Once upon a time, MD14 hopped out of the shower to jot down two little snippets of conversation in her head. She sent them to me and I tried to fill in some blanks for her to map out a storyline. Then she was able to con me into co-writing it. And now she has conned me into posting it on here. (It was originally posted on LiveJournal.)

I have been noticeably absent on here for a couple of reasons - 1) Season 4 did a number on me and my muse and 2) I was disheartened by the anon hate.

I haven't written much this past year because of a lack of McSwarek inspiration, but this is the first of I think 5 stories that I did write that I will post. Enjoy...

CO-WRITTEN by MD14

Disclaimer: I own nothing Rookie Blue or my muse would be in tact.

"And if they suspend us again, which, by the way, no one's said anything yet, but if they do, I'm not going anywhere." She vows - again, he thinks.

He kept hearing that while he was out of it. A lot of people visited, so he was told, only other person he could imagine saying that they weren't going anywhere would be Sarah. But she's more angry than anything right now, so he's sure it's been McNally. He should have been comforted to know that she never left his side. Should've known she wouldn't, from the last time they spoke. But he wasn't comforted. He was also a little pissed.

McNally's so focused - hasn't stopped talking since he opened his eyes - and that's probably exactly why he's thinking what he's thinking right now. If she hadn't just kind of gone off on a tangent, let him tune out, given him the time to mull over everything that's happened, the sequence of events, all of it...

He wouldn't be lying in his bed, eyes hard as steel, jaw so tight he's grinding his teeth.

Why's she here?

He got shot.

Where would she be otherwise?

Shacked up somewhere else with G.I. Joe, problem free - guilt free.

Where would he be?

At the bottom of a bottle, preferably at home, and still, physically, in one piece.

"Andy-"

"No. Sam, I'm staying right here. I'll tell them they can shove their suspension."

The fire she's worked up, how dedicated she seems, it all just makes it that much harder, like an internal bleed that will only slow and lessen the further away she gets. Out of sight, out of mind.

He likes what he's hearing, that's not exactly it. It's like a craving that is finally being satisfied, but he can't enjoy it because of the nausea stirring in the pit of his stomach. So much so that it almost has it doubting what he thinks is right. Because yeah, heat of the moment, he gets that. And he's not about to hold her to it.

"Andy..."

He swears that if she were still sitting in the seat by his bed, and holding his hand, rather than pacing, he wouldn't be able to even say what he needs to say. Do what he has to do.

"I will be right here, with you, and-"

"McNally!" He yells, hurting his gut, but refusing to flinch.

She turns to him, startled. Standard look of Bambi in headlights, he's only seen it a thousand times. A thousand times too many.

"Get out." He says significantly more quiet this time, but harsher, somehow. The rasp of his voice is no longer from a dry throat, but the war inside of him, still begging for him not to say it.

He struggles so hard to keep his eyes on where his feet are settled under the itchy hospital blankets, and not drift upward to her. He knows he'd take it back if he did, the same way he almost had in the parking lot. If she hadn't been telling him to leave, he wouldn't have known how. Even if he wasn't bound to the bed, he wouldn't be able to move.

He hopes his sudden request does the trick. He hopes he can count on her instincts.

Hopes she takes off.

After the sermon she's just delivered, though, he's not so sure any more.

A small sound escapes from her, like a helpless whimper, but not even really a- it's more like a gasp and a sob, and she can't decide how exactly to react.

He hears her slap a hand over her mouth to stop it, and hears a tentative,

"What?" So quiet, and mousey, that he doesn't know it to be her voice.

She's not going to fight him on this.

"Get. Out." He says, same voice, same struggle. "Do what you do best."

Maybe he didn't need to say that, maybe he should have left well enough alone. But it only helps his cause.

There's a long break between his words and the door closing, softly (to his surprise), and when he finally lifts his gaze from the coffee stain on his sheets, his eyes meet hers from the other side of the closed door.

Eyes brimming with tears, nose red... and a familiar look.

Disappointment.

The rest of that day, is his longest. Sarah is at his house, working from there, and Oliver has all day with his girls, and Nash is doing her very best to work all their cases solo. (Callaghan is there, but he's on loan to them and eventually it'll all be dumped in her lap).

Who else would come?

So he spends the day catching up on the news, watching whatever game is on, and ends up on some romantic comedy called 'While You Were Sleeping'. Which it turns out, he hates.

Love interests' name is Callaghan, both of them, the brothers, and the girl's in love with a man she's never spoken too, whose life she's saved, but he's now in a coma.

The other woos her, steals her away from the jackass brother, because he's otherwise indisposed. Even if he weren't in a coma, he's got another girl.

An hour and a half to find out that that Peter Gallagher's character was an idiot the whole time. She picks the tall blonde.

(He knows he's projecting, and the guy's actually better for her all along. That's the thing he truly hates.)

Sam's suddenly insecure that his eyebrows may be unattractively bushy.

When he wakes up the next morning, he's alone in his room again, but gets a text from Oliver, stating that he'll be stopping by mid-shift, with lunch. Sam's all too happy to get something in his system other than meds and hospital food.

