Wow. It's been a while. A lot has happened in the last year and a bit but I'm determined to get this story done for everyone who's been kind enough to favourite and review. I haven't written the next chapter yet but I'm planning for that to be the last one, barring any new ideas. I hope to get it up as soon as possible but I don't know when that'll be.

Thanks everyone for you patience with this story, we're almost there.

Spike hummed to himself quietly as he made his way down the unfamiliar corridor in the part of the hospital which housed the step-down unit that Sam had been moved to after his long stay in ICU. There had been much fanfare when Sam was finally wheeled out of the ward as the nurses and doctors who had treated him wished him well, and Spike had beamed when he saw Sam blush at the attention. Not one to be outdone, Spike had bought him the ugliest stuffed toy he could find in the hospital gift shop to decorate his new room, something that was probably supposed to be a dinosaur but had come out looking more like a deformed horse. Sam had made a show of being horrified by it, but smiled broadly at the present and tucked it down the side of his hospital bed.

It was one of the team's rare days off, which meant Spike could spend some of the day with Sam. For the first few days after his waking, Sam had been too exhausted to be very accommodating to visitors but he was slowly regaining some of his strength with the help of his physiotherapist, who spent the time between Sam's long bouts of sleeping helping him to stretch his stiff joints and build up the muscle mass that had wasted away while he lay immobile. Unsurprisingly, it was clear that Sam looked forward to these sessions immensely, often voicing his boredom at being stuck in bed all day and feeling frustrated at his lack of strength, determined to throw himself into the physical therapy with all the effort he could muster. Spike had always thought of Sam as a textbook example of someone with a serious A-type personality; if Sam was going to do something, he was damn well going to do it right.

Although Spike admired Sam's determination, it had already got him in trouble with his physiotherapist multiple times when he had tried to push himself too hard. The difference between the person Sam had been before he had been shot and the person he was after was vast, and as much as it was abundantly clear to the rest of the team, it was Sam who noticed it most keenly. The physiotherapist had told Spike that the people who were in peak physical condition before a long hospital stay were often the ones who struggled the most psychologically at the loss of strength, stamina and motor ability that came after. Getting back to who you were before was as much a mental battle as it was a physical one. The team could try to offer their moral support, but it was ultimately Sam who had to find this mental strength.

Arriving at Sam's hospital room, he found Sam in the middle of one of his sessions, wincing as the physiotherapist tested the motor strength in his legs. Spike smiled at seeing the dinosaur sat on the windowsill amongst a variety of get well cards sent by the team and other SRU members who wanted to wish him well.

"Looking good Sam," Spike commented, stopping to lean against the doorframe and wink conspicuously at his friend. Sam looked up and frowned at him briefly from his position on the bed, still concentrating on his exercises as his therapist exercised the muscles in his legs. Face straining with effort, Sam pushed his feet against the resistance of his therapist's hands in a kind of tug-of-war, trying not to allow his legs to be pushed back.

"Alright Sam, that's enough," the physiotherapist told him as Sam's leg dropped, and Sam sagged gratefully into the mattress, sweat already beaded across his forehead. "You think you can make it to the chair today?"

Sam eyed the chair next to his bed warily, obviously steeling himself for the arduous task. "Let's do it," he said determinedly, hoisting himself up with his left arm until he was fully seated. His right arm had to be immobilised in a sling when he had started physiotherapy due to the broken collarbone on that side. Sam slowly pulling his legs round to dangle off the side of the mattress, sweeping at his IV line to make sure that it was out of the way. Spike caught the grimace of pain that came with the effort as the movement aggravated his body, which was still healing from both the gunshot wounds and the life-saving measures that had been taken afterwards.

"Remember how we did it last time," the therapist reminded him as Sam readied himself. "Nice and slow, make sure you have your balance first." He watched carefully as his patient pushed off the mattress, ready to catch him if he should fall.

Spike left his position at the door and made his way closer to the bed, ready to assist if he was needed but trying not to look like he was expecting Sam to fall, aware that his interference wouldn't be appreciated by his headstrong teammate. Sam seemed not to notice, concentrating instead on lifting himself off of the mattress and onto his unsteady legs, his socked feet gripping the tiled floor to keep himself balanced.. He made it to his feet without any incident, but the chair was still a few painful steps away.

The therapist hovered at his left side, hand behind Sam's back in preparation for any stumble. "Alright good Sam, that's really good." Face scrunched in concentration, Sam shuffled shakily forward, only to pitch slightly to the side, catching himself on his physiotherapist's outstretched arm.

Spike, himself hovering slightly further away, instinctively moved forward to assist. "Here let me help, Sam," he offered, slipping a hand around Sam's waist for support.

