It's been a while (again, sorry!) since I updated, but know that this story has been on my mind a lot! Here is the newest chapter. You will notice later on there are parts in italics and bold - these are snippets of letters between Dylan and Sam. Hers are the italics and his are the bold. I hope they're clear enough. Enjoy :)

Daylight was fading quickly over Oxford. Dylan and Sam sat in comfortable silence in the hotel lounge, occupying the sofa closest to the well-stoked open fire in the grate. While Sam was content simply to be in the presence of the person she loved for these final few hours together, Dylan had been trying to find the words all afternoon, to say something important. Sam appeared to shrink slightly at Dylan's words: he was reminded somewhat of a hedgehog curling itself away from danger and presenting spikes instead.

"I'm leaving in the morning, I can't –"

"Please, hear me out." It was a conversation that would leave an ugly taste in his mouth and a wound on his heart. "I know that you've written a letter for Nick – and I hope you trust that I will absolutely follow your wishes if it's needed and post that letter. But if something happened to you out there..." He paused, swallowing back a lump in his throat. "If anything happens, I – I don't think I can be the one to tell him that you're..." He looked at her meaningfully. He couldn't and would not find the words. "I know that you're like the daughter he never had, and he was absolutely more than just a Clinical Lead to you, too. He doesn't know that you're deploying, and I'm sure he'd be devastated to find out that you'd gone away, by reading your final letter rather than hearing it from you."

Sam's face fell.

"Don't ask me to tell him once you've already departed, because I can't do it, Samantha." His voice trembled and he squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears trying to fall. When he felt Sam's lips on his cheek, he relaxed a little. He opened his eyes to see that hers were suddenly red.

"It's been on my mind too – I think I'd just pushed it away," she admitted. She nodded slowly. Turning to look at the fire, her eyes glistened. "The time difference..." she said vaguely, half in question.

"GMT minus four," Dylan said automatically. "You're fine to call him now, on the time front. Although I think he'd forgive you being unsociable, for this."

Sam nodded. "You're alright to stay down here, if I call him from up in the room?"

He held out the room keycard in one hand and held up the paperback he'd discreetly brought down in anticipation of this scenario, in the other. "I'll be fine."

Sam unlocked the screen of her phone but didn't get as far as opening her contact list before locking it and putting it down again.

No, pull yourself together, she thought. She wasn't sure that she was ready for the emotions the phone call might bring, the night before deploying. The lack of time meant she had no choice: it had struck a nerve, Dylan pointing out how unfair it would be not to say one word to Nick before she flew out to Poland. He was the figure in her life who took the place of the father she barely spoke to. From the moment she had stepped into his ED, he had commanded authority and respect but equally had offered care that she badly needed. Often out of sight or earshot, there had been a kind word, a squeezed shoulder or a spot of supportive advice. In her lonely mid-twenties, it had always been appreciated. Her lack of appreciation for boundaries meant that she built a better relationship with her then-Clinical Lead than most, and it was a connection that had continued. Where Dylan had been largely distant or even absent, in the aftermath of the ambulance crash and explosion, in less than a phone call Nick had booked a flight back to the UK. Days spent in pain were somewhat more tolerable knowing that the end of the week would bring the return of an old friend.

She picked up the phone again and turned it over in her hands. She licked her lip anxiously as she initiated the call.

"...Hey, Nick, it's Sam… Yeah, I'm good thanks. You?… No, really, I'm fine. There's just… there's something I probably should have told you sooner."

It had been harder than she expected, to find the words. She'd half-expected him to be cross with her for making such a reckless decision, so her relief was palpable when he was surprised but ultimately supportive. He'd seen the very worst of her injury: it was impossible for him to hide that he was proud of how far she'd come.

"How long?" he asked.

"Four months."

"And you're okay with that?"

His quick-fire questions were reassuring – he wasn't disappointed in her choice; he just wanted to know she was okay. "Yes," she replied decisively. "It's always… it's hard to describe to someone who's never done it. It's not worried, exactly… It's excitement at getting out there again, it's knowing I'll be a doctor again regardless of whistleblowing here, it's knowing that I won't necessarily be safe, but..." She paused.

"But you're going out there to good, and you will do good. I know how important that is to you."

"Absolutely," she replied, glad of how well he knew her and that he could steer her back around to focus on what was most important. She was suddenly quieter. "Nick? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can."

"There's a letter for you, if… If it's needed. I've told Dylan that he's to send it if I'm not coming home." She paused to maintain composure. She might not have been able to do so, a few days earlier. It was a sure sign that she was ready for what lay ahead. "I need to know that someone will look out for Dylan if I'm not around. I know he's been fine with his OCD for a while now, but if anything happens he might not be, and you know he won't ask for help."

"You have my word, Sam. I promise I'll be there."

"Thank you." Relief was a bubble bursting in her chest. In its space formed a little seed of vulnerability. "I hope it doesn't come to that," she said quietly. It was her greatest fear in all of this, the one she so rarely voiced. She was glad of being able to say it at last, even if the listener was three and a half thousand miles away.

"I'd imagine you don't want to go into that too much, the night before you go," Nick replied wisely. "But I hope so too, Sam. Please be careful."

