Author's Note: Happy Valentine's Day, friends! This seemed like an appropriate day to post the final installment.

Fair warning, this chapter is definitely M. However, I didn't want to bump the rating of the whole collection just for one chapter. So. Mature content ho!

30. future

He's been living with Sam long enough that the thrill and apprehension he once felt upon entering her house—their house—has worn off. However, Baird is still surprised sometimes, when the pleasant monotony of this new life of his slips away, and he is confronted with just how marvellous things are now.

Baird has had an incredibly tiring day. Foolishly, he had underestimated the amount of work that would be waiting for him when he returned to Anvegad from his three-month transfer to Port Farrall. Under Major Reid, he'd been run ragged, called in for the simplest of jobs, always returning to his bunk utterly exhausted. And really, Anvil Gate isn't in much better shape than Port Farrall. His second day back at the garrison, Hoffman had called him in for a meeting and, almost apologetically, handed him a lengthy to-do list. He's been back for almost two weeks now, and he feels like he's barely had time to see Sam—which is ridiculous, considering that they live together.

He slumps in the front door, mildly surprised to find Sam down in the kitchen. She looks up when the door bangs shut and beams at him.

"Hey stranger."

"Hey yourself." He drops his kitbag on the ground and kicks his boots off. "What are you doing?"

"Don't worry; I'm not cooking without your supervision." Sam ducks behind the counter briefly, reappearing with a box of something that looks suspiciously like cola.

"Holy shit," Baird breathes. He hasn't had soda in almost five years; his mouth is starting to water just thinking about it. "How the hell did you—?"

"Mitchell owed me a favour after that tattoo I gave him last week. He brought it in from Azura this morning."

Baird realises with a pang that he hadn't known about the tattoo, but pushes past it. "God, you're amazing."

"Tell me something I don't know," she says, smile widening. "Since you look ready to drop, why don't you put your feet up and I'll make us some drinks."

A rum and cola. When was the last time he'd had one? He tries to think as he trudges into the living room, but he can't remember. Just as he's about to flop onto the couch, he catches sight of the throw rug underneath the table: it's a ratty old thing, the pattern almost completely faded, but Sam had spotted it when they were trading with the local Stranded and insisted that they needed it, and Baird hadn't the heart to argue with her. And it's stupid, it's really stupid, but they got it the day before Baird left for Azura and he's been so busy since he got back that this is the first time he's really noticed it. A frigging carpet has him frozen in place. Why?

Because, shit, it's just so—so domestic and everyday that Baird can't believe this is his life now. His tools are spread out all over the living room, mingling with parts from Sam's sniper rifle and her books that he'd never be caught reading; his notes are in a pile beside the couch, an old sweater of his that she's stolen is draped over a chair; Sam is humming behind him in the kitchen, searching one of the cupboards for rum; and it hits him that this is it. He's wanted this for so long, ever since they'd first come to Anvil Gate a year ago and there were all these feelings that he didn't know what to do with except hope, in some vague, offhanded way. And now he has it. More than he ever thought possible.

"Now where did I put that bloody rum?" Sam grumbles to herself, abandoning the top cupboard to crouch down and rummage around underneath the counter.

Before he even knows what he's doing, he blurts out:

"I am so frigging in love with you."

The casual, relaxed atmosphere changes in an instant. Sam goes completely rigid and Baird tenses up too, embarrassed and surprised by his uncharacteristic lack of self-control. Then Sam springs to her feet, completely forgetting about the open cupboard door above her head. She slams into it with an audible, splintering crack that makes Baird wince. Her eyes go wide—with shock or pain, Baird's not sure, it happens too fast—and she collapses out of his line of sight.

"Fucking hell, what did you do?" he yells, hurrying into the kitchen. "You frigging stupid—"

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Sam on the floor: she's lying in a crumpled pile, eyes closed, completely still. Panic flares up in his chest, white and burning, and he drops to his knees.

"Sam?" He reaches out to touch her but quickly stops himself. If she hit her head hard enough to knock herself unconscious she could have a spinal cord injury, and if that's the case then moving her would be extremely fucking bad. He presses a finger to his ear, ready to radio the infirmary—

"Nngh."

Sam blinks a couple of times and moves her head before Baird can tell her to stay still. She looks around, dazed, until her eyes settle on his face. Then she breaks out in a massive grin that Baird finds entirely inappropriate for this situation.