Thinks he'll definitely try that juice cleanse he read about over the summer. He needs to flush everything from his system. Everyone.

He'd forgotten about it, until now. And his doctor will probably have him on a strict diet while he recovers.

No coffee, no alcohol, steady exercise regime. He'll try and talk Oliver into running with him. Without luck, he knows, but it's fun to poke and prod.

So he texts his buddy back, asking if he can bring a salad, or something with a ton of protein.

No burgers, no Chinese food, no pizza.

Instead, he brings McNally.

Oliver knocks on the door as he opens it, big goofy grin on his face, and Sam looks sceptically back at his buddy, smile pulling at the edge of his lips too.

That is, till he opens the door further - steps into the room, leaving space for Andy to appear behind him. What's worse is that she's the one holding the white, take-out looking bag in her gloved hands. Can't exactly stay on that side of the room, cause he's been looking forward to this since he woke up.

On the other hand, he's not sure he can eat with her standing there, looking completely unaffected.

For days after he broke things off before, she wouldn't even meet his eye. And now, she's acting the same way she has all year.

Oliver says something, and she laughs. He has to make a conscious effort to pay attention to them, and the thing is, he really doesn't care to right now. He hears that they're teasing him, and her wide smile, that crinkles her nose and creases her eyes, is turned to him. And it doesn't fall, just keeps her laughing a little longer, slightly harder.

Oliver whacks his arm lightly with the back of his hand, simply looking for Sam's attention.

"You okay there, pal? Need a nurse?" He asks, still with the trace of a smile, but a little concern.

Andy doesn't seem as worried.

She knows what it is that has him tongue tied and thrown.

"No, I'm fine." He says, extending a hand to Andy, searching out the bag of food.

He's just hungry, has to keep something down.

When she takes a few steps toward the bed, to give him what he's after, her body lotion invades his senses, cruelly. She's still a foot away, arm outstretched, keeping a respectful distance.

How is it that pungent? She's got gloves on, her jacket too, and he knows she uses a different moisturizer on her face, so how can he pick that out of the air? Over the disinfectants?

He realizes that his hand has been hanging between them, not yet on the bag, just kind of suspended, frozen. So he snatches it as soon as he realizes how many seconds have passed, and she backs right off.

Oliver is sitting on the chair next to his bed, eyes flitting between the two of them every couple of seconds, and before Sam can stop the thought that is obviously taking over, Oliver's standing.

"You know what, I left your iced tea, in the cruiser. So - I'll go grab that. McNally, watch him?" He asks, almost getting around her.

Sam's thankful to see her push his shoulder back, stopping him effectively.

"I got it. You guys catch up." She insists.

She glances over to Sam quickly, it's more the expression he'd been expecting when she walked in. Defeated, a bit, but also knowing that she pushed it, showing up today. Cause it's not like he can put her out with Oliver there. Not without a lecture.

He opens the white bag instead of watching her walk out again.

When his eyes land on his favourite turkey club, seemingly a compromise to a salad and burger, he tamps down a grin. She grabbed it from their favourite lunch place, by her condo.

He looks back up again to find her already out of the room, and Oliver trying to get his attention with a story.

With Nash's stretch off, starting a couple of days after Oliver's visit, she drops by with some baking (gluten-free, cause she's an observant partner), and a couple of case files, so she can run a few things by him, keep him distracted.

Sarah's headed back to St. Catherine's for the week. Promised she'd be back on the weekend.

So Nash has set up a make shift desk, and has an in room office set up. Does a good job of keeping all the files in order despite the mess.

"How you doing, partner?" She asks, before diving into the small stack of files she's brought by for him to peruse.

She's the kind of partner he always imagined having, actually. The kind of rookie he wished McNally had been, at first. He grew to love Andy's quirks that turned out to be strengths. Like her talkative mouth, and oversized heart, but for the first few shifts, he really wished they could just have silent understandings, and the pearls of wisdom offered only in times of great need.

That's how Nash was. She knew when something was up, but she knew when to leave it alone. Which was often. He appreciated that about her. She respected those things about him.

But he wouldn't wish McNally to be anything other than what she is. She's a damn good cop in her own way. In a better way than most.

He likes that this partnership is different. And if he had to re-up on a partner on an annual basis, he'd probably pick Nash every time.

He wonders if he knew which partnership was better for which aspect of his life, a year ago, things might have turned out better, for all of them.

"Oh, I'm alright Nash. How about you?" He asks, semi-fake smile plastered on his face.

He truly wants to know, but he also doesn't feel like sharing right now.

She picks up on that, as always.

"We're stretched a little thin at fifteen, but considering, I'm okay. Especially since you're okay."

She smiles when she says it, and then quickly looks to a file in front of her, but he feels the genuine sentiment right down to his core. She doesn't need to be losing any more people close to her. Any more partners.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be more careful next time Mom. Promise."

His cheeky smile brings back her smirk and she flings a file his way.

"So with this one, the kid, you guys got him?" He asks.

