When he came back, the lights were only on in the bathroom—and the door to it was probably unlocked, considering how it was only half shut.

"Diane?" Sam closed the main door behind him. "Sweetheart, I'm back…!"

Nothing. Sam waited for a moment…and was sure he heard a sniffle.

Sam walked into the bathroom. There she was, sitting on the floor in front of the tub—clearly having washed and changed into a white linen nightdress. She had her knees brought close to her chest, and was staring off at nothing.

Sam walked over to her, sitting down on the floor, putting his arm around her. "Hey, uh…" he said in a near whisper, "I'm sorry about—"

"No…" Diane shook her head, "I'm sorry, Sam—I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that."

"Oh, come on— I can't blame you. It was unfair of me. I'm…sure he's a good guy."

Diane shrugged, "Well, um…I was—thinking of what else you said. And…I suppose you're right—I have been taking this entire situation more personally than I should have."

Sam shrugged, "You know, if he is stuck on you, I can't really blame him, either. There's a song or something—one-hit wonder, I think: 'If you've met her, then you'll never forget her—and nobody knows like me'."

Diane sighed, and muttered, "Well, that isn't necessarily a good thing, from 'her' perspective."

"Maybe not. All I know is, if it were me—"

Diane chuckled, "If it were you having to deal with being so unforgettable, I'd imagine you'd find it flattering."

"Hey, I'm kinda flattered, as it is," Sam grinned. "Knowing a bunch of guys might be jealous, me having you for a wife…"

Diane scoffed, and shook her head with a smile, "Oh, Sam…."

"Yeah, that's better," Sam leaned to her, "Keep smiling for me; what do you say?"

Diane looked off, with a sigh, "I would, except…"

"Oh, I should've known it wouldn't be that easy—"

"Sam…this is serious."

"Right. You're still worried about that soccer player. You know…if you ever do happen to meet up with him again, why don't you just tell him?"

"Oh, tell him what—that I fell for him under false pretenses? That I was desperately seeking a distraction from the pain in my heart, and I was only using him to feel better about myself?"

Sam frowned, and nodded, "Yeah, good point—I'd sure never use that one…."

Diane sighed, and stood, pacing the bathroom floor with tears in her voice, "Sam…I don't know what to do!"

Sam stayed on the floor, resting an arm on the tub, "You know—I don't want to sound more insensitive, but—if you never see him again, what'll you do?"

Diane sighed, and turned to him, "Well, I…I suppose I'll have to accept it—leave the past in the past, and move on with my life." She shrugged, and added, "I'll doubtless shed tears over it, but…"

"Well, in that case, here's an easy answer: for the rest of our visit, we'll go everywhere in these parks except there—you won't have a reason to think of him, and what are the odds you'll just happen to bump into him?…again…." Sam looked off, "I'm not helping at all, am I?"

"No, you're right, Sam," Diane sat back down beside him, "In fact, I'm starting to wonder if this isn't about whether he's recovered, at all…and if, in fact—it's more a matter of whether I've recovered."

Sam frowned at her, "Should I be a little worried about what you said, just now—?"

"No!" Diane shook her head, with a warm smile, "Sam, of course not—I'm yours, and I always will be…and I'm proud of that."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, good to know…just now, I was wondering how I'd have to step up my game, to help you get over it."

Diane chuckled, and leaned to him, "Sam, I can assure you…that man was not a viable competitor." After a moment, she shrugged, "Drunk or not, I'm reasonably sure I would've remembered, otherwise."

Sam smiled, "So, what's the recovery from?"

"Only…all the things I did, during those months—all the things I put myself through…all the things I put all those men through—not only Frasier, or Antonio, but…who knows how many others."

"That Jack character?"

Diane stiffened, straightening up, "That…was purely my suffering. And unfortunately for me, that gorilla's antics often shocked me into sobriety! If you knew all the degrading things his…crowd led me into doing—"

"Hey come on, they didn't have you dance on a table or anything, did they?"

Diane froze, staring at him.

Oh, great. Sam frowned, looking at her in what he hoped passed for complete innocence, "What?"

To be honest, he wasn't sure what he could've possibly been thinking, blurting that out like he did. He hadn't really been sure if that story was true—and if it was, if Diane remembered it. It certainly wasn't the kind of thing she'd let herself do, sober…was it?

