This is another post-5.11 story. Apparently, frustratingly vague cliffhangers inspire me to write. Thanks so much for the really nice response to my last story. You guys are so supportive, which makes doing this fun.

"Hey Marlo?" Dov asked, clutching the paper in his hands. As soon as her name left his mouth, he was wishing it unsaid. Why, he wondered, did he pick up the piece of paper in the first place? He could have simply overlooked it, leaving it for some other unfortunate person to discover (or not). But no, he was Dov Epstein, and he was the guy who picked up random sonograms off of empty desks and actually asked about them. Yep, he was that guy, and now he was standing awkwardly in front of Marlo Cruz waiting for an explanation he probably didn't want to hear. "Is this related to the McDonald case?" he asked hopefully.

Marlo turned to him, and Dov found himself staring into the face of barely-controlled anxiety mixed with something akin to fear. When her knuckles began to turn white from the force being applied to the file in her hands, his suspicion was confirmed. The sonogram belonged to Marlo.

After eying Dov for an uncomfortably long period of time, she abruptly rushed across the room and extended her hand expectantly. As eager to let go of the sonogram as she was to reclaim it, Dov readily handed it off to her.

"Thanks, Epstein," she muttered, whisking it away and dropping it into her bag. Having disposed of the evidence, Marlo focused anywhere but on Dov, refusing to meet his eyes as she stammered, "I'd appreciate it if we could keep this between us."

"Are you pregnant?" he asked suddenly, surprising himself and probably her, as well, with his persistence in the face of something that really wasn't his business.

Marlo chewed the inside of her lip in a show of nervous impatience. "Epstein, I like you. You're a nice guy. But this really doesn't concern you."

"Maybe not, but it concerns someone," he contended. "Have you told Swarek?"

"It's complicated . . . ." she explained vaguely. Dov didn't miss the fact that her answer wasn't a denial.

"Sure. I get that," he insisted, thinking of Andy and Swarek and what the information might do to them when they found out. "Marlo, if it's his baby, he needs to know."

"Epstein," she responded flatly, "I'm not discussing this with you."

"Fine. But you'd better discuss it with him. If you don't, I will."

Marlo scanned his face, undoubtedly trying to determine how serious he was. With a resigned sigh, she quietly said, "I'll talk to him." She slipped into her jacket and tossed her bag over her shoulder. "I've gotta, um, get going. See you tomorrow."

As he watched her walk out of the office, Dov hoped she would deliver on her promise. If she didn't, he'd feel compelled to tell Swarek, and that was definitely not a conversation he wanted to have.

Several days later, Marlo stood in the center of the station staring up into the Detectives' office, thankful that the glass walls afforded her an unobstructed view into the room where Sam was sitting. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he was hunched over his desk scribbling intently on a legal pad, and most importantly for Marlo's purposes, he was alone. After Parade, the barn had been reduced to only a few stragglers, so she'd come to the reluctant conclusion that she should take advantage of the semi-privacy the situation offered and try to talk to Sam.

Marlo squared her shoulders and trained her features into an impassive expression, moving toward the stairs with the deliberate stride and tepid exterior of a woman resolved on completing an unpleasant task. To a disinterested observer, she might have appeared calm and focused, possibly even detached. Such was her usual persona, and as only Marlo knew, it was merely a carefully-constructed shell designed to mask the untidy bundle of nerves that often lurked just beneath the surface. Now, facing the prospect of an awkward conversation with Sam—the first real talk they'd had since the shooting—she felt even more frazzled and anxious than usual. Fortunately, she was also determined, and that gave her the motivation she needed. This was not a talk she wanted to have, by any means, but it seemed like the right thing to do, so as she reached the top of the stairs, she shored herself up for what was bound to be an uncomfortable exchange and soldiered on.

Marlo slipped into the office unnoticed, loitering just inside the doorway while she waited for Sam to notice her. When he didn't, she cleared her throat to get his attention.

As he slowly raised his head and looked at her, a tight smile settled on his face. Given their history, however brief, she hated that her presence now invoked such an underwhelming response from him, but she certainly understood why. After all, her temporary reassignment to 15 had created an uncomfortable situation for all of them.

