Epilogue to Stalker

I'm going to be honest, I was not planning on doing an epilogue at all, but you guys are definitely some persuasive and persistent reviewers. I hope it lived up to what most of you wanted!

Thanks :)

Time heals all wounds. It's a known saying. It's what she's heard from classmates, teachers, friends and family members. It's something people say when they're not sure how to help you. It's an inaccurate saying. Whoever made that up…lied. Erin understands it as something people say when they want to brush aside trauma in their lives or someone else's life. The truth is, time doesn't heal a damn thing…all it does is pass by. It's what we do with our lives while time is passing that either helps us, heals us or keeps us stuck. Your physical wounds may heal with time, but the emotional scars require action. You have to do something. She wished she didn't. She hoped that acting like nothing happened and withdrawing herself from everyone would make it all disappear…maybe she would forget, maybe it was all a nightmare and it never happened. Unfortunately, her dad and fiancé thought it was an unhealthy way of coping. Acting like nothing happened, refusing to talk about it and withdrawing herself from people who reminded her of the incident only served its purpose temporarily. It was a brief method of dealing with trauma. After the first two weeks since the attack, her family thought it was time for her to try a new way of coping; therapy.

Erin Voight is sitting in the waiting room; awaiting her inevitable Wednesday afternoon appointment with Dr. Charles. It has been three months since the attack; three months since Tucker's arrest; three months since she almost lost her life yet it all felt like it happened days ago. Its January…it was no longer October, yet the memories of what Tucker did constantly played through her mind like it was. Dr. Charles had been helping her as best as he can. Every Wednesday after her last class they meet for an hour session. When therapy alone didn't seem like it was working, Halstead convinced her into attending Monday night support groups for victims of trauma; those helped a lot. It's comforting to know that other people understand what you're going through, but at the same time it's unnerving to know that all of these people –from different walks of life- went through something traumatic that brought them there.

"Ms. Voight," she hears Dr. Charles call her name. It's time. It's time for another appointment to be checked off her list.

The 24 year old rises to her feet, she walks through the threshold and hears him close the door behind her. If you ask him, she has come a long way since her first appointment. If you ask her, she feels like she's stuck in a place; she can't recover from no matter how hard she tries. Lindsay takes her usual seat on the couch, "What are we talking about today?" She's twirling the engagement ring around her finger. It's a nervous habit.

"How about you tell me?"

She hates it when he responds to her questions with questions. Lindsay knows it's his job, but she hated it. She wasn't the professional here, he was, yet she felt like she was doing most of the work. Erin continues to twist the engagement ring around her finger, "We can talk about Tucker," she whispers. It's a first. It's a sign; she's definitely improving.

"We haven't talked about him since our first meeting."

"I know," she nods. She's fully aware. Erin purposely avoided the subject of him.

"…tell me about him. Tell me about his relationship with you."

She stops twisting the engagement ring in order to look up and give the psychologist eye contact, "Tucker was jealous…and very overprotective, but in the beginning, I think I thought it was kind of sweet. I didn't take it serious. I should have, but I didn't. I kind of overlooked it all…I just wrote it off to him not knowing because he's never had friends before."

Dr. Charles occasionally looks away to jot down notes into his notepad. She hated it. She felt like a test subject that he was watching and keeping tabs on. Erin sighs; -it's a part of his job- she has to mentally remind herself, "I came to realize that Tucker was a stranger. I didn't know him as much as I thought I did. He's like Jekyll and Hyde…one second he's sweet and kind and the next he's manipulative and murderous." She starts twisting the silver band around her finger, "Can we talk about something else?"

"You're in control of this conversation Erin." He finds himself reminding her, "We can talk about anything you want."

"I have distrust for people."

"…that's normal," he sets his pen down to look up at her.

"I feel bad about it though," Erin stands up, -she starts pacing- it's another nervous habit, "I can't help it. I want to trust people, but the last time I did…you know what happened."

"All people are not like Tucker."

She stops pacing, "I know," she's holding the bottom of each elbow, "I know, but I don't have a way of distinguishing between the Tuckers of the world."

"It's a safety mechanism; the distrust in people is there to protect you."

"The people it's protecting me from aren't threats!"

"You thought Tucker wasn't a threat…"

Erin starts pacing again, "Touché," she nods.