"I got it, Spike," he huffed in frustration. Spike hesitated for a moment, still wary of a fall, and Sam shouted angrily, "Spike! I got it!"

Spike pulled away instantly and dropped his arm, taking a few steps back and trying not to look affronted at the anger in Sam's voice, understanding Sam's frustration and trying to be patient with him. It couldn't be easy to have an audience to his weakness. Something so simple as walking a few feet from the bed to the chair had become a herculean task for the normally fit Sam after his extended period in ICU, and Spike knew that Sam was having trouble accepting help for what should have been an easy activity. Sam, for his part, looked guilty at his reaction to Spike's assistance, scrunching his eyes harshly and rubbing at them angrily with his hand. Spike watched carefully from a distance.

"Maybe we should give it a rest for today?" Sam's therapist suggested patiently after a moment of silence, eyes flitting between Sam and Spike, whose arms were now held awkwardly at his sides as though he didn't know what to do with himself.

"No, I can do this," Sam said, this time calmly. To prove his point, he took three more shuffling steps forward until he reached the chair, then turned awkwardly to sit, still relying on his physiotherapist to keep himself upright. Finally, Sam flopped somewhat ungracefully into the chair and his muscles visibly unclenched in exhaustion as he lay his head back in relief, his breathing slightly laboured as he recovered from the effort. He rubbed at his chest lightly, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the physiotherapist.

"Alright, great job today Sam," his therapist told him. Sam only huffed in recognition of his words. "Do you need any more pain medication?" Sam was quick to shake his head in denial, quickly dropping his hand from his chest as if to hide the fact that it was causing him any pain.

His therapist sighed, obviously expecting the answer. "Well you have your morphine pump if you change your mind," he told him, and Spike eyed the button that was attached to the machine, allowing Sam to control his own dosage of medication. "I'll come back in an hour to help you back into bed, ok?" Sam nodded lightly and the therapist headed out, giving Spike a consoling pat on the arm as he went past, looking sympathetic.

Sam sat in silence for a few moments with his eyes closed as his breathing returned to normal and Spike leaned against the opposite wall, watching him closely but not saying anything. He took note, not for the first time, of Sam's pale and drawn features. Though the vast majority of the machines had gone, his body still showed the effects of his ordeal. He had lost a significant amount of weight during the past few weeks and his cheekbones were prominent against the waxy skin that was almost hidden behind his too-long hair, and Spike was sure that under his white t-shirt Sam's ribs would be easily visible. The bandages had gone down in bulk but the white gauze at the base of his neck was still glaringly obvious, a reminder of the cause of his hospitalisation. He frowned at his friend's appearance, not used to seeing him so unfit and unwell, accustomed rather to the restless and active police officer that he had come to know since he joined team one.

"I'm sorry Spike," Sam sighed quietly, eyes still closed. "I shouldn't have snapped at you." He finally opened his eyes to meet Spike's gaze and all Spike could see was a bone-weary exhaustion.

"Nah, don't sweat it Samtastic," Spike replied nonchalantly, pushing off the wall to sit nearer to Sam on the edge of the now-vacant bed. "I'm a big boy, I can take it," he smiled.

Sam didn't smile back.

"I see the way you guys look at me," he said, eyes closing again. Spike took a breath to speak but Sam got there first; "I know I'm pathetic. I can barely even make it to the goddamn chair," he hissed, knocking his head lightly against the back of the seat in anger at himself.

Spike looked at him evenly and weighed up his response, debating how to go about consoling his obviously frustrated friend."Sam, you know we'd never think that about you," he protested, but Sam only scoffed and turned his head away, picking absentmindedly at the fabric on the arm of the chair. "Sam I'm serious. Look at me."

Sam turned his head back somewhat reluctantly and looked at Spike sceptically, awaiting his words. "You got shot twice, spent three weeks unconscious and nearly died of blood poisoning. Lighten up, you should be dead," he joked, smiling cheekily at Sam.

Sam's mouth turned up in the slightest hint of a smile, but that was all Spike needed to raise his arms triumphantly into the air. "Victory!" he shouted, leaping off the bed dramatically. "He smiles once more!" Sam pushed at Spike half-heartedly but his smile widened as Spike patted his face lightly as though checking that his expression was genuine. "Sarge will be so proud," Spike said in a strained voice, wiping at his eyes as if he were wiping away tears.

"Yeah, yeah, leave me alone," Sam laughed, his features brightening at the familiarity of Spike's teasing. Spike grinned back and sat back on the bed, curling his legs under him in a way only children should be capable of.

