she unlocks the door and pushes it open.

The apartment smells stale and musty. He wants to open a window, let some air and light into the place, but he lets her take the lead. She steps slowly into the living room and looks around, and he isn't sure he wants to know what she's remembering. Or reliving.

After a few minutes, she turns to him and nods. "Um—I thought maybe we could sleep here tonight," she says, steel in her voice. "I just—I need to be able to stay here, and I'm not ready to do it alone."

He wants to say no. Wants to tell her that she should stay with him, that she should live with him forever. He wants to propose, right there, right now. He doesn't ever want to spend another night without her.

But he knows she isn't ready. Knows, maybe, that she needs to live by herself again before she can really live with him.

So he smiles and kisses her forehead. "Of course," he says.

She closes her eyes, and he watches her gathering her strength. "But first, maybe we could…" He forces himself to stand back, to watch her, to let her do this herself. "I'd like to clean out Nadia's room," she says softly. "Could you help me?"

"Yeah," he whispers. "Always."

-o-o-