A/N: Wow, thank you all so much for your amazing reviews! This is the last chapter of this story; hopefully you'll be pleased with the conclusion. Since we've seen things progress through Andy's eyes thus far, I decided to let Sam wrap it up. This takes place a total of about three-ish years after 3x13, and yes, there are plenty of flashbacks to fill you in. I also decided to bring in and put a twist on one of the new Season 4 characters, for whom there's been speculation that I personally find unfavorable. :) Oh, and don't mind the Star Wars references; I can never resist the urge to give Sam a hidden dorky side. I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

He's never been one for having pictures around. There's a box in Sarah's attic that contains a pile of faded snapshots from their childhood, but it's not really something either of them like to remember in great detail, even if she's more skilled at talking about it than he is.

(She accused him once of wanting to believe that he sprang forth from the womb fully formed as a 20-year-old. His response: "Learned it by watching you.")

Even once he reached adulthood and started experiencing things worth remembering, it's rare that he's obtained pictorial evidence of them. (Not like one can really display a photo album of cherished memories in a cover apartment; there's something to be said for keeping one's story as close to the truth as possible, but that would be pushing it a little far.) It was only at Andy's insistence that he even gave the idea of adorning his desk a passing thought. She'd been in there a million times before she noticed the total absence of non-work-related paraphernalia, sitting on the edge of the wooden surface and chatting with him while waiting for him to finish up (his complaints that distraction was counterintuitive to actually leaving neither heeded nor emphatic), but she didn't bring it up until the day he was slammed and they were late for a realtor's appointment.

"Come on," she wheedled, gesturing to the bare desk. "You have to decorate. I mean, you actually have an office."

"I share an office," he countered, but eventually he promised that he would, just needed to find something that worked.

It's taken a while, but he's finally got it right, he thinks. (For now, anyway.) The frame on the left displays an enthusiastic Mason and a too-cool-for-this but still smiling Emma; they're crouched on the grass, flanking a shaggy black dog with oversized floppy ears and a face like Chewbacca from Star Wars. (Andy laughed at him for a full five minutes when he first made the reference; asked between gasping chortles if he ever dressed up for premieres or had light-saber battles with his friends. When she calmed down, telling him she was just joking about him being a sci-fi nerd and that she loved him, his reply of "I know" just set her off all over again.)

He gets the idea of it a little more now, of taking pictures for posterity and preservation. Likes having them around, now that there's a lot more to preserve.

On their first morning off together in weeks, Andy informs him that they're going on a field trip and she's driving. He briefly considers reminding her that they should probably be packing, or at least thinking about packing, but she's clearly beside herself with excitement about this little surprise, and he has a feeling that he'll lose the argument no matter what. So he pours his coffee into a travel mug and heads out to the truck.

Once they're on the road, she asks him about Boo Radley – why he's always loved it for a dog. "And I don't want to hear 'I don't know' or 'It's more original than Rover'," she warns.

He takes a deep breath and starts at the beginning. How he was assigned to read the first two chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird as homework back in junior high, but how he couldn't put it down and powered through the entire book that night. (How he read the whole thing three more times before his class got through it once.) How Boo Radley had always resonated with him as painfully misunderstood and engaged in a constant struggle between the walls around him and his desire to care for others; how close to home that still feels. How in the end, Boo emerges from the shadows as an unassuming protector – which is where bestowing the name on a dog comes into play. "It's what that big slobbery pain in the ass did for Sarah when he were kids," he reflects. "Cleo kind of did it for me, too. Protected us from whatever we couldn't think about, couldn't handle."

She's quiet for a long moment, her hand coming to rest on his thigh. "What if the dog we end up with is ten years old and can't adapt to a new name?" she asks finally. "Or it's, like, a fluffy little Pomeranian?"

"We're not getting a Pomeranian," he says decisively.

"Ah," she chides, "you said whatever I wanted."

"You want a stupid yappy furball?" he responds incredulously. "And anyway, when are we getting this dog?"

She flips on the turn signal and pulls into a parking lot. "Right now."

"Wait, what?"

Eventually they make their way inside the shelter and approach the front desk. "Hi, Kelly," Andy says with a glance at the staff member's nametag. "I called yesterday about the profile on your website…"

The young woman's face lights up. "Oh, yeah! Andy, right? You guys can follow me, Boomer's out back getting some exercise. This is so great, he's the best dog."

As Andy starts after the woman, Sam pulls her back. "Boomer?"