"Marlo?" Sam asked uncertainly. He swiveled in his chair, scanning the station, and she knew he was looking to see if McNally was watching. After so many months away, it still stung to see how McNally affected Sam, but fortunately, the sting had evolved into more of a dull prick—a barely-there reminder of something she'd left behind her. If being back at 15 had brought Marlo one thing, it was the very welcome realization that time does, in fact, heal all wounds.

"Is Nash around?" she asked, hoping for at least a few minutes of uninterrupted time with Sam.

"No. She's out at a crime scene. Should be back in about an hour, though, if you're looking for her."

Marlo forced her tone to remain steady as she said, "Actually, I'm here to see you."

"Okay," he responded slowly. "Everything all right?"

She didn't know how to answer him, so she didn't. Instead, she hastily approached the desk across from his and sank down into the chair. Rolling forward until her legs were underneath the desk, she folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath.

Tilting his chin up, Sam eyed her speculatively. "Is this about the McDonald case?"

"No. It's not," she sighed. She didn't know how to comfortably broach the subject. In all honesty, she probably wouldn't have bothered to tell him at all if Epstein hadn't stumbled upon the sonogram.

"Marlo, what's going on?"

"I'm pregnant," she announced briskly, deciding that the simplest delivery was probably the best approach.

Sam narrowed his eyes, suddenly pensive, and she knew he was performing some quick math in his head to rule out the possibility that he was the father.

"Sam, it's not yours," she confirmed in a level tone, feeling a small smile tugging at her lips.

Seemingly speechless, he nodded his head, looking mildly confused and maybe a little relieved as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

"I've been seeing someone. He's an ex," she explained, trying to fill in a few of the more obvious gaps. "We were pretty serious for a few years and then things kind of fell apart. It was complicated," she said vaguely.

"You never mentioned him," Sam observed, staring at her with a puzzled expression.

"Yeah, well, it was a hard breakup. I went through a difficult time after it ended, and then I moved on," she said with a shrug. "There wasn't anything to talk about."

"So you two reconnected at some point?" he asked curiously.

"I guess you could say that," she chuckled. "I bumped into him when I was out running a few months ago. We started hanging out again and . . . ."

"And now you're having his baby," Sam finished the thought for her.

"The thing is, I was in a really bad place when I left 15. A couple of weeks went by like that, and then I ran into Dave. It just felt really good to be with someone who didn't know about anything that went on here. And well, you know . . . it wasn't planned and we should've been more careful, but it happened and we're dealing with it."

"So he's committed to you and the baby?"

"Yeah. He is," she confirmed with a slow smile. "There's history there. Some good and some bad, but we're trying to make it work because there's a lot more at stake than when it was just the two of us. He's actually a really good guy. You'd like him, Sam."

He looked at her hesitantly, finally lapsing into a smile. "I'm happy for you, Marlo."

"I know it's a lot to take in. I wasn't actually planning to say anything to you," she admitted. "Then Epstein found my sonogram and assumed the baby was yours. He threatened to say something to you if I didn't. You and McNally seem to be doing well, and I didn't want to cause any problems there, so I thought I should clarify what's going on before you were misinformed."

"Why didn't you just tell Epstein the truth?"

"I probably should have. The truth is, I'm not ready for people to know yet."

"They're gonna find out soon enough," he pointed out.

"Sam," she sighed. "I'm bipolar, and there's a certain stigma that goes along with mental illness. People are going to have opinions about this, and I'm just not ready to deal with all of that yet. This wasn't something I planned, obviously, and I'm doing the best I can to make the right decisions. My psychiatrist and my o.b. doctor are working with me to adjust my medications. Right now, my focus is on trying to make the best decisions for the baby and for myself, and I just don't need the added pressure of having everyone second-guessing those decisions until I've got things under control."

"Makes sense," he conceded, leaning back in his chair as he nodded thoughtfully. "But I think you might be underestimating people by assuming they won't support you."

"You're starting to sound like McNally," she noted with a wry smile. "The thing is, this has been a part of my life for a long time, and what I've found is that people very rarely surprise you."

"That's cynical."

"Not really," she corrected him. "It's realistic."

