Author Note: This is a short and sweet fic that I've just had to write ever since I saw Ghost in London late last year. There is a possibility that I'll come back to this and add on chapters much later. Enjoy!

"I love you". Just three little words. That was all Molly was wanting to hear from me. As we began the short stroll back to our apartment, hand in hand, in the damp, crisp city air, I found myself regretting not uttering the words that she often spoke to me. There was a perfect opportunity to really tell her like I meant it, back at the restaurant, and I'd blown it. Instead, I'd taken the instinctive choice of saying "Ditto". As I repeated it in my mind now, I realised that it sounded childish, bland, meaningless. Yet, I've never found it easy to say the three little words that I hear people throw around daily, often without true meaning. It's like saying "I'm sorry,". It's a phrase that is overused and often carelessly thrown around in situations where it isn't truly meant. It's a phrase seen as a lifering to rescue you from an awkward, sticky situation. "I love you" is the same. I guess I refuse to say it to Molly because I fear it will lose its true meaning, its true power. And I want her to always know how much I adore her. So, I choose alternative ways of conveying my love for her, ways in which will reflect my true affection for her and will never fade, never lose their meaning. At night, when we turn off the light, I hold her close, breathing in the floral fragrance of her shampoo that lingers in her flaxen curls, feel her warm body radiate my own. In the morning, I slip carefully from the covers so as not to disturb her and prepare her favourite breakfast of scrambled eggs before I leave for another day at the office. Even just the simplest thing I do, such as holding her in my embrace as we watch TV represents my love for her, my dear Molly. Sometimes, actions can speak bigger than words. Yet, she still insisted: "Sometimes I need to hear it, Sam".

As we continued to walk in silence, I gently caressed her soft hand with my thumb. Her hazel eyes met mine and she stopped and smiled that beautiful, warm, genuine smile that I adored. She knew I loved her. Deep down in her heart, she knew I would do anything for her, that I was truly devoted to her.

"Hey you!"

A booming voice startled us both then. I scanned the dark street, searching. There appeared to be nobody around. We were alone. It was then that a broad figure swaggered out from the shadows, smirking.

"Yeah….I'm talking to you!"

His gruff voice, set in a mocking tone, was tinged with a ghetto twang that belonged to the Lower East Side. My eyes were drawn to the sinister black skulls he had inked on either shoulder that he chose to show off by wearing only a fluorescent yellow vest, accompanied by a pair of black jeans. A biting chill had suddenly developed in the air. I felt Molly's tense grip on my arm, her manicured nails sinking into my skin. The sparkle that I had seen in her eyes moments before had been snuffed out, replaced with wide-eyed fear.

"Sam, oh my God," she murmured, burrowing her head into my shoulder.

I swallowed hard, forcing down the shaky voice that was threatening to take over. I had to keep my cool. For Molly.

"Just let me handle this," I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she began to slink behind me.

"Yo' wallet!" the thug demanded, his hungry eyes on the slight bulge at my rear jean pocket. I hesitated.

"Give it to him!" was Molly's desperate plea.

"Alright, alright," I fumbled in my pocket for my wallet. Yet I knew I couldn't surrender it. It was too important. Hands shaking, I dug out all of my money and held it out to him.

"Look, you just take my money. You just leave my wallet, ok?"

I felt the sweat forming on my forehead. Please, God. Let him take the money. Please let him leave me and Molly alone. Please, God, please!

"I said, your goddamned wallet!"

The stranger lunged at me in his fury. As we scuffled, I shoved Molly further away. I didn't want her to get hurt. I had to protect her. He scratched and clawed in his attempts to snatch my wallet, still tightly gripped in my hand and he began to shout and rant in incomprehensible Spanish. Then, words I did understand.

"I kill you!"

I struggled under his weight and frantically thrashed my arms and legs, desperate to free myself. But he proved overpowering.

"Stop it please!" came Molly's begging sobs.

She didn't need to see this. I needed to get her as far away as possible so he couldn't touch her.

"Molly, get out of here! Get out of here, Molly!"

Then, I felt the man reached into his jean pocket and Molly gasped.


An explosion pierced the air, the noise reverberating in my ears, over and over. Disorientated, I took a minute or so to find my bearings and found myself in a state of confusion. I yelled after the thug as his shadow dashed away into a nearby alleyway.

"Hey! Hey!"

Then, I turn my attention to Molly, crouched on the wet ground. It frightens me to hear her sobbing uncontrollably.

"Oh God, Sam!"


"Call an ambulance, please!" she begged, her tears slicing through her words, choking her up.

Ambulance? That son of a bitch has hurt my Molly!

"Molly? Are you alright?!"

When she doesn't respond, continuing to tremble violently, I let my gaze wander to the crumpled blue shirt just visible in front of her. My heart misses a beat. That's my shirt, the smartest one I could find that still looked kind of casual for our dinner out. I stagger back. Molly is kneeling in front of my body. My limp, unmoving body. Several people have now approached, alerted by Molly's cries for help. One man begins administering CPR.

"Is he breathing? Come on, Sam! Breathe!"

Nausea washed over me and it was then I realized I felt stone cold.


Why can't she hear me? Why can't she see that I'm standing right beside her? That I'm okay? I am breathing, I am alive. I am here, yet I feel so detached, so disconnected from me, from Molly, from our lives. Like I'm stuck in limbo…it was like I was watching my life unfold in the distance.

"Oh God…I'm losing you. Don't you leave me, Sam! Don't leave me…". Molly pleads, caressing my hair. I touch the same part of my hair, where her soft, delicate fingers are entwined.


Then, she proceeds to rest her head on my chest, her soft blonde curls falling gracefully across my face. I used to love how it tickled my cheeks, how it always smelled of vanilla and whipped aloe. Yet, now, when I find myself craving the comfort of having her close, I am somehow rendered senseless.

I can't feel her quivering hands, stroking my cheek…

I can't smell her luscious hair…

I can't taste her sweet kisses as her lips envelope mine…

My Molly has been stolen from me.