Thank you for your continuous support. I appreciate it.

Standard disclaimer.

Forget love...I'd rather fall in chocolate!

Mercedes didn't know, what had brought Sam to her in the middle of the night, or what he'd planned on doing, but sitting in her entryway naked was a pretty damn good start.

Or finish.

She blushed as he bent in to kiss her, making him laugh softly against her lips, as if he could read her mind.

To distract them both, she trailed a finger down his chest, over his hip, and found an unnatural ridge.

On closer inspection, she saw a jagged scar, that ran the length of his body, from groin to knee.

She stilled in horror for what he'd suffered.

Then realized, that she was all comfy cozy, cuddled up against his chest and that position couldn't possibly be comfortable for him.

"Is your leg okay?" she asked.

"I can't feel my leg right now," Sam replied.

She laughed breathlessly, relieved, at the lessening of the sudden tension in his big, battle-scarred, perfect body.

"Good," she said. "I know it gives you pain from the car crash."

"The pain's fading." He paused, then grimaced. "And it wasn't a car crash. It was a plane crash."

Mercedes controlled her instinctive gasp of horror, to ask,

"You survived a plane crash?"

"That wasn't as bad, as the several days that went by before rescue."

"Oh, Sam," she breathed, feeling her throat tighten in pain for him, trying to imagine it and not being able to. "How bad was it?"

"Bad enough."

"Your injuries?"

"Cracked ribs, broken wrist, collarbone fracture. Some internal injuries and the leg. That was the worst of it for me. All survivable injuries."

He paused again.

"Unlike everyone else."

Mercedes couldn't even imagine the horrible pain he'd suffered.

For days.

And the others…

He'd been the only one to survive.

Aching for him, she ran her fingers lightly over his chest, feeling the fine tremor of his muscles.

'Must be the aftershocks of great sex...or memories,' she thought.

"Your friends," she said softly. "The ones you've mentioned before. That's where you lost them."

"Yeah. My team."

"Were you..."

"Mercedes." He shook his head. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"I know..."

She clutched the infinity charm around her neck, knowing the pain.

"...No one ever wants to talk about Kamara either. But she was really important to me. For a long time, after she was gone...after I failed to save her...I couldn't bear to remember her, much less talk about her."

Sam sighed, a long, shuddery exhale of breath and drew her in closer, burying his face in her hair.

"How did she die?" he asked.

"She took a bottle of pills." Mercedes felt him go still. "She was eighteen...and pregnant. It was ruled an accidental OD but…"

Mercedes closed her eyes and shook her head.

"It wasn't. Accidental, I mean. She did it on purpose."

"Dear God." Sam tightened his grip on her. "Doesn't sound like you could've saved her."

"We were sisters. I knew she had a drug problem. I should have..."

"No," he said firmly, pulling back to look into her eyes. "There's nothing you can do...nothing...to help someone who doesn't want to be helped."

It was so regretfully true, she could barely speak.

"How do you get passed it?"

"You keep moving. You keep doing whatever keeps you going. You keep living."

His hands were on the move again, tender and soothing…until her breath caught. And she murmured his name, hunger for him, stirring again.

Sam's touch changed then, from tender and soothing, to doggedly aggressive and doggedly determined, stealing Mercedes' breath.

"Keep living," she repeated.

"That's a good plan...Oh God Sam!" she whispered, when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, hard. "I thought we were talking."

"You go ahead and talk all you want," he said gently, then proceeded, to not-so-gently, once again, take her right out of her mind, in slow, exquisite detail.

Much, much later, she lay flat on her back on the floor, completely boneless.

"Good talk," she whispered hoarsely.

In the wee hours, Sam woke up flat on his back, the wood floor stuck to his spine and ass, and a warm, sated woman curled into him.

He'd taken Mercedes on the floor and had the bruises on his knees to prove it.

He'd have to tell Dr. Scott, that if his leg could hold out through marathon sex, it could hold out through anything...and see if that got him cleared.

Somehow, he staggered to his feet, then scooped Mercedes up.

"No," she muttered, the word a slur of exhaustion, as she stirred in his arms. "Don't wanna get up yet."

Sam knew she'd been working around the clock, on her feet for twelve hours and more at a time.

She worked damn hard.

"Shh," he said. "Sleep."

Her muscles went taut as she woke.

"Sam?"

'Well, who the hell else?'