Andy shrugs. "Apparently it's easier to change a dog's name when you start with something kind of similar or shorten it. And he looks so cute in the pictures, come on…"

"Wait, wait, wait," he protests. "If you planned this before I even told you about Boo Radley, then what was all that stuff about ten-year-old Pomeranians on the way here?"

She smiles, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Just keeping you on your toes."

"Any more time on my toes and I'll be trying out for the city ballet, McNally," he mutters – but he can't conceal his grin as they head out to meet the dog that's about to become theirs.

Boo's a good boy – an ideal mix of traits from Schnauzer and poodle and whatever else composes his diverse background. He doesn't beg for table scraps or gnaw on shoes or pee where he's not supposed to; has abundant energy for walks and playtime, but settles down on his big fleece dog bed as soon as he sees them heading upstairs for the night. He's so obedient, in fact, that Sam imagines he could be coaxed into doing anything – although Andy nixed the ring-bearer idea in about three seconds flat.

Still, he thinks as his gaze drifts toward the center photo on his desk, as potentially amusing as that might have been, he has no complaints about that day. Neither of them even knew Epstein had his camera aimed in their direction until they saw their friends' pictures weeks later, but it's hands down his favorite. He and Andy are seated together toward the end of the night, the bowtie of his tux undone and hanging around his neck ("Very nice, brother, very James Bond," he remembers Oliver commenting with tipsy approval). He's gazing down at her with a gentle grin; her own smile radiant, eyes closed as her head rests on his shoulder. Every time he sees it, he thinks that despite its defying all logic, he should've found a way to say to hell with the complications and ask her a long, long time ago.

Maybe it's the lack of sleep, but he first realizes he wants this – as in seriously, rest-of-his-life wants this – the sixth or seventh time he wakes her up post-concussion. There's no earthly reason that her drowsy presentation of a double-handed rude gesture should lead to a sudden overwhelming desire to marry her, but there it is. He decides to tuck the feeling away for the time being, though; patience being a virtue and all of that, he'll wait until he's reasonably certain they're on the same page with everything. So as soon as she utters the phrase 'for good', he considers it a green light.

They decide pretty quickly to look for a new place, because she's technically not supposed to have pets (although she continually reminds him that her neighbor totally snuck in two ferrets and no one cares) and he lives too far away from the division for her to walk on a regular basis. (He reminds her that living together means driving together most of the time, and it's not like they can't look into getting her a car if she wants one, but she's unimpressed: "I like to walk.") His house is on the market for nine days before someone offers the asking price, while her co-op building helps her find a buyer for the condo, so it just comes down to finding someplace on which they can agree.

Andy immediately dismisses the first two houses they're scheduled to see, refusing to even get out of the car for the second one. (He can't decide if he wants to slam his head on the steering wheel or get down on one knee right there; has a feeling that if things work out like he's hoping, he should expect similar dilemmas for the next fifty years or so.) Third time's apparently a charm, though, because she instantly falls for the brick split-level they pull up to. He talks to the owner, makes sure the place has been kept up-to-date and that the recent renovations were done by someone fairly competent; once he's convinced that the place isn't a total money pit, he just watches her wander around inside, waxing ecstatic over the wood-burning fireplace and the cushioned seats built in beneath the bay windows. She looks at him hopefully, and he nods. Their offer is accepted not long after.

During the process of moving, of closing dates and escrow and packing (all the mutual decisions they have to make about what to keep while consolidating their possessions are about as smooth as sandpaper on broken glass), he has a furtive side project of his own going on. Nash catches him scrolling down a Google results page for 'how to buy an engagement ring' – apparently it wasn't safer to research at work – and after ten minutes of "Oh my God, are you serious?!", offers her assistance. He wavers, but the next day she hands him a case file filled with articles on the four C's of diamonds. "Jerry used these when… You know, he'd be really happy about this," she tells him, her smile slightly wistful but sincere.

So he reads, takes into account all three thousand variables the articles mention, and realizes that he's even less sure of what to do than before he started. (Square zero seems like an accurate descriptor of his position.) In the end, he throws himself on the mercy of a sympathetic jeweler and hands the file folder back to Nash with half a dozen pictures of rings inside. Ten minutes later, she drops it on his desk, one image circled several times in red ink and followed by a bunch of exclamation points. It costs him years' worth of poker winnings and then some, but he couldn't care less.

He thinks about coming up with some slick or clever proposal, maybe paying a pizzeria to spell out the question in toppings, but his inability to consider it without cringing leads him to realize that he's just not that guy. So he bides his time until they move in, giving it an extra week until they're basically unpacked and settled. She's been dropping hints about a housewarming party since they closed on the place, the comments becoming more frequent and less subtle as time has elapsed; he decides that's going to be his game plan.

