Hi there! Thanks for checking out my fic!….I've taken some liberties with GW timelines here, but have done my upmost to stay true to characters! Feedback most welcome!

1

"Sam."

Exhaling, he closes the car door behind him, turning to face her.

"Where have you been? Are you alright?"

She's worried and it's the last thing he wanted to cause her. "I'm fine….I've just been…." He rubs the back of his head, his frustration and regret simmering just below the surface. "…..I lost a patient tonight."

"Sam."

She says his name in that way he's certain she can feel everything inside him. "…I just got in my car and drove….I've been driving all night, trying to clear my head."

There's a considerable space between them and she takes the few steps towards him, closing it. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's not your fault; it's mine….all mine."

Her brows furrow as she reaches out to him, taking his hand. It's soft and delicate in comparison to his and the dryness and cracking caused by years of scrubbing in.

He twines his fingers with hers anyway.

"I'm here if you want to talk," she offers softly.

"I think I'm just going to head to bed."

She nods, and he can't meet her gaze.

He wanted the ferris wheel.

To see her eyes shining against the moonlight.

He wanted to wrap his arm around her, bring her into his side as they sat at the top, all of Middleton below them, out of reach.

Just the two of them.

He heads towards his front door, only he can't let go of her hand.

Neither can she.

The words he needs to say are caught in his throat, and he wipes a hand over his face in an attempt to hold his emotions at bay.

They're both silent, standing there and it isn't until she squeezes his hand gently, does he meet her gaze. It's kind, gentle, everything he didn't know he needed at that moment.

"I'll make you some tea."

She manages to draw a smile from him and everything inside him feels a little less heavy. "….the stuff that tastes like coffee?"

"Sure."

. . . . . . . . . . .

The fire crackles in the hearth as she settles beside him, tea cup perched between her hands. The warmth provided from his own settles the tremors in his hands he hasn't been able to shake since he left the hospital.

"….I haven't felt this way since I left New York," he admits. "I forgot how it completely guts you from the inside out."

Her hand reaches out to touch his arm, and he's got her hand in his, weaving his fingers through hers.

"You did everything you could, Sam," she offers gently.

He exhales. "Did I?….I've been replaying it in my head….I had him open on the table, right in front of me…there's always risk of complications but there shouldn't have been. I did everything right…." He can feel his throat tighten and the words are lost again.

The flatline still rings in his ears.

"After Jake died, I replayed that day over and over in my head."

He looks over at her. She's never spoken openly about her late husband, and he feels the magnitude of the moment settle between them.

"I would go back and forth, wondering if I could have done something differently….asked him to meet me for lunch, or told him to be safe on more time that it would have saved him."

Tears well in her eyes and she wipes them away.

"How did you move past it?" He asks softly.

Her head tilts in that way, that knowing way, as she takes a deep breath. "I don't know if I've ever truly gotten past it. I still wake up and think of him."

He looks down at their joined hands, taking in her admission. "He had a family. A wife. Kids. I can't stop thinking about how their lives are going to be changed forever."

Setting her cup on the coffee table, she settles into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. It's a simple gesture and yet it grounds him. Her very presence settles him and the guilt that has been weighing on him.

"Everyone can master a grief but he that has it."

"Hemingway?" He guesses.

"Shakespere."

He smiles. "I should have known."

"You're a great doctor, Sam. There are so many people here in Middleton that have you to thank for your care and treatment. Don't loose sight of that."

He presses his lips to the crown of her head, breathing her in.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Oooh, waffles! What's the occasion?"

She smiles at her daughter as she enters the kitchen. "Sometimes you just need something comforting to start your day off."

Grace helps herself to the freshly squeezed juice her mother has set out, sliding onto a stool at the island. "I won't complain then," she smiles.

She's got a batch of batter ready to go, and she sprinkles in the mini chocolate chips before pouring it into the iron. Grace's phone chirps from beside her on the counter, and she watches as her expression shifts as she reads the text.

"Everything alright?"

"It's Nick…he's been texting me since last night; he's pretty worried about his Dad."

She flips the iron, listening.

"He never showed up at the festival, and apparently he didn't get home until really late last night."

"I'm sure Nick really appreciates you being there for him."

