The finale - I can't, words are escaping me, my heart is so full and happy...what is going on in my head...I just can't. I had to write something - anything, after that simply perfect season finale. So if this is incoherent and makes no sense, just know that a) words are not my strong suit at the moment, and b) I wrote this under 25 minutes.

Sam Swarek was literally running on empty.

Emotionally, he had been put through the ringer, thinking he would never see Andy, or Oliver, or Noelle - hell, even Dov - ever again. Psychologically, he had been preparing himself for his inevitable death for the better part of the last seven hours he had been in Brennan's care, and knowing that death is imminent and foreseeable in the very near future is enough to make any man crazy pondering it too long. Physically, there was nothing left in him. His limbs felt like lead (except for his shattered wrist, which he really needed to go get taken care of), there was a pounding in his head, and the strangest fiery gnawing in his stomach that reminded him rather ferociously that he hadn't eaten in over eighteen hours.

And yet, with all of this, as well as his suspension (which was going to put a severe hold on any plans to rise through the ranks - not that he had any) and having been yelled at for the past thirty minutes by his boss (and a dear friend), he had never been happier.

Well, happy might have been a stretch. More like content - no, relieved - no, actually, he did feel happy.

Because with all the screaming from Best, with all the reprimands and chastising and disappointment leveled at him, his boss had never explicitly told him not to continue his relationship with McNally.

And that was enough for him to continue it.

"Where's Candice?" had been his first question, and it had been the question burning through his mind throughout his entire interrogation from hell at the hands of Brennan. He hadn't believed the psycho bastard initially, but as time went by and he acquired more and more injuries and felt himself slip in and out of consciousness as if it was part of a game he hadn't known he was playing, he had come to the conclusion that Andy was fine, that she hadn't been made, and that had been more than enough to get him through all the pain and suffering and sheer hell.

When Shaw had burst into that room just as he had been on the cusp of unconsciousness - again - Sam had thought he had never been as happy to see someone as he did right then with his best friend.

He was wrong.

He had never been as happy to see someone as when he had exited that building and seen McNally, his McNally, alive and safe and intact and there, waiting for him. And he, in all the confusion and commotion and the continuous pounding in his ears, had felt something akin to pride at the fact that she hadn't smiled, or touched him - or heaven forbid, launched herself at him, because that would have hurt like crap. She had acted like a cop, held herself with decorum, even as he could see the rapid loss of control in her eyes through his own bloodshot and blurry ones.

And sitting in his truck now, his beautiful, amazing truck that he never thought he would see again, he shot a quick prayer to Jesus in thanks for his improbable safety and drove off, his happiness and relief somewhat tainted by the fact that he hadn't been able to locate Andy after Frank had laid into him with claws drawn.

He knew she blamed herself, had seen it in her eyes in those brief moments outside the cabin. But he didn't blame her at all. He hadn't once even thought about placing any blame on her throughout this whole fiasco. It was his fault, for calling her in the first place, his fault for caving in and letting her stay because he couldn't resist those beautiful doe eyes of hers.

But most of all, it was Boyd's fault. That motherfu - that bastard (for he had promised God he would cut back on the more serious swearing in thanks for letting him live) had sailed him up the river and left him high and dry. What had he been thinking, giving him a boat from a high profile case and not reading him in fully on the coverup involving Brennan's wife and child?

Speaking of Brennan's wife and child, maybe it had been the combination of adrenaline and pure dread running through his veins at the time, or maybe it was just the longing he had had for a very, very long while finally surfacing at the most inopportune moments, but when Jamie had shown him that picture of his wife and daughter, there had been a part of Sam that screamed, that longed for that type of family with Andy.

But right now, running on empty, all he wanted to do was find her and take her to bed - not to make love to, but just to hold - and sleep for a very, very long time. He was suspended, and he was certain she was to, so what else were they going to do but recuperate?

These past two years, and especially these past few days, with her finally in his bed, naked, and most definitely these past few hours had only solidified his love for his McNally even more, if that was at all possible. He now knew, though he had known before, but now knew without even a shadow of a doubt that she was the one for him, and he didn't want to spend another day or minute or second without her by his side.

He needed her to know he didn't blame her. He needed her to know that he loved her so damn much it hurt. He needed her to know that he wanted her to stay, always.

He needed her to know.

As if his guardian angel was sending a gift to apologize for leaving him all by his lonesome, there was McNally, materializing on the sidewalk, looking like the most beautiful thing his new-lease-on-life eyes had ever seen before.

He was going to hold her tonight. He was going to fall asleep with her in his arms. He was going to go to bed with the woman he loved.

Undercover work - a walk in the park. Getting tortured by a psychopath with a penchant for heavy blunt objects - easy. Suspensions - piece of cake.

Losing his Andrea McNally - death.

So he was going to make the most of their suspension - and then, so surreptitiously she wouldn't know his ambush until it was too late - he was going to make the most of their lives, together.