"It's your decision. You might want to set the record straight with Epstein, though."

"Maybe," she told him, not convinced that he was right. "He's kept quiet so far, so we'll see."

"Here's the thing about Epstein," Sam said, laughing to himself. "He won't want to tell anyone, but it's bound to slip out. It's kind of like telling your secret to the town crier."

"He is a talker," she conceded, smiling at Sam as she pushed back her chair and stood up. "I probably should talk to him," she reluctantly agreed.

Lingering beside the desk, Marlo considered whether to say anything else and finally decided to just put it out there. "I really didn't mean to cause trouble between you and McNally by coming back here. I know having me around hasn't been easy."

"It's fine," he assured her evenly. "She and I are in a good place and besides, it's only temporary."

"I wish you'd been honest with me about her sooner."

"Me, too," he sighed.

"Well, you seem happier. And she does, too," Marlo said. It was a difference she'd noticed immediately when she pulled up at Ted McDonald's mother's house and saw Sam for the first time in so many months. There was an ease about him that hadn't been there before, and as soon as she saw it, she'd known McNally was responsible for putting it there. Seeing them together had forced Marlo to acknowledge what she'd instinctively known the whole time she was with Sam. To them, she was only a small blip in a much larger story that wasn't really about her at all. It was about them.

"Hopefully, things turn out okay for you, too, Marlo. You deserve to be happy."

"I'm getting there. Thanks for the talk." She started to turn away but hesitated, feeling the need to clear the air. "For what it's worth, I'm really sorry about everything that happened."

Sam slowly nodded his acceptance, giving her a small wave as she pivoted on her heel and made her way toward the door. When she reached the top of the stairs outside the office, she looked back at him through the window, noting that he had already gone back to what he was doing when she came into the room.

Andy shuffled impatiently from one foot to the other while she waited for Sam to answer the door. It wasn't the first time she'd regretted not taking him up on the offer of the key. Now, as the seconds ticked by and he didn't let her in, she realized that fate—and possibly also Sam—was paying her back for acting rashly in response to his offer.

"Hey," she said in a rush when he finally opened the door for her. She gave him a quick kiss in passing and headed for the kitchen, swinging two grocery sacks by the handles. "Sorry I'm late. We got hung up at our last call. You must be starving."

"I'm okay," he told her, leaning against the counter as she moved around his kitchen in a flourish, whipping bowls and pots out of drawers and dropping them onto the counter tops with an unprecedented amount of clattering and banging. A small smile worked its way across Sam's face as he watched her work. "McNally, you don't have to get crazy. We can always order takeout."

Andy flicked her head in his direction and with a defiant jut of her chin, stared him down as if he'd just laid the most ludicrous claim at her feet. "No way. I said I'm making you dinner, and I plan to deliver," she informed him with authority. She let out a quick "hmph" and reached into the refrigerator, pulling out a beer and thrusting it in Sam's direction. "Take this and go sit down." Andy shot him a look that she hoped left no room for negotiation. She'd been promising to make him dinner for more than a week, and she was determined to make it happen.

"Whatever you say," Sam responded easily, reaching past her to the utensil drawer for a bottle opener. When his hand grazed her hip in passing and then lingered there, she shot him a look of warning and waved him away. With a smug grin, he hoisted himself up onto the counter and took a long, slow sip of his beer. "You want some help?"

"Nope." She started unloading one of the bags onto his kitchen island, creating a fairly extensive pile of raw vegetables and meat and earning her a skeptical look from Sam that did not go unnoticed.

Andy abruptly stopped what she was doing and planted her hands on the counter in front of her. "I saw that, and I'm choosing to ignore it," she said haughtily.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he claimed with false innocence, smirking at her from behind his beer.

"You're thinking I can't pull this off."

"I was not," he insisted. "I was just thinking it's kind of ambitious. You've got a lot of ingredients there."

"We'll see," she huffed as she returned her attention to the spread in front of her.

"So how did everything go today?" she asked, hoping to ward off any further commentary regarding her admittedly underutilized cooking skills.

"Not too bad. I have a feeling this Ted McDonald case is gonna get crazy. The guy made a lot of wild accusations, but some of the stuff actually makes sense. Something just feels off about the Commissioner."

