Author's Note: Why does everyone seem to assume that Sam's 'bike' is a motorcycle? Go back and listen to the original conversation where he tells Jules that he bought a bike. It's totally a bicycle.

FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP

"Can I help you?"

Sam started slightly – he hadn't noticed the woman speaking until she was standing right in front of him.

"Oh – uh, yeah, I left a message on your voice mail, I'm not sure if you got it…" Sam trailed off uncertainly.

Dr. Ruth nodded encouragingly. "Yes, I received your message asking to see me. I was a bit surprised…" Sam flushed. "…but yes, you're always welcome. Come in," she said, stepping back from the doorway and gesturing in to her office.

Sam hesitated a moment, then stepped through the door. Unbidden, memories of his last visit rose before his eyes.

"How long does it take you to fall asleep at night?"

"I don't know, maybe fifteen minutes?"

"Is that how long it actually takes, or how long you'd like it to take?"

"That's – I don't know, that's most nights."

"Tell me about the other nights."

"Forget it, doc. There's nothing wrong with me, I'm completely fine, and I don't need your help being more in tune with my emotions, or whatever it is you'll tell me to do. I don't see any point in continuing this conversation, so can I leave now?"

Sam shook his head irritably. This was not a psych evaluation. Thank goodness for that. At least, not his psych eval. He sat himself down on the couch, placing his carrier bag next to him – then, thinking again, he put it on his lap and rested his arms on it. Then he put it on the floor by his feet. Actually, the couch was a better spot for it…

"You're not comfortable being here," Dr. Ruth observed.

Oh, well spotted, Sam thought acerbically, dropping the bag to the floor once more and straightening up. Freakin' psych docs. Why the heck am I here, anyway?

"There is a question that you might be able to answer for me," Sam said stiffly. The doctor nodded encouragingly and leaned forward attentively.

Sam resisted the immediate childish impulse to scoot away from her. Instead, he focused on the reason he had come.

"Okay, so let's say somebody – somebody gets sad…" Sam trailed off, suddenly confused. What on earth was he supposed to ask, anyway? How to comfort someone? He was perfectly adept at comforting Jules, thank you very much. How to stop her from getting sad? How the heck was anyone supposed to do that? If Jules was normal? She was perfectly normal, there was nothing wrong with her… No way was he going to get her dragged into this office for the psych doc to get all touchy-feely about her emotional status or something like that…

Sam stood up suddenly and lifted his bag.

"Actually, I think I'm fine," he said quickly. "Yeah, there's – there's nothing going on."

Dr. Ruth leaned back in her chair but didn't rise. "Sit down, Sam. There's obviously something you want to say to me, and I'd like to hear it."

Oh, I bet you would. Do you want me to tell you that I cry into my pillow every night? No, actually, my teddy bear. Yeah, little Stuffy – or whatever you call a bear – he's my only confidante that I can cry to…

"There's nothing that I need to say," Sam repeated. "I just – made a mistake."

"You made a mistake. Are you trying to decide how to rectify it?"

"No!" Sam said sharply. "I didn't make – I meant that I made a mistake by coming here. I thought that I had something to ask you, but I don't." He turned to leave.

"Someone is sad," Dr. Ruth said contemplatively, repeating his earlier words.

Sam stopped at the threshold of the office door, his shirt suddenly damp with the sensation of Jules's tears. He hesitated for a moment and then did an abrupt about-face.

"Let's say someone is sad," he shot at the doctor. "How do you make them stop getting sad?"

He lifted his chin slightly in defiance, as if daring the doctor to adequately respond to his question. Maddeningly, Dr. Ruth seemed to be in no rush to do so. She picked up a pencil from her desk and slowly rolled it between her fingers, returning Sam's glare with a soft expression that she obviously deemed to be one of suitable empathy.

"If someone is sad," she said carefully, "we can try to take away the reason that they become sad." She paused for a moment.

"Take away the reason. Thanks, doc," Sam said heartily. He was out of the office and marching down the hall before she had the chance to say another word.

Take away the reason they become sad. Oh, sure, let's just rewind a couple weeks, tell Lewis not to step on the freakin' land mine, and then we'll all just be la-dee-da.

Thanks for the advice, doc. Take away the reason they become sad. That's probably the stupidest and most useless piece of advice that I've ever gotten. Geez, I could sit in an office and give people advice like that and get paid however many bucks an hour that those people charge.

He was only gathering steam as he pounded down the stairs and headed towards the parking lot.

I'd like to see that woman in combat gear! I'd like to see how she would get out of an enemy ambush. Tell the terrorists to get in touch with their inner child? They'd blow her up before she could finish her sentence. Blow her up like Lew.

Sam's step slowed imperceptibly as his friend's face flashed in front of him.

Nobody's saying that Lew's death wasn't tragic, and a big shock – but I can deal with Lew's death, and so can Jules. And if she needs help, then I can help her. It took so long for her to let me in, and now that she actually needs me I'm not going to go and dump her on a shrink. If there's one person in the world that I can protect, it's –

"Jules!"

"Oh – hey, Sam…" She was leaning against her car, ever so casually.

"What – what are you doing here?" Sam asked uncertainly, walking towards her. Her shift had ended forty-five minutes ago, hadn't it?

Jules shrugged. "I just thought I'd wait for you," she said simply, reaching out and wrapping her arms around Sam. "I thought maybe you'd want a ride home?"

Sam blinked down at her, but she was smiling, and he suddenly remembered the first time he'd found Jules waiting for him after work. After that drug bust standoff, when things had gone way south, and she'd been waiting for him in the hall, wearing a red tank top…

Sam smiled back at Jules and returned her hug before opening the trunk of her car to stow his bike.

Come to think of it, she's a lot more affectionate these days, he thought as he lifted the bike and carefully leaned it against the back seat. See – perfectly fine… He slammed the trunk shut, opened the passenger-side door, and swung himself inside. Jules sat herself down in the driver's seat and smiled at him as he clicked in his seatbelt. If there were lines of anxiety behind her smile, Sam pretended not to notice.

There's nothing wrong with Jules. She's perfectly fine.

The familiar hum of the engine filled the air with a calm resonance.

I'll protect her.