Diane looked over at the door impassively. The knocking was muted by her own crooning of her favorite Dylan song, and frankly, she didn't give a damn who might be there. She continued singing, the motion of her rocking doing nothing to steady her inebriated thoughts. Fearing an early hangover from the noise, she went to the door to stop it.

Sam. She sighed loudly at the sight of him, turned on her heel, and set sail toward the couch with her wine bottle as a tiller. Luckily she had her sea legs, and was actually feeling really good at the moment. She plopped herself down and kicked her feet up to rest on the coffee table in front of her, clutching her near empty bottle to her chest.

Sam marveled at her obviously drunken state. He didn't think she had it in her to go on a tear like this of her own volition, and yet there she was. He wondered if he was the one who sent her down this path, but didn't really want the answer. He just wanted to patch things up and get back to where they were before all this "I love you" talk started.

"Hey there… well, look at you!" he laughed.

"Yes, look at me," she countered evenly, her long legs stretched out in front of her. He couldn't help but admire where the hemline of her nightshirt hit high up on her thigh. She was momentarily amused by the wiggling of her toes in her white slippers and giggled to herself. "Just like Lambchop," she beamed, recalling Shari Lewis' beloved puppet sidekick. "Wherefore art thou, Lambchop?"

"Wow…" Sam chuckled. "You really are loaded, aren't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she hiccuped, "I don't believe in hunting. Poor bears." She had a sudden urge to go hug Freddie again and crossed to the rocking chair to retrieve him, tripping over Sam's foot as she passed.

He grabbed her before she could fall, and she dangled loosely in his arms like a rag doll before straightening herself up.

"Thank you, good sir. You are a gentleman and a scholar."

She looked up at him and batted her eyelashes coquettishly.

"Or are you a gentleman?" she wondered aloud. "Here I am all alone with no chaperone, dressed for bed, and here you are knocking on my door at this positively indecent hour… scandalous."

"You're not alone, Diane." Sam smiled.

"Oh, yes I am! Alone and unloved in Boston." Her face fell at that last bit. Sam worried that her mood might turn, but the moment passed and soon she was smiling up at him again.

"You could never be unloved, sweetheart."

"Oh, is that so?" she asked, sensing an opening through her sodden cavalcade of half-thoughts.

"Yeah, that's so."

"Well, you sir, are very optimistic. Unless you know something I don't."

Sam felt himself approaching the abyss. Sober or not, she was drawing him into this love talk, and the last thing he wanted was to get pulled down that rabbit hole with her. He knew he loved her. He just couldn't bring himself to let her know that. What if he loved her more than she loved him? The very notion of that kind of vulnerability was enough to stir up a deep-seated panic that he'd just as soon not have to contend with, ever. Still the idea of her feeling so alone troubled him immensely. It seemed an injustice of the highest order that she should feel anything less than entirely adored.

Diane looked into his eyes a little longer, then, amused with herself, as if remembering some long-forgotten joke, turned away from him with a giggle. She resumed her quest for her beloved frog prince, and bent at the waist to whisper a word or two in Freddie's non-existent ear before giving him a squeeze and a pat on the head. There was that wayward hemline again, no longer covering legs that went all the way down to the floor and back, her white panties stretched tight over the place where her thighs met in the middle. Sam suddenly felt very warm as she turned to address him again.

"So… Sam Malone… what brings you to my door at this hour?"

Sam had to think a bit before responding. In the presence of those legs and that spectacular ass, he'd forgotten why he'd come. Or had perhaps developed another reason entirely.

"Well, Diane Chambers, I guess I thought I might come by to thank you again for those fight tickets. It was great."

Her chin dimpled in consternation.

"So you just dropped in to say thanks, and that's it?"

"Pretty much…"

"Are you sure there was… nothing else you wanted?" she teased, suggestively unbuttoning one more button on her nightshirt, and suddenly the prissy lavender floral print seemed less than innocent.

Sam was a moth to her flame. He could see the soft arc of her left breast, and could do nothing but move toward her. She staggered slightly to one side, suddenly distracted.

"You know what I wanna do right now?" she asked.

"I don't know, but God, I hope it's the same thing I wanna do."

"I want to brush my teeth," she declared and marched off to the bathroom to do just that.

Sam was gobsmacked, though he couldn't help but laugh at her scattered thinking under the influence. He wasn't sure if she was just jerking him around or was just that drunk. In any event, this visit was certainly shaping up to be a lot more interesting than he'd imagined when he knocked at her door.

Diane reappeared in her bedroom doorway, leaning seductively against the frame.

"So you were saying?" she began.

"I was just wondering if there was anything... else you wanted to do," he proposed, walking toward her.

She tilted her head and bit her lip and Sam felt his pulse quicken.

"Hmmmm… let me think… you know, as a matter of fact, there is something. Something I've been wanting to do all night."

Sam encircled her trim waist with both arms.

"Really, now? Could I persuade you to tell me what that might be, Miss Chambers?"

"You could persuade me to do many things, Mr. Malone," she grinned. "But right now, I want to dance."