Her hair is lightly cascaded around her shoulders; bouncing around with each passing step. She's on edge. She hates talking about her feelings and being perceived as vulnerable and weak. That's not who she is. She isn't weak. A weak person doesn't fight back. Her eyes well with tears; she's not weak, she's far from it. She uses the back of her thumbs to wipe the tears from her eyes, "Tell me more about your distrust," Dr. Charles is forced to pry for more information.

"Some guy I never met before," Lindsay didn't hesitate with the story; she didn't beat around the bush; she wanted to be honest so she can get and feel better, "he needed a tutor for one of our difficult courses. He's a classmate. I've seen him like once before and the professor even recommended me as a tutor, but when the guy approached me after class I freaked and left!"

"Is that a normal reaction for you?"

She shrugs, "I don't know. I usually avoid people."

"What happened afterwards?"

"…the guy sent me an email apologizing and so did the professor." Erin looks down at the couch and retakes her seat, "It's not their fault Dr. Charles. It's mine."

"It's not your fault."

"It is," she nods, assuredly.

"No, it's not Erin."

"Dr. Charles, they had nothing to do with what happened with Tucker."

"I'm well aware," he lifts his pen again and starts writing, "I do agree that it isn't their fault, but it's not your fault either."

"My dad was suspended for a month because of me."

"No," the psychologist continues to write, "It is not because of you. Hank Voight is an adult. No one controls what he does…and he's back at work now."

"I brought a lunatic into my life; his life; my fiancé's life!" Her hand finds the engagement band around her finger and she begins to twist it mindlessly, "I allowed Tucker in. I put everyone I care about at risk!"

"…they can take care of themselves."

She's shaking her head, "That's not the point Dr. Charles."

Erin leans back –her back resting against the comfortable dark green couch pillows- she meets his eyes. The pen is down on his pad and he's watching her; observing every facial and body expression she does. She's waiting for him to speak. She knows a follow up question is coming.

"Okay," he gives her a slow head nod, "tell me what is the point Erin?"

"The point is," she asserts, intertwining her fingers, "if it wasn't for me, Tucker wouldn't have been in our lives. He hurt me, and he definitely was not against hurting them. They put cases on hold to focus on me and my issues…my dad got into trouble for that. I worried him, Jay, Kim…and the whole freaking squad. I got Adam suspended for a few weeks…and to top it all off, they could have died. Tucker was not above killing them. Dr. Charles, I have thought about that every single day for the past three months. And I can't seem to get pass the guilt I feel because regardless of what my dad pays you to say, I know it's my fault. I'm guilty."

"Your dad doesn't pay me to tell you what you want to hear."

"Everything I say, you'll just report back to him."

"No, I won't."

"…why should I believe you? Everyone tells my dad about everything I say or do. What makes you any different?"

"You can trust me."

Dr. Charles needed for her to understand the confidentiality in their sessions. He's not reporting back to Hank Voight every time he learns something new. He's not receiving a written script on what to say in response to how she's feeling. He's giving her professional advice based off his own experience and qualified education.

"I don't care what you tell my dad," her hand rubs against her neck –she feels the large welt against her skin- "I just want you to help me get better…help me feel better," her voice is pleading with his. She continuously rubs against the healed knife wound; it's a large welt, "My dad doesn't pay you to hear about my daddy issues."

"Want to get back to Tucker?"

"I want to get back to me."

The psychologist gives the young woman a small smile. He's making progress and with each session more progression is made…she just hasn't realized it yet. Dr. Charles walks around his desk –pen and notepad long forgotten- he leans against the corner and crosses his arms, "How about you tell me about you post-Tucker?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tucker is locked away," Dr. Charles pushes himself from his leant stance against the desk, "He'll be locked away for a long time for what he did to you. How are you coping with that?"

"I'm scared."

"How come? He's locked away."

"There are mistakes made in the criminal justice system every day. There are appeals and plea bargains and…I just," she bites her lip –another nervous habit- she exhales a large breath of air, "I don't want him getting out. He's obsessed with me Dr. Charles. He'll never stop, and if he gets out, he's going to come back."

"He won't get out Erin."

"You don't know that," she's shaking her head, "You can't assure me of that. You're not psychic. You don't know what the future holds."

Dr. Charles approaches her, "You have to have faith in the system," he takes a seat next to her, "I know you always hear about the failures of the justice system, but there are successes as well."

