Thank you so much for the awesome reviews for the last chapter! I was definitely worried about certain plot points working (e.g. the whole thing), and I very much appreciate knowing that it did. This chapter is set in the future, a little more than a year after Stay. (Just as a warning, it may put you into a diabetic coma.) Let me know what you think, and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Plan.

Andy wraps her arms around herself, briskly rubbing her hands over her biceps. It's been a temperate spring so far, but it still tends to cool down pretty quickly as it starts to get dark. Her cotton T-shirt isn't doing an especially good job of keeping her warm, and she can feel through her jeans the chill of the wooden stoop on which she sits. She wishes she'd thought to grab her jacket (or her shoes… okay, definitely her shoes), but acknowledges to herself that dressing properly for the weather isn't always a priority when one's goal is getting out of a situation as quickly as possible.

She leans her head against the railing to her left and lets her gaze drift out over the grass. She's always loved the view out here; between the backyard facing west and the house's position on a small hill, there are some pretty spectacular sunsets to be had on clear evenings like this. Tonight, though, it's impossible to appreciate the softening cobalt and blurred hints of pink that begin to pervade the sky.

Whenever she's seen Sam's deer-in-headlights expression before (and she can count the number of times on one hand), it's always been fleeting and closely followed with a smooth recovery and sarcastic quip. This time, he just kept looking at her, jaw slack and eyes widened, until she stammered something she's now pretty sure wasn't in English and scrambled to her feet. With that experience replaying on a loop in her mind, natural beauty is proving to be a rather inadequate distraction.

A year ago, she'd have been halfway home by now, bare feet notwithstanding. But as tempting as the prospect of being indoors with a generous glass of wine may be, this is as far as she wants to go (and not just because her house keys are sitting on his hall table). It's one thing to give herself a little distance from the situation, but distance from each other has never made either one of them especially happy. Plus, she's not about to be the one who breaks their unspoken pact to stick around when things become difficult. (Knowing he won't take off is one of very few things she's comfortable taking for granted.) Since their relationship began, they've had a fair number of arguments, a few massive fights, and she's barricaded herself in the bathroom on more than one occasion – but it's always somehow comforting to know that he's cooling down on the other side of the door, and they'll talk things out when they're both ready.

They probably have Oliver to thank for it, at least in part. Andy was partnered with him one day a few weeks after being reinstated, and as she approached the squad car, Oliver tossed her the keys.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I already ate."

"Good," he said with a decisive nod. "Breakfast it is."

"But, I'm really not…"

"Yeah, yeah," he replied. "Driving will help you work up an appetite."

As she tried to figure out where logic came into play in his statement, Oliver gestured impatiently. "Let's go, McNally. Suncrest Diner."

"Everything in that place is served with a side of extra grease," she protested as she opened the car door.

"A complimentary side of extra grease," he corrected her, climbing into the passenger seat.

After they ordered – coffee and toast for Andy, some enormous platter involving the word 'lumberjack' for Oliver – he leaned back against the booth's red vinyl backrest. "You know Sammy and I have known each other a long time, right?" he asked.

She nodded. "This isn't one of those 'if you hurt my friend, I'll make you pay' lectures, is it?"

"No, it's not," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Unless you want it to be, in which case it could be arranged. What I was gonna say was that he's smiled more since he got back from suspension than he has collectively in all the years I've known him. The man has been on desk duty for almost a month, McNally, and all he does is walk around with a shit-eating grin on his face." He paused to thank the waitress who dropped off their food before turning back to her. "Whatever you're doing to him, and feel free to spare me the details… it's real good to see him happy."

She smiled, her eyes on her coffee mug as she wrapped her hands around it. "We both are."

"Yeah, I know," he responded. "Which is why I want to give you a little advice so it stays that way."

She looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. "Never go to bed angry at each other. If you can fix it right then, great – but if it's too big for that, agree to put it on hold until the morning. Things are always better in the morning. Don't push things off, don't bring up the past if it has nothing to do with what's going on, and don't ever walk out – nothing good comes of that, believe me."

She nodded slowly, trying to keep her expression neutral. At this point, it wasn't exactly a secret around the division that he hadn't been staying at home, but she knew better than to bring it up.

Oliver resumed speaking, despite the somewhat uncomfortable look on his face. "Thirteen years of marriage. And you know when things went south? When we started going to bed angry at each other." He looked up at her. "Just remember that."

She suspects Sam received a similar talk, because they never have. The idea of putting a fight on hold was strange at first, but they learned to recognize when they weren't getting anywhere and the best course of action was to just go to sleep. There was always a kiss, a few reassuring words: this will be fine or we're going to be okay – then, once it had worked its way into their vernacular, I love you. Even though they aren't exactly fighting right now, she knows he's giving her time to collect herself, and he's become eerily good at knowing when to resume conversation.

As if on cue, she hears the glass door slide open behind her and Sam's footsteps quickly cross the small deck. As he takes a seat next to her on the steps, she notices her jacket hanging over his arm.

"Thought you might need this," he says quietly as he holds it out to her.

She accepts the jacket from him, swinging the black corduroy over her shoulders and sliding her arms into the sleeves. "Thanks."

They sit in silence for several minutes, looking across the backyard, until Sam sighs. "So that was, uh…"

Andy groans and covers her face with her hands. "Sam, please don't. Let's just… forget it ever happened, okay?"

He leans closer to her so that his leg is brushing hers. "That's probably not gonna work."

She shakes her head. "Yeah, I figured as much. Maybe you can just go back inside, then, until I'm done wanting to die of humiliation?"

He's trying to take this seriously, she knows he is, but the amusement in his voice is unmistakable. "How long do you expect that to be?"