And with that, she broke from his embrace and headed for her stereo, where she managed to hit some buttons, turn a knob and drop the needle on an old Van Morrison album. After a loud scratch, the Irishman's lilting voice came softly from the speakers. Sam knew this song well. She turned to him and held out her arms and his heart melted. He crossed the floor in two steps and pulled her close as the lyrics washed over them.

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles
And when I come to her that's where I belong
Yet I'm running to her like a river's song

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

Sam felt his eyes well up with tears. Yes, he knew the song well, but he'd never fully appreciated it before Diane. Now Van Morrison seemed to be singing his own heart to him across a candlelit room, and he was overcome with emotion. He held her reverently, and she rested her head on his shoulder, both swaying in time to a song they hoped would never end.

And when I'm returning from so far away
She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day
Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole
Yes it makes me mellow down into my soul

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She was so warm and fit so perfectly, filling in all his blank spots and completing him. She was his home.

The song slowly faded and the opening chords of "Caravan" played, easing them out of their romantic reverie. Diane lifted her head and smiled, changing the rhythm of the dance to something more playful as she twirled under Sam's arm and then spun into his embrace again. Sam was sorry the first song ended, but had to laugh at her up tempo moves. She couldn't be more adorable if she tried. She was as intoxicating as she was intoxicated, and he was drunk on her.

She whirled and bounced around like a little sprite, including Sam in her dance every so often until he caught her by the waist and held her fast again.

"Hey," she smiled up at him.

"Hey yourself. You know, you're awfully cute right now."

"I know," she replied matter-of-factly.

"I bet you do," Sam chuckled.

"You're pretty cute yourself, mister."

Diane's fingers moved to loosen Sam's tie as he steered her back toward the bedroom.

"Oh you think so, huh?"

"Yessir… yes, I really do," she purred, backing into the room. "You know there was something else I wanted to do tonight…"

Sam was afraid to ask, lest she take off on another less than sober tangent.

"Really? Now I wonder what on earth that could be. It's been a full evening already what with the dancing and the tooth brushing…"

"Ah, but there's one thing I want more than anything," she breathed, leveling him with a sultry look, the meaning of which could not possibly be misinterpreted.

Sam saw his opportunity and swept her into a long, heated kiss, which she returned in kind. He couldn't get enough of her- the smell of her hair, the curve of her ass, the feel of her mouth, the taste of her toothpaste on her tongue. He wanted nothing more than to ravish her, to inhabit her. She was the most exciting woman he'd ever known, and yet she was his home.

She sat on the bed and pulled him down with her by his lapels. There was a deep and consuming intensity in their kisses. Slow, impassioned mouths and hands caressed and explored each other as if for the first time, rediscovering all of the pleasure points and triggers they'd cultivated and curated in their short physical history together. Then just as things were escalating to another level, Diane pulled away. Her moist, swollen lips were parted in the start of a question she hadn't yet formulated. Her eyes suddenly felt very heavy and the room seemed to be slowly turning on an unseen axis. Sam looked at her expectantly from across his pillow and she stared at him for a long while in silence, her wide blue eyes like those of a lost child searching his face for something she couldn't quite put to words, but then the words came.

"Why don't you love me?" she asked him quietly, a catch in her voice.

Sam's heart hurt, and he couldn't withhold the truth another second. The very question was a dagger to his chest. To deny her would be a death blow.

"God, I do love you, Diane. I've always loved you."

Having finally spoken from his soul, Sam felt liberated. No longer heartsick, he felt a surge of happiness the likes of which he hadn't known since he was boy. He was free now- free to love her as she deserved to be loved, without reservation or hesitation.

Diane smiled a little smile just as her eyes fluttered shut. She'd passed out cold. Sam shook his head in disbelief, but couldn't suppress the grin that had stolen across his face.

"That's my girl."

Disappointed in the early end to his evening, though feeling far better for his confession, he gently tucked her into bed, brushing her hair away from her face. He left a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water on her bedside table.

"Oh boy, you're gonna be hurting in the morning, sweetheart. I'll talk to you then."

Pressing a last warm kiss to her temple, he left to close Cheers for the night, locking the door of her apartment behind him.

The next morning Sam's phone rang, and he knew immediately that it was her, wanting to talk about the L word from last night, no doubt. He steeled himself for a heavy conversation.

"Yello!" he answered, trying to affect a more casual tone.

"Sam, it's me. I feel just awful. I think I'm coming down with something, so I won't be in today."

"Yeah, I figured as much."

"You figured? How?"

She seemed genuinely puzzled, which in turn puzzled Sam.

"Well, last night..."

"Oh I'm sorry, I wasn't answering my phone last night. Did you call?"

Sam realized that she had no memory of him even being there, let alone what he'd said, and his heart began to ache again.

"Nope… nope… I didn't call. I got home pretty late from the fight. Tell you what, though. How about I swing by tonight? I'll bring you some dinner and you, me and Freddie can just lay low and do nothing. Maybe listen to some music. I miss you, you know that? And I uh... I've got something I need to tell you."