Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue in and way, shape or form.

Rated: T, as always, because I am always cautious. But besides being seriously angst-ridden, I think it's actually more like a K or K+.

A/N: Seriously, there aren't words to describe how sorry I am for falling off the grid in this fandom and leaving this little series unfininished; so I won't waste too much time and space apologizing. But really, I am so sorry.

This oneshot follows on from not enough, yet still too much and finding the nerve and pushing through. I don't think it will make any sense without reading the preceding parts.

Anyways, I've finally completed this threequel and have brought this mini-journey of Andy and Sam to an end.

I hope you enjoy!

Two days later, it's back to business as usual.

As though she didn't just cancel her plans to move in with a man and turn down his proposal; as though everything had gone according to plan; as though she didn't just break that same man's heart; as if she's not completely torn up inside for all the wrong reasons.

"So, how did it go?" Traci asks just before they duck into parade.

Her only response is a quiet, "It didn't," which garners a look of confusion from her best friend that she isn't in any state to resolve. Lucky for her, Best begins pre-shift briefing, telling them about a series of jewelry store robberies in the area and giving them their assignments.

She's paired with Sam – no surprise there – and Best tells them to serve, protect, and nail these smug bastards before sending them on their way. Traci tries to intercept her but she sends her a small, fake smile and makes her way quickly out the door to get a coffee and meet Sam at the car.

He comments lightly on her unusual promptness, obviously making an effort to slip back into their old banter, but she just mumbles a half-assed excuse as she slips into the passenger seat of the cruiser.

(Okay, so it was supposed to be back to business as usual. But in real life there are complications, and external factors, and it's never as straightforward and simple as one wants it to be. She doesn't know why she thought for a moment that today would be any exception.)

Their silence is definitely an uncomfortable one.

Neither of them breaks it.

-o-o-

She wishes she could say that she confronts him after shift that day. But she doesn't, because she's a coward, and she's still too broken to make any promises or expect any in return.

They continue on in much the same way for weeks. With time they begin speaking a little more, but there's no easy back-and-forth and the sense of comfort she used to feel is gone. It's forced, and they both know it. He drives, always, and she doesn't even bother to contest that fact anymore. (Sometimes he looks at her right after they get in the cruiser, pausing – as if not only expecting her to raise the issue, but hoping for it – but when she says nothing he simply turns the key in the ignition and drives out of the lot.

Her friends know that something's up. She had to eventually admit to Traci that she broke it off with Luke after he proposed, but she twisted the facts to make it seem as though the proposal was the turning point; that the image of an unwelcome future was what made her realize that she couldn't go through with any part of it. Traci accepted this, and claimed that she never thought very highly of Luke anyway.

But she gets concerned looks from the other rookies when she turns down the offer of joining them at The Black Penny after every shift. "Really, guys, I'm tired. I'm just not up to drinking the night away," she continually waves them off.

She knows she has to decline, because the more time she spends around Sam, the more likely it is she's going to crack. Still, every night she regrets her decision, because time left alone with her own thoughts is almost as dangerous as time with the object of those thoughts.

One night she finds herself sitting on her couch, arms wrapped around her midsection, staring at an old bottle of Brandy sitting on her coffee table.

She's confident enough in herself to know that she won't pick up the tumbler and open the bottle, but she hates herself a little bit for even leaving the option open for now and for the future. She's seen firsthand what the consequences of burying your thoughts in a bottle will do to a person. There just shouldn't be a question of whether or not she's going to sit at home alone and drink hard liquor; she shouldn't even have it.

But there it sits, and there it will remain until she can work up the courage to open her mouth and quell her inner demons.

-o-o-

She's looking out the window as the city passes by them when it happens.

In the scheme of things, it's no big deal at all. But in that moment, when she unthinkingly reaches forward and flips the station to something that hurts her ears less than whatever Sam had on … in that moment, it's huge.

"I'm pretty sure we've had this conversation, McNally," Sam remarks dryly. "My car: my tunes."

"Well maybe if you had better taste in music, it wouldn't be an issue," she quips back, smirking, as if it's no big deal that she's suddenly decided to begin speaking – really speaking – to him again.

"I'll have you know, McNally," he begins, proceeding to inform her of every reason why his taste in music is clearly superior.

It's not perfect, and it's not quite the same as it was before, but there's a trace of that familiarity and nuance that once defined all of her interactions with Sam. It's not enough, but it's something, and that's more than she's had for far too long.

(And it's only diminished slightly by the frequent sideways glances he sends her, with a toned-down look that seems similar to one a person might have while seeing the sun after six months of darkness: happily surprised but weary, afraid that it might vanish at any moment.)

-o-o-

Their silence today is a more comfortable one, broken by unimportant, but pleasantly sarcastic, chatter as they patrol.

His fingers unwillingly tap to the beat of the music she's chosen today, and she'd had to hold back a victorious smile when she'd first noticed. Things around them appear calm, though they're only a few minutes out from the station after arresting and booking two young, seedy men on possession charges.

There's no conscious decision at first. It's as if her mouth opens of her own accord and his name tumbles out. "Sam" – but there she stops, biting her lip and looking down.

A moment of silence, and then, "Yeah, McNally?" followed by a curious and possibly concerned look from her partner before he has to turn his eyes back to the road in front of them.

She wasn't planning on bringing it up … not so soon (at least, it still feels soon to her), and perhaps not ever. But there's something about this moment, as commonplace as it is, that just feels right. Maybe that it's so familiar; that it's so alike that conversation a few months ago, when they were sitting in the same squad car, sparks flying in the air between them as he told her that a position in Guns and Gangs had opened up.

With that in mind, she mustered what courage she could from somewhere inside of her that she'd yet to realize existed, and finally asked:

"Sam, why did you turn down that spot in Guns and Gangs?"

Whatever he was expecting from her, this clearly wasn't it. He turns his head, looking into her eyes but keeping his lips pressed tightly together, until the light they were stopped at turns green and the car behind them finally dares to honk at the police.

It's out there now, in the open, and she's still anxious and a little regretful for having brought it up, but at the same time it's as though a weight has been lifted off of her shoulders.

Whatever his answer is, she will still have asked the question, and the uncertainty can no longer haunt her thoughts when she's alone at night in her apartment.

He takes a breath, clearly steeling himself, before swallowing thickly and answering:

"You."

Time doesn't stop, and the world doesn't stop turning. There is no great shift in the universe. They are still far from having laid all their cards down on the table; they're both still too guarded to risk that level of vulnerability yet. But when they stop at the next light, and they look at each other – really look at each other – clearly for perhaps the first time, she knows.

This is enough.

It's not everything; it's not even close. There are still so many questions that have yet to be voiced. There are still a million possible answers just waiting on the tips of their tongues.

But it's enough; it's so much more than enough. Maybe it's been enough for a long time and she just didn't know it.

There are no declarations, and no positives; there are no absolutes, and there is nothing set in stone. But within all the variables and uncertainties, there is a constant, and there are possibilities.

They are the constant, and their possibilities are refreshingly endless … and that's definitely enough for now.

The end.

For real this time, I promise.

I hope you enjoyed, even though it was still very angst-y and melancholy, with no closure ... well, at least there was a burning ray of hope at the end, right? (I hope?)

Please review!