Grace shrugs, chewing her lip. "I just wish there was more that I could do."

The timer on the iron dings, and she scoops the waffles out, placing them on a serving tray.

Grace's face lights up. "Mom, can I take some of these over to Nick? Chocolate chip waffles are Sam's favourite!"

"I think that's a great idea, honey. There's an extra batch of batter in the fridge."

"You just happened to have an extra batch made up?" Grace questions, heading to the fridge. "Oohh, can I take some of this fruit and yogurt too?"

She smiles, nodding. "Take whatever you like."

. . . . . . . . . .

Bounding down the stairs, Nick unlocks the door opening it to Grace on the other side. "What is all that?" He gestures to the bag she has in her arms.

"My brilliant idea, of course," Grace smiles, side stepping him inside the house.

Closing the door behind her, he follows her into the kitchen. He watches as she unpacks the contents of the bag, quickly overtaking what little counter space they have.

"Do you have a waffle iron?" She questions.

"A what?"

"A waffle iron," she repeats.

"I dunno, check the cupboards maybe?"

While she's busy searching the cupboards, he takes stock of what she's unpacked from the bag. "Is this waffle batter?"

"Uh huh!…Found one!" She reaches in the far back of the cupboard above the stove, pulling out the small appliance.

"I had no idea we even had that," Nick comments.

She clears a spot on the counter, plugging it in to warm up."Well, it's a good thing you did because that would have put a hitch in my otherwise brilliant plan."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Breakfast for your Dad."

He gives her a curious look. "How exactly is that going to help?"

She echos her mothers words. "Sometimes you just need something comforting to start your day off."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

He registers the knock on his door, turning over to find Nick letting himself in. He can smell the coffee before he can decipher anything else, and he's pulling himself up against the head board. "What's all this?" He questions.

Nick gives him one of his lopsided smiles and a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Breakfast."

"You did this for me?"

His son rests the tray over his lap, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him. "As much as I'd like to take credit for all of this, I won't. Cassie sent all this over with Grace, and she helped me make it."

Lifting the cover off the plate, he smiles at the chocolate chip waffles. "You made these?"

Nick nods. "You got home really late last night and I thought you could use something to start your day off right."

He's at a loss for words. The kid sitting across from him is no longer the same kid he practically dragged here from New York. "….this looks great, Nick. Thank you."

"Why did you get home so late last night anyway? You missed the festival and everything," he questions carefully.

He's never talked with Nick about his work, let alone when he's lost a patient. In New York, it was easier to keep that part of his life separate, to carry that on his own.

Middleton has a way of changing that.

Pulling himself up further against the headboard, he reaches for the coffee first, taking a sip. Immediately he knows it's his tea-that-tastes-like-coffee, and the mere fact that she would send this, now, comforts him. "I had to go into emergency surgery last night. There were complications with my patient and unfortunately, I lost him." He knows the expression on his sons face well, the way his brows furrow together, the way his mouth becomes a tight line. "I'm fine," he reassures.

"It'd be alright if you weren't," Nick points out. "That really sucks, Dad."

"It does," he agrees. "Its the part of the job I hate the most."

Reaching across the tray, Nick helps himself to some of the fruit, dipping it into the dish of yogurt. "You know, I've never told you this, but I'm really proud of you, Dad."

He holds his mug mid sip, taken aback. "You are?"

Nick shrugs, helping himself to more fruit. "Yeah, I mean, when we were in New York….all my friends Dads were business men and were just, like, these really awful people, all about money and being rich….I could always say that my dad [I]helps[/I] people and it didn't matter that you were never home because I knew you were out there, saving peoples lives."

"You really thought that?" He questions softly.

"Still do."

"Nick….I don't know what to say," he admits.

He shrugs, getting up off the bed. "Then don't say anything…..just know that I'm proud of you regardless of what happens."

He nods.

"Look, it's Saturday. Stay home today. We can shoot hoops, play video games, whatever you want to do."

He mentally runs through his schedule already knowing that it's packed, and Nick anticipates his response.

"You can't pour from an empty cup."

He chuckles. "Where did you hear that?"

"Grace says it all the time….play hooky. You deserve it."

