A/N: OMG! It's done! This monster of a story is done! I can hardly believe it. And I have so many mixed emotions right now. I've spent 2 years working on this story. When I started, I had no idea it was going to be this big or have so many people that enjoyed reading it. I can't thank you guys enough for sticking with me on this so patiently and with so much enthusiasm.

Thank you so much, all of you, for keeping me going. I'm seriously considering a sequel now, because I just have such a hard time letting these characters go. At any rate, I just wanted to say thank you again, you guys are the most amazing readers in the world and I can't express just how much I appreciate your support and interest in Apples and Oranges. I hope this ending lived up to your expectations! :)

Lassiter slammed the car door as he adjusted the straps on his bulletproof vest. O'Hara was right next to him as she exited the adjacent vehicle, her hands behind her as she checked the pistol she carried at the small of her back. His own hand automatically went for the waistband of his slacks and felt Felicity's .32 settled against between his shirt and his vest, a cold and comforting weight.

He dropped his hand as Juliet came to stand beside him, surveying the pier suspiciously. He didn't like it. Civilians were everywhere, and even as uniformed police waved them back, they crowded around the barricades, curious and irritated to have their evenings interrupted. It was too easy for something to go wrong, he thought, his gut clenching.

The waves were loud as they crashed against the pier, still managing to sound thunderous even over the cacophony of squad cars, K-9 units, sirens, and various officers shouting orders. Or maybe it just seemed loud to him, echoing the buzzing thoughts rattling around in his head. His eyes skimmed over the boardwalk and he felt the muscle in his jaw tighten.

Had the bastard been standing here, the perfect vantage point to watch them as they sat in the pier, staring as she nibbled on apple strudel and leaned against him?

Giving himself a mental shake, he turned towards his partner. "You know the drill, grid pattern sweeps, everyone on the same frequency. Give 'em the briefing and start moving."

She nodded without a word and he was grateful that she didn't hesitate, just turned flat on her heel and strode away. Shawn and Gus quickly took her place as he stepped onto the boardwalk.

Lassiter grabbed Shawn by the shoulder, his voice low. "Spencer, I don't care what spooks you've got to call up, but I want you at the front of the search giving my people places to look into. Guster, go with him."

Uncharacteristically, the both of them just dipped their heads and immediately walked off, no comments, no complaints. The detective didn't notice, his mind somewhere else as he began pacing up towards the line of shops and restaurants that lined the pier. He paused at the tiny Chinese place, staring at its dark windows. Had he seen them here? Lassiter angled his head back towards the cars. Or when he'd pulled her close just before that, with her eyes dancing and her inky curls tickling her cheeks?

His fingers tightened around the gun nestled against his palm before he abruptly put it away.

She was here, she had to be. He couldn't fully explain it, but as soon as Mac had talked about the docks, he'd known. It was like something had tugged at him, a gut feeling that he just couldn't question.

He half-turned to look further down the pier. The streetlights had started to come on as the sun set, keeping the continuing line of buildings well illuminated. A cold gust blasted up the walkway and he shivered despite himself, his eyes narrowing as a scent wafted past him, almost lost under the overwhelming smell of saltwater.

Apples.

Something was pulling on her. Everytime she caught sight of a shimmer of brightness in the dark, it yanked her back, as if a rope had been coiled around her middle. She was burning in ice, an agonizing frost coating her insides and extending its tendrils outward. She had no sense of time, or place, or identity. She had always existed here, floating, numb to everything save the wintry wind that howled on every side and the overwhelming stench of old blood; and yet, she suspected that she'd never really existed at all. It felt as though she were balanced on a precipice, a phantom hand on her back the only thing to keep her from falling.

And the only thing that threatened to thrust her into nothingness.

Then a quiet voice whispered to her, gentle, but insistent.

Let go.

Of what? she asked herself. There was nothing here. Nothing to hold onto, nothing to pull away from.

Let go.

Why? she questioned, feeling something spike deep inside, a hot spark of something that pushed against the cold.

Let go, it said more firmly, gentleness giving away to a sharp demand.

That hot feeling expanded and she caught another glimmer of light. She lurched for it, and the sensation of tethered returned, yanking on her. She struggled as it seemed to wind around her, twisting her around until she was completely disoriented. The cold made her stiff, sluggish, easy prey for whatever it was that kept her here.

