Three years later…

"Mum, hurry up! We're going to be late!" Grace Beauchamp calls from the bottom of the stairs of the Beauchamp-Strachan household. After a couple of seconds she adds, "well, we can be late if you want to. But I don't think that Dad would like that…"

With a half-smile and a flippant roll of her eyes, Connie emerges at the top of the landing, a sight to behold in cream and gold. The colour sets off her skin tone to perfection, and her hair, twisted into a plaited bun, gently rests on her shoulders.

"I'm ready now, Gracie," Connie promises, lifting the skirts of her dress as she begins to descend down the stairs. "I've got another trait to add to your careers list: the queen of time management. Not to mention that you're the bossy Beauchamp."

"Not now, Mum," Grace replies, though with a smile in her voice. "We're waiting for Uncle Elliott to finish in the toilet, then he's got to work out how to put his tie on, and then we're going to go but we're definitely going to be late because there's always traffic at this time of day and…"

Gently, Connie places her hands on her daughter's shoulders and smiles, making eye contact with Grace. "Sweetheart. It's going to be fine. It's normal for the bride to be late anyway, and your Dad knows that Uncle Elliott adds at least another ten minutes to any journey." Laughing briefly, Connie lets go of Grace's shoulders and picks up the bouquet on the hallway table. "Come on, let's take the ridiculous selfie that I know you want to take whilst we wait, and then we'll be sorted."

This mollifies Grace and, five minutes later, they've taken approximately ten different photos – each with a different, albeit completely random, filter which Grace insists is essential – and they're stood waiting for Elliott – "I'll be two minutes, I promise!" – to go to the church.

Breaking the silence, Grace makes eye contact with her mother, arching her back so that they're almost at the same height. Connie constantly marvels at how mature her daughter has become – only fifteen, it wouldn't surprise her if Grace managed to get into some of the nightclubs.

"Before we go," Grace begins, a slight quake in her voice. "Years ago, when you first got together again, you and Dad both promised that you'd only ever make each other happy. So…are you sure that you want to do this? And you're not just doing this for me?"

It takes Connie a second or two to process what Grace says, her brain almost shutting down at the prospect of thinking whether or not she wants to do this. Surprisingly, she's not had any pre-wedding jitters, which she had thought was a good thing. Marrying Sam Strachan had never been at the top of her list of priorities, but once they agreed that they both wanted to do it, she had never waivered.

And even now, with the prospect of a final, final get-out clause offered up by the most mature adolescent Connie could dream of knowing, the answer can't change. There's a warmth in her stomach as she thinks of the prospect of seeing Sam Strachan again – for almost a day a part has felt like a lifetime.

"I appreciate your thought, sweetheart, really I do," Connie begins gently, offering Grace a small smile. "But I've not been as sure of anything in a long time."

"Even going back to cardio medicine stuff?"

Connie snorts. "Even more than going back to cardiothoracics," Connie confirms, her mind slipping back to the day, eighteen months ago, when she had returned to Darwin. Not as Clinical Lead, which had been surprising, but rather as Medical Director who happened to work on the cardio ward. It had been a good day, admittedly, but it had also been a heartwrenching decision to leave behind the team which had become part of her family on the ground floor of Holby City Hospital.

"And you're sure that you definitely don't want to marry Noel? Or maybe even Max?" Grace asks, grinning.

"Absolutely certain," Connie promises, making a mental note to check with both Noel and Max at the wedding reception that they haven't started to include Grace in their betting syndicate. "Now, if that's all of the questions, Miss Beauchamp, I believe we have a wedding to get to.

"I'm so sorry," Elliott calls, running frantically through from the downstairs toilet, tie in hand. "I just couldn't…I'm sorry…the water, it's so much better than in the Middle East."

"Elliott," Connie says firmly, rolling her eyes. It shouldn't be surprising that the person calming down everyone else on her wedding day is the person, theoretically, who should be the least calm. "It's fine. Let me tie your tie, and then we'll get going, shall we?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Elliott replies, beaming. "The lovely Grace has decided on the music, it's all set up in the car, so we can just go and get going!"

"Before we go," Grace interjects quickly. "Just a final question about the guest list…"

"Yes, Gracie…?"

"Well, you know how you bumped my absolute favourite friend to the back of the room in favour of your stupid former work people?"

"In favour of the team who I worked with for four years and who played an active role in the way that your father proposed, rather than the person who you hate one day and love the next, and you asked to be moved to the back of the room?" Connie clarifies, beginning to wonder if she should regret being so calm. Maybe if she had at least given her daughter the illusion of doubt, the conversation would have gone in a completely different direction.

"Yeah, well, anyway, her…um, can she stay for the reception?"

"If she absolutely must, then yes," Connie replies. "Now, can we actually go to my wedding please?"

~x~

It's with baited breath that Connie finally exits the wedding car at St Stephen's church, the place where Sam had been baptised all those years ago, and she suddenly realises that she's actually a little nervous. Not for the prospect of spending the rest of her life with Sam – that's a given after the last five years – but for the fact that there's a room of people with their attention focused entirely on her.

Well, she thinks, Sam will be their focus, too. But it feels strange, because this isn't how she imagined life would turn out, back in med school. She thought she'd be with Michael forever, a strange power couple who turned out to hate just as much as they loved.

And then that ended, and she thought she would be alone, except for Grace. Until that, too, changed…and Sam came back into her life. A different Sam to the first time – but she was a different Connie. A Connie who was willing to work for even the prospect of a slither of happiness. A Connie who decided to try and get over her fears of commitment, to get over the impact of Michael Beauchamp on her, and get to know Sam Strachan.

"Okay, Connie?" Elliott asks gently, and Connie realises that she's frozen, half-in half-out of the car.

"Um, yes," she replies, her voice soft. "I just…really want to do this?"

Elliott laughs. "You know, you're a far different woman to the one who couldn't see anything but negatives about Sam Strachan," he reminds her, his tone taking her back to her former glory days on Darwin. Well, the days she had thought were the pinnacle of her career at the time, anyway.

Now, she knows different.

"I should hope so," Connie replies, laughing a little. She tightens her grip on her bouquet as she approaches the church, her heart growing with apprehension as she thinks of the last time that she saw Sam's face, and just how much she wants to see him again.

They hesitate at the church door, waiting for the music to start, before, finally, the doors open.

And she sees Sam again.

And she knows that she will love him until her final breath and beyond.

So this is it for Connie and Sam (and the rest of them) in Facing the Future.

It's been an absolute honour to write this fic, and I hope that you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

As always, please leave any suggestions for future fics/oneshots in the reviews.

And please leave your comments and feedback! It's always incredible to read your views, and I can't put into words how much it brightens up my day to see them!