"Where are we going?" Mercedes asked, groggily, slipping her arms around his neck.

"Bed."

He was going to tuck her in and get the hell out, before he did something stupid, like fall asleep with her.

Sex was one thing. But sleeping together afterwards, turned it into something else entirely.

'You idiot, it's already something else…'

At her bed, Sam saw the two big stuffed animals he'd won for her, leaning against her pillows.

And an odd feeling went through him...the kind of feeling, that stupid, horny teenage boys got, when they had a crush.

This was immediately chased by wry amusement, at the both of them.

Sam leaned over the bed to deposit Mercedes into it, but she tugged and he fell in with her.

"Cold," she murmured with a shiver and tried to climb up his body.

He pulled her close.

'Just for a minute,' he told himself. Then reached down and grabbed the comforter, yanking it up, over the top of them.

He'd share some body heat with her, until she stopped shivering. But once she was asleep, he'd head out.

"Mmm," Mercedes sighed blissfully, pressing her face into Sam's throat, tucking her cold-ass toes behind his calves. "You feel good."

"I'm not staying," he warned, not knowing, which one of them he was actually telling this to.

The woman cuddled in his arms or his own libido?

He wasn't sure, so he said it again.

But it didn't matter.

Two minutes later, Mercedes was breathing slow and deep, the kind of sleep, only the very exhausted could pull off.

She was out for the count.

And all over him. Plastered to him, like a second skin.

Her hair was in his face, her warm breath puffing gently against his jaw, and her bare breasts, flattened against his side and chest.

She had one hand tucked between them, the other, low on his stomach.

In her sleep, her fingers twitched, and she mumbled something that sounded like, "Bite me, Shelby."

Smiling, Sam ran his hand down her back and whispered,

"Shh."

And Mercedes immediately settled, with a deep, trusting sigh.

He didn't want to wake her, but he didn't do the sleepover thing.

He never did the sleepover thing.

Ever.

But unequivocally lulled in by her soft, giving warmth, he closed his eyes...just for a second, and fell asleep, wrapped around her.

At some point, Sam felt the nightmare gathering, pulling him in.

Luckily, he managed to wake himself up, before he made a complete ass of himself.

It was still dark. Too dark.

Rolling off the bed, he grabbed his jeans and was halfway out the bedroom door, before he felt a hand on his arm.

He nearly came out of his skin and whipped around to face Mercedes.

'Way to be aware of your surroundings, soldier.'

Unable to help himself, he twitched free and took a step back, right into the doorknob, which jabbed him hard in the back.

"Fuck, Mercedes!."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Lit only by a slant of moonlight, coming in through her bedroom blinds, she stayed where she was, a few feet away, concern pouring off her, in a way that, only hours before, passion and need had.

"You okay?" she asked.

And here was where he made his mistake.

He should have lied and said yes. He could have done it, easily. If he'd added a small smile and a kiss, she'd have bought it for sure.

She'd have bought anything he tried to sell her, because, she trusted him.

That was who she was.

But it wasn't him.

He didn't want to do this...to get this close.

So he shoved his feet into his running shoes and grabbed his wallet and keys.

"Sam?"

He headed down the hallway and Mercedes came after him. He could hear the pad of her bare feet.

'She's going to get cold again,' was his only inane thought.

She caught him at the front door. And it wasn't until, he felt her fingers run down his bare back, that he realized, he'd forgotten his shirt.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Mercedes asked.

Sam went still.

"No," came the instant denial.

She merely stroked his back again.

"That night in the storm," she said quietly. "You had a nightmare. I thought maybe, it happened again, here."

He dropped his head to the door.

"That's not it."

"Then, what happened? Things get a little too real?"

He straightened.

"I have to go, Mercedes."

"Without your shirt?"

He turned to face her, and she smiled.

She was wearing his shirt.

"Stay," she said, with a terrifying gentleness. "Sleep with me. I won't tell."

Sam knew she was treading softly around the crazy guy, only wanting to help.

But he didn't want her help. He didn't want anyone's help. He was fine. All he needed, was to be able to get back to work.

And maybe, to be buried deep inside her again, because there, he didn't hurt. There, he felt amazing.

But if he took her again, he'd never leave.

"Can't."

"But..."

He pulled open the door and stepped into the chilly night, sans shirt, leaving, before she could finish the rest of her sentence.