But had anything ever existed outside of here?

The heat abated, replaced by a deeper, thicker sheet of ice that crept up her body.

Body?

She had a body? Form? Shape?

She looked around, trying to see through the swirling darkness. It made no sense. She had to have some sort of shape in order to be held back, didn't she?

She didn't know.

Let go, came the voice again, soft and cloying once more.

If she'd had a head, she'd have shaken it. There was stillness.

And then there was a roar of wind, hard and fast and filled with a sound that made her shatter.

LET GO!

That hot spark of something flared to life in answer, bursting through the icy shell that had encased her and she screamed back into the pitch with everything she had, her cries torn to shreds and rendered mute by the gale that threatened to swallow her whole. She called out, desperate to reach something, anything that could pull her out, help her get away.

There! What was that?

As she tumbled through the pitch, the light flickered again, a streak of brightness in the corner of her vision. Like a swimmer caught in a riptide, she flailed towards it. A surge of energy jolted through her, odd and familiar at once. She couldn't identify it, but she knew, she knew that it was the only way out. Something tightened around her then, dragging her backwards as the smell of blood intensified. Dread filled her, but she didn't dare let the light leave her sight to look back.

She knew that if she did, she was lost.

Lassiter's feet stomped on the boardwalk, a hard and fast clip as he moved up the line of buildings. There was a weird, static charge in the air the further up the pier he went, running up and down the length of his spine unpleasantly. Something tickled the back of his mind, faint, but persistent - a sense of wrongness. His breaths were short and measured, and laced with that familiar, sweet scent. It rose and fell in intensity, but never completely faded.

Within minutes, he'd left the shops and restaurants behind, the weathered boards giving way to worn asphalt. The water was still on his right, churning foam as the sky darkened. Suddenly, he came to an abrupt halt, as if he'd come up against a wall. Again, he couldn't explain it; it was as if something had yelled in his head, 'Stop!'. The staticy feeling was stronger here. It made his skin crawl and the hair on his arms to stand up. Irresistibly, he felt his eyes drawn to the building he'd stopped beside. He could barely smell anything, but there was a...hell, he had no words for it, but it was like a voice or a tone pulling at him, calling him. Here, it shouted. I'm Here!

Distantly, he could hear the rest of his people following, slowly methodically making their way in his direction. He reached for the radio clipped to his belt.

"McNabb!" he barked, letting his finger off the button as the young cop's voice crackled through. "Get O'Hara and Spencer over to my position, the north side of the pier. Might have something."

The radio beeped and he shoved it back into its clip impatiently. He looked up at the building he'd stopped in front of. It was huge, wide and at least a couple stories tall. Cautiously, he approached the side door, noting the large lock dangling from its knob. As he went to pull a glove out of the pocket of his slacks, he caught movement in the corner of his eye. His head jerked up, his hand automatically reaching for his holster.

"Spencer," he hissed, uncurling his fingers from around his pistol as Henry slunk from around the side of the warehouse. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Saw you heading this way, thought I'd take a look on the street," the older man countered, his tone sardonic. "You know, like any other cop would do?" He didn't wait for an answer, lifting his chin and taking a deep whiff. "You smell that?"

Lassiter narrowed his eyes slightly. "Apples?" When Henry inclined his head, he nodded too. "Yeah. It's what caught my attention in the first place."

Henry's gaze slid to the door. "You think it's coming from in there?"

Again, the detective nodded, reaching for his gun. Henry seemed to fall back into old habits, immediately stepping to the side of the door and drawing his sidearm. Lassiter mirrored the cop's stance on the opposite side.

Averting his face, he took aim and fired. The sound ricocheted harshly as the lock dropped to the ground with a clatter, smoking.

"Any damn excuse," he heard Henry mutter as he wrenched the door open and he bit back the sharp comment that tried to leap out of his mouth.

Later, he promised himself, when he had Flick back safe.

Henry covered him as he darted inside, gun first. Blinking rapidly to speed his eyes' adjustment to the gloomy interior, he took stock of their surroundings. It looked to have been a processing plant of some kind, although it was clearly abandoned now, catwalks and machinery stretching to the very back of the building. The stench of salt and fish was prevalent, nearly completely drowning out the softer scent of fruit that still clung wispily to the air.