She's in the backyard throwing a tennis ball to Boo when he gets home from work; he heads outside, leaning over the railing of the deck. "Hey."

She looks up briefly, grins and waves. "How was your day?"

He shrugs, starting down the steps to the yard. "The usual." He has no intention of being derailed with small talk right now. "Come here a second."

She begins to make her way over to him, the tennis ball still in her hand; Boo follows, sitting and looking up at her expectantly once she stops. "Yeah?"

He exhales, the box concealed in his hand behind his back. "I was thinking about the housewarming."

"Really?" She smiles. "When do you want to do it? Because I thought we could…"

"That's the thing," he interrupts, flipping the box open with his fingers. "I was wondering if… maybe instead, we could have a different kind of party here." He brings the box around, tilts it so the late afternoon sun reflects off the diamond.

She goes dead still, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Boo eventually starts nosing at her hand impatiently; she fires the tennis ball across the yard without removing her gaze from the ring. "I don't know what to say."

He chuckles, just this side of nervous. "My suggestion would be 'yes', but, uh… up to you."

"No, I mean…" She's incredibly flustered now, looks like she's about to jump out of her skin. "I don't know what to say, because… you actually have to ask."

He grins; how he managed to forget the key component in all of this, he'll never know. "Marry me, Andy?"

She starts nodding, slow giving way to vigorous. "Yes." Tears are gathering in her eyes. "Yes, of course, I…" She's in his arms almost instantly, the ring on her finger and Boo temporarily left to his own devices.

He's serious about the 'different kind of party,' likes the idea of something down-home and simple. She's of a similar mindset; in their experience, plans for elaborate weddings, destination or otherwise, seem to go down in flames more often than not. Sarah congratulates them warmly when he calls to tell her; after asking about their fledgling ideas, she begins a rapid-fire conversation (mostly with herself) about tents and caterers.

They somehow pull the thing off in six weeks – no attendants or string quartets or any of that, just thirty relatives and close friends on rented chairs in their yard. (His mom makes the trip from St. Catharines with the rest of his family; the ceremony is about all she can handle before Rob drives her back to the hotel, but she still looks happier than Sam can remember seeing her at any point in the last several decades.) They eat; they dance a little; Oliver drinks too much and makes an incoherent but highly entertaining speech. It's pretty much everything he could've asked for, and if the glow in Andy's cheeks from start to finish is any indication, the feeling is mutual.

"You good?" he asks her quietly after everyone leaves. His jacket lies forgotten on a chair, her shoes resting nearby in the grass.

She smoothes the gauzy white fabric of her dress, smiles up at him. "Never better."

He never saw himself as the marrying kind. No one else did, either, apparently; it's part of the reason things became so strained between Zoe and him. (They got along like gangbusters for years, until Izzy's best friend's dad ran off with another woman and Zoe came up with the irrational but unbending belief that perpetual bachelors were a bad influence.) But it turns out that he kind of really is. Marital status aside, he knows damn well that he's only had eyes for Andy for years – everyone who's ever spent more than twenty minutes in their presence knows that, probably – but something about making it official really seems to agree with him. With both of them.

About three months after they got hitched, a new training officer transferred in; tried to bet him on her third day that she could get a suspect to crack faster than he could, then said a bunch of cryptic stuff to him about some fancy pizza place if she won. Not that he's ever considered himself especially dense, but it took him a good long while to figure out that she was flirting. She's new, he told himself. She doesn't know. Still, he was wearing a wedding ring, for Christ's sake, and who would… When he handed Marlo the case file to finish up her paperwork from the arrest, he made sure his left hand was prominently displayed, politely responding to her suggestion, "Good work, Officer."

He downplayed the little there was to discuss when he mentioned it to Andy; he was hardly an expert in marriage-related communication at that point (still isn't), but he knew enough to be aware that things would be rather uncomfortable if he didn't disclose it and she found out later. Andy loathed the idea of being insecure about that kind of thing, so he wasn't too surprised when she laughed it off. Still, she was pretty much all over him for the rest of the night; parked herself on his lap while they were watching TV and refused to move even after her leg fell asleep. (It got so bad that he had to carry her upstairs.)