"Seriously Sam," Spike said, looking sincerely at his team mate. "Believe me when I say that there has never been a single doubt in my mind that you can do this. We'll get you through this man," he promised.

Sam smiled gratefully. "I know buddy. Thanks." The two fell into a companionable silence and Sam was just on the verge of drifting off when Spike piped up.

"So what's the deal with you and Jules?"

A few days had passed since Jules had impulsively told Sam that she loved him for the first time and he had nearly hyperventilated in response. During that time Jules had been finding any way to make herself too busy to visit him in the hospital. She threw herself into work and spent almost every other moment she had spare in the SRU gym or doing menial tasks around the house, anything to keep her mind and body occupied.

Jules didn't regret for a second that she was in love with Sam, but she did regret her horrifically awful timing in telling him so. The last thing he needed right now was a distraction from his recovery process, which was the most important thing for him at the moment. Jules was just that; a distraction. She didn't want to pressure him into anything while he was so emotionally and physically fragile, so it was easier just to stay away.

If she was being completely honest with herself, that was only half the reason she was avoiding Sam. She was terrified that he might not be able to say that he loved her, or that if he did it wouldn't be the truth. So she worked as hard as she could during shift, and after shift she took her frustration out on the punching bag. Sarge had been sending her concerned looks during their last couple of shifts but so far hadn't commented on her behaviour. It had occurred to her, as it probably had to him, that it probably wasn't the healthiest way of dealing with the situation, but right now it was the easiest option.

It was a slow day for the SRU and Greg had finally taken pity on his bored officers and sent them out on patrol, much to their outspoken relief. Ed had kissed Greg dramatically on the cheek as he went past, leaving the boss with a comically sour expression on his face that left the rest of the team trying valiantly to stifle their laughter. Spike and Jules were paired up and a few minutes later the team pulled gratefully out of the SRU garages.

Jules watched the city go by from the passenger seat for a few minutes until she felt a tap on her arm. Looking round, she saw Spike motion at her to turn off her radio. Confused, Jules did as he asked. "I went to see Sam yesterday," Spike told her once his own comms were switched off, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in a restless manner typical of the Italian. Jules swallowed nervously, sensing where this conversation was going. "He said you haven't been to see him for a few days," Spike continued.

Jules heart sank at the comment and she turned her gaze to look out the window, away from her teammate. "Yeah, well I've been really busy Spike, I guess I just didn't have time," she offered lamely, aware that it was an awkward response, and an unconvincing one at best.

"Mmm-Hmm," Spike hummed sarcastically, and Jules looked round to see him smiling wryly. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You sure you haven't been really busy on purpose?"

Jules chose not to respond.

"He told me what happened, you know," Spike continued and Jules sighed deeply, realising that she could no longer avoid this conversation. Spike seemed determined to talk about it, and she knew that he wasn't likely to leave her alone until she gave him some kind of explanation.

"Look Spike, it's just better for Sam if I stay away right now," she told him steadfastly. "He doesn't need me complicating things for him."

Spike just looked at her in exasperation. "Did it ever occur to you that you're distracting him more by staying away?" Jules looked up confusedly. "He's stuck in that hospital waiting for you to come and see him. Don't you think he deserves for you to hear him out?"

Jules looked down at her hands guiltily, knowing that her absence wasn't fair on Sam. As much as it irritated her she knew that Spike was right. Even though she thought she was doing what was best for Sam, she was being selfish in avoiding the conversation that she knew they had to have. Sam didn't have much control over his weakened state, but he deserved to be able to have control over this at least.

Jules took a steadying breath. "Ok, I'll go and see him tonight."

Spike smiled warmly at her, giving her a comforting pat on the leg. "Just be there for him, Jules. That's all he needs right now."

After their shift was over, Jules skipped her therapy session with the punching bag and made her way straight to the hospital. The luxury of Sam being out of the ICU was that his visiting hours had been greatly extended, allowing the team and his sister to drop in when they wanted. Sam's parents had returned home a few days earlier, but his sister Natalie was staying at his apartment and dropped by the hospital regularly to keep her brother company.

Jules had to ask directions to Sam's new room and when she eventually arrived she saw that he was with his physiotherapist, going through the various breathing exercises he was required to do to dislodge the gunk in his lungs that had gathered with the test tube. Jules watched from outside as Sam coughed miserably, the mucus in his lungs making his cough wet and rattling.

In between one of his bouts he caught sight of Jules hovering outside the room, confidence wavering, unsure whether she was interrupting. Still caught in a grimace that she hoped was due to the coughing and not her presence, he gestured at her to come in. Jules entered the room warily, smiling as the physiotherapist noticed her.