His words hold great weight with her. He's right. With every bad there is good and the same vice versa. It's a part of the reason she's in law school. With only a few months left until she graduates, she knows that she wouldn't immerse herself into such a blurred field if it didn't have good in it. The system won't fail her; she has to believe in it, otherwise, what's the alternative?

Erin's hands rub against her knees. She's willing to believe in it. She has faith in it. It won't fail her, but knowing that, doesn't help her. It doesn't take away the fear and the anxiety that comes with trauma. It won't help her sleep at night. Knowing he's locked away for good, does nothing to her psyche. He traumatized her. He scarred her –both emotionally and physically- he hurt her.

"It's hard for me to sleep at night," she admits –it's hard for her to confess her weaknesses, but she manages- she wants to improve, "I have nightmares…bad ones sometimes." She yanks at the fabric of her shirt, revealing the large welted scar on her neck, "this stupid, ugly and hideous reminder will never go away! When I close my eyes, I see his face in my nightmares! When I open them, I see what he did to me, here" she points towards her neck, "and here," she extends her fingers –small scar marks on her fingertips from the snake bites and glass, "Tell me Dr. Charles…you're the professional here, how do you get pass something when there are reminders about it everywhere?"

"You take it one day at a time."

"Time heals wounds," she repeats the words she always hears, "Is that right?"

He nods, "that's right. You need time."

"So basically," she scrunches her face up in annoyance –she's tired of that damn saying- she needs more than that, "what you're telling me Dr. Charles is I should just sit back, relax and let time pass? If I do that, I'll no longer feel sad, uneasy, anxious, and scared? I'll be able to sleep at night. I'll trust people. I won't have to sleep with the hall light on. My worries and anxieties will go away. It'll all disappear, right? How much time has to go pass? A few days? Weeks? Months? Years? Is it really true that time itself is all it takes for trauma to go away?"

"You can't run from your trauma."

"…but I can sit back and let time handle it?" She's peeved.

"No, time is only a part of the equation; it's not the entire equation." Their hour is approaching its end. He stands up after her, "You're already in a support group and therapy, and you're doing what you need to do. Time is the only other variable that needs to pass as you continue therapy and support group meetings. You have to find peace with what happened. You have to forgive yourself. It's the only way you'll be able to get back to you. That's what you wanted, remember? You want to get back to you. You want to sleep at night. You want to trust people. In order to do all of that, you'll have to first trust yourself and your instincts. You have to forgive yourself Erin. No one blames you. You are your biggest enemy right now." He assuredly pats her shoulder, "You are making tremendous progress. When we first started sessions, you barely spoke. You said a few sentences here and there about Tucker, but that was it. Now…you're more forthcoming. Even though you don't see it, I do. I'll see you next Wednesday."

Lindsay doesn't respond. She usually doesn't. Their sessions always end with Dr. Charles having the last word. She didn't mind. She was just relieved that their time was up. As she exited the hospital, -tossing a simple wave of the hand over her shoulder at Will wishing her a goodbye- she scans the outside for her dad. A quick honk of the horn sends her body tensing and her shoulders rising as she turns to see her father, parked in his car to the side; hazard lights blinking as he's parked illegally.

"Sorry kid," he saw her jump in fright, "I'm really sorry." He's apologizing profusely as she hops into the passenger seat, "I'm so sorry."

"Dad, it's okay."

"I just-"

She buckles her seat belt, "That had nothing to do with Tucker. I would have jumped regardless. It caught me off guard." The 24 year old pats his shoulder, "…not your fault. Where are we heading? Are you taking me home or to the district?"

"…the district," Voight pulls out of the hospital, "So, your appointments with Dr. Charles…are they helping in any way?"

"Yeah," she rolls down her window and stares outside.

Voight stops the car at a red light, "Are you hungry?"

"No," her head shakes to emphasize her answer.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"…nothing."

"Erin-"

"Yes," she side-eyes her dad.

"Can you respond to me using more than one word please?"

"Okay, fine…"

Hank sighs solemnly –at least he got another word out of her- he exhales dramatically. He side-eyes his daughter, "I saw Tucker today."

"I don't want to hear about him," her voice remains low as she stares forward, "I don't want to talk about him. I don't want to be reminded of him."

Voight respects that. She's been through a traumatic experience that no one should have to go through. A few months wouldn't rid her of the memories, the nightmares and the conversation. It's unrealistic. As her dad, he wants her to move pass it, but he understands that it isn't automatic. It takes work. It takes initiative. It'll take more than a day, a week, a month; it's a process that does not have an end date. It's entirely up to the person. Every case is different.

