Have to admit that Sam and Dylan's emotional scenes on Saturday have awoken my desire to write, which is why this chapter is up so quickly compared with previous updates! I think this feels like the last chapter, so please read and review if you wish. x

Nick's office was silent as Sam stood in one corner and Dylan in the other. Zoe had begged a favour of Mr Jordan after several minutes of Dylan simply staring at his wife, saying absolutely nothing. But it seemed that this quieter space to talk was not having the desired effect.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Sam asked eventually, looking at him intently for any kind of response. She watched his entire body bristle at her question, his jaw clench, and his eyes shift away from the floor.

"What would you like me to say, Dr Nicholls?"

He had returned to formality, she noted with disappointment, and knew that his previous display of pure, raw emotion had disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"You came after me. There must have been a reason-"

"As there must undoubtedly have been a reason for you returning when you told me that you were leaving for Dubai. Or was I mistaken?"

"No…"

"Right. So you lied, then. You lied to me in order to see whether I would run after you. Well, congratulations Sam, you definitely succeeded," he snapped, giving her such a look of venom that she could say nothing in her defence.

She had no idea what she had done wrong, but it seemed that the happy reunion she had imagined when he saw her again was not to reach fruition. Perhaps she should have left after all.

"I came back because I couldn't leave you. It had absolutely nothing to do with seeing your reaction, though it now proves-"

"What does it prove? My undying love for you? Don't flatter yourself, Sam. This isn't some ridiculous romantic novel where the man sweeps the girl off her feet. And if it was, I certainly wouldn't be that man, and you most definitely wouldn't be that woman."

It cut her deep, but she hid it well. She had grown used to his barely concealed insults, and had almost become immune to them. Their entire marriage had been one long, spiteful slanging match, both of them flinging hurtful comments at one another until one of them stormed out. Their scars were buried deep, but the pain still burned beneath the surface.

"This was a bad idea. I should never have come back," she whispered, the words choking her as tears threatened. Her happily ever after was slipping through her fingers, and she had no way of stopping it or even slowing it down.

"No, you shouldn't. I suggest you phone Matt right now and explain you missed the flight. I'll even book you a new one if you want."

"That's uncalled for, Dylan."

"And that's Dr Keogh to you. In any case, I'm not the one who jumped into bed with my spouse's colleague and friend the minute your back was turned! Matt was best man at our wedding, for Christ's sake!"

"And I'm not the one who pushed you away every time you tried to get close to me! All I wanted was to be a good wife, and you wouldn't let me!" She was screaming now, the pain overflowing as she wrestled with her emotions. She had to leave, but her feet were rooted to the spot, her heart aching to finally say what she had wanted to say for years now.

He stepped forwards, his face so close she could feel his breath on her skin. For one second, she almost thought he was going to kiss her, and she felt delirious at the thought of his lips lightly pressed against hers. And then the moment passed, and all that was left was the hurt and disappointment in both their eyes.

"We should never have gotten married," he whispered, more to himself than to Sam. He knew the pain he had caused her, and felt keenly the agony she had inflicted on him, and knowing there was nothing to show for it made it all the worse.

"No," she agreed, "we shouldn't. But when we did, we should have tried harder to make it work. Or at least have admitted it was over after you found out about Matt. We should have got a divorce last year, but I kept hanging on to some form of hope…"

The warmth from their bodies mingled as they leaned into one another, desperate for any kind of comfort, even if it was to be found in each other. Sam placed a tentative hand on Dylan's chest for support, her heart throbbing at the feel of his solid body beneath her touch. He closed his eyes, remembering all those rare moments when they had been lovers rather than fighters, and relished her slender fingers gently resting on him. It was the sweetest pain he had ever encountered, and he would have spent a lifetime enduring it as long as he had her with him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, his cheek now brushing against hers as they moved ever closer.

Her breathing quickened, and she slid her hand down and around his waist as they fitted together perfectly, a move so natural that it happened automatically.