B&E. Young guy robbed a jewellery store, without much of a plan, to support his pregnant girlfriend. He just found out, got spooked, and reacted too quickly.

The kid just turned eighteen and when he knew he was backed into a corner, he went straight for the roof.

"Uh, yeah, eventually." Traci says, shaking her head of the memory. She was down on the ground while Andy and Chris were up top.

"What do you mean? How'd it go down?" He asks, a little amused, thinking he's in for a good chase story.

He watches the war wage in Traci's eyes, pressing her lips together, wondering if she should tell him, and he immediately knows Andy played a role. When he tilts his head to the side, eyes soft, and eyebrow quirked, she knows she has to tell him. And he knows he's got her.

"He was gonna jump. Ran up to the roof of his apartment building, and wasn't even going to hesitate, but Chris and Andy were hot on his trail." She reveals, removing as many details as necessary. "She called out for him, and he stopped dead."

"She talked him down?" Sam asks, unsurprised.

Doesn't want to think about how broken she'd be if the kid had jumped anyway. That kind of situation stays with any cop for a long, long time. But Andy? She'd carry it around for months.

"She reminded him that if he does that, his girlfriend's all alone, with their baby. There's nothing worse than losing someone you love. That the jail time won't be forever. He'll get to see them again. That if he talked to us, we might be able to help him.."

Traci's poker face is good. Really good. But Sam knows there's more than that. Andy was shaken, or it hit a nerve, something. Maybe she herself got a little to close when she was trying to talk him away.

"Everybody's okay, Sam. She did her job. Did what she does best."

If Traci's smile didn't look so genuine, he'd think it was a dig. He'd think maybe McNally told her every little secret of their trip to Sudbury, what he now knows she called a 'holidate'. But it's sincere, and he's just paranoid.

He feels like even more of a heel now than he did before.

'Do what you do best'.

Asshole.

He feels like maybe he should call her, but he can't. Not after the last time he saw her. His resolve was still strong. And she was backing down. She left him alone with Oliver for a half an hour. Came back with a coffee for herself, but no iced tea. He should have known it wasn't real, an excuse of Oliver's to get them alone.

"Good. That's, uh, great."

"Okay, Swarek, I've got the cure." Epstein announces, walking straight into Sam's room while he was half way through a cup of pudding.

Sam furrows his eyebrows, and gets one of the most menacing looks on his face, still too stunned to ask Dov what the fuck he was doing in his hospital room. But once again, half his question dies when Andy rushes in after him, almost trying to grab at him.

"Dov!" She hisses, looking apologetically over to Sam.

"Well, not the cure, you can't cure a GSW, you know those heal with surgery, and time, no antidote. But I can cure your boredom." The kid smiles, oblivious to the unfriendly faces staring at him.

Sam has no doubt that Dov could cure his boredom, and he's also sure that would land him in a psych facility.

But his focus turns quickly away from Dov, and to Andy.

It's been a week since she came in with Oliver, and it takes him even further off guard than usual, because visiting hours will be over any minute. He's not quite sure that even just a few minutes in her presence will leave him undamaged.

And to think he'd had high hopes of sleeping well tonight.

He notices that Epstein's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, and he's now pulling it down, making quick work of its zipper.

He shoots McNally a quirked eyebrow, mouth still a little open, stare a little mean. But she seems to get that she's not the cause. His frustration is all on Epstein.

"These are just a few of my favourites, but they sure do make time fly, so give 'em a chance." Dov smiles genuinely, and for about a half second Sam's afraid he's going to pull out his porn collection.

But when the cover of 'The Prince of Tides' makes an appearance at the backpacks opening, he sighs, gratefully. However, Epstein's taste in books seems to mirror McNally's taste in movies.

(It wasn't an easy film to sit through, bringing up memories of his own childhood).

"Nick and Andy were trying to talk me out of swinging by with these, but they've been good to me, in times of trouble, so I thought I should pay it forward." He explains, face serious, using his hands to gesture to the books before holding them in front of his body, professionally, once again.

"Thanks, Epstein," Sam croaks, still a little nauseous from hearing Collins' name spoken so closely to Andy's.

"Yeah, Nick's mood though. Going off on everyone these days, not just me. Almost bit Gail's head off yesterday when they were partnered together. All I wanted to do was drop off some books. You'd think I'd dumped him or something."

He's working on unloading the rest of the books to the table next to Sam's bed, and Andy's fallen into the chair in the corner, resting her elbows on her knees, and her forehead in her palms.

"Dov-"

"Hey, Andy? We gotta work on your technique for letting people down easy, cause that guy is as bitter as they come."

"Dov!" She whines, loudly, urging him to shut up.

"I mean, not that you shared that there was even anything going on with the rest of us anyway, but a heads up would have been nice." Dov says senselessly, not even trying to backtrack. Clearly he's forgotten that there was any connection between Sam and Andy at all.

That is until she gives up trying to stop him from talking, and he was left to finally look up at their expressions, Andy pissed and hopeless, Sam disbelieving and stunned.

"Well, we should get back to the cruiser." Andy smiles, fake and small as they come.