Apparently, there was more to it than he'd thought. Diane stood up and closed her eyes, clearly mentally counting to ten.

"Hey—sweetheart—"

"Who…told you?"

"I, uh—heard about it—"

Diane opened her eyes. "From whom?"

Sam stood up, and said, "Look—give me some credit: when Frasier showed up and told me you didn't marry, I looked you up—I was worried, remember?"

"So, it was Frasier, was it?"

Sam scoffed, "Come on—"

"Well, I sincerely doubt the sisters would've told you!"

"All right—look—"

"Frasier…!" Diane muttered, looking off. She shook her head, "My word—as though all the things he said to me weren't bad enough—he had to study me from afar and tell you!"

"Hey, it's not like he was around to witness!"

"No…" Diane sighed, spreading out her hands, "It's just—believe me, Sam, it was the most humiliating period in my life, and to this day, I can never truly understand why I did what I did."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time you went a little…y'know—"

"But that was different!—at Goldenbrook, I was among capable hands…and whatever bouts of insanity I'd faced were quickly reined in. In Europe…I was alone—seeking what solace I could in…danger and thrill and excitement. I was…wild, and—untamed, and…"

Sam couldn't help himself, "Go on—please…"

Diane sighed, giving him a Look. "Sam—it was decidedly not a period in my life I was any proud of." She blinked, and looked off, muttering, "Heaven forgive me, I just dangled a preposition."

Sam shrugged, "Well, I wouldn't ever want to see you go off the rails, like that—you're too good for tabletops, anyway…or that 'semi-private beach'—"

"Sam, please—"

"What I'm saying is…all that being said, there's nothing wrong with showing your 'wild side', once in a while."

"Oh, well, I'm certain you would know—you weren't 'tamed' at all until I came along!"

Sam grinned, "Hey, there's more than one way of being 'untamed', you know—I just save it for the right moments…."

Diane chuckled, "Well, um…what were we discussing?"

"What you were trying to get over."

"Right. Well—the point is, heaven knows how many men had gained the wrong impression, during that time—"

Sam sighed, "Diane, if you were that crazy, those guys probably weren't looking for commitment. They were looking for wild times and wilder sex. They had no respect for you, any more than you did. And they sure as heck didn't love you."

Diane nodded, looking off. "And Antonio—?"

"Hey, who knows? Maybe next time you're at that fountain, you can ask him."

Diane turned to him, her eyes welling up.

"Oh—" Sam shook his head, "Diane, I—I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"No," Diane shook her head, and whispered, "Sam, hold me…."

He did, and she cried onto his shoulder, holding nothing back.

Sam held her, supporting her. He always hated it when she cried…when she was hurt, in some way. But moments like this—moments when he could be there for her…it made him feel good inside, despite himself. He felt so protective of her, in moments like this. And whenever he followed through—keeping her close, protecting her from the world…well, it really did make him feel every bit "like a man"—being there for the woman in his life.

Diane had once told him how, the night he first hired her (after that stupid Sumner Sloane threw her away, like the scum he was), Sam had, in a sense…saved her life—how there were times when she could see him as a hero, for her. A "rogue knight" (yeah…good thing she didn't talk about "shining armor"—he was a ball player, and "shining" things are bad for the eyes)…rescuing the beautiful princess, keeping her safe.

Well, I don't know if I'm a "hero" or not, Diane…but I can sure try, like right now.

"It's okay," he whispered, "I'm here, sweetheart…I'm here."

When all her tears were shed, Diane looked up at him, blinking, smiling. "Thank you, Sam," she whispered.

Sam beamed, "Any time, princess."

Diane's smile grew, "That's new…."

"Hey, it was your idea—remember?"

Diane shrugged a little, "Well, I remember speaking metaphorically, but…"

"Well, it's for the honeymoon—it's Disney, after all."

"I suppose so…." Diane leaned to him, beaming. "Call me that again?"

Sam shrugged, "Call you what, princess?" And he chuckled.

Diane returned the laugh, and her eyelids lowered a little as she said, "I like it, Sam. I like it a lot…."

Sam nodded, "Now, enough talking for now, okay?"

"For now, mon coer…."

And they kissed…and no more words were needed, for the night.

Note: The reference to the table-dance's connection to Jack is a bit of a nod to samuraifrasiercrane's tale of that period, "Where The Thunder Goes".

Final chapter coming up!