"I'm sorry, too," she replied, chin resting on his broad shoulder. She could smell the familiar fragrance of his shampoo and the intense smell of the hospital soap, and she breathed it in. It smelled like home. "How did we get here? What did we do wrong?"

He could hear the tears in her voice and pulled his arms tighter around her instinctively, knowing that he was still her protector, no matter what.

"We took a wrong turn, that's all," he replied into her ear, rubbing her back with his thumb in soothing, circular motions. He felt her body relax under his gentle touch and smiled. At least she didn't flinch when he came near her anymore.

Sam nodded, sighing deeply as she felt herself letting go of everything and concentrating on Dylan. He was the only thing she wanted and needed right now, and perhaps, if she wished hard enough, he might feel the same.

"I didn't let you in, Sam, not because you were in any way insufficient as my wife, but because… Is it clichéd to say it was me, not you?"

She gave a bittersweet smile and nodded vigorously. "Definitely."

He pulled away slightly, smiling as he felt her hands grip him tighter as she felt him move away.

"Sam… You won't remember, but I came home one night, not long after we were married, ridiculously late, and I didn't say a word to you, even though you had waited up for me. I slammed the door of my study and I left early the next morning, before you had woken up. We weren't the same after that."

"I remember," she interjected, the memory surprisingly vivid as she replayed that night. He had been so terrifyingly quiet when he came home, and, now that she thought about it, for some time after that.

"I had been the doctor in charge of a young girl that day – Lucy Dawson, six years old. She had come in after fainting at her primary school. Her father brought her in, and when I examined her, I said that it was most likely just a one-off. There were no signs of any illness, and I discharged her. An hour later, she came back into the ED, with a fever and fatally low blood pressure. I was out of my depth, I had no idea what was wrong with her, and by the time someone had properly diagnosed her, there was no time to save her. She died that day of Addison's disease – April 19th, at 13:23. It was my fault."

In that second, everything made sense. Dylan's sudden change from loving husband to a hostile stranger, his strange obsession with rare diseases, his coldness, his drinking – they were all caused by unbelievable guilt for the girl he had failed to save.

"You couldn't have known. Addison's disease is almost unheard of, and ridiculously hard to spot. It could have been any number of things, Dylan. You can't blame yourself."

He shook his head vehemently. "Maybe that wasn't entirely my fault, but everything that came afterwards was. I treated you like you didn't exist. No wonder you went to Matt – I'm surprised you came back at all…"

"I came back because I realised what a terrible mistake I had made. You are my husband, Dylan, and not even divorce papers will change that fact," she told him, feeling stronger than she had done in a long time.

Cupping her face in his hands, he stared deep into her eyes, desperately wanting to believe her. "You should go to Dubai."

"Not until you tell me why you went to the airport. I need to know, Dylan. I have a right to know, as your wife. Why did you come after me?"

He gave her a pleading look, begging her not to make him say it, but he knew he would. He had to tell her, even if it meant still having to say goodbye to her anyway. He would never forgive himself if he didn't tell her the truth.

"Because I couldn't let you go."

Sam gave him a smile which gave him such a glimmer of hope that he couldn't help but smile back. And then she was back in his arms, her hand on the back of his neck as she brought his face down to hers. They paused, waiting for the other to pull away, and in that one delicious moment of anticipation, they both realised how much they meant to each other.

"I love you, Dr Keogh," Sam whispered, and just like that, nothing mattered but to kiss him.

He closed the gap with one urgent move, his lips finding hers with such ease that it was as though all those horrific, agonising years had never happened, and they were back to being the happy newlyweds of long ago. Her fingers gripped his sandy coloured hair, the kiss increasing as their trembling lips hungered for a deeper, more loving bond. And then, without warning, Dylan gave a low chuckle and slowed the kiss, his hand brushing the side of her face.

"I love you too, Dr Keogh," he said, kissing her forehead, then her nose, and finally returning to her lips, both of them knowing that nothing, not even each other, would split them apart again.