The ride falls silent; neither having an interest in sparking a conversation. Hank watched his daughter; she's mindlessly twisting the ring on her finger while biting upon her bottom lip. She's strong. She's the strongest person he knows; if anyone can get pass this, it's Erin. And it's not something she'll have to overcome on her own; she has him, Jay, the entire team, and classmates. His daughter was built thinking she had to face her problems and overcome them on her own; she thought she would be perceived as weak and pathetic. Lindsay would rather mentally and physically struggle than admit defeat and ask for help; which is part of the reason the Tucker incident lasted so long. If Voight knew about it from the beginning, he's positive he would have done something –possibly illegal- to keep Tucker away from his daughter.

"All I will say before I drop the subject completely is that he is definitely paying for what he did to you," Voight's raspy voice interrupts the silence in the car.

Erin merely looks at her dad and nods her head. It's comforting to know that Tucker remains locked away. It's reassuring to know that he's being punished for his actions. Call her heartless, cruel or coldblooded for not having or showing the slightest sympathy for him. After what he's done to her, there's no part of her that could muster up the ability to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was going to hurt her; kill her. You can call her -whatever you like-, but she deserves to feel every ounce of hatred and dislike towards the guy who stalked her.

"You'll be fine kid," her father pats her thigh.

She gives him a side smile, "How do you know?" It's the only question she could think of in response. She's curious to know his opinion. He's never lied to her before; he's never wrong. Voight has a way of telling the truth and speaking from the heart, at least with her. She really wanted to know his thoughts and how he could sound so positive that she'll be alright.

"…because you're strong and you're my kid. I know you. I know you'll be okay."

"Dr. Charles is helping me," Erin reverts back to their previous conversation; the one she so unkindly brushed off. Her dad didn't do anything to her. It wasn't fair of her to treat him as if he did. He's just trying to help; he's paying for her therapy and he's inquiring about her appointments; he's her father, he gets the right.

"That's good."

"I enjoy our sessions," she continues to give him more insight into her appointments.

He pats her thigh again, "That's great Erin." It's a reassuring gesture.

Lindsay has always appreciated the comfort. She may not verbalize or show it in an obvious manner, but she truly appreciates those who take the time out of their lives to reassure her.

"I'm talking about a lot of things I wanted to ignore," her entire body turns to face him. Her shoulders are relaxed, and in that moment, she knows that she's comfortable letting her dad in. Erin has a way of getting mad at everyone who tells her father her business; but she knows it's out of concern, it's out of worry. Voight wants to know, as someone who will always have her best interests at heart. He just wants in on her life; the good and the bad. He's her dad. He won't turn her away or shun her at the first sign of an imperfection.

"I'm proud of you."

She casually rolls her eyes; she's smirking, "You always say that."

"…because it's true," With his eyes remaining on the road, and one hand on the wheel, he uses the opposite hand to ruffle her hair.

"You're my dad." She playfully swats his hand away.

"That has nothing to do with this," He turns the car onto the street of the precinct; his parking spot empty up ahead, "An unfortunate trauma happened to you and you're working to overcome it. I'm proud of that. I'm proud of you."

"I got you suspended."

"I'm back at work."

"You were still suspended in the first place."

He shakes his head, "that wasn't your fault."

"…depends on who you ask," she shrugs her shoulders.

Hank's eyes are focused on the road as he parallel parks his truck. He takes a short glance in his peripheral to see her thoughtlessly twisting her engagement ring again. She feels guilty. It isn't her fault, but she blames herself. Once the car is completely parked in the parking spot, he shuts off the engine, unbuckles his seat belt and then turns to face her, "You didn't force me to focus on your case. I chose to do that."

"…because I'm your kid."

"And I don't regret it. I would do it all over again."

Her eyes meet his, "But your job-"

"…comes after you," he interrupts and finishes her statement.

"Dad-"

Voight reaches over the armrest and unbuckles her seat belt, "If I worked your case by the books, I wouldn't have been working it at all. I would have had to give it to another officer or detective and all they would do is tell you to document everything he does so they can build a case against him…by doing that who knows how this all would have turned out? It sucks Erin. When officers tell a victim who is scared for her life to document what the perpetrator is doing so they can build a case against him, they're basically saying, go back out there, continue to be victimized and when he hurts you too much we'll get involved. I refuse to let that happen to you. You wouldn't have had protection. You wouldn't have had officers consistently checking up on you. I'm glad I didn't go by the books. I don't regret a single thing."