Dov seems disappointed, but allows Andy to pull him out with very little force.

"Swarek, they're stacked from the one's I think you'll like best to least." He shouts once he's already out in the hall.

Sam smirks, unable to hold it back any longer. He certainly has grown fonder of Epstein's... antics, in recent years, but he would never be prepared for moments like that.

His head shake-smile combo finds Andy as she leans back into the room to grab the door, and she stops briefly to return it, warmly, and then door is closed again and she's gone.

Releasing a deep breath, he drops his head back onto the pillow, and scrubs a hand over his face.

Epstein brought him books.

McNally came back.

Collins has been 'let down'.

And McNally came back.

Epstein brought him books?

And she seemed just fine, her smile seemed soft and easy. Still a little burdened maybe, from what he did and said, but - she doesn't look defeated, or upset.

Huh.

And he doesn't sleep well. So, he was right on that count.

As he turns his head from side to side and repositions pillows, leaving one leg out of the blanket, pulling it back under, he ends up on his side, staring at Epstein's' stack of books. 'The Art of War' is the first book on top.

And really, Epstein thinks that would be best suited for him?

He knocks it off the pile and onto the floor, figuring whoever's on Sam Watch tomorrow will come and grab it. No matter who it is, he'll likely have to put up with some teasing, but he doesn't even want to imagine Sarah's face if were her. Good thing she's not due back for a couple of days.

He rids himself of the image of Sarah's smirk, and picks up the next one.

'The Prince of Tides'. Hell no. The movie was enough, he doesn't need a play by play too. That's not going to help pass time at all.

Onto the floor with Sun Tzu.

The next one catches his attention though. He's never seen it before, he doesn't recognize it one bit.

'Rilke on Love and Other Difficulties'.

He's kind of intrigued as to why Epstein thought he'd be interested in an anthology of poems, so he grabs it, flips through its worn pages effortlessly. He notes that many of the pages are dog eared and Sam's forced to assume that this is part of his routine with women. Wonders if Price has fallen victim to Dov's bedroom reading. Can't help but roll his eyes.

And then the book stops on a page with a real book mark, and Sam has to feed his curiosity.

'Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you.
Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you.
And without feet I can make my way to you,
without a mouth I can swear your name.

Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you
with my heart as with a hand.
Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.
And if you consume my brain with fire,
I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.'

He licks his lips, and presses them together, contracting every muscle in his jaw. The pain in his gut has relocated, and he feels little pangs taking his chest hostage. And as he remembers to breathe steady, calm down, it turns to a dull throb, but it will probably be around a while.

He's not sure if Epstein just relates, or if the kid is smarter than Sam ever gives him credit for, some kind of hidden agenda. But he guesses that is the true brilliance of it all.

It makes him hate Dov as much as he respects him.

He sits there a while.

Thinks about seeing Andy today, the time before, and what he said to her after he woke up. What it looks like is that Andy's not budging, not going anywhere. She let him see her weak once, and like the first time, that was all she was going to let him see. She's just recovering. They still work together, so she's got her brave face on until she figures out how they deal. That's it.

But she's rid of Collins.

And with that thought, his eyelids fall heavily, and he realizes he's more exhausted than he thought.

She comes alone the next time.

He's just sitting up in his bed, nurse redressing his wound, and she just opens the door. His shirt is off, and his nurse smiles politely at her, assures her they're just about finished, and they can have some privacy.

If Sam raised his knee suddenly enough he could've gotten her in the gut. But hey, their issues aren't his nurses priority. But he wishes she'd arrived a few minutes later.

Could have told her that he doesn't care if she's come bearing food or books, he's not interested. But they simply remain quiet, on opposite sides f the room until the nurse slips out.

She's in her civvies' this time. Jeans and a plain grey sweater under a simple, black rain jacket. A green scarf tied in a knot around her neck.

"What're you doing here?"

Not that he can't guess, he'd just rather she say she's going against his wishes than go along with it.

"I was just getting my annual mammogram, you know." She shrugs, acting like it's no big deal, then looks down at the floor, then towards the closed door.

She's just so random, is the problem. He really doesn't know what goes on in that head of hers, and still she acts like it's supposed to be so obvious. It's a good thing her face mostly never gets the memo, but sometimes it doesn't always give away what's going on upstairs.

"Aren't you about ten years too young for that?" He asks, finally, trying to hold back a smirk, or a laugh. Anything, everything. He needs to keep a firm stance on his indifference.

"Never too young." She says, more heart this time, thinking briefly of Noelle, and then finding a fake closed mouthed grin again.

He nods thoughtfully as something washes over him, and he finds himself struggling to breathe.

"Andy... did you find-"

"No! God no, Sam, geez." She gasps desperately, as anxious as he is to set the record straight, trying to cover her tracks.

At least he's not the only one who dropped their poker face. So neither one comments when both are resumed. Kind of a do-over.

"Just taking advantage of our great health benefits."

"Ah. I see." He nods, much more amicably.

"Yeah, you know, without putting a hole in my stomach."