"You said you love me," she says in a singsong tone.

He huffs. "See if I do again, if you're gonna knock yourself out."

She pushes herself up onto her elbows, then cringes. "Ow."

"Yeah, it generally hurts when you…" He trails off as Sam gingerly feels the back of her head, and her hand comes away bloody. There's not enough blood for it to be an emergency but the sight of it still sends his pulse skyrocketing. "Oh, goddamn it. Get up, I'm taking you to Hayman."

He helps her to her feet, his stomach somersaulting when Sam sways uneasily. Wrapping his arm firmly around her shoulders to steady her, Baird begins steering her towards the door, but Sam apparently has other ideas. Her hands are suddenly grasping his face, pulling him down to her height, and she slams their mouths together and kisses him furiously.

"Hayman," Baird gasps, pulling away. "You idiot, you need to see—"

"Shut up," she hisses, and kisses him again. "Just let me savour this moment."

Baird pushes her back, but keeps hold of her in case she loses her balance. "Savour it later, your frigging head is bleeding—"

"You're really killing the mood," Sam says, still sounding a little stunned—but somehow Baird doesn't think it's a result of the head trauma.

"I don't give a flying fuck, I need to get you to the doc so she can take a look at your thick skull! You're going to need stitches, you moron."

Hayman gives them a decidedly icy look as they stumble into the infirmary, as if they've somehow interrupted her doing something very busy, despite the fact that they are the only people in the room. Baird finds it rather annoying as this is generally where people come when they've injured themselves.

"Somehow I imagine it's your girlfriend that requires my immediate attention." The doctor walks towards them, eyeing Sam critically.

"However did you guess?" Baird asks dryly, mostly for Sam's benefit. She still hasn't quite managed to use her feet properly since she nearly caved her head in.

Hayman leads Sam to the nearest cot. "What happened?"

"She slammed her head into a cabinet door pretty hard," Baird answers, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bed. "Her head's bleeding."

Taking Sam's head in her hands (a little rough for Baird's liking), Hayman parts the dark hair to get a better look at the wound. She glares at it for a couple seconds, as if expecting it to magically heal under her withering stare.

"Did you lose consciousness?" Hayman asks Sam, with absolutely none of the bedside manner that Baird has come to expect from Harua Tak.

"Only for a few seconds," Baird says.

Hayman shoots him a glare before turning back to Sam; Baird bristles, but lets it go. If there's one person he doesn't want to get in a verbal sparring match with, it's Isabel Maryon-Hayman.

"Where are we?" Hayman asks. The question is obviously directed at Sam, and this time Baird keeps his mouth shut.

"The hospital at Anvil Gate," Sam says. She pauses for a second and then hastily adds, "Kashkur."

"What were you doing before the incident?"

Baird feels his face go beet red, but Sam keeps her composure. "I was at home."

"Can you repeat the months of the year in reverse order?"

"Thaw, Brume, Frost, Harvest, Heat, Bloom, Bounty, Rise, Gale, Storm," Sam rattles off without any hesitation. Then she grins at Baird like she's looking for approval; he indulges her with a weak smile.

Hayman holds a finger up in front of Sam's face. "I want you to touch my finger and then the tip of your nose as quickly as possible."

Sam does as she's asked, missing the tip of her nose by only a few millimetres. Hayman takes a step back, looking Sam up and down again. "It's a concussion, but a minor one. And the head wound will require stitches. She'll be fine, but you'll have to stay with her for the next fifty-two hours to monitor her."

Then Hayman whisks out of the room without any explanation, presumably to go get what she needs to stitch Sam's head back up. Baird glares at the doctor's back as she leaves, remembering how even Dom with all his goodwill had considered Hayman a tough bitch.

"You love me," Sam says suddenly, the unexpected noise making Baird flinch. He glances at her and is frustrated to see that she's smirking like an idiot despite the pain she must be in.

"You knew that," he mutters. "Didn't have to crack your skull open just 'cause I said it."

Sam opens her mouth to say something else that will probably make him blush like a schoolgirl, but Hayman reappears. The doctor practically storms over to Sam and places the suturing kit on the cot.

"We don't have enough drugs to spare on clumsy idiots, so you'll be doing this without painkillers."