"I love you."

He opens his car door, "I love you too."

The father-daughter duo stepped out of the truck –him locking the door after Erin shuts hers- and then proceeded to follow her up the stairs of the precinct. Hank nods a thank you to a rookie cop who held the door open for him and his daughter. It had been a few weeks since Erin was last at the district. If she came to the precinct after her appointments, she usually waited outside because Jay would be getting off at the exact time her sessions ended. She wasn't up for the questions, the curious eyes and the constant stares. Everyone in the precinct knew about Tucker. It was kind of hard to keep that quiet with it being public knowledge and all. The two Voights stepped through the last door, and was met with a stretching smile across Sergeant Platt's face as she circled around the front desk, "We missed that smile around here," It was a bit awkward, but Platt went for the hug anyway. Lindsay was her girl.

"I'm glad to bring it back."

"…hopefully it's permanent," Platt nudged the young woman's arm.

Erin nods, "I hope so too."

Erin hears the gate's buzz, and in her peripheral, she sees her dad swing the gate door open. He's nodding for her to follow. They're heading upstairs. Jay is supposed to be taking her home. Lindsay shuts the gate tightly until she hears the click signaling it being locked.

"I'm not up for this paperwork tonight," Voight grumbles to himself, "…getting suspended pushed me behind on paperwork." He takes one step at a time, "Just a heads up. The entire team is here…and most of them have been asking about you. If it gets to be too much, let me know."

"Dad, I'm not just getting out of the hospital. I'm fine."

"I know," he sends her a smirk, "but they've been asking about you since your visits went from frequent to nonexistent." They reach the bullpen of the Intelligence offices.

"Looking good Erin," she hears Dawson's compliment from across the bullpen.

It manages to pull a chuckle from her, "Did my dad pay you to say that?"

"There's that smile…" Olinsky approached her, and gave her the simplest hug, "good to see it again." She appreciated the small gesture of the hug; it was nothing tight and big, it was modest yet uplifting. It barely lasted a second, but it was a hug she'll remember.

"Dr. Charles must really be helping," Atwater's comment is made from behind his desk.

"Yeah…he is."

"I'm glad," Burgess exits the breakroom.

Erin is smiling –dimples pressed into her cheeks- her teeth wide in happiness and amusement. She absolutely loved these guys. She wasn't one for attention, she never liked all eyes on her, but she appreciated the worry and the assurances from people who truly cared.

"Oh, we get a dimpled smile," Mouse is grinning at her as he hands her dad a thick file, "She's really looking good."

"Okay, seriously…did my dad pay you all?"

Mouse laughs, walking back to his seat, "No."

"How are you though?" Kim approaches her best friend, gently pulling on Erin's hand.

"I've been better."

"What about now?"

"I'm fine," Lindsay gives her an assuring nod.

"That's good to hear."

Lindsay turns to see Ruzek exit the breakroom. His eyes fail to meet hers, and the moment she opens her mouth to call him out on it, Roman nudges his shoulder against her side, "How many more sessions do you have left?"

"…as many as I think I need."

"How man do you think you'll need?" It's Atwater's turn to pry. It was a part of their jobs to ask questions. They couldn't just turn it on and off whenever they pleased.

"…definitely a lot more." Erin was over the prying questions. She had no new updates and she's pretty sure her father has kept them in the loop about everything. Lindsay made her way through the team and approached Jay –sitting at his desk- patiently waiting for her to indicate that she's ready to leave. He's tired and bored…all of his paperwork is done and he's ready for some sleep, "You ready to get out of here?"

He nods, grabs his jacket from across his chair, "I thought you would never ask."

"Kid," Voight calls out –his arms open- as he walks towards her, "Were you seriously going to leave without giving me a hug?"

"It's not like you won't see me again."

"How about we do lunch on Friday?" He hugs his daughter tightly –wanting to freeze time- and maybe rewind it a bit to enjoy the moments he has with her, "We can get your favorite."

"I would actually love to-"

"…but," he senses it coming.

"I'm going to call a classmate and schedule tutoring with him on that day." Erin shrugs, and gives Jay a side smile, "It's the only free day I have during the week," her fiancé's arm is thrown around her shoulders and he begins leading her towards the stairs. The couple sends a quick wave of the hand towards their friends as they head out of Intelligence.