He tamps down a sneer - smirk... smile? He's not sure. He just presses his lips together, and tries not to comment on it.

"Who'd you bring this time?" He asks, reaching for his zip up hoodie.

She's silent while he slowly slides his arm into it, and then pulls it behind him to get it on the other arm.

The struggle of the simple action makes him feel vulnerable, in front of her, which he hates. At least if she'd rush to help him, he could bark at her not to. But she stays where she is, studies him quietly.

It puts him in a worse place than he was when she walked in.

"Just me." She says, finally, once he lets out a grunt of pain. Like she's won something, making him admit his struggle.

While he lays back, gets comfortable, he looks down his nose at her, takes a deep breath. Notes that she's got some folded up papers in her hands.

"You missed a signature, on your statement. So, last night, Frank asked me to come get it." She says, walking to his bed in a few short steps, leaning in to drop it on his lap.

He stares at the blank spot, wonders, briefly, how it is that he missed it. It was a crazy day, he supposes. Wasn't too long after Andy had left that Diaz showed up with his notebook. He'd since been waiting on word from SIU, and heard nothing.

He guesses maybe Callaghan didn't say anything. Maybe their tracks were well enough covered and there were more pressing paths of evidence to explore.

He can hardly imagine Callaghan setting Andy up to fall. He also kind of guesses that he owes her.

"You mean you volunteered." He corrects, not even bothering with a question.

Practically hears her roll her eyes after that one. By the time he looks up at her she's just staring at him.

He watches her fish a pen out of her purse and tosses it to his lap. He can't help but think about how mature she's being as he picks it up, clicks it a couple of times, then puts it to the paper.

This time he looks it over, checking every spot, rereading what he said, and when he's satisfied with it, he flips the papers closed, tosses them to the end of his bed.

When he looks up to Andy, she's staring at a photo in her hands.

"Um, this, was left in Marlo's locker. After she cleared it out. I was just wondering if maybe you wanted it, or you could give it to her. When you see her... or something."

She stumbles through the sentence, approaching him tentatively this time. She keeps coming until she's right next to his bed. Closer than she's been since he woke up, holding her hand.

He takes it slowly, confused. He doesn't believe he'll be seeing her any time soon at all, since he hadn't seen her yet. But he also figures she's busy just sorting herself out.

His eyes are still on Andy's even after it's in his hands, and he doesn't understand why she looks so wounded right now. She's the one who came here. She's the one bringing it all up again.

What right does she have to play the victim right now?

When he finally lays eyes on it, he gets why it would hurt.

Marlo took this when he was meeting some of her ETF friends. Played the role of dutiful boyfriend really well that afternoon, he remembers. He also remembers that one of her friends was kind of a photography buff. Had noticed pictures were being taken, but not of them, not this.

He nearly cringes, seeing what she sees.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you could take a hint." He chuckles, humourlessly, her wounded stare invading his peripherals.

"Excuse me?" She asks, sincerely, thinking she heard wrong.

The whippy retort on the tip of his tongue is out before he thinks to even stop it. Not that he would. She's really making a dent in his plans for getting her out of his system.

"I tell you stay, you vanish. I ask you to go, you stick like glue." He bites, mean grin on his mouth. "If I give you a ring, will you elope with Collins?"

Her confused, Bambi face draws up into a tight frown in a matter of nanoseconds, and he has to roll his neck, check out the ceiling instead of watch spite take over.

"Are you serious right now?" She asks, still not clear on why he's saying what he's saying, and he thinks that's fair enough.

She's given him the up to date info on her situation, she's put herself out there, told him that she loves him, and still he's pushing.

He's conscious of how he sounds to her, but he's got to keep on pushing.

"You heard me. I finally tell you I'm done on my end, that you can go off, happily with your G.I. Joe, and you go blabbering on about a night over a year ago?"

His voice sounds foreign, even to him. Somewhere between ominous and desperate.

When she laughs, bitterly, he worries. He thinks he's pushed the wrong button. More time passes, and she's unzipped her jacket, the anger warming her body and flushing her cheeks.

But he watches her take a deep breath, close her eyes, and try to come back down to ground zero.

"You know I thought you were happy too, with her – smiling, throwing your arm around her, protecting her."

Too convincing. He always had a feeling he was overdoing it, but apparently he was selling it just enough. He regrets that a little. Hindsight being 20/20, all that. Plus, what's currently happening.

"That is the only reason I tried to move on, the only reason… because I thought you had, I thought you were happy. So I was trying to be happy too… trying."

Her voice is pleading now, begging him to hear her words for what they are.

"Well guess what, I'm tired of just trying. It shouldn't be this hard, it shouldn't take all this work. You say you want me to be happy. Then do something about it because you're the only one that can. You. Not Nick, not this damn job."

He swallows hard, lets out a breath with more shake than he can control, and she's staring at him, eyes clear.

No tears, no doubt, just promise.

He has to swallow again, but nothing feels different. There's still a lump in his throat refusing his will to speak, to say something in return for all the heavy things she's placed on him.

But even if he could... what would he say?