Glancing over his shoulder, Lassiter signaled Henry to stay back as he kept on point. Slowly, they started forward, slipping under massive conveyor belts and skirting deep holding pits filled with murky sea water and rusted debris. That niggling voice in the back of his head was louder now, and he unconsciously kept himself clear of the vast amounts of metal surrounding them as the electric feeling dancing across his skin strengthened the deeper they went into the building.

He heard a sudden scraping sound to his left and snapped his gun around. Henry gave him a withering look before jerking his head towards the far corner of the warehouse. Lassiter followed his line of sight and felt his heartbeat quicken.

The far wall curved outward, sloping up about seven or eight feet to make a small dome. Quietly, he drew close to the other cop.

"A room with no corners, wasn't that what she kept seeing?" Henry asked in a whisper.

"Yeah." His mouth was dry as he crept forward a step, then another, that feeling of energy swirling up again.

She was in there. He knew it like he knew his gun. A hand on his arm stopped him. Henry gestured to the floor.

"That's fresh blood," he muttered.

Lassiter felt something inside him snap. Swearing viciously, he started for the back of the building, Henry hot on his heels before grabbing his arm again.

"You lose it and Flick's as good as dead," Henry told him harshly. "You wanna get her out alive, then we gotta go back and get backup."

But whatever it was that was screaming in his head was telling him different and he shook his head quickly. "You go back," he growled, baby blue eyes focused intently on the dome. "But she's in there, and I'm getting her out now."

He shoved the older man's hand from him and took off. The voice in his head was like a sob, making his chest feel tight, and sounding for all the world like the woman he loved pleading with him for help. Lassiter couldn't have ignored it if he tried.

The realization wouldn't really hit him until later, the combination of adrenaline and rage driving it from his mind as he all but sprinted towards the curved wall of the dome. He didn't even slow down as he spotted what looked like a potential door, lifting his pistol and blowing a hole right through its edge. Lowering his shoulder, he rammed right into it, knocking it from its hinges and careening inside.

The smell of blood was what hit him first, strong enough to make him want to gag as he rolled to his feet. He caught flashes of what looked like paint on the walls before he stood straight and what he saw then made his veins feel like ice.

He couldn't describe it, other than it was horrifying to look at. Everything about it shrieked wrongness, from the rotting pallor of its skin to the otherworldly qualities of its all too human-like face. It stared at him as he reflexively brought his gun up, then opened its mouth and let out an ear-piercing wail, its arms flapping like fleshy wings.

His eyes slid from it for a split second, taking in the weird container it squatted in front of and the thin, dirty man that stood next to it. Then his eyes narrowed as he saw what the man had cradled in his arms.

Felicity.

She was unnaturally pale, her eyes wide and glassy as the man held her up with one arm around her waist, his body pressed up against hers and his other hand caressing her neck like a lover. Her fingers were loosely curled around the edge of the box, which gaped open and seemed to be the source of the stench.

His lips pulled back in a snarl. " Get your hands off her, you son of a-"

The creature cut him off with a high-pitched howl, lunging from the dais towards him, its body undulating back and forth like a giant lizard. Lassiter fired two rounds, one after the other sinking dead between its eyes and it dropped with a shrill squawk.

His eyes snapped back to the figure standing with Felicity, who was chuckling in a knowing way.

"You were saying?"

Lassiter pulled the hammer back slowly. "I said...get your hands off her."

Garrett Thompson eyed him with an exaggerated grin, his head twisting at an odd angle. "Or what? You'll shoot, killing pretty Flick in the process?" He shook his head like a dog, the motion more of a convulsion than an actual gesture. "I don't think she'd appreciate that."

Lassiter couldn't help the short bark of laughter.

"Believe me." His finger squeezed on the trigger as his eyes strayed just once to her face, the corner his lips quirking up. "She'd be more pissed if I didn't take the shot."

The wind was a constant roar now, shoving and ripping at her as she scrambled for some kind of purchase in the dark, tumbling end over end. At every turn, she caught more glimpses of light, tiny snatches that only seemed to grow weaker the more she struggled towards them.

Gradually, it faded, until it was barely more than a distant star, untouchable. She stretched herself towards it, dragging against the weight that was determined to keep her from reaching it. There was a heaviness around her now, as if she were vainly treading water, cold and thick. It was consuming her, hollowing her out, scooping out in great swaths what made her what she was.

What was she?

She couldn't remember.

Why was she fighting so hard?