He shakes his head, letting out a sigh. "Alright. You've convinced me."

Nick smiles, pumping a fist.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Try this; it's valerian root. It's said to help with insomnia."

"Thank you, I will."

She smiles. "Let me know how you feel after a few nights."

Her customer nods, heading to pay for their item. The bell chimes above the door at Bell Book, and Cassie smiles, turning to greet the Mayor. "Hello Martha. What brings you downtown mid afternoon?"

Martha weaves her way through the store, her purse perched in the crook of her elbow. "I was wondering if you put anymore thought it my proposal?"

"Your exhibit on the Merriwick women," she replies. The bell chimes again, and out of the corner of her eye, she registers the new customer that has walked in. "Between the festival, Grey House and my shop, I really haven't had time to consider it."

"What's there to consider?" Martha reasons. "The Merriwick woman have been an integral part of the history and make-up of Middleton; they deserve to be honoured in this years Historic Middleton exhibit-"

There's a loud crash behind them, and Martha jumps. "For heavens sake! What was that?"

What's left of a vase lay shattered on the floor, as her most recent customer stands over it. "I'm sorry," he apologizes.

Cassie shakes her head, giving him a warm smile. "Accidents happen. You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Is there anything I can help you find?"

"Just browsing," he offers.

It's hard for her to get a read on the man standing in front of her. While he doesn't outwardly give any cause for concern, the air around him has shifted ever so slightly. "You're not from around here, are you?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, welcome to Middleton. I'm Cassie Nightengale." She extends her hand in greeting.

It's a beat before he takes her outstretched hand, shaking it. "Jackson Weld."

"What brings you to Middleton, Mr. Weld?"

He shifts on his feet, and glass crunches beneath his shoe. "Unfinished business."

He's held her hand a beat longer than necessary, and she withdraws, wrapping her arms around herself as a chill passes through her. "Well I hope you come to the conclusion you're looking for."

"I intend to. It was nice to meet you."

She smiles. "You too."

The glass crunches again under his feet as he heads for the door, the bell chiming his departure.

"He certainly gives a new meaning to tall, dark and mysterious," Martha comments. "He didn't even offer to pay for the vase!"

She heads to the counter, reaching for the broom and dust pan behind it. "Let me talk to Grace and Abigail about the exhibit, and I'll get back to you?"

"I look forward to your cooperation!" Martha sings, heading for the door.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"I'm so hungry I could probably eat everything in here."

He laughs, shaking his head following Nick to their favourite spot at the Bistro. "Must have been all that running around I had you doing when I kicked your butt that third time."

Nick rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "I let you win."

"You tell yourself whatever you need to," he teases.

Nick smirks, sliding into their booth. "At some point you'd think you'd cut me a little bit of slack; I am your son you know."

He slides in opposite him, setting his phone on the table beside him. He's not even sure why he's brought it with him: it surprisingly hasn't rung, buzzed, or beeped all morning. "Not a chance, kid."

"Well isn't this a rare sighting!" Stephanie approaches their table, handing them each a menu. "Dr. Radford here on a Saturday!"

Nick looks unsurely at him, and he brushes Stephanie's comment off. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Someone convinced me to play hooky today."

Stephanie looks expectantly at Nick, who raises a hand in admission. "That's not such a bad thing," she smiles. "I should have played hooky today too; I'm a little on the sleepy side after the festival last night. Did you enjoy the ferris wheel?"

Sam turns his attention to the menu. "I didn't get the chance to test it out….I got hung up at the hospital last night."

"Oh, that's too bad-"

"-yeah, it is…hey, what's the soup today?"

"Corn chowder."

He looks up with a smile. "Just my luck; my favourite."

"Coming right up." She looks over at Nick. "The usual?"

Nick hands back the menu, nodding. "You got it. Thanks, Stephanie."

"No problem!"

As Stephanie heads back towards the kitchen, Nick gives his father a questioning look. "You bought tickets for the ferris wheel?"

"Yeah….Martha insisted."

"Wasn't that a couples thing?"

"I think so."

"So, did you ask someone to go with you?"

He's careful with his response. He and Linda didn't exactly leave their son with a shining example of a partnership, and he doesn't want to give Nick any wrong ideas about his love life. "I did."