Everything, anything. He'd tell her every thought in his head, because his whole reason for pushing her back, for staying away, and willing her to do the same, it's slipping. He can't remember why Nick's the one who deserves her, and he's the one who needs to stay away.

"I have to go, I have shift in two hours. But I'm serious, Sam." She insists, zipping her jacket back up, wiping underneath her eyes.

Maybe she had cried, he couldn't be too sure. There was a lot going on, he was focused on things like oxygen.

"I'm here and I will continue to be here. So if you get over this little 'Nick' complex of yours, call me. If not, I guess I'll see you when you're back at work. Either way, I'm here. So get used to it."

No books that night. He doesn't flip through tattered pages and wonder if Epstein shares a similar psyche or if he's planting ideas in his head like he has for five nights in a row now. He simply lies flat on his back, holding that photograph in front of him.

He's sure Marlo's got an envelope full from that afternoon, stashed somewhere. He knows there are a few in her phone too.

Thinking back, he doesn't have any knowledge that pictures of him with Andy exist. Jerry had been fond of his photo collection, but from what he knows that was mostly Traci and Leo clogging up his computer files. He's never seen them. Knows they were pretty important to Traci, but he never exactly sat down and flipped through them with her. That's not how he grieved, not one bit. Even now as partners, he'd never consider-

He wouldn't do that.

He didn't give Andy anything he permitted Marlo.

No weekends away together. No stories about his life, growing up. Not one photograph.

He wasted all that on a distraction, he wasted it on trying. On make believe.

He had something real, and he kept it at an arms' length because he was afraid it'd be gone one day anyways. When he pushed it away, and then wanted it back, it was his worst fear realized. She woke up. She ran.

And now he's trying to shake her again?

'That is the only reason I tried to move on, the only reason… because I thought you had,'

He moved on because losing what he had with her hurt too much and he didn't want to feel that way again. Maybe Oliver had him pegged. He didn't want to be alone - but he wasn't ready for the hard stuff. Not then, anyway.

And he made her watch. He knew he had another choice, but he decided that they couldn't possibly be right when so much had gone wrong. When they'd done so much to hurt each other.

Now Marlo is gone. And Nick, whatever he was to her, is out of her life.

And he's not sure he wants to know the details, but, they don't exactly matter anymore.

He doesn't see Andy for a couple of days after that. And it's stupid because it's exactly what he's been asking her to do… take the hint. Move on.

Except now that it looks like she's finally listening to him, well… he kind of wishes maybe he had been a little more truthful with her and with himself. Because the further away she gets, the more it hurts. And even though it didn't seem possible at the time, it's hitting him even harder than the last time she left. And he wonders if maybe there is something the doctor could give him for the pain that's now worked its way up into his chest.

Speaking of the doctor, he stops by and tells Sam he should be free to go home tomorrow. Except instead of being relieved, all Sam can think about are the excuses McNally won't have to find to visit… you know, just on the off chance that she hasn't listened to him. Because he knows that without having to worry about visiting hours, Oliver will come by after shifts so he won't be swinging by with his partner for lunch. Wouldn't dare try and drag her along after work.

Would he?

Sam shakes his head, tries to quell the hope he feels for his friend's romantic tendencies.

And Epstein… Sam hopes he wouldn't go so far as to look up his address and bring by more of his pearls of wisdom, but predicting Epstein's behaviour is sometimes a crap shoot, so...

And Nash, well, he's pretty sure McNally would tell her straight up that it wasn't happening.

Suddenly right and wrong don't seem so black and white anymore.

His head snaps up when he hears a throat clear in the doorway. The distinctly feminine tone has his heart racing, but when he turns his head… His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Hey Uncle Sammy."

"Hey, if you're looking for someone to help you cover your tracks again, in case you haven't noticed…" He waves a hand over his injured body.

"Very funny. You seen my dad?"

"Sure, about five-eleven, bald, likes dim sum way too much."

"LAWL."

Sam's eyebrows are duelling with his hairline again, but Izzie just waves him off as she tosses her backpack to the side and falls into the chair beside his bed. "I'm supposed to meet him here. He wanted to come by and see you and I wanted a ride home so..."

"Aww, and here I thought you cared."

Izzie rolls her eyes as she fights off the smile that's tugging on her lips. But when Sam flashes her the dimples, her grin breaks free and she shakes her head. "Shut up."

They sit in an uncomfortable silence until he sees her gaze fall on the books on the table beside his bed. She scoots her chair a little closer and runs her finger down the titles. "Love poems huh? Is it working?"

"Excuse me?"

"From what I hear, you need all the help you can get."

"Your dad tell you that?" Sam practically growls, vowing to make sure Oliver regrets setting up his little meeting here.

Izzie's studying the books pretty good now, doing her best to avoid his glare. "Well, maybe not me so much as Celery," she admits under her breath.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not nice to eavesdrop?"

"Hey, I wasn't eavesdropping. The woman likes to share alright? We were bonding."

The sarcasm is far from subtle but Sam can also detect a hint of affection in the teen's voice. "Oh yeah, she helping you out too? Warding off the evil spirits? Mixing you up a little love potion?"