She smiled weakly. "Will do. Can't be inconveniencing an old man into a flight at the drop of hat, now can I?"

There came a gentle chuckle. "That's right. I mean it though. Take care."

"I will. Thank you, Nick."

"My pleasure. I'll make plans to see you in March."

Her throat ached. "Okay."

The next morning, she woke up first. It was still dark – once upon a time there would have been a night light beside her, even in a hotel room, but knowing that she was deploying again had rather put paid to her long-standing preference for light. The darkness unsettled her still, but she could cope with it.

She reached for her phone to check the time and sighed in disappointment. Five minutes until the alarm she'd set. No point in going back to sleep.

"I'm going for a shower," she murmured, waiting for the reassuring, familiar sounds of turning and stretching under the duvet before turning on the light. She pushed away the thought that this was the last time for a while that she would wake up beside Dylan. It was a cosy room, but there was still a bite in the air. She hesitated before lifting her side of the duvet, instead curling briefly around Dylan. "You're so warm," she said appreciatively, pressing a kiss above the neckline of his pyjama top.

"You're not," came a gruff reply as Dylan retreated further under the duvet. "Your hands, good god! It's a good thing I love you."

She kissed his stubbled jawline. "I love you too." She hovered there for a moment, trying to be truly present in the tiny moment of pleasure.

Dylan emerged from the bathroom some time later, to find Sam standing in front of the mirror, plaiting her hair. His breath caught in his throat and he was very aware of his pulse picking up. She was already dressed in full uniform. Thoughts of the more explicit kind began to flood his brain; he cleared his throat in a weak attempt to clear his mind along with it.

Sam tied off the end of her plait neatly and turned to face him. She noticed the pink tinge of his cheeks immediately and smiled, mildly embarrassed. "Everything okay?" she asked innocently.

He didn't trust himself to say anything, instead making his way over to her and taking her in his arms. She stood taller in uniform, accentuating her slim, strong figure.

She leaned into him, closing her eyes and breathing the scent of his aftershave. "I take it that breakfast has slipped down a few places on your list of priorities, this morning?"

Dear Grumpy,

I know I've only been away a few days, but I miss you like nothing else. This is so different to when I was away before. It might only have been a weekly event at best, but knowing I would hear your voice was something to look forward to, and I really did. To think I won't hear you again until the spring… I can almost imagine a snarky response, even as I write that. But I miss hearing you – sometimes I find myself looking for you as a reflex when I see something I know you'd comment on. Those moments remind me how far apart we are, though that I can call you to mind so easily is a comfort.

My darling Sam,

Things are ticking along at home. I call you to mind without meaning to, when I put off the washing up of folding dry laundry, so perhaps even from your great distance you're keeping me ticking along. Once this period of separation is over, we could try being together more permanently? Perhaps I should cross that out. I'm sure you've got enough on your mind.

You haven't been away too long (yet) but I will still be relieved to hear from you. I try to keep my attention off the news as far as I can because I know I'll only worry. I am keeping my head above the water though, don't worry.

Dylan, please remember to put dates on your letters – I had three arrive all at once this morning after a long break in all the post, and it's hard enough to decipher your handwriting without the additional challenge of not having a date for context!

I don't mean to moan. It made my heart fly to receive my little pack of blueys and there were a few whistles and 'jokes' from the boys about my stack of love letters. I won't repeat for you their exact words…

They weren't wrong, for all that they were crude. I so long to be close to you again, but at least I know for sure when I will see you again. Every day we're treating women and children running for their lives, with no idea even if their loved ones are alive, never mind where they are or when they will see them. Know that my last thoughts at night are always of you and how much I love you.

Yours always,

Sam

P.S. I'm glad you didn't cross out your thoughts on being together more permanently. There's plenty on my mind but I like having that there too.

Excuse my multiple different pens. Constructed this letter in moments stolen from a series of night shifts. This last part, I'm writing while wishing I'll catch sight of you across my department. God, what I'd do to go home in the morning to you! We dealt with a hideous RTC tonight, one of those where you make sure the F1s are okay before they go home. I don't know why I'm telling you this, you've probably seen things I couldn't even imagine… I miss being able to talk through cases with you.

This is why I shouldn't write letters at four in the morning. You'll open this one to a stream of unconnected sentences and wonder when I unplugged my brain.

I laughed aloud, reading the last remarks of that letter. And somehow I could have cried too for how much I missed you at that moment. I could hear you more in what you thought was disjointed and rambly than in any of the other letters you've written. I carry it in my pocket now so it's always with me. Though it's a poor substitute for the real thing, it's as if you're with me. You think I'm the strong one? Only because I know you're behind me.

I hope somewhere amongst the destruction you doubtless see daily, you can still find moments of joy. Maybe this will help.

Dylan slid a bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut into the blue envelope. It would probably push the letter over the weight limit and cause some kind of hold-up at the post office, but he was prepared to fight for Sam's right to have a little bit of home while she was nearly 1300 miles away. She had left a gaping hole in his life, and as the days turned colder he couldn't help thinking of her icy hands and all the times he'd complained about them. He'd take them back in heartbeat.