"I don't know," she says. "Better give it about a month. You know, to be sure."

He chuckles. "Andy." She feels his hands gently pulling hers down away from her eyes. "It's really not that bad."

She looks at him incredulously. "Who does that, though? I mean, at least admit I wrecked your night."

"You didn't."

"Come on. You have a long day, you're finally relaxing and watching the playoff game you've been talking about for a week – and out of nowhere, your girlfriend busts out with 'We should get married'? It doesn't get worse than that for a guy."

He hesitates. "It wasn't... it's not what you think."

"Sam, I saw your face," she responds softly, her eyes darting away from him. "You were… horrified. And I don't blame you, really. I don't even know where that came from."

She hears a slow exhalation beside her. "Look at me, will you?"

"Do I have to?" she mumbles.

"I would certainly appreciate it if you did." His tone is still patient, but it's clearly taking him some effort to keep it that way, so she slowly complies.

"I didn't mean to look at you like that," he begins. "You just caught me off-guard; I think that much was obvious. The thing is…" He trails off, and his hand brushes over her knee. "I just wasn't expecting…"

"I know," she interrupts. "You weren't expecting that, and I'm sorry…"

"Just give me a second here," he says, the T.O. in him finding its way into his voice. He tilts his head to look up at the sky before turning back to her. "I wasn't expecting it tonight, because…" He sighs. "I had a plan, okay?"

This time, the stunned expression is hers. "You… what? What are you talking about?"

He laces his fingers together and stretches his arms out in front of him. "You remember Evan Mills, right?"

The corners of Andy's mouth turn up at his mention of the name. "Of course. That was… a really good day."

Sam smiles. "Yeah, thanks to you. An eleven-year-old kid missing for 30 hours, most of us were starting to lose hope – grasp at straws. We were all caught up on the custody stuff with his parents, thought his father took him to Alberta, but you picked up on that throwaway thing his mother said. How the only time he'd been happy since they separated was when he was at Scouts."

"And we went to talk to his scout leader…"

"Because you insisted," he continues, bumping her shoulder with his. "And then even when I told you they'd searched High Park already, you wouldn't leave me alone about it until we went back to the nature trails."

"The leader said that when they went hiking, Evan had told him he wouldn't mind staying out there forever," she recalls.

"And you saw his jacket near the ravine," Sam says, shaking his head with a grin. "Somehow you managed to spot the only inch of fabric not completely covered in mud and leaves."

Andy laughs softly. "I couldn't believe he was alive. Shaken up, yeah, but… fine." The rest of the day is as clear in her mind as if it happened hours instead of months ago. Evan's mother bounding from a squad car toward her son. Every copper there suddenly finding that they had something in both their eyes. Sam turning to her in the cruiser as they drove back to 15, his words echoing in her memory: You're amazing, you know that?

She forces herself to return to the present. "So what does Evan Mills have to do with this plan of yours?"

"I was going to take you to the park. And… I had this whole speech ready about how much I love the faith you have in everyone and everything, even when it's driving me nuts, and… ask if maybe you thought you could have that kind of faith in me for…" He trails off, mumbling something unintelligible that Andy can't catch.

"Huh?"

He squints down at his feet before appearing to steel himself and looking directly into her eyes. "For the rest of our lives." He continues quickly before she has a chance to react. "And then, depending on what you said, I had this… ring made, and…"

"Wait, hang on," Andy interjects. "You had a ring made? Is it in the house right now?" Okay, of all questions you could've asked right now…

"No, it's not in the house, and it's… it's not that complicated," he hastens to explain, his hands gesticulating rapidly. (It's not often Andy gets to see him flustered like this, and she can't help but note how absurdly adorable he looks.) "You pick out stones and a setting, and they put it together, and…" He blows a long breath out through pursed lips before continuing in a softer tone. "I just wanted you to have something that was… different, you know? Yours. If you said yes."

"Oh my God," she whispers, overwhelmed. As far as they've come, what she's endured in the past isn't lost on him, and she knows the gesture is a promise to do everything in his power to prevent her from getting hurt again. She blinks hard. "It's a really good plan."

"It's not bad," he agrees. "Of course, there's one problem with it."

She laughs shakily. "That I just ruined it?"

"Nope." He shoots her a sidelong glance – God, he's gorgeous when he smiles like that, teeth grazing over his bottom lip – and leans toward her. "Plans aren't really my thing."

"Um, I disagree. You came up with that, so…"

"Coming up with them, I can do," he acquiesces. "Carrying them out is a whole different story. You know, I see an opportunity…" He stands up, sauntering down the few steps to the yard before turning back to her with a wicked grin.

"What are you… oh. Oh." Her pulse practically doubles in speed, and she begins breathing faster. "But… I'm not wearing any shoes," she blurts out.

He laughs. "Who cares?" His hand is in his jacket pocket; she sees a flash of black velvet enclosed in his fist when it emerges.

"Is that… You said it wasn't in the house!"

"It wasn't," he shrugs. "It was in my pocket, out here." When he smiles at her again, it occurs to her for the first time that he looks kind of nervous. "Now do you think you can shut up long enough to let me do this?"

She nods wordlessly, hands over her mouth to prevent any more speech or her racing heart from escaping as he lowers himself to one knee in front of a resplendent sky.

She knows that in days and weeks and years to come, this will be one of her all-time favorite stories to tell. His question, almost shy; her enthusiastic assent; a beautiful (and yes, one-of-a-kind) ring being slipped onto her finger; him lifting her up off the steps as their lips meet. Vivid as most of the details may be, though, she has a feeling she's sure as hell not going to remember the sunset.