"Other than the fact that he's Duncan's stepdad?"

"Other than that," he said with an eye roll. "Tech is working on trying to retrieve what they can from those hard drives. They got pretty messed up in the explosion, so we'll see what happens."

Absorbed in her meal preparations, Andy didn't immediately notice that Sam had stopped talking. Not only that, but he was looking at her with the same distant expression she'd seen on him many times in the days since the bombing at the station. Judging from the vacant stare, he was watching her without really seeing what she was doing—at least not what she was doing in that moment. Silently, Andy scolded herself for not steering the conversation away from Ted McDonald. It was bound to lead back to the explosion, and that was bound to lead to the look of concern that she now saw on Sam's face. "Sam," she said quietly.

As soon as she said his name, the hazy uncertainty in his gaze cleared and he forced a small, conciliatory smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Sam, I'm fine. You have to stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" he responded in a subdued tone.

She walked over to him and took his chin in one of her hands, looking him squarely in the eye. "Like that," she insisted. "You're thinking about the explosion. You can't keep rehashing what happened."

Almost as if he hadn't heard her, he said, "Before it happened, I was talking to McDonald about the bombing at the diner four years ago, and he was yelling at me about how his son had been wiped off the face of the earth that day . . . . Did I ever tell you what that detective told me about the victims who were killed in that bombing?"

"No."

"He said it was like they'd been vaporized."

"That's terrible," she muttered, shuddering involuntarily.

"That's what was going through my head when I couldn't find you after the explosion. There was this intense fear that you were just gone. That I'd never see you again."

"Okay," Andy sighed. Still standing in front of him, she rested her hands firmly on his thighs, reminding him that she was still there with him. That was all she could do—be present and wait. She knew how he was feeling. She'd been in the same position four months before after Ford shot him, reliving that day over and over and over again . . . . Finally, the fear had started to fade as she realized life was moving forward and Sam was still there with her, and she hoped that with time, the same thing would happen for him, too. Andy smiled at the pensive expression on his face. "I get it, you know. I really do. But I think you're just gonna have to face the truth. You're stuck with me."

That earned her a brief smile as he took a pull from his beer, holding her gaze while he swallowed. Andy took that as a sign that it was okay to go back to cooking dinner. Hoping to lighten the mood, she launched into an endless stream of chatter about some of the more inconsequential gossip around the station. If he knew what she was trying to do, he didn't let on. Eventually his face softened and some of the humor returned to his eyes. He even managed to offer a few surly opinions in response to some of her more ridiculous thoughts and ideas, leaving Andy to conclude that the explosion had been temporarily forgotten.

As she tossed the ingredients for their salad in a large bowl, he casually announced, "Marlo's pregnant."

"What?" she mouthed as the salad tongs clattered against the sides of the bowl. Her eyes grew wide and her face felt hot.

"The baby's not mine," he quickly clarified, unintentionally giving her permission to breathe again. She saw the mirth in his eyes and sent him a severe look, silently daring him to laugh at her panicked reaction.

Andy laid a hand on her heart, feeling the rapid flutter beneath her skin. In a fairly shrill version of her normal voice, she demanded, "You couldn't have led with the second part?"

"You mean, 'The baby's not mine. By the way, Marlo's pregnant,'" he suggested. "Doesn't make much sense."

"Yeah, but my heart wouldn't have plummeted to my knees," she laughed, walking over to him and punching him lightly on the arm. He grabbed her hand and held it tightly in his.

"Without going into a lot of specifics, there's probably very little chance that the baby would be mine," he informed her. "If she were carrying my child, we'd be looking at a fairly pregnant Marlo by now."

"Nice. Thanks for putting that image in my head," she groaned. "So who's the father?"

"Apparently, it's an ex of hers. Sounds like he's back in the picture and they're gonna try their hand at co-parenting. Oh, and she doesn't want anyone to know yet, so, you know . . . ."

"Great. Another secret," she laughed.

"Hopefully this one won't cause as much trouble as the last one," he noted. "At least there's a shelf-life, so we don't have to hold onto it for long."