Halstead was proud. He knew about the classmate that reached out to Erin for tutoring and he was fully aware of her reaction to it. She showed him the apology email from the classmate and her professor; he gave her advice and he promised to help her as much as he possibly could, but they both knew that this was something that was going to take time. She brought it to her therapist's attention and he knew that when she was ready, she would reach out.

"It's just us now," he whispers in her ear as they step outside of the precinct.

She nods, "Yeah."

"Is therapy really helping?" Jay wanted an answer without the prying ears and questioning glances of the team. It's easier for her to be honest when it's just the two of them.

She shrugs, "It has potential."

"I'm glad you're going to continue with it."

"Yeah, I owe it to myself."

Jay reaches into his leather jacket and pulls out his car keys, "And once you're up to it, we can discuss wedding dates and details."

"I'm not the girly-girl type," the couple pulls apart in order to retreat into their respective seats, "I never dreamt of a big, fairytale wedding. I honestly never thought I would get married."

"Now that you are," they both buckle their seat belts, "What are you picturing?"

The 24 year old silently thinks. She honestly never put forth much thought into every miniscule detail of her future wedding day. She was never that type of person. As Jay starts driving, she envisions her wedding, "Something small, yeah," she likes the idea, "I want a small wedding with my dad, the team, Platt, your brother and Natalie."

"Agreed," Jay wasn't up for a big wedding either. The two were alike in that way.

"Location," she presses him for details this time.

"I don't see you as the church wedding type."

Erin couldn't help but chuckle, "You know me so well." Her hand extends and they intertwine their fingers. The sun is setting and his eyes remain on the road as he continues, "…maybe your dad's backyard or the courthouse."

"We'll keep it open for discussion. I'm not exactly sure yet either."

"What season?" the conversation continues.

"Summer…I want a summer wedding."

There wasn't much thought put into that answer. It was the one thing she was sure about. She wanted a summer wedding with the sun shining bright, a warm wind blowing through her hair and the birds and Mother Nature breezing through the air.

"How soon?"

Erin thinks, bites her lip as the answer occurs, "…not this year, maybe next year."

"June?"

"…the 20th?"

"Your parents' anniversary?" Jay questions. He wasn't sure, but the date seemed familiar.

"Is that weird?"

"No," he shakes his head.

"Pathetic?"

"…of course not," Halstead assures her with the light squeeze of the hand.

"Best man?"

Jay knew this answer immediately, "Mouse."

"Your brother won't be jealous?"

"Nah," Jay shakes his head, turning the steering wheel to take the next highway exit, "he'll be a groomsman along with Adam. What about you? Maid of honor?"

"Do you have to ask? Kim of course."

"Briana won't be jealous?" She was one of Erin's closest school friends.

"Nah," she repeats his earlier response, "she'll be a bridesmaid along with Nadia and Annie."

"You reached out to them?"

"They reached out to me when they found out I was in the hospital."

Erin had completely forgotten to mention it to Jay. She had every intention but it must have slipped from her mind. It was a brief conversation. They brought her flowers and get well cards, spoke a few words and then left, promising to keep in contact. When she started attending Monday night support groups, they were in attendance. Annie for her relationship with Charlie and Nadia for an attack she endured two years ago. It was comforting to have people she knew personally there –listening to their stories- and having them listen to hers. They grew closer.

"So…kids," he's parking his truck in his reserved spot, "do you want any?" He purposefully changed the conversation and shifted it back to their relationship.

"I'm not against the idea…in the distant future though," she unbuckles her seat belt.

The two step out into the chilled Chicago night. The gated apartment complex was well lit and he waited for her to step up onto the sidewalk before taking a hold of her hand, "How many?"

She smiles –dimples piercing through- eyes sparkling in the night, "Hmm…three."

"Three," Jay thinks to himself –imagining the small feet of three little ones running around their future house, giggling and tackling he and Erin with hugs and kisses- he liked the idea, "okay."

The couple step into the building –walking through the semi-crowded lobby- approaching the elevator, "What about our honeymoon," Erin is curious to know as they step into the elevator, "Where did you have in mind?"

"…definitely not Indiana," he joked.

The elevator doors closed, "You got that right."

"What about Wisconsin?"

"What about it?" Of all the places she expected him to name, a random state was not one of them. She expected a sunny state, a beach, or a different country. She didn't expect Wisconsin.

"You remember I told you about the cabin my family has up there?"

