Thank you for your continuous support. I sincerely appreciate it.

Standard disclaimer.

Chocolate will never fail you.

Sam's routine hadn't changed much, in the six months he'd been in Lucky Harbor.

He got up in the mornings and either swam in the ocean or went to the gym, usually with Mark Morrison, a local supervisory forest ranger and the guy who owned the '72 GMC Jimmy that he was fixing up.

Mark was ex-Chicago SWAT, but before that, he'd been in the Navy. He and Sam had gone through basic together.

And when Sam had injured his leg again, he had coaxed him out West to rehabilitate.

They'd spent time hitting the gun range, but mostly, they enjoyed beating the shit out of each other on the mats.

They had a routine.

They'd lie panting side by side on their backs in the gym, after their sparring session, and Mark would ask,

"Another round?"

"Absolutely," Sam would say.

But neither of them would move.

"You doing okay?" Mark would then ask.

"Don't want to talk about it," Sam would reply.

And Mark would let it go.

Then, Sam would hit the beach, swimming, until the exhaustion nearly pulled him under. Afterwards, he'd force himself along the rough rocky beach, just to prove he could stay upright.

He had started out slow...hell, he'd practically crawled...but he could walk it now.

It was actually quite the feat. Or so his doctor kept telling him.

He supposed, this was true, given that, four years ago, he'd nearly lost his left leg in the plane crash, thanks to a post-surgical infection.

But it was a hell of a lot less than Bart, Tim, Kelly, and Tony had lost.

Whenever he thought of that time and the loss of his team, a familiar hurt, seized his gut. He hadn't been able to save a single one of them.

He'd been trained as a trauma paramedic, but their injuries, and his own, had proven too much.

Later, he'd been honorably discharged and he'd walked away from being a medic.

He hadn't given anyone so much as a Band-Aid since.

Working in the private sector, had proven to be a good fit for him.

In actuality, it wasn't all that different from being enlisted, except, the pay was better and he got a say in his assignments.

But six months out of work, was making him think too much. He wasn't used to this down time. He wasn't used to being in one spot for so long.

His entire life had been one base after another, and one mission after another.

He was ready to get back to that world, actually, he needed to get back to that world, because, it was the only way he had of making sure, that his team's death had meant something.

But, Dr. Scott Ames, the man in charge of his medical care, until he was cleared, took a weekly look at his scans and shook his head each time.

So here he was, holed up and recuperating in the big, empty house that Mark had leased for him...the one that was as far from his world, as he could possibly get.

Far away from where he'd grown up, and from anyone he'd known.

But it was just as well, since they were all gone now anyway.

His dad had been killed in Desert Storm and his mom had passed two years ago.

With his closest friends resting beneath their marble tombstones in Arlington, there was no one else...no wife, no lover, no kids.

It made for a short contact list on his cell phone.

But, instead of thinking about that, he spent his time fixing cars, instead of people...Mark's Jimmy, and his own Shelby...because, cars didn't die on those they cared about.

On the day of the big hospital auction, after replacing the transmission on Mark's Jimmy, Sam de-greased and showered, as always. But unlike always, he passed over his usual jeans for a suit.

Then stared at himself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the man looking back at him.

He still had stitches over one eye and a bruise on his cheek, from the storm incident. His hair was on the wrong side of a haircut, and he'd skipped shaving.

He'd lost some weight over the past six months, making the angles of his face more stark.

To him, his eyes seemed...hollow. But they matched how he felt inside.

His body might be slowly getting back into lean, mean fighting shape, but he had some work, yet to do on his soul.

He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the ever-present Vicodin bottle, rolling it between his fingers.

The bottle had been empty for two months now, and he'd still give his left nut for a refill.

He had two refills available to him...it said so right on the bottle. But since he had started to need them, to feel numb...with terrifying desperation...he'd quit cold turkey.

This didn't help his leg.

Rubbing it absently, he turned away from the mirror, having no idea why he was going to the auction.

Except he did.

He was going, because, the entire town would be there, and in spite of himself, he was curious.

He wanted to see her again, his bossy, warm, sexy nurse.

Which was ridiculous.

It'd been so dark the night of the storm, that he honestly wasn't sure, he even knew what she looked like. But he knew he'd recognize her voice...that soft, warm voice. It was pretty much all he remembered of the entire evening, the way it'd soothed and calmed him.

Shaking his head, he strode through the bedroom, slipping keys and cash into his pockets. He decided on skipping the gun for the night, although, he'd miss the comforting weight of it.

His cell phone was up to fifty-five missed calls now, which was a record. Giving in, he called voice mail and waited for the inevitable.

"Sam," a sexy female voice said. "Call me."

Francine St. John was the hottest redhead he'd ever seen and also the most ruthless. The messages went back a month or so.

Delete.

"Sam," she said on one of them. "Seriously. Call me."

Delete.

"Sam, I'm not fucking around. I need to hear from you."

Delete.

"Sam, Goddammit! Call me, you bastard!"

Delete.