As Andy thought about the implications of Sam's announcement, a small smile grew into an ear-splitting grin. "I'm happy for her," she finally declared with a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

Sam slipped his unoccupied hand around the back of her neck, pulling her in for a slow kiss. "I thought you might feel that way," he said against her lips, laughing low and deep.

"A baby's always good news," she said, "and if you're trying to imply that I'm happy for any reason other than that, you're wrong." Of course, she knew he was one hundred percent right, but she wasn't about to admit it. After all, Marlo was the ex-girlfriend and even though Andy felt fairly secure in her relationship with Sam, it was hard to overlook the past when Marlo was pulling all-nighters at the station with Sam and plying him with coffee. A pregnant Marlo with her own relationship was much less of a threat, and Andy couldn't help but feel lighter at the thought of that.

"Maybe I'll throw her a baby shower," she suggested.

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?" she teased him. "Does it make you uncomfortable to think about your new girlfriend and your old girlfriend hanging out? Sharing stories, comparing notes . . . ."

"Yes, it does," he said firmly.

"Actually, I'm old and new. So it would be like there were three of us."

Sam shook his head at her.

"Fine. But Marlo's gonna be missing out because I am an amazing party planner," she boasted.

"Plan all the parties you want," he told her. "Just not for Marlo."

Much later, after they'd finished dinner and accomplished a lightning-fast kitchen clean up, Sam drew Andy into the living room and tugged her down onto the couch. She leaned against him, and he dropped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in even tighter. Andy rested her head on his shoulder, thankful for the alone time. In moments like those, she felt the happiest she'd every felt in her life. If she could relax on the couch with Sam every night for the rest of her life, she'd consider that a pretty satisfying existence. More than satisfying, in fact.

"Thanks for cooking, McNally. Dinner was great."

"A little ambition goes a long way," she noted dryly, meriting a laugh and a kiss on top of her head.

"You know before when we were talking about Marlo and the baby?" Sam asked slowly.

"Yeah." She lifted up her head and eyed him curiously before relaxing against his shoulder again.

"The baby wouldn't have been mine," he confirmed.

"So you said." A small smile traced her lips.

"Marlo and I weren't together even before we weren't together," he clarified, glancing down at her.

"We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," Andy offered, knowing that the time when they weren't together was a difficult topic for both of them.

"I'm going somewhere with this . . . ."

"Then by all means, continue," she laughed.

"There was a point in time when I realized Marlo and I weren't gonna work—that I didn't actually want it to work," he said, reaching down with his free hand to squeeze her knee. "I started thinking about the future, and no matter how much I tried to force it, Marlo wasn't a part of that picture. It was all you, Andy."

"Oh," she responded quietly. She lifted her head again and locked eyes with him. Their faces were so close that they were breathing the same air, and Andy felt something new brewing in her heart, in her mind and most importantly, in her gut. Like glowing embers, the feeling slowly spread from a place deep within her, gradually warming her from the inside out.

"I even talked to Oliver about it that weekend we went up to his cabin," Sam admitted.

"You talked to Oliver?" she asked with a tiny smile, thinking about some of her own conversations with Oliver when she and Sam were broken up.

"I did. He told me I needed to end things with Marlo. Said it wasn't fair to her."

"So what happened? Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Kevin Ford happened," he explained. "Obviously, Marlo had her own stuff going on, too. I didn't even see what was happening with her because I wasn't focused on that relationship anymore. And ironically, just when I finally came to terms with what I really wanted, you and Collins started to heat up. You seemed happy with him, and I decided it would be best if I just stepped back and let things evolve between the two of you. I thought maybe he would make you happy in ways that I never could."

She watched him intently, knowing that what she was communicating with her eyes was probably more significant than anything she could actually tell him. "Never," she finally breathed. "No one makes me as happy as you do."

On his face, she saw a small smile appear and then quickly disappear, only to reappear again as he looked down at the place where her knee rested against his leg and then back up at her. In his eyes Andy could see that he wanted to say more, but he seemed to be second-guessing himself.

"What kinds of things did you see in our future?" she prompted him, feeling strangely comfortable about where she was steering the conversation.

"Kids," Sam offered, scrutinizing her face. He must have seen enough to encourage him to continue because slowly, he started adding to his list. "Play dates, backyard barbecues, family vacations, anniversaries . . . ."