Mercedes returned to her room, plopped back onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling, haunted by the expression on Sam's face as he'd left.

He'd been rude and abrupt, and she should be pissed.

But she wasn't.

Though, she couldn't put a finger on exactly what she was.

This, with him, was supposed to have been about fun. Just a little walk on the wild side.

But it had become so much more. And she wanted even more.

It was unnerving, but it was the truth.

And Sam was so Mr. Wrong, it was terrifying.

Yet, she wanted him anyway.

How was it, that she wanted him anyway?

She was good at making people feel better, at helping them heal. Or at least, she liked to think she was.

But this, with him…she couldn't heal what ate at him, any more, than she'd been able to heal herself.

With a weary sigh, she turned over onto her side and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come and take her, before she gave herself a headache.

The next morning, Mercedes got up and went to work.

A few hours in, she was paged to the nurses' station.

"What's up?" she asked Marley, who was sitting behind the desk when she got there.

Marley jerked her head towards the hallway. And Mercedes turned, to find a very familiar, tall, broad-shouldered man, propping up the wall.

His stance was casual, and his body was relaxed.

But she knew better.

"I'm on break," she said to Marley and walked towards Sam.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." His eyes never wavered from hers. "Got a minute?"

"Maybe even two."

He didn't smile.

That didn't bode well.

All too aware of Marley's eyes and ears on them, she gestured for him to follow her.

They took the stairs down to the ground floor cafeteria, and Mercedes led him to a corner table.

It was too early for the lunch crowd, so they had the place to themselves, except for a janitor, working his way across the floor with a mop.

"Smells like a mess hall," Sam said.

"I bet the food was better at mess hall," Mercedes said.

"I bet not."

He was sitting close, his warm thigh pressed against hers, beneath the table.

He wore jeans that were battered to a velvety softness and a midnight blue button-down, with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows.

In other words, he looked edible.

But Mercedes was afraid, he was here to tell her his time was up, that he was leaving.

"You want anything?" she asked.

"Coffee? Tea? Pancakes?"

'Me…'

"They have great pancakes..."

"Nothing. Mercedes..."

"A sandwich," she said desperately. "How about a sandwich? Hell, I could use a sandwich myself."

She hopped up, but he grabbed her wrist.

'Fine!' she thought. She could handle this, whatever this was.

She slowly sat back down, and braced for a good-bye.

Sam was looking at Mercedes, in that way he had...steady and calm.

"You okay? You seem jumpy," she said.

"Just say it," she said. "Say good-bye already. I can't imagine it's that hard for you."

His brows went up.

"You think I'm here to say good-bye? And that it wouldn't be hard for me to say it?"

"Would it?"

He stared at her, his eyes fathomless, giving nothing away.

"I'm not here to say good-bye. Not yet anyway."

"Oh."

She nodded, knowing she should be relieved, but she wasn't.

Tension had gripped her in its hard fist, and she let out a slow, purposeful breath.

"I think...I need a favor from you, Sam. When it is time to go, I want you to just do it. Don't say good-bye. Just go."

"You want me to just leave without a word."

"Yes." Her throat was tight. Her heart was tight too. "That would be best, I think."

Then, she stood and started to walk away.

"I wanted to apologize for last night," Sam said, catching her hand. "I was an ass."

Mercedes softened, and with a gentle squeeze of his fingers, sank back into her chair.

"Well, maybe ass is a bit harsh. I was thinking, more along the lines of a scared-y cat," she said.

Sam let out a rough laugh.

"Yeah. That too."

"I understand, you know."

"You shouldn't," he said.

"Why? Because I've never faced anything that haunts me?"

His gaze never left hers.

"I'm sorry about your sister," he said. "And you're right. You're stronger than anyone I know. But I meant, you shouldn't understand, because, you deserve better from me."

Before she could respond to that, the elevator music being piped into the dining area cut off and was replaced by an authoritative male voice.

"Code Red."

Mercedes jumped up.

Code Red meant there was a fire, and personnel were to report in immediately.

Today was a scheduled drill, but she'd expected it later in the day.

"You're either about to be evacuated," she told Sam. "Or it's going to be a few minutes before you can leave."

She slapped her employee card on the table.

"When the drill's over, help yourself to something to eat."

"Code Red," the voice repeated. "All personnel respond immediately. Code Red. Repeat, Code Red."

Mercedes sighed.

Her life had great timing.

Stay safe!