Seeing as the rest of the calls, were all variations on the same theme, with slurs on his heritage and questionable moral compass, he hit delete, delete, delete...

There was no need to call her back. He knew exactly what she wanted...him, back at work.

Which made two of them.

Mercedes paced the lobby of Vets' Hall, in her little black dress and designer heels knock-offs, nodding to the occasional late straggler, as they came in.

From the large front gathering room, she could smell the delicious dinner that was being served and knew she should be in there...eating, smiling and schmoozing.

She should be getting people fired up for the auction and ready to spend their money.

But she was missing one thing...a date.

Her Mr. Wrong hadn't showed, which wasn't a big surprise. She hadn't really expected him to come.

But...hell, Santana had gotten her hopes up. And speaking of Santana, Mercedes blinked in shock, as the thin, poised, gorgeous woman stopped in front of her.

"Wow!" she exclaimed.

She'd never seen Santana with makeup, or in a dress for that matter. But tonight, she was in both, in a killer slinky dress and some serious kick-ass gladiator style heels, both of which, emphasized endless legs.

Santana shrugged.

"The hospital thrift store."

"Wow!" Mercedes repeated. "You look like you belong in a super hero movie."

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, I came out here to ask you, if we need to review your mission tonight with Mr. Wrong."

"Nope. Mission cancelled."

"What? Where's your date?"

"We both know that I didn't really have a date." Mercedes shook her head. "You look so amazing. I hardly even recognize you."

"Can't judge a book by its cover," Santana said casually. "Have you seen Quinn? She didn't know any guys in town, and there's no one I'm interested in, so she's my date tonight."

In the time since Santana had shown up in Lucky Harbor, Mercedes had never known her to go out on a date.

Whenever she asked about it, Santana shrugged and said the pickings were too slim.

"Maybe, I should be making the two of you, a list of Mr. Rights," Mercedes said.

Santana snorted.

"Been there, done that."

Just then, Mark Morrison walked by and stopped to say hi to Mercedes. She was used to seeing him in his ranger uniform, armed and in work mode. But tonight, he was in an expensive dark suit, appearing just as comfortable in his own skin as always, and looking pretty damn fine while he was at it.

He was approximately six feet tall, built rangy, with lean muscles, like the boxer he was on his off days.

He had sun-kissed brown hair, from long days on the mountain, light brown eyes, and an easy smile, which he flashed at Mercedes.

"Hey," he said.

She smiled.

"Hey, back."

He turned his attention politely to Santana, and then his eyes registered sudden surprise.

"San?"

"Yeah, I know. I clean up okay." Her voice was emotionless, her smile gone, as she turned to Mercedes. "See you in there."

Mark's gaze tracked Santana, as she strode across the lobby and vanished inside.

Yeah, he looked very fine tonight...and also, just the slightest bit bewildered.

Mercedes knew him to be a laid-back, easygoing guy. Sharp, quick-witted, and tough as hell. He had to be, given that he was an ex-cop and now worked, as a district forest ranger supervisor.

Nothing much ever seemed to get beneath his skin.

But Santana had.

Interesting.

This was definitely going on the list of topics to be discussed, during their next little chocoholics meeting.

"You forget to tip her at the diner or something?" she asked Mark.

"Or something," he said. With a shake of his head, he walked off.

Mercedes shrugged and took one more look around.

At first, she'd been so busy setting up, and then greeting people, that she'd been far too nervous, to think about what would happen, if Mr. Wrong didn't show up.

But she was thinking about it now, and it wasn't going to be pleasant.

She paced the length of the lobby again, stopping to look once more out the large windows, into the parking lot.

'Aargh!' she growled internally. Then, strode back to the dining area and peeked in.

It was filled.

This was both good and bad news.

Good, because, there was lots of potential money in all those pockets.

Bad, because, there was also a lot of potential humiliation, in having to go in there alone, after it'd been announced that she had a date.

Well, she'd survived worse, she assured herself. Far worse.

Still, she managed to waste another five minutes, going through the displays of the auction items, for the umpteenth time. And as she had, every single one of those times, she dawdled in front of one display in particular.

It was a small item, a silver charm bracelet. Each of its charms were unique to Lucky Harbor in some way. There was a tiny Victorian B&B, a miniature pier, and a gold pan, from the gold rush days.

It was so pretty.

Normally, the only jewelry she wore, was a small, delicate gold chain, with an infinity charm, that had been Kamara's.

For years, it had been all she ever needed, but this bracelet kept drawing her in, urging her to spend money she didn't have.

"Not exactly practical for an ER nurse."

Mercedes turned and found Mrs. Garland standing behind her, leaning heavily on a cane, her features twisted into a smile, only named so, because, her teeth were bared.

"Mrs. Garland. You're feeling better?"

"Hell, no! My ankles are swollen, my fingers are numb, and I'm plugged up beyond, any roto-rooter help."

Mercedes was well used to people telling her things, that would never come up in normal conversations.

"You need to stay hydrated. You taking your meds?"

"There was a mix-up at the pharmacy."

"You need those meds," Mercedes said.