...she couldn't remember.

She was sinking. The dark seemed to deepen, expand...devour.

"Sawyer!"

She was sent reeling wildly by the sound. Sound? Sound!

There was sound! Something...no, someone was calling. Calling her?

"Get the hell back here, Sawyer, or so help me-"

Calling her! They were calling her!

With that realization, the tightness that had enveloped her dissipated and she felt herself hurtling through the pitch. She caught sight of it again, that tiny flickering light, and it was brightening. She sprung for it.

"Goddamit, Felicity, please just-"

Felicity jerked upwards with a gasp, sucking in air as her eyes shot wide open. Teeth chattering, she thrashed against whatever the hell is was that was confining her, fighting against the violent shuddering that tried to undermine her strength. Flinging the net-like material from her body, she fell back against something cool and smooth. Beneath her hand, she could feel tight stitching and a thick seam, and above her was a darkly colored roof. Or so she thought, it was a little too blurry to tell much.

A...car? Was she in the backseat of a car?

She blinked, panting as she gulped in lungfuls of air like a drowning woman. Whose car? The question made her bolt up again, panicked, but two large hands gripped her shoulders.

"Hold still, you two-bit gypsy, and let me look at you!"

"Kids," she croaked, her vision swimming as she tried to bring the person in front of her into focus. Her fingers dug into the backs of the hands that kept her from launching to her feet. Someone was kneeling beside the open car door in front of her and she tried again, asking beseechingly, "Kids ok?"

The voice that answered her was growly, gruff like chapped leather. "They're fine. Worse for wear, but the EMT's are taking good care of them." A palm was suddenly smoothing over her temple, back into her hair. "You found them, sweetheart. You got them out safe."

She knew that voice. Her throat felt tight and raw, like she'd been screaming for hours. And her eyes were itchy, stinging as salty tears filled them, making the image in front of her even more out of focus. They were ok…they were ok. Trembling, she lowered one of her hands so that she could reach out, her fingertips rasping against rough skin.

"C-Carlton," she whispered, hating how his name trembled. With her other hand, she scrubbed across her eyes jerkily.

He cupped her face in both of his hands then, his thumbs brushing over her stained cheeks. "I'm here. Not going anywhere either." Without warning she was hauled forward towards the open door and into his chest, his arms wrapping around her as his face was buried in her neck. His voice was shaky then. "Jesus Christ, Flick, if you ever even think of scaring me like that again-"

"You'll shoot me," she finished for him hoarsely, feeling the rush of acknowledgement and relief coursing through him as she let her cheek rest against his.

She wriggled her arms under his to hug him back, basking in the warm current of his emotions; good and bad were mingling, almost too intertwined to tell apart, but it didn't matter. She had him. He was here, and he'd promised that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Damn right," he muttered, a shiver running through his body when she turned her head just enough to ghost her lips across his cheek. Cinnamon flooded her nose and she breathed it in. God, she'd almost lost this. Just how close she'd come to it scared the hell out of her.

Felicity pulled back a little and, reluctantly, Lassiter let her. Squinting, she was relieved to see that her vision was clearing up a little. Her hands found his again and linked their fingers together, needing the contact as she steeled herself to ask what she had to.

"Mac?"

"Safe at the station. Bastard never laid a hand on her."

"How?"

His expression darkened. "He'd been following us. Found that out thanks to your friend. Between that and reading your notes…" He trailed off as she nodded in understanding.

"Thompson?"

"Dead," he bit out, his hands squeezing hers hard for a brief second. "Or more dead than he was."

"You?"

"Yeah."

She took a deep breath, then instantly regretted it, still able to smell blood in the air. "The...the thing?"

"I shot it. Don't know if that's what killed it."

She could barely make herself form the word, but she had to know. "B-box?"

His thumb gently traced over the back of her hand as he fell silent for a long moment. Felicity caught flashes of images from him, little snippets of gunfire, static, and the empty look in her eyes that had enraged him.

"It broke. When he let you go, he fell over into it and it just crumbled."

Then it'd been tied to him. Either he'd created it or brought it with him somehow, but it's existence had been linked with his. She supposed she'd never know exactly why or how. Truth be told, she didn't want to know.