"Whatever. You'll get yours when she brings one for you."

"Yeah, yeah." Over his dead body would he be drinking any of her concoctions. "When did you say your dad was coming?"

"And here I thought you cared." She echoes, the irony dripping from her voice. "Those books are all crap by the way. Now this." She pulls a well-worn copy of The Hunger Games out of her back pack. "This is a great book.

Maddie even got to read it in school, while I had to read shit like that." She throws her hands out towards Epstein's prized collection.

Sam's shoots a glare her way knowing her dad wouldn't be impressed with her language, but she knows as well as he does that he's not one to talk. Plus Oliver once told him you have to pick your fights; he's actually found that very helpful when it came to dealing with An-

Sam shakes his head. "What's it about?"

"It's about a post-apocalyptic society. Every year they choose a boy and girl from each district and put them in an arena to fight to the death. There's this girl…"

"Oh yeah," Sam interjects dryly, "that sounds like a barrel of laughs. I'm sure that will make me feel so much better."

"Well, maybe if you gave me a chance to explain the rest before you act all know-it-all..."

When Oliver finally walks through the door about twenty minutes letter Sam's forgotten all about being angry with him. He's just happy to get to stop listening to Izzy go on and on about how the cat girl has two guys fighting over her because yeah, yeah, she's beautiful, courageous, sacrifices herself for others, brown hair she wears in a braid. Forgive him if the picture is a little too vivid for his liking. .

He grins happily as Oliver starts to fill him in on all the comings and goings at the Barn. Right up until Oliver mentions how Andy's been a little quiet these last couple of days, like she maybe got some bad news or someone kicked her puppy or something.

Sam figures his poker face must be holding up quite well when Oliver lets out a loud sigh. He's pretty sure Oliver's hand is just itching to hit him upside the head but instead he pulls out the big guns. "Oh yeah, Blackstone was in the barn today too." The bugger just throws it off the cuff too, like it's no big deal, like maybe two can play that game. Taking the lead on the turn.

Sam's gut clenches as soon as the name passes over his friend's lips and he can't tell if the ache is from his injury or… either way it's almost too much for him to bear. He can feel Oliver studying his face and it's taking everything he has to not flinch.

Oliver watches the hurt cloud Sam's eyes. Wars a little with himself over whether or not to outright tell him that McNally refused to even look at the man. He wants to put his friend out of his misery, but at the same time, knows there's really only one person who can truly do that for Sam, and it's the man himself. Still maybe this will be the proof his buddy needs. "Yeah, he met with a few people, didn't get to see everyone he wanted though."

Sam catches the pointed look his buddy is throwing his way and the sting of pain eases up just a little.

"Not for lack of trying though. He even asked Frank to make it an order. Ha," Oliver blurts out. "Frankie loved that one, pretty much told old Jake where he could shove his little hissy fit. Before Blackstone could pull his tail out from between his legs, I was being pushed out the door and we were on the road."

"He didn't stick around?"

Oliver's cell starts to rattle in his pocket and Sam frowns at the intrusion, needing an answer. He watches as Oliver pulls his phone out and takes a look, he starts tugging on Izzy's sleeve and nodding towards her backpack. "I think he got the hint when she ignored all of his calls. At least I assume it was him. I mean, you never know; I heard Nash took her out on the town the other night…" He let the thought trail off. Sam's guessing he must have realized that he pushed a little too far. .

At Sam's grimace, Oliver ushers his daughter towards the door. "Let's go Iz. Celery's already got supper on the go and we don't want it to get cold."

Izzy takes a couple of steps back and drops her book on the table beside Sam's bed, smirking as she pushes it towards him.

"Oh, Sammy, I almost forgot. Celery might come with me tomorrow, just give us a call and let us know when they're ready to spring you loose."

Izzy grins over at Sam abandoning the comment about the book that he's sure was on the tip of her tongue. "Don't drink the kool-aid," she advises.

Oliver pushes her out the door. "Careful or I'll get her to…"

Sam doesn't hear the rest as the door falls shut behind them but he can hear them laughing all the way down the hall.

He picks up the book, though he's never really been into young adult novels not even when he was one.

He studies the cover for a second. Of course the author's name has to be Collins. He just about tosses it across the room on principle alone. But then he opens it up, turns it to the first page. 'When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold.' His head falls back on the pillow as he tries not to think too hard about how much that hurts.

When Sam wakes up in the morning, he's lying on his side facing the door. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Izzie's book, but instead of being on top of the chair he threw it on last night, it's perched on top of his duffle bag. It's close enough to reach without too much effort so he tugs it nearer and rolls down the zipper. Clean clothes, towel, shaving kit, and…

Is that...?" He can smell his own fabric softener on the clothes but there's also a hint of… her, maybe. No. Wishful thinking, he decides because it could have just as easily been Oliver or Sarah.

And if he tugs the towel all the way out and breathes in a little deeper, well it's only to make sure the towel is clean… just in case it was Oliver.

Which it wasn't.

