A/N Alrighty here it is, the long awaited next chapter. Hope there are still readers out there. Big thanks for all the reviews, and I hope this is worth the wait.

Oh, and I wrote it on my phone (while on a bus, in the griddle of the night) and then edited it on my iPad so I apologize for any issues... If you see something that shouldn't be there, well, have a giggle at my expense and move on. :)

Enjoy!

He wakes up the next morning so comfortable that he's got all kinds of bad ideas running through his mind. Ones that certainly do not involve getting out of bed. They're a tangle of limbs and maybe some sheets, sun pouring in through a gap in the curtains, effectively ruining the moment.

With a groan, he reaches behind him, finds a chunk of the duvet and drags it up and over both their heads. Closes his eyes and buries his face in her hair as an extra precaution - can't risk any of that god forsaken sunlight finding it's way back into his line of sight.

He's somewhat jealous of Jules, who seems to have a gift for sleeping like the dead and doesn't seem to have noticed the changes in lighting. He grins, pulls her a little closer.

If he's honest, he's somewhat embarrassed about last night. It's just- he's trying to remember when he became a quitter. Staying with Natalie? He's inclined to blame the sangria for that bright idea. Or even the steak he had two bites of before freaking out.

Embarrassed or not, he can't quite bring himself to regret anything that happened. Not after that.

He's not so secretly hoping she doesn't wake up. Leave to go to work. Convince him to go to see the doctor. Go anywhere where it isn't just the two of them in a place where everything seems just so simple he wouldn't dream of leaving it. It all just feels so familiar.

So damn familiar that he thinks maybe if he closes his eyes shut tight enough, holds her close enough, inhales her scent deeply enough it will all come back because he needs answers. Needs answers more than he did before. He needs to understand why he feels this way around her. Why he's so content to lay here and never let her go. Why he felt sharp pangs of guilt and anxiety whenever he caught sight of her ribs. Why he felt like he was missing something, some detail, and why a small part of him wanted to go back when it was over for a closer look.

She stretches in her sleep and he freezes, hopes she isn't about to wake up. Relaxes when she pulls his arm around her more tightly and stops moving. He can see the clock from where he is, knows he can only keep this up another 5 minutes or so before she absolutely has to get up for work, so he resolves to stop the mental questioning session and enjoy what time he has.

Some time later there's a thud, a hiss, and a muffled curse. He pulls the duvet away, squeezes his eyes closed as he remembers the offensive sunlight. One blink, two blinks, and it's bearable, mostly. Enough so that he can see her where she stands, balanced on one foot as she fights with her sock.

She frowns. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

He shakes his head. "Trying to make a clean getaway?"

She nearly snorts. "More like shift starts in half an hour and I'll never hear the end of it if I'm late."

He nods, gives a small smile as he catches her tone. Realizes she's just as disappointed as he is that she has to go to work. It's stupid, because he knows it's only a matter of hours before he sees her again, but he's in this place where things feel like maybe they'll be normal again some day and he just can't let go of the worry that if she leaves now, he'll never be able to drag her back to this place with him.

He doesn't need to worry though, because she's giving him this look, this silent promise like she's got some master plan to get out of work early or something. It calms him, for a minute.

"Text me when you're done at the doctor's?"

He nods, promises to do so and means it because he can tell she's got this thing about doctors and hospitals and yet she's also got this guilty look on her face, like she thinks she's hurting him by not going with him.

"I'm a big boy Jules, I can go on my own."

She rolls her eyes, picks his shirt from last night up from where it landed near the door and throws it at his face like she hopes it'll hurt him.

He laughs, moves from the bed and tugs on the first pair of track pants he finds.

"What are you doing?"

"Walking you to the door," he tells her, like she should have already known that.

She freezes at the doorway, lips twitching in a smile she has little control over. It's just so typically Sam, her Sam.

They get a call early in the day. Jules takes the lead negotiating, phone pressed to her ear as she takes a seat at the command truck desk next to Spike. While Spike's injuries aren't nearly as serious as Sam's, the physical evidence of them is much more clear. Whereas Sam has oddly shaped, though quickly fading, bruises, Spike's got crutches leaning against the wall next to him and a finger thoroughly bandaged. The bandages render his left hand mostly unusable but, ever the geek, Spike's got it covered. His right hand takes over all typing duties, his injury barely evident in the speed of his work, a smug smile plastered on his face. Turns out he broke his arm in his first semester of university and took it as an opportunity to master the art of one-handed typing. Jules gives a quick roll of her eyes as she waits for their subject - a man in his twenties, waving a gun about in a bank - to pick up the phone. Spike shoots her a grin as images from the bank's closed-circuit security fill the screens in front of them, adding a dramatic flourish with his bandaged hand.

She's about to tell him to focus when the ringing in her ear is cut short, a rough voice filling her ear with a question of "What?!"

She almost smiles. It's familiar territory, and a welcome change from all the uncertainty in her life right now. "This is Jules Callaghan with the Police Strategic Response Unit," she begins. She's got this.

They're on the way back to the barn before Jules gets around to turning on her personal cell. Thing is, even when they were sneaking around they didn't do much text messaging, so when the message that greets her is short, to the point, and more than a little awkward, all she can do is grin.

"Something to share with the class?"

She glances up from her phone, eyes wide and grin dropping from her face. "Huh?"

Sarge smirks. "Sam?"

"Yeah," she admits with a nod, stuffing her phone back in her pocket. "I asked him to let me know how his appointment went today."

