Before we start just some thanks to all the people who read and stuck with the story and who followed, favorited and especially reviewed it, thinking in particular of Roooonie (sorry if I've missed out an 'o'), photogirl21, Del, lettykoalamelomane, cooljuli000, LoveyourLife98 (who left the best review for Chapter 7), ficlovindancer, Bokononcradle, Breezy03, BrittanyMetzler, SevenSixteen, waiting-all-night, michelle, NotWriteintheHead, Anpn23456789, hipnos777, Departed, Meeeeeeee-D, and most of all saii79 who never fails to take the time to read & review; plus all the guests (or the just one guest who reviews a lot). If I've missed anyone I'm really sorry.

Ellie813 left a lovely review and lots of questions on the last chapter – don't worry no offence taken, so to answer those & the one from Ffion E – I'm from the UK – English but lived in Wales for (a long time). You pronounce cwtch with a 'u' like in 'cushion'. The reason I spell realise with a 'z' is because my spellchecker corrects it to 'z' and I can't be bothered to change it back even though I type it with an 's' each time.

I hope the first paragraph of this epilogue appeases paulinemcc – sorry if it annoyed you last time, it was always the intention to reveal the result of the meet in the epilogue. So here we go for the final time (it's very short but says all I think we need to know):

EPILOGUE

"Bring me home."

"Every time."

We won the meet. I swam that leg like I've never swum before, finishing a good two lengths ahead of the New York swimmer. In fact, so far ahead that Emily was able to cruise home (much to Coach Brennan's disgust, she bawled her out for it afterwards, but I don't think Emily cared). When Emily touched me, it felt more than a connection, more than our usual connection, it was as if she 'passed on' something, her speed, her ability, it was like I was flying through the water – I was focused, fast, hit my turns like I'd trained to every time. It was as if all the aches and pains in my body fell away and all I could feel was pure adrenalin, pure speed.

We ended up winning Divisionals that year and the next, each time with me and Em on the relay – pretty much unbeatable –I don't think we lost a race all that next season. In fact, I don't think we lost a meet, mainly thanks to Emily.

I've just got off the phone from her. She's going to be late and it sounds like she's had a tough day. She helps out sometimes at the local Physio centre, motivational stuff for ex-athletes like her, kids who've lost something, sometimes someone. She loves it. Says it takes her out of her comfortable life and her entitled world, but I know Emily, I see how much it takes out of her and today sounds like it was particularly difficult – a girl who'd been in a car accident, lost her sister, lost her dad, and who can only remind Emily of herself, or of Ellie or of any other of those kids who died that terrible day. She doesn't phone to complain, Emily would never do that, said she just wanted to hear my voice and tell me she'll be late and that she loves me. When she gets in, I know she'll need me to listen and to hold her, to touch her and make her believe her world is still safe, still here. That her home is still full of the things we've built around us, the stuff of a life that signifies we're still alive - that we're not going anywhere.

Looking round my writing room, I can see the blue jug Emily found for me in an old junk shop that she loves because it's the colour of our old College swim-team hoodies. The tapestry blanket that we lay under on the cold nights when we first got a place together just the two of us and we couldn't afford to turn the heating on. Emily doesn't know it, but I still wrap myself up in it now, even though we could afford to have the heating on 24/7 if I wanted: It's old, stained and ripped but it smells of us. I can see all the things we've collected over our 7 years together. Over the desk is a black and white picture of us from one of our first holidays. Em had it framed for my birthday last year. A local woman took the photo for us, the weekend we went to Rhode Island. It was windy, mid-winter and our hair was being whipped up around us, the waves behind us rough and wild, but we're standing together and we look happy: Emily's laughing at some dumb joke I'd made, and I'm just watching her laugh, I don't think I even noticed the photo being taken. When it got just too cold for her to stare at the sea any longer, we found a deserted café near-by where we ordered hot chocolate and spent the rest of the afternoon until the light started to fade and we wandered gloved hand in gloved hand back to our hotel.

It hasn't always been easy. Not all the time. Especially our third and fourth years together: we were still learning one another, how to be with one another, how to share a life with another human and look out for them and not just ourselves: how to be a grown-up. After a particularly bad round of arguing we even tried a trial separation, Emily moved back to her mom and dad's. She was back within a week, carrying a little bundle of abandoned puppy – Lily, a black lurcher with a white-tipped tail and one white paw and a little crooked smile. She's four, my constant companion while Emily's at work, and all our little family now.

So, we work through our bad days and celebrate the good - Emily's the person I've chosen to spend my life with and we move through this world together. If you believe in Fate and Destiny, then that's all well and good, but I've learned that after that there's hard work, choices to be made and a good deal of luck and love. And we have love in abundance: it's in the small moments in our lives that we share, the smile she gives me when we wake up together, the kiss when she comes home at night; the secret afternoons when we should be working, but we dance in the kitchen, or cwtch up together watching a movie. It's in the way she cries my name; the way she moves above me; the way our tongues move together. It's in the rain-swept walks we take along the beach and the way her fingers lace into mine.

On my desk in a frame, a little creased and worn, is the cover of the cd Emily gave me that first Christmas – the photo of us at the concert. I once asked her why she loves it so much and she said, because it's the photo where I'm the most 'me'. When I try to get her to explain, she laughs. I try and see it, but when I stare at it, all I see is her, and the way she's looking at me and I can't believe it took us so long to get to where we could be everything to one another.

Now? She has her successful Coaching business and I have my writing – screenplays mainly, some tv work. I should be writing now but Emily's phone call has knocked me out of step for the day and I can't concentrate. I'll walk Lily and wait for Em to come home. Em's built up her business, but she's still hands-on. She reserves some spaces on all her courses for those kids who can't afford to pay and she scours the country for the very best kids she can. And then she gives her time to girls like her, who've been injured through accidents, or illness and she can give them time and hope and patience – all those things they need. All those things she needed when I first met her: all those things I needed when she first met me: just someone to bring us home.