The next day, she was riding with Marlo. (Do you think the universe has a plan for us? he remembers her asking. Yes, he wanted to answer now, and it involves my hair turning prematurely gray.) He warily texted her around lunchtime, the standard how's your day going that wasn't out of the norm, but he cringed a little when she replied, Fine. I'm gonna kill her, but fine. She kept it together and professional despite her apparent internal stewing, though, with no mention of any of it until they were back at the barn at the end of shift. Sam waited for her outside the locker room; she grinned and took his hand before turning back to Marlo and asking with a deadly sweet smile, "You meet my husband yet?"

The whole thing is tremendously unlikely – the idea of someone like him and someone like her making it work despite their backgrounds and differences – but it works. And speaking of unlikely… The rightmost frame is the most recent addition to his desktop. Andy took that one; she's ridiculously skilled at wielding the camera while simultaneously coaxing a smile out of her most frequent subject. Tufts of dark downy hair, Andy's eyes and his nose, a tiny fist pressed into a toothless laughing mouth – it's more or less a miracle he gets any work done at all when he's got that to look at.

"That was my doctor," Andy announces, walking into the room as she puts away the cordless phone. "My pill got recalled."

It's two days after their first anniversary; they went out to dinner, though she insisted on skipping dessert in lieu of stale, freezer-burned wedding cake. (He choked down one bite; she made it through three before admitting that some traditions have no place in the modern world. They ended up going on an ice cream run, fancy-restaurant clothes and all.)

He looks up from the electric bill. "Huh?"

She sighs and takes a seat beside him at the kitchen table. "Apparently a bunch of studies showed excessive side effects. Like, of the potentially fatal nature. So it's off the market now, and we have to figure out something else."

He raises an eyebrow; she's always insisted that this be her responsibility, based on the fact that she's got a lot more options available. "Did the doctor mention what else there is?"

She shrugs. "There are a few choices, but I don't really like any of them. Or I could start with another brand, but… I don't know. How long before the next one turns out to be horrible and gets recalled, you know? I mean, I could, if you're more comfortable sticking with what we've been doing, but…"

"Your body. You don't want to take something, I'm sure as hell not gonna make you."

She nods slowly. "I guess… I mean, there's always the option of just not doing anything for a while. We've always kind of said, 'if it happens, it happens', right? And I've been on the pill for more than five years. It usually, you know, takes a while for things to sort of regulate themselves when you first stop taking it."

Three weeks later, as they stare at a tiny pink plus sign on a plastic stick, he can't help but remark, "Looks like things are pretty well-regulated, sweetheart."

"Shut up," she mutters. "Just… Shit, Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't think there was any way that we'd…"

"Hey," he says, turning her to face him with both hands on her shoulders. "Don't do that. This isn't a bad thing, it's… if it happens, it happens, right?"

She leans toward him, her forehead bumping into his. "Right. Not a bad thing."

He believes it, but it doesn't mean he isn't terrified. As soon as he thinks he's got his head wrapped around the idea, they go for the first appointment; the sight on the ultrasound screen of a tiny alien-like blob, complete with rapid flutter of a heartbeat, obliterates his tentative composure. He keeps up a calm appearance for Andy's sake – after her initial reaction, she's been taking things in stride, and he'd like to do whatever he can to keep it that way – but he's pretty much losing his mind.

"Andy's pregnant," he blurts out the second Oliver walks into the house, early for poker night. (She's out – dinner plans with Tommy.)

Oliver smiles, pats him on the back. "Congrats, brother. You happy?"

Sam nods. "Sure. Sure." He hesitates. "It's, uh… I feel like I'm gonna pass out every time I think about it."

Oliver laughs. "Yeah, happened to me three times. You'll be fine."

"What do I… look, man, I have no idea what to do."

"Read the books." Oliver looks unconcerned. "And don't worry – this all goes away after the kid's actually here."

"Seriously?"

"Yep." Oliver nods sagely. "Then you have a whole new bunch of stuff to be terrified about."

Andy starts showing; goes on desk duty. She doesn't complain about it once, though Sam's fairly certain it's driving her nuts. For his part, he reads the books, goes to the classes, manages not to roll his eyes when the Lamaze instructor refers to him as 'the birth guardian.' He sits with Andy when she's not feeling so hot (it doesn't take long before she gets over her refusal to let other people, namely him, see her getting sick); once her appetite comes back, he ensures they're well-stocked in her cravings du jour. (They're not as weird as he anticipated, but he can't say he could've predicted the two-month-long eggplant phase.) Once she starts feeling the baby move, she calls him over at every available opportunity to place a hand on her belly. Every time, it's completely bizarre – and the coolest thing he's ever experienced.