She saw the excitement in his eyes –the thrill and desire, "Wisconsin it is…" She's sure she'll have fun. If the fun doesn't come by the amenities at the cabin, then it'll come by her soon-to-be husband. A honeymoon isn't about the destination; it's about getting away as newlyweds and enjoying each other's company without the added distractions of life. Life is on pause.

Jay unlocked their apartment door, "That didn't take much convincing…"

"I honestly don't care where we go…as long as I'm with you."

The couple arrives home –he's fully aware their normal routine is about to start- he closes the door behind Erin after she enters, and he locks it. He stands behind her; she's quietly taking in the living room of their apartment. This is what they do every single day. Jay and Erin come home; he locks the front door, and she stands in the living room, silently listening and looking around. He waits for her to finish and the moment she's done, she sets the alarm. Halstead would do it, but she feels better doing it herself. It assures her that it's on.

"Can you make sure the doors are closed and locked?" She's referring to the front door and the balcony door.

Jay does as requested. Usually, she likes to do it all. It's progress that she's allowing him to, especially since she's become accustomed to making sure the apartment is on lockdown. No one is inside, and no one outside could get in. Both doors are shut and locked. She watched him do it, but seeing it for herself didn't ease her running mind. She twisted the knob of the front door; it's locked. She tugged against the balcony door; it's locked too. That was the assurance she needed.

"Let's go to bed," Halstead extended his hand towards her. After taking a hold of his offered palm, she followed him to their bedroom.

The routine wasn't over. She still had a few more things to do. Walking pass the hallway light switch, she hits it. Even though their bedroom door is closed and locked when they sleep, she leaves the light on in the hallway. It provides light so she can see if there is a shadow beneath the door crack. If there is movement, a person, or a shadow on the other side of the door, she'll notice it. They'll see it.

The couple's hands separate and they silently change into their pajamas. It's been a long day. She's a work in progress and she'll eventually move on, but for right now, she needs to do this. She has to; it's the only way she can cope and live a normal life in her home. Jay pulls the covers back and crawls into bed, "After your classes tomorrow, want to do something fun?"

"Like what," she's at the blinds; looking through them. It's hard to see. The dark sky leaves no room for light. It still soothes her though; knowing no one is outside. It's hard to see the ground, -they're floors up- but she was floors up at her last place and Tucker still managed to watch her.

"I'll try to get off early and maybe we can do dinner and a movie, or go paintballing or maybe tour a museum…something different."

Lindsay draws back from the window, "That sounds like fun…yeah, let's do something fun."

Erin silently changes from her clothes and into her pajamas. She leaves the silence in the apartment –part of her expecting to hear something- a part of her expects to hear something fall, footsteps walking or some kind of crash indicating someone was here. She's paranoid…and who would blame her? She's a work in progress, and with time and commitment, she'll eventually move on. Lindsay crawls into bed, lies against her fiancé and relaxes as his arm circles her waist. The simple gesture is enough. She releases a loud exhale that she didn't even realize she was holding in. Her eyes flickered closed as her head relaxed against the pillow.

Only three months had passed since the attack. It'll take more time than that. There's no deadline or expiration date… It'll take time…as much time as needed. With action, time heals all wounds, and it will eventually heal hers. Her nightly routine will get better, her paranoia will lessen and her visits to support meetings and therapy appointments will eventually dwindle down the more she starts to positively cope with what happened. With time, she'll be able to talk about it without getting worked up or shutting completely down, she'll be able to sleep with the hall light off, and she'll be able to start trusting her instincts and people again.

Time heals all wounds. It's a known saying. It's an known unfinished saying. It should be time heals all wounds when actions are done to heal them. If you do something, it'll change something. If you don't do anything, nothing will change. Time isn't the healer. It's not some unforeseeable force that will make everything okay again. The act of time simply passing by does not heal pain –it may lessen the hurt of it- but the pain will always be there. Time will just cover up the pain like a Band-Aid –making the victim feel it's truly gone- but it's always there. Erin has tried that. In the weeks she attempted to ignore the trauma and the memories, she allowed for time to step in and heal her as the quote stated, however nothing ever occurred. Nothing changed. Now, she's taking the initiative to change it. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. If you want something to change, you have to partake in the process. This isn't an overnight fix, and as she circles her arms around Jay, she knows that with time, action and his support, she'll get through it all; one day at a time, she has this all under control.

The end.