As the blurriness cleared, she could see that they were indeed in the back of Lassiter's car, in the parking lot that lined the pier. The sky was dark, overcast, low hanging clouds threatening to burst with rain at any moment. Police lights were flashing along with ambulance, bouncing off the shiny police tape. Her gaze flicked over his shoulder and she saw caught sight of Henry talking to Shawn and Gus.

Lassiter followed her gaze. He scowled, but he pushed up to his feet and helped her find hers. With his support, she wobbled around the car door and, setting her jaw determinedly, walked towards them. As soon as he saw her, Shawn stopped talking and immediately scooped her up in a bear hug.

"Whoa, dizzy!" she squeaked as he rocked her back and forth.

Then Gus was hugging her too, making small, choked sounds that had her patting his back comfortingly, if awkwardly since her arms had been forced up at an angle. But as soon as he let her go, Henry was there too, sweeping her into a rib-crushing embrace. She didn't have the breath left in her lungs to protest.

"Don't you ever do that again!" He ordered her gruffly as he set her back down on her feet.

"It's not like I did it voluntarily," she grumbled, pushing inky ringlets out of her face. But her grey eyes were misty as she looked between the three of them. "Thank you," she said, unable to force much more past the lump in her throat.

She felt Lassiter's hand slid around her back, his fingers slipping just under the edge of her t-shirt and rubbing small circles at the base of spine. It was a reassuring touch, not only for her, but for him as well. He wasn't about to let her out of his sight for a good long while, she could sense. The route his thoughts were taking, she'd be lucky if she saw the light of day for at least a month.

That was going to be a doozy of an argument.

And it was shaping up to be quite a nice fantasy too when an EMT bustled up to her, a small woman that was practically bristling with indignation as her sharp brown eyes narrowed on the man that stood just behind Felicity.

"I assume you'll let me take a look at her now, Detective."

Felicity stiffened when he growled back, "Not a chance in hell. She's got one cut, no bruises, and no broken bones, so we're going home."

Her cheeks turned bright pink as the small woman huffed and the three men across from her exchanged looks ranging from amused (Shawn and Henry) to dejected (mostly Gus). She whipped her head around to stare over her shoulder questioningly, her embarrassment replaced with hesitance.

"We are?" she asked softly, watching his features carefully.

A surge of warmth flooded her from his touch, and she saw something in his eyes that made her breath catch. He didn't answer her right away, his eyes slipping from hers as he nodded to the other men. Quietly, she waved good-bye to them, knowing that they'd likely be talking quite a bit in the morning. There were reports to file, statements to make, all that jazz. But right then, she couldn't have been happier at the prospect of sharing a warm bed with Carlton to chase the last traces of this nightmare away.

As she slid into the passenger's seat of the car, she looked over at him, her eyes ghosting over his face. A face she hadn't been entirely sure she'd see again. Without a word, he pulled her across the seat and she let him, drawing her knees up as he started the car and backed out of the lot. She ducked her head onto his chest and wrapped her arm across it. Not the safest position to be riding in, but at that exact moment, Felicity didn't give a damn.

She took a deep breath. He knew. She knew that he knew, but she needed to say it. So she did.

She tipped her head back as they came to a stop sign and turned his head towards her, pressing her mouth against his in an achingly slow kiss that made her blood thrum. When she pulled back, her grey irises met his and she said simply, "I love you."

She felt his heart thunder under her hand, watched the recognition of the truth of what she was saying fill his baby blue eyes. A fierce look crossed his features as he abruptly shifted the car into park and yanked her across his lap. His mouth was hot and demanding over hers, his hands roaming over her body as if he needed to re-learn every dip and curve, to remind himself that she was there, right then, with him and wasn't going anywhere.

His breathing ragged, he parted from her just far enough to rest his forehead against hers. His eyes were earnest as he spoke in a low voice. "I love you."

It was so simple. Laid out between them as if it'd had always been that way, heat and comfort and just so damned right that it made her heart feel like it was going to burst. The emotions were mirrored in him, reflected plainly in his gaze as he looked down at her and kissed her again, softer, lingering.

But her earlier question was unwilling to keep itself. "We're going home?" Felicity asked a second time as she slipped from his lap back to his side, his fingers tangling with hers.

"Yeah, sweetheart, we're going home," Lassiter finally said in a rough voice, starting the car again. "Because that's where I want to be. Just me, you, Heartbreak Ridge, a bag of apples and a bottle of whiskey."

To her, nothing had ever sounded better.

~Fin~