When she goes into labor, he's in his fifth consecutive hour of interrogating an infuriatingly uncooperative suspect; he considers it divine intervention to prevent him from strangling the guy. Nash takes over in the interview room, and he high-tails it home, helping her into the truck along with the bag that's been packed and sitting by the door for weeks. Once she's checked in, ugly hospital gown on and monitor strapped across her torso, he cannot for the life of him recall what the stupid fucking books say he's supposed to do – so he plays it by ear. Holds her hand during contractions, rubs her back when the pressure starts to build up, obligingly leaves the room when she screams at him that she never wants to see him again – but remains close enough so that he can go back in when she tearfully calls out for him two seconds later.

"This is all normal during transition," the nurse attempts to reassure him the third time it happens.

He runs a hand through his hair, surprised more of it hasn't yet fallen out. "Yeah, normal's not really what we do best."

But then the doctor comes in, announcing that it's time to push, and Sam watches Andy turn into a different person entirely – one who both amazes and scares the hell out of him. Suddenly, there's Leah, messy and squalling at the top of her lungs, and it's exactly like Oliver said and then some.

Every sleepless night that follows, the bathtimes and feedings and the shockingly strong grip of her little fingers wrapped around one of his own, he realizes all over again that he never knew he could love like this. And watching Andy with her from the doorway of the nursery, Leah asleep in her arms as she sits in the rocking chair… yeah, he's pretty hard-pressed to think of any better image.

"So did you actually get anything done today, or did you just sit there and stare at all the pretty pictures?"

He looks up, startled; grins when he sees Andy in the doorway, already out of uniform. "I'll have you know these were your idea."

She shrugs. "To be fair, I thought you were less distractible – but that's okay." She smiles. "You about ready?"

"Yeah, give me a minute to finish up."

He saves a few files on the computer and stands up, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. Overtime has been something of a way of life at Fifteen as of late, so it's already dark by the time they get out to the parking lot. "What time are we picking up Leah from your dad's?"

"He said whenever; he doesn't have plans tonight. He knows it's been a long week for us, so he's going to get her fed and bathed and all that."

Sure enough, Leah's in her pajamas and falling asleep in Tommy's arms when Sam rings the bell. She passes out in her car seat, not even stirring when he lifts her up again to bring her into the house. They both watch her for a minute after placing her in her crib, her chest rising and falling as her hands curl into fists up on either side of her face. Boo follows them into the nursery, curling up on the floor beside the crib; it's been his new favorite spot since the day they brought Leah home. "It shouldn't be this mesmerizing," Andy whispers. "I mean, sleeping baby – who'd think that could generate so much interest?"

He just grins, hand on her back. Eventually, they turn up the monitor and shut off the lights, heading back downstairs.

"We should figure out something for her birthday party," Andy remarks once they're in the kitchen. "I mean, I know she won't remember it, but you only turn one once, right?"

He nods. "We'll come up with something, we still have a few weeks. God, what a day."

"I know." She sighs. "Did you eat already? I got roped into ordering Chinese a couple hours ago, but at least Eric paid. Probably to make up for the fact that he's hopeless at paperwork."

"Now you understand why having a rookie is awesome and frustrating at the same time." He smiles and starts toward the cabinets. "I had a sandwich. If you want, I was thinking we could maybe crack open that wine we've been saving for a night like this?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'd rather not."

"No?" He looks up at her, surprised.

"I, uh…" She looks shy suddenly, a tentative smile playing on her lips. "I don't think I'm going to want any wine for a while, actually."

"Really." He's trying not to think too hard about where this is going, although… "How long is a while?"

"You know." The smile widens. "Nine months or so."

He laughs, walking toward her. "Are you serious?"

She puts her hands up, nods.

"When did you…" He rests a hand on her cheek.

"Annual physical today," she says. "You know how they do the chest X-ray? When you have two X chromosomes, they have to make sure you're not pregnant first."

"You didn't get the X-ray."

"No, I didn't," she grins. "So, um… so you're okay with that, then?"

He gently backs her up against the counter, presses his lips to hers. "Yeah, Andy. More than okay."

She loops her arms up around his neck, head leaning down against the crook of his shoulder. When he pulls back to look at her a few moments later, she's laughing, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she assures him. "Just… who'd ever have thought we'd be doing this for the second time around?"

"Mmm, I don't know," he shrugs. "I'd say second time around has been pretty good to us."

A few years ago, he asked for a chance, having no idea then that it could potentially lead to this. He wouldn't trade it, though. Would wait twice as long if he had to do it all over again.

This is worth it.