Sam nods, trying to put on a brave face, but Baird notices the way her brow furrows slightly and how she subtly clenches her fists. Sighing, Baird turns his body towards her and grabs her hands. She gives him an anxious smile and he gives her a reassuring squeeze. Then Hayman gets to work.

As Baird watches the doctor clean and stitch Sam's wound, he does his best to avoid thinking about the catalyst for Sam bashing her head and knocking herself out. Of course, in attempting not to think about it, it's all he can think about. And his stomach sinks as he wonders, Had she honestly been surprised? They've been together for about a year now, and as Baird thinks back he realizes that it's mostly because of Sam's effort. He'd had feelings for her for a while, but it was Sam who had first acted on hers. Sam had asked him to kiss her on that dark night in the garage, Sam had asked him to move in with her, Sam had taken all the first steps. He'd been there all along, sure, but he hovered just far enough away that she always had to reach out and pull him closer.

So really, if Sam had been so shocked by his verbal confession, Baird wouldn't blame her at all.

Hayman pulls the surgical thread tight and Sam sucks in a pained breath, gripping Baird's hand forcefully. This snaps him out of his introspection, and he spends the rest of the time in the infirmary concentrating on how angry he is that Sam's hurt—even if she did it to herself.

The sun is just starting to go down as they return to the house. Sam is sporting a lovely bandage on the back of her head and an annoyed expression from being denied drugs to take home. Normally Baird would be struggling to stop himself from laughing at her expense, but he hasn't been feeling the greatest since the infirmary. Ironic.

Sam drags him up to the bedroom, spouting some nonsense about how tiring getting stitches is, but the twinkle in her eyes tells Baird that she wants to finish what she attempted to start after giving herself a concussion. She pushes him back onto the bed and he opens his mouth to make a quip about how pain apparently turns her on, but the mock-insult dies in his throat. He shuts his mouth, blinks a few times, then opens it again.

"Did you really not know?" he asks. He meant to sound generally inquisitive, but instead it comes out quiet and unsure and just a little bit scared. Oh hell, he thinks.

The sly smile slips from Sam's face, replaced by a tender look of affection. "Don't be daft. Of course I knew."

"But you…" Baird gestures wildly, hoping the motion will draw her eyes away from his face. It doesn't.

"You just surprised me, that's all. I'd gotten used to the idea that you'd never—"

His face must change, because her eyes go soft and she reaches out to palm his jaw. "Don't. I realised a long time ago that I didn't need you to say it out loud because you tell me a dozen different ways every day."

He can't help but scoff derisively at that. "Really? Do tell."

"You really don't know, do you?" She laughs softly, although Baird fails to see what's so funny. "You moved in with me. You faced the wrath of Major Reid just to check up on me. You took a bullet for me. You yell at me when I get hurt, you make me coffee in the morning, you invade my personal space on the couch. You love me; I'm not blind."

This conversation has taken a turn for the suddenly and uncomfortably intimate. What Baird should do is kiss her, or tell her that he loves her again, or even offer up a somewhat inappropriate thank you. But instead what he does is open is big stupid mouth and blurt out, "But Dom…"

Sam narrows her eyes. "What about Dom?"

Fucking shit, did I really just say that? It's too late to turn back now. He braces himself for what will come next. "You had feelings for him. But you didn't… choose to move on. He died, and…" And what? He doesn't know what. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Damon. Is that what's been holding you back?" She sits down beside him. "Okay, let's deal with this issue once and for all, shall we? Yes, I had feelings for Dom. And yes, he died. But I did still choose to move on. I could have refused to let those feelings go and hold on to him forever, but I didn't. And I didn't just transfer my feelings for him to you, if you're worried about that."

Her voice is so warm and kind and honest that Baird could just die.

When he doesn't say anything, she continues. "And, really, I liked you first."

This catches him off guard. "What?"

She chuckles. "You remember back on Vectes, when I offered you that drink? I don't just buy blokes drinks to be friendly. I had an agenda."

And now Baird truly feels like the colossal idiot that Sam is always telling him he is. "Shit. I really am a—"

"A drongo, yes. Can I pash you now?"

Baird infers the meaning of that term from the heavy look in her eyes. "I'm sorry, were you waiting for an invitation?"

Rolling her eyes, she leans forward to kiss him. It is sincere and adoring, the most honest, truthful moment they've ever shared. He can't control his needy mouth or his desperate hands, pulling her closer, feeling her warmth and revelling in it like he never has before.