"I see those things, too," she admitted. Andy didn't miss the look of mild surprise that appeared on his face in response to her admission. "Sam, my problem has never been that I can't see the future. And I've never seen it with anyone but you. I'm just afraid of not being able to get there."

"I know you are," he said simply, and she figured that was probably true. He knew her well enough to know why she was holding back and because of that, he was willing to be patient and wait.

"I'm afraid of screwing up things between us," she finally forced out. "I don't want everything to unravel again. What if we push too hard and it all falls apart? Aren't you worried?"

"No," he said, shaking his head, "because we're not going to unravel this time. Don't you feel more solid than before?"

"I do," she acknowledged.

"Are you scared right now?" he asked. A strand of hair fell against her cheek and he reached over and threaded it back behind her ear.

"No. I'm not," she said quietly.

"You need to let it go so we can move forward," he whispered, skimming his hand along her jawline in one hypnotically-slow movement.

As she thought about what he'd said and what she instinctively knew, Andy realized she no longer felt overwhelmed by her fear that things might fall apart between them. True, her fears were still there, but gradually, they were being relegated to an increasingly more distant and remote part of her being. For Andy, each new step that they took in the right direction was a step away from the place where they'd been before—the place that scared her.

She reminded herself that the fear wasn't doing her any good and that it had never really been her friend anyway. If anything, it was only holding her back and keeping her from fully committing to what she knew they could be. And there was no guarantee that even if she played it safe, she wouldn't end up getting hurt or even worse, end up hurting Sam.

"McNally, what are you thinking?" he finally asked, searching her eyes for an answer.

She hesitated for less than a second, grinning at him as she said, "I'm thinking maybe it would be a good idea for you to offer me that key again."

"Oh. So now you want the key," Sam laughed smugly, pushing up from the couch and walking toward his bedroom. He called back over his shoulder, "I'll have to see if I still have it. I might've thrown it away."

He was gone for longer than it should have taken to locate a key in an exceptionally tidy bedroom, and Andy started to wonder if perhaps he had actually thrown it away. Finally, he came back into the living room, though, and she heard the key jingling as he bounced it in the palm of his hand. Looking down at her lap, Andy smiled to herself.

"Hey," he said suddenly, and Andy looked up just in time to see him toss the key in her direction. As the shiny blur whizzed toward her, she raised her left arm into the air and clamped her hand around the key. She felt the sharp edges dig into her palm as she dropped her hand back to her lap.

Sam slid back into the space where he'd been sitting, turning to face her. He let his arm fall along the back of the couch and leaned forward, looking at her expectantly.

"Thank you," she said happily. "And if you do decide to get a cat, I would probably be willing to stop by and feed it from time to time."

Sam didn't respond. He didn't laugh. He merely stared, looking mildly anxious and fidgety as he watched her. He seemed to be waiting for . . . something. Finally, Andy laughed, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"There's something else in your hand," he said in a barely-audible tone, flexing his jaw as he nodded toward her left fist.

"What is it? A key to the back door, too?" she giggled as she lifted her hand up off of her lap and unfurled her fingers, regarding him with an expression of patient amusement.

Sam met her eyes and then pointedly looked down at her left hand. Ever-so-slightly, she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. Andy followed his gaze and allowed it to settle on her open palm. Only one key, as expected. But he was right, there was definitely something else. And the "something else" hadn't been there when he originally offered her the key. She was sure of it.

Andy's pulse raced, and she knew she was blushing. The key itself long forgotten, she zeroed in on the other thing that was dangling from the small key chain. A perfect circle. Shiny and polished. Impossibly sparkly. She breathed in. She breathed out. She reminded herself to keep the air flowing as she stared at the ring in her hand. Trying not to trip over her words, she asked, "Sam, what does this mean?"

He tipped her chin up to look at him. His expression was serious and definitely a little nervous, which was a good thing because Andy was seeing the same emotions on his face that she was feeling. "It means I'm ready to move forward. And I want you to be ready, too."

"I am," she heard herself answering with confidence. She took a deep breath. Finally, she was where she was supposed to be. With Sam.