"We're just about done here," he told her, "so you can stick around if you like."

Jules nodded and stood by the window, watching as Sam was made to hold his breath and exhale repeatedly. After each cycle he coughed harshly, and Jules couldn't help but smile at the comically disgusted look on his face as he spat out the dislodged mucus into a tissue.

After the physiotherapist was finished torturing Sam she watched as Sam held his chest, obviously in pain from the strain of the therapy. He looked at the button alongside his bed that was attached to his morphine pump, seeming reluctant to use it. Sam was the type of guy who preferred to tough it out without pain medication, and Jules almost rolled her eyes at the display of stubbornness.

"Don't be such an idiot," she told him with an exasperated smile, and Sam looked up in surprise at hearing her speak. "Just press the damned button, Sam."

Sam looked at his physiotherapist helplessly as if he was expecting for him to be on his side, but he just shrugged and smiled at Jules as he packed up and left, leaving her alone with Sam for the first time since that night in the ICU. Jules stared Sam down and after a moment her tough love seemed to work as Sam pressed the button with a frustrated huff, giving in to her instructions.

After a few seconds the pained crease in Sam's forehead disappeared as the morphine took effect, and his tensed muscles unclenched in relief. "Sorry about the whole mucus thing," Sam said wryly, interrupting the silence, his voice hoarse from coughing. "Not the most glamorous thing about physiotherapy," he joked, scratching at the back of his neck distractedly.

Jules said nothing, unsure now what to say next. She watched as Sam attempted to wriggle back under the sheets, struggling with his one usable arm. Reaching out, she helped him pull back the sheet and climb in, smoothing the sheets down absentmindedly once he was comfortable. When she glanced up she saw Sam looking at her with an expression that was half wistful and half helpless.

"Look, Jules..." he trailed off lamely, equally at a loss as to where to start.

"It's ok Sam," Jules helped out. "We don't need to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Jules," Sam huffed, "that's not what this is." He picked at a loose thread in his blanket nervously, eyes cast downwards. "I'm sorry that you had to see that," he continued, referring to the coughing fit and subsequent panic attack that had ended their last conversation. "It's not easy for me to have you see me like this," Sam said, gesturing gently at his weakened body. "I don't even recognise myself right now," he whispered sadly, eyes clenched tightly against the anger and frustration that was his constant companion.

Jules eyes softened. Sam was obviously embarrassed by his weakness, not used to having other people have to take care of him. She could only imagine how demoralising that must be for him. She picked up his free left hand, stroking her thumb across the back. "Sam, none of this is your fault." Sam scoffed in derision, uncomforted by the reality. It still didn't change his situation." And you know it doesn't make me love you any less," she told him softly, bringing his hand up to give it a gentle kiss. She realised belatedly that she had just told Sam she loved him for a second time, but the words had come out so naturally that she hadn't even had to think about it.

Her heart jumped as she saw a smile light up Sam's strained face. He said nothing for a moment, obviously thinking, just looking at their joined hands. "I love you too, Jules," he said quietly but firmly, twisting his hand around so that he could thread his fingers through hers.

Jules felt her smile widen impossibly at Sam's words. All the worry that had plagued her for the last few days now seemed impossibly stupid to her. How could she have doubted Sam? She felt him pull her gently towards him and she ended up perched on the bed next to him as he swept his hand lightly along her cheek to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, gazing at her adoringly in a way that made Jules' stomach churn. Leaning into his touch, she closed her eyes as her lips touched Sam's for the first time in what felt like forever. The kiss was exceedingly gentle and Jules didn't know if it was because Sam's energy was limited after his physiotherapy or if he was trying to convey all his emotion into the kiss. Either way, she couldn't have cared less.

All too soon, Sam pulled away sharply, breath rattling in his throat. Sam's lungs once more seemed determined to interrupt them. Jules left her perch on the bed to get him a tissue from the bedside table and he turned away to cough into it, bringing up more of the gunk from his lungs.

Jules rubbed his back patiently until Sam exhaustedly got rid of the tissue, leaning back wearily into the mattress, swallowing thickly against his aggravated throat. "Well that was romantic," he joked, looking embarrassed at the distraction. Jules just played with his hair absentmindedly as he drifted off, noting how it now hung over his face, having grown out considerably in the last few weeks. It made him look much younger, and with his face now relaxed in sleep, Jules could almost forget the hell he had gone through, and the struggles that still awaited him.

Taking a seat in the chair by Sam's bed and laying her head back contentedly, Jules watched Sam's chest rise and fall with his steady, even breaths and soon felt the pull of sleep herself. That was where Spike found her an hour later, smiling knowingly at their still-joined hands.