A/N - This piece doesn't really have a time frame as such, but I suppose I've imagined it any time after 4x01. I'm loving writing Let Me Love You but I always revert to angst, and this is what came out.

Hope you enjoy x

Scars

They don't go to Molly's after the day is done, when Voight's wiped the blood from his hands in the locker room as they all pretend not to look and the 300 is safely parked back where it should be. Jay just shakes his head at the offer and Erin doesn't know whether it's because of her or if he just doesn't want to go, but all the same, she's grateful he's coming home with her; that they'll enter the apartment together.

Every so often, they'll get a case like this - one that dredges up old feelings of hurt and regret and silent what if we'd got him sooners - out of the blue in test, rocking their little family just in case they've all gotten a little too settled out there in their bullet vests and beanie hats. A little reminder that it's winter, yes, but the murders don't stop. They just...lessen...for a while.

The rest of the unit files out one by one, heading down the stairs until there's only Erin and Jay left. Even Hank's already gone. The silence is weighing down on them, oppressive and choking until Jay crosses that short space between his desk and hers, and wraps his arms so tightly around her that tears sting her eyes because she just feels so safe like this, with him surrounding her like a net - ready to catch her when she falls. And she's falling, now.

"Let's go home," he whispers against her hair and she nods just once and lets him lead her by the arm to the locker room where she watches him grab his stuff - and then hers - before they at least try and shut it off.

During the car ride - he's the one behind the wheel tonight (no jokes made; no questions asked) making the right turns and stopping at intersections - Erin notices a little mark just below Jay's ear. The wounds on his raw skin don't match it; this one is older and ingrained. When the constant hurricane of emotions regarding the little girl they didn't manage to save today finally settle into the compartments in her mind, she realises she doesn't know how he got it. But she'll ask - later. She doesn't get enough of him already; she doesn't want to miss anything else.

They shed their coats as soon as he shuts the apartment door behind them, sighing a little as the lock jams into place and they're closed off from everything and everyone else. Erin watches him pulling the laces of his boots until the knot is no more so that he can take his feet out and wiggle his toes against the floor like always. Once they're lined up by the wall, he pulls the laces of hers too, lifting her right leg so he can free the foot trapped inside before repeating his actions with her other one. He might throw his fists when they're working but he's never anything but gentle when it comes to her.

There's a moment where they both just look at each other, where all noises from the street outside fade into to a nothingness and all Erin can hear is her heart thudding restlessly in her ears while Jay gets nothing but the incessant ache of the injuries he sustained earlier. And the pain in Erin's eyes.

It's a kiss.

And then the shower.

Tonight, the fogged glass doesn't see her back pressed up against it as she grabs onto his shoulders, its leverage providing them both with all of the best angles. The tiles don't recieve his hand as he leans to catch his breath for a moment, eyes hazy and black with lust when she raises her leg higher up his because she wants more. Instead, that little cubicle that's always seemed a fraction too small now fits them just right as Erin's soft fingertips send the remnants of Jay's dried blood down the drain in pinkened suds.

When she's done washing him and his muscles have ceased aching quite so terribly, she gets her turn - closing her eyes against his touch as his hands and lips and nose love her everywhere. He might not say the words often but he shows her every day.

The water cools to a tepid rain and Jay shuts off the flow, letting his lips land on hers. They just stay there. Not a movement. Not a breath. Just a promise she'll be okay, in the end. And she knows she will. In the end.

Their bed (because it's theirs now, not hers) beckons with pressed sheets - Jay always gets the creases out - and feather pillows, ready to envelope their bodies in sleep. They clean their teeth and he waits for her, a helping hand on the small of her back so neither of them have to make the few steps to the bedroom alone. It's not even that late, not really, and they haven't eaten since the hot dogs she stopped for before noon, but they both know they'll feel better about it all once they're a tangle of limbs and a single heartbeat.

"You have a scar," Erin whispers against his chest, tracing the short line close to his ear with her finger. Even with the bruises over his ribs, he wants her like this - draped like a cloak so her hair tickles his neck and her left leg lays between his. So she's everywhere.

"Fight with my brother when I was ten."

She's glad it's not from Iraq; doesn't think she could forgive herself if it had come as the result of that period of his life (the one he nearly didn't come back from) and she'd been too busy to notice.

"And this one?"

She remembers, they both know it, but they also know it's an excuse for her to touch him (not that she needs one) because as much as they both want to while they're at work, Voight's been decent enough about them being together and there's no need to rock that boat.

"Fuentes."

Her hands roam downward, achingly soft in their touch as her fingertips skim the bruises. She lifts her head and Jay wants it back where it was so that her cheek is against the skin covering his heart, but her lips caress the purple circle with their own brand of morphine so in the end, it's okay. It's just...nights like these require no space between them.

There's a nick just above his hipbone where some guy got him with a knife one awful, awful day when Erin was out canvassing with Olinksy and he'd been partnered with Ruzek. Each time she sees that scar, it reminds her that she's the only one she trusts to protect him. Jay feels the same way towards her.

When her thumb reaches that spot, lingering as she stares at the difference in colour of the skin there, Jay shifts his knees so she's pushed back up towards his face. To his mouth. They lean in together and this time, it's not a static profession. It's fluid; slow and soft and warm and all of those good things that come with kissing the only person you've ever really really loved.

Neither of them need to make the declaration out loud. They both know.

When the inevitable sigh escapes her mouth and tumbles into his, Jay slides his hands up underneath the camisole she's wearing and Erin immediately knows - even without conscious thought - that his thumb is going to the mark on her back. It's one that lingers as the result of a bomb blast - when she'd been thrown too far away from her partner for either of them to know with just a glance that the other was okay - that had left her first with a splattering of bruises, and now, just the single shrapnel-shaped line. They didn't go to Molly's that night either.

Jay's knees prop her up so that he can use what little strength he has left to tug the material up and over her head. When it's discarded somewhere on the floor (military backgrounds have no influence on the location of clothing removed in such circumstances, funnily enough) Erin shifts again because she knows what part of her skin he wants. There are some faded marks, caused by a bullet to the vest (Jay would worship the inventor of those things if he didn't believe in the God that had brought her to him) that he wants to lay his lips on. She offers her chest and he takes it. The resulting feeling of his hot mouth on her makes her moan.

Exploring each other like this, when it's come as the result of such a horrible day, is a kaleidoscope of emotions. The scars prove they each made it through but they also serve as a warning: so easily, they might not have. Nothing about their union is hurried. If anything, every kiss is drawn-out, every touch lingers at least a second longer than necessary and the way he removes her panties is agonisingly slow.

Jay holds her so close, even after both of them have climaxed and the air around the bed is so hot and sticky that Erin's hair is damp against her neck. His hold promises her that she's safe; promises him too - because he really really hates it when she's not in his arms.

Not a single one of the six pillows she likes to sleep with make it out of the closet tonight. She already can't get close enough to him; if crawling inside of his skin to take up residence was an option, she'd do it in a heartbeat, but it isn't and she can't. She has to settle for the cocoon of his arms. And then she shakes her head at the thought. She hasn't ever settled for anything when it comes to Jay Halstead.

Only now do they swap I love yous. Because the words can't heal those scars, but they can heal the ones on their hearts. Because - and Jay knows this - the only way she can sleep is if his low timbre is vibrating throughout her body.

He'd rather she hear I love you than anything else.