Nick looks at him expectantly. "Are you going to tell me who?"

"Does it matter? I didn't get the chance to use the tickets-"

"-was it Cassie?"

The waitress approaches their table with their drinks and cutlery, and he thanks her, taking a sip.

"You asked Cassie," Nick deduces. "Are you two dating?"

He shakes his head. "We're not dating-"

"-is there something going on between you two?"

Leaning back into the booth, he exhales, searching for the right words. "Cassie and I….we're just friends."

Nick's silent for a moment, pealing the label off of his bottle of juice. "Friends don't buy tickets for a couples ferris wheel."

"Nick…I don't know what you want me to say," he admits. "I bought the tickets just after we moved here. I barely knew anyone, let alone Cassie-"

"-and rather than say, giving them away, you kept them-"

"-I actually forgot I bought them until Martha gave them to me."

"Dad, c'mon. Level with me."

He opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't know what to say.

"You and Cassie-"

"-it's complicated," he cuts him off. The surprise is clear in his sons eyes and he quickly searches for the right words. "We're really good friends, and yeah, I asked her to ride the ferris wheel with me….I don't know if that means there's ever going to be anything more between us." He doesn't mention the lake house and the conversation that followed, not sure if it still carries weight anymore.

Because she still wakes up thinking of Jake.

Stephanie is there, serving them their food. "Here you two go!"

"This looks great, thank you."

"No problem at all. Let me know if you need anything."

"We will."

He takes his time folding his napkin into his lap, buttering the biscuit on the side of his plate.

"So that's all you're going to say?"

"There's nothing else to say," he reasons.

"If you say so," Nick sighs.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

There's a light tap at the patio door, and she looks up to find Sam on the other side. Wiping her hands, she gestures him in. "Hi," she greets.

Closing the door behind him, he comes to stand at the island where she's peeling potatoes. "Hi….what are you making?"

"Corn chowder."

He's not sure how she knows, because he's certain it's not just a coincidence. Nothing with Cassie ever is. "My favourite."

"Is it?" She questions casually. "You're more than welcome to stay for dinner."

"Nick's actually got pizza and video games lined up for tonight. Thank you, though….for inviting me."

She smiles. "You and Nick are always welcome. That's really nice of him. What's the occasion?"

He's watching her as she's peeling, her hands, and it surprises him at how perfectly she does it. Just like seemingly everything else about her. "I think he's worried about me after last night. He convinced me to play hooky with him today. Thank you, for the waffles by the way."

There's a knowing look in her eyes and she stills for a minute, giving him her full attention. "It was Grace's idea, but you're welcome."

He somehow doubts that, but he's grateful for her. For her presence that seamed to permeate the entire day. "I never apologized for not making it to the ferris wheel-"

"-Sam, you don't have to. I understand completely."

He wants to tell her how much he was looking forward to it. How happy he was that she agreed to go with him. He wants to confess these feelings, the ones that seem to be getting stronger with each moment he spends with her.

But he doesn't. Because she's still wakes up thinking of Jake.

"Sam?"

She can read him like a book and the worry crosses her face. "I've been thinking…"

"….about what I said this morning. About Jake," she finishes.

"Cassie….lf I pressured you in anyway-"

"-You didn't," she reassures.

He looks down, searching for the words. "You and Jake…you two had a life together, a marriage…."

"…he will always be a part of who I am. My Journey," she says softly.

"I get it. I do." Looking up, he's caught in her eyes, in the uncertainty that's looking back at him. "….if you're still waking up, thinking of him….Cassie, it's ok if you and I-"

"-So what's this I hear about the Merriwick Women being honoured at this years Historic Middleton exhibit?" Abigail questions, joining them in the kitchen. "Hi Sam," she greets quickly; turning towards her cousin. "How come I'm hearing this from Martha?"

"We're being honoured?" Grace questions, appearing in the kitchen. "That's super cool! What for?"

Their conversation interrupted, he exhales looking over at her.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes.

"Don't be...I should get going; pizza and video games are waiting."

There's something there in her eyes, something that's hanging between them. She touches his arm as he passes her heading towards the porch door, and he catches her hand briefly before letting go.

tbc