They break away to catch their breath, and Baird notices the slight blush on Sam's cheeks.

"I love you," he says, trying out the words again. They still feel clunky and awkward on his tongue, but the absurd grin she gives him is worth it.

"I know. Now get your kit off."

This abrupt change of mood throws him off. "Excuse me?"

"Your trousers, soldier. Take them off." She's got that look on her face, the one where Baird knows he's either in for a world of pleasure or a lot of pain. Judging by her instructions, the former seems more likely.

"Uh—" He begins stupidly, but then Sam's fingers are undoing his fly and pulling his jeans down his legs. Before he really has time to process what's happening, she lowers her face to his crotch and his heartbreak kicks into overdrive. As much as he'd love to just sit back and enjoy what's about to happen, he's a little uneasy about what her motivations might be.

He pushes her back slightly. "Sam, you don't have to." He doesn't want her to think that she somehow owes him this because he said he loved her.

Sam folds her arms and rests them on his stomach, looking up at him with fond exasperation. "Damon," she says, suddenly very serious, "I'm not giving you a blowjob because of what you said. I'm giving you a blowjob because I love you and I want to and I can. Okay?"

"Um. Okay?" he says, because he doesn't know how else to respond to that.

"Good!" She gives him a wicked smile and yanks his boxers down.

His breath catches in his throat as the familiar wet heat surrounds him. He instinctively goes to bury his hand in Sam's hair before he remembers the ridiculous chain of events that put him in this position—and good lord, he does not want to have to go back to Hayman and bumble through some lousy explanation as to why Sam needs her stitches redone. Freezing for a second, he instead settles his hand on her shoulder, his thumbs caressing the soft, bare skin of her collarbone.

Fuck, she's going to kill him. Six stitches and he'd nearly had a conniption; a broken leg while he was away and he'd gone to absurd lengths to contact her—lying to Major Reid, conspiring with Mathieson and Hoffman, for god's sake—because he'd half-convinced himself that she was dying in a hospital bed. Every time she runs a patrol outside the fort without him, he gets this hard little knot of worry deep in his gut. But he wouldn't trade this life for anything.

He gasps and then groans as she drags her tongue filthily over the head of his dick. Her eyes are closed and she hums, sending reverberations all the way up his spine. She takes all of him into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she sucks, and his nails dig into her shoulder, leaving tiny red marks. She really is going to kill him. He can feel the pressure coiling tightly in his groin and he knows he's not going to last much longer, not when she knows him so well, knows how to make him unravel.

"Hey," he manages to choke out. "Hey, wait."

Sam pulls back with an obscene pop and cocks her head to the side, one eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"Get up here," he growls, grabbing her and hauling her up to his mouth.

Her lips are swollen and wet and wonderful and they curve into a smile as he slides his hands up under her shirt, tracing the contours of her chest. She sucks in a sharp breath when his thumb brushes over her nipple and he would spend more time kissing her, he really would, but he is achingly hard and desperately wants to do something about that. He tugs her shirt over her head and Sam takes the hint, wriggling out of her pants and kicking them off the bed. In a fluid, practiced motion, he pulls her down towards the mattress and rolls, switching their positions before she even has time to blink.

Staring at her underneath him, naked and eager and happy, a pleasantly painful feeling swells in his chest and fuck he's never wanted anyone more than he wants Sam.

She shivers as his erection brushes against the inside of her thigh and he has to bite down on his bottom lip, hard. She's already ready for him; he can feel her want, slick against her skin. She's looking up at him, her gorgeous eyes and long eyelashes and heat in her gaze that he can't quite believe, and he wonders why the hell it took him so long to tell her.

"Damon," she says, her breath catching as he repositions himself.

He waits until she tilts her hips up to him, sheets twisted in her hands, and then thrusts into the beautiful sound of her drawn-out moan.

Baird wakes up the next morning with his arm wrapped around Sam's waist and his forehead pressed into the back of her neck. He smiles (because how could he not?) and eases himself out of bed, taking care not to rouse her. A floorboard creaks under his foot; Sam groans quietly and curls in on herself but she doesn't wake.