"And?"

She rolls her eyes, tossing him a smirk. "Went fine, and he's ordering in tonight."

Sarge nods, though he looks doubtful. "Just fine?"

"That's what he says," Jules confirms, turning to stare out the window.

They ride in silence for a minute or two before Sarge decides to speak again. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"This whole thing with Sam - the memory loss and everything," he explains, turning to study her while they wait in traffic. "How are you doing with all this?"

"Fine," she says simply, almost happily. She fights off the smile as she realizes it's not a lie, not really. Sure, her life has been flipped upside down and the future that seemed so clear a month ago is now a fading dream, but she's not as bothered by it as she was before. Before last night. She's sure it's the dumbest thing she's ever heard, but something is different now. She's beginning to feel like they'll be just fine, even if he never remembers. Beginning to think that maybe they don't need things to go back to normal. Because this right now - this break from normal - seems to be going pretty well.

They've already had that quick conversation about how everything is healing fine, and the only way they'll know if his memory is going to return is if it returns. The question of does he remember anything lingers between them, though she has yet to ask it. He drums his fingers on the counter, figures she'll ask but wants to bring it up on his own. Seems to him that even though he's the one with amnesia, she's the one who has been doing the most fishing for information.

"I've been having a lot of dreams." It comes out quickly and he inwardly groans. It sounds like a simple statement, not meant to be followed or responded to and he hates that because he's spent the entire afternoon working up the courage to continue the conversation he was hoping that statement would start. She's there, waiting. Watching him with minimal curiosity, but giving him the distinct impression that she's willing to follow wherever he's going with this. Or not going.

He sighs, wonders if he can start over without making it obvious that he's terrified to get the answers to his mind's questions. "While I was at the doctor's office I asked about dreams I've been having. I'm sure you know that I'm not one for this dream analysis stuff, but I am curious as to whether these are dreams or some kind of skewed memories and- anyway he suggested I talk to you, see if you can clear anything up for me."

She gives a soft smile. In any other situation she'd throw a tell me about your dreams at him with a dramatic flare. Tonight though, she's exhausted. The day took its toll and left her never wanting to argue with anyone, least of all him, ever again. Add to that the nervous expression on his face, and the hesitance in his voice, and let's just say her curiosity has officially peaked. "Sure," she says simply, as she hands him a can of pop from the fridge before grabbing one for herself. When he smiles back with a grateful nod, she gestures to the living room.

When they're settled on the couch he hesitates again, fingers tapping on the pop can before stopping. He isn't sure, but he's got a feeling she's not a fan of that sound.

"Ok."

"Ok." She blinks, watches him as he tries to decide where to start. He's quiet for a few minutes before she feels obligated to help him along. "So, been dreaming eh?"

It's awkward as all hell and he laughs and decides just to go for it because, as he keeps reminding himself, this is a girl he obviously loved enough to buy a ring for and he has no reason to hide from her. He lets out a small hum as he ponders which dream to start with. "There's this one dream... I mean I only had it once and I'm thinking maybe the painkillers from the hospital had something to do with it but in it I... we... Have we ever..." he pauses, looks around as if to confirm that they are in fact the only people in the room. Still, he feels the need to lean in, whispering the second half of his question directly into her ear.

She gives a small snort, sends up a quick prayer of thanks that she hadn't just taken a sip of her drink as she shakes her head, laughing. "Nope. Never done that...there."

He nods, figured that was a long shot to begin with. Jules doesn't exactly give off the vibe of someone who fools around on briefing room tables, but the question has had the desired effect. The mood in the room is noticeably lighter, so he moves on to the dream that's been nagging at him daily. "Alright," he gives a small chuckle as his smile fades. "This other dream. Well. I can never quite tell where I am, except that we're on a roof downtown somewhere, on a call I think. I can never tell why but we're looking around, trying to figure something out..."

She's never thought the thought of her shooting would bring a smile to her face, a hopeful feeling to her chest, but as she watches him explain, in excruciating detail, the dream that's been plaguing him, she's proven wrong. If he's dreaming about it, something that most definitely did happen, then on some level he must remember. It's small - one day in a lifetime - but it's something, and she'll take what she can get.

She sees him pale, and he continues to describe a robotic SIU interrogation and an agonizing drive through the downtown core, ending with his description of her lying in a hospital bed struggling. She's not sure he's ever told her that side of things in so much...detail

"...and I just-Jules?"

She jerks at the sound of her name, realizes she's rather focused on his hands. Nearly flinches when one grazes her cheek until she notices the tears trekking down her cheeks. She's not entirely sure which aspect of the conversation - monologue, really - has brought her to tears.

Could be that he remembers. He remembers something from their life before, and in vivid detail nonetheless.

Could be what he remembers. Can't recall their first kiss, but he remembers her being shot. It's more than a little heartbreaking to think that that's the most lasting impression of their life together.

She finally finds his eyes wide, focused on her.

"So, I take it it's a memory."

She nods, frantically rubs at her cheeks. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to... I just, I wasn't expecting that."

He nods his understanding, throws an arm around her in hopes of comforting her, smiling when she leans into his shoulder and wraps an arm around him. "Hey, Jules?"

She nods, sits back slightly so she can see his face. "Yeah?"

He beams. "This means I remember something," he says simply, as though the thought has only now struck him.

She gives a small laugh, returns his smile before returning her head to his shoulder. "I know."