"I tried calling my doctor. He's an idiot. And he's twelve."

Mrs. G's doctor was Dr. Scott Ames. He was thirty-two, and one of the best MD's on the West Coast.

"Trades on his cute looks," Mrs. Garland sniffed.

Mercedes wouldn't have described Scott as cute. Handsome, yes. Definitely striking as well, and serious, even when he smiled.

So serious, he always looked like he'd been to hell and back, and had learned plenty along the way.

None of which, had anything to do with his ability to do his job. Scott worked his ass off.

"You're being very unfair to a man, who's given you your life back. I'll check into the med issue for you, first thing in the morning."

"Yes, well, see that you do. Where's your date?"

Mercedes took a deep breath.

"Well..."

"You've been stood up? A shame, since you're dressed to put out."

Then the woman walked away.

Mercedes went back to staring down at the bracelet.

Mrs. G was right about one thing...it was totally impractical for anyone, who had to be as practical as she did, on a daily basis.

The charms would snag on everything, from patients' leads, to the bed rails.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing out here?"

'Perfect.'

Her mother.

Nadine Jones was in her Sunday best, a pale blue dress, that set off her pretty sun-kissed skin...compliments, of the hospital's upper deck during her breaks, where she sat reading romance novels and plotting her single daughter's happily-ever-after.

"Pretty," she said of the bracelet, "But..."

"Impractical," Mercedes finished. "I know."

"Actually, I was going to say, it's the type of thing a boyfriend would buy you. You need a boyfriend, Mercedes."

Yeah, she'd just pick one up at the boyfriend store later.

"Where's your date?"

Oh good, her favorite question.

"Oh, honey. Did you get stood up?"

Mercedes made a show of looking very busy, straightening out the description plaque with the bracelet display.

"Maybe he's just running a little late, is all."

"Well, that doesn't bode well for the relationship."

Yeah, and neither did the fact that, they didn't have a relationship.

"You should have a date too, Mom."

"Me?" her mother asked, in obvious surprise. "Oh, no. I'm not ready for another man, you know that."

Mercedes did know that.

Her had been saying so for the past decade, ever since 'The Divorce,' which she however twisted and still, one-hundred-percent blamed herself for.

"You look a little ashen, sweetheart. Maybe you're catching that nasty flu that's going around."

No, she was catching Stood-Up-Itis.

"I'm good, Mom. No worries."

"Okay, then I'm going back inside. Dessert's up next." She kissed her on the cheek and left.

Mercedes walked around the rest of the auction items. Then, she checked the parking lot again, for Mysterious No-Longer-So-Cute Guy.

By then, dessert was just about over.

When the lights dimmed and the PowerPoint slide show started...the one she'd put together to showcase the auction items...she sneaked in.

Tip-toeing to one of the back tables, she grabbed the first empty seat she could find and let out a breath.

So far so good.

She took a surreptitious peek at the people at her table, but it was too dark to see across from her.

To her right was an empty chair. To her left was a man, sitting in the shadows, his face turned to the slide show.

She found herself squinting, trying to figure out why he seemed so vaguely familiar, when someone came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Mercedes, there you are."

Her boss.

'Crap!' She craned her neck and smiled.

"Hello, Shelby."

"I've been looking everywhere for you. You're late."

Shelby Cochran was the director of nurses, and probably in her previous life, she'd been queen of her very own planet.

She had a way of moving and speaking that demanded attention and subtly promised a beheading, if she was disappointed in the slightest.

"Oh, I'm not just getting here," Mercedes assured her. "I've been behind the scenes all night."

"Hmm," Shelby said. "And...?"

"And everything's running smoothly," Mercedes quickly assured her. "We have a full house. We're doing good."

"Okay, then." Rare approval entered Shelby's voice. "That's terrific." She eyed the chair to the right of Mercedes. The empty spot. "Your date didn't show up?"

And here's where Mercedes made her mistake.

She honestly had no idea what came over her...probably, simple exhaustion from a very long week...or it might have been, that her heels were already pinching her feet.

But most likely, it was sheer, stubborn pride...which her grandmother had always told her, would be the death of her.

"My date is right here," she whispered.

And as discreetly as she could, she gestured with her chin to the man on her left, praying, that his date didn't take that moment, to come back from the restroom.

"Lovely." Shelby smiled politely at the back of his head. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

'Oh for God's sake!'

Mercedes glanced over at the man, grateful, he was paying them no attention whatsoever.

"He's very busy watching the slide show."

Shelby's smile didn't falter. She also didn't budge. It was her patent alpha dog stance, the one that hospital administrators, politicians, and probably, the President himself, bent over backwards for.

Mercedes gritted her teeth and again glanced at her 'date,' expecting him to still be watching the slide show.

But he wasn't.

He was looking right at her, and naturally, the slide show ended at that very moment and the lights went up.

He had a band-aid above his eye, which she knew covered stitches, and there was a small bruise on his cheek, where she'd nailed him with Quinn's cell phone.

It was...Mysterious Cute Guy.

Stay safe!