He tiptoes to the bathroom to freshen up and gets a look at himself in the mirror. He can't help but laugh at his reflection: a series of purple bite marks trail down his chest and his hair is an absolute disaster—Sam really likes to grip his hair in bed. Splashing cold water on his face to shake the last vestiges of sleep, he heads back to the bedroom and grabs his shirt from last night off the floor. He pulls it over his head as he heads downstairs, despite Sam having told him a dozen times that he'll trip and break his neck if he keeps dressing that way.

Down in the kitchen, Baird goes straight to the freezer. He opens it and pulls out the ice cube tray, placing it on the counter as he digs through another drawer for a tea towel. Just as he's cracking the tray and dumping the ice onto the cloth, there's a knock at the door. Baird frowns, wondering who would be calling this early in the morning. He wraps up the ice into a makeshift icepack and goes to answer the door.

"Hey baby!" Cole greets him enthusiastically when Baird opens the front door. "You're late."

"Late?" Baird can't remember—oh damn, yes he can. "Ah shit." He's scheduled to run patrols today along with Cole, Dizzy and Bernie. "I can't, Cole, I'm playing nurse for the next two days."

Cole gives him a confused grin. "Say what?"

Baird sighs. "Sam gave herself a concussion yesterday and we had to go see Hayman for stitches. I'm supposed to stay with her for fifty-two hours, just in case."

"Sam needed stitches? What, you guys get in a fight or something?" Cole jokes.

"Hilarious." Baird says dryly. "No, I, ah… told her that I loved her."

The grin falls off Cole's face, replaced by a look of dumbfounded amazement; Baird almost bristles at how surprised his friend is, but he tries not to take it personally. "You actually told her?" Cole asks, sounding just a little proud. "And she split her head open and got a concussion. Ha, baby, you might still need a charm lesson after all."

"No, it's not like—it's a long story." Baird rubs the back of his neck, equal parts annoyed and embarrassed to feel a flush creeping into his cheeks. "Come over after you're done your shift. I'm sure Sam would just love to give you all the humiliating details."

"Ha, it's a date then." Cole gives him an appraising look before backing away. "I'll tell Hoffman that you're benched on Hayman's orders. Somehow I don't think he'll be arguing with her."

"Yeah, or it's his funeral."

Cole nods emphatically. "I'll see you at six then." Then he waggles his eyebrows conspiratorially. "Try to be decent when I come over."

"Yeah, yeah." Baird waves Cole off and closes the door. When he makes his way up the stairs to the bedroom, he finds Sam sitting up in bed. She smiles when she sees him, but he spots the tightness in her expression and knows that she must be feeling those stitches without the aid of painkillers.

"Here." He hands her the icepack. "This should take the edge off."

"And I didn't even have to say anything," she says. "Another way that I know."

He rolls his eyes, but he feels his face go hot all the same. "I'm Mr. Romantic now, apparently."

Sam hums in agreement and pats the mattress beside her. "Come back to bed. We've got no reason to be up this early."

"No, no reason at all," Baird says sarcastically, even as he climbs back under the covers. "I'm just taking care of my girlfriend."

"Shut it." She smacks his shoulder playfully. "I already said thank you."

"Actually, you didn't."

"Now you're just being argumentative."

Baird smirks impudently at her and Sam sighs dramatically. "Hey, you're the one who asked me to move in with you."

"And I live with the repercussions every day," she says with mock regret.

Before he can think of a charming rebuttal, Sam shuffles closer to him. She curls up against his body, resting her head against the curve of his shoulder and effectively pinning the makeshift icepack between the pillows and her skull. She fits so easily against his body, like she was made for that space. Or perhaps he'd been made for her to complete.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"This life looks good on you."

"Why Damon," she says teasingly, her arms snaking around his neck, "I think that's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

.end.

More notes: First off, thank you to everyone who read this, whether you left reviews or not. This was super fun to write and I would have done it regardless, but it's always nice to know you're writing for an audience.

Super special shout out to the following: 91JackJR, Babylon1914, Baird's Bro124, blaiseingfire, Charlie Chaplin 2, Chire, ChrisGears, GearsLuvr, Jhezz, Kalo Suva, Korvyn, LittleLolitaChick, Nakova, penny, silentfyre, some guy, tank destroyer, and tracey. Your reviews were lovely little bright spots in my day, and I would always grin when I got the notification email. Thank you :)

Stay tuned, there is more Baird/Sam stuff on the way. Another story, a semi-sequel to Desperate Measures. With actual plot!