Because when Oliver picks him up and spies the duffle, he asks how long it's been there and is just glad that someone else had thought of it. He then goes on to tell Sam that Sarah is meeting them at his house because she's stuck in traffic on her way from St. Catherine's.

And then he just knows.

And the relief that didn't come last night finally hits him.

They arrive at his house the same time as Sarah. She immediately moves to help him out of Oliver's car and he tries not to roll his eyes as he lets her take his hand. He knows she just wants to help; it's just really hard for him to be the one needing it. He's used to being the one taking care of people. It's his job. Always has been. He's just not used to… needing someone, or letting it show.

As they make their way up the front walk, Sarah's going on and on about cooking him his favourite meals. Wondering how he could live with that mess she found when she was working there last week, but now that she has a couple of days before she has to go home she can help him with that.

Oliver stays quiet, just shoots him a little eyebrow. As they both recall the last time that Sam's house was in a state of disarray… right along with his heart. Sam avoids his eyes and pushes his sister forward a little quicker so Oliver doesn't recruit her to help him with the mess that is his life.

As soon as they walk through the door, all three mouths are agape. The house doesn't look bad at all. In fact, it looks like everything is exactly as it should be. And Sam knows it wasn't like that before he left for work that day that seems like a year ago.

By the looks on the other two faces, they are just as surprised as he is.

"Looks like someone beat you to it Sarah," Oliver notes unnecessarily as he drops Sam's bag to the floor. "Looks like thing are back where they should be. Are they Sammy? Is everything back where it belongs?"

Sam's at a loss for words. He knows that no one besides Sarah has a key to his house. Although pretty much all of his friends and co-workers know how to pick a lock, and he hasn't changed his security code since… Someone could have gotten in there if she really wanted to. For the life of him though, he couldn't figure out why she would want to after the way he treated her. Still who else could it have been?

He doesn't bother answering Oliver, just mumbles something about taking a shower and heads toward his bedroom on his own. He hears the front door close a couple minutes later, assumes Oliver is on his way home.

He spends longer than usual under the hot spray of water. He tells himself it's because he missed his shower. Missed being in his own home. Missed doing his own thing, making his own choices. .

Yeah, he's been missing a lot lately.

Sam's been in the shower quite a while.

Sarah's been back and forth to his room a couple of times, but when she hears the water still running, she turns back to the living room wondering just how big his water heater is.

With nothing to keep her busy, she heads toward the kitchen and thinks that maybe she should have stopped for some groceries. It's been a week since she's been here and even then there were slim pickings in Sam's fridge.

She puts on a pot of coffee for her and Sam and leans against the counter twirling a gum wrapper she found in her pocket as she sits and waits.

She's thankful that they both like it black because she's pretty sure she wouldn't want to go near anything dairy that might still be in Sam's fridge. Still, they are going to have to eat.

She's just mustered the courage to check out the contents in the fridge when there's a knock at the door. She quickly tosses the wrapper into the empty garbage and notes that whoever was here to clean up his mess takes their job seriously.

She turns the lock and eases the door open. On the other side is a beautiful brunette with a wide smile that's tempered by what looks like trepidation in her eyes, like maybe she shouldn't be there.

And the anxiety only intensifies when their eyes meet.

"Can I help you?" Sarah wonders. She's pretty sure this is someone who works with her brother. She saw the woman around the hospital quite a bit during Sam's stay, but she always seemed to disappear whenever Sarah was around. She almost wants to ask her if it was intentional but thinks she'd come out sounding a bit like she was paranoid. Why would any of Sam's colleagues not want to meet her?

She watches the brunette shuffle from foot to foot for a few seconds before her eye is drawn down to a box in the woman's hand. "Is that for Sam?"

"Huh?" Andy startles out of her thoughts at the mention of Sam's name. "Oh, yeah, it's uh," she stutters over her words a little, trying to determine the best course of action. She probably should have thought this out more before she came, probably should have known he wouldn't be alone.

What she does know is how much this particular meeting has to be on his terms. So she takes a deep breath as she plans out her escape. "It's dinner. I figured you guys wouldn't have much time to shop or anything what with Sam just getting out today. It's all, uh, cooked so you can just pop it in the oven to keep warm for…" Her head and shoulders are weaving around in no particular direction, "whenever."

A distinct thud of pipes draws both of their attention down the hall.

"Sounds like Sam's getting out of the shower now. Why don't you wait; I'm sure he'd want to say thank you, maybe have you join us."

Yeah, Andy might tend to disagree there a little. "What? No, no. That's not necessary. I don't want to intrude. I was just trying to help out. There are some milk and eggs and bread in the box too, you know, for tomorrow morning." Andy shoves the carton into Sarah's hands using the momentum to propel herself back out the door.

An errant thought sneaks up on Sarah as she watches the visitor walk down the stairs. "You don't happen to know anything about the garbage in here?"

"I thought I got it all."

Sarah laughs and Andy sucks in a loud breath at the Swarek dimples that are aimed right straight at her. It's been a long time.

"No, you got it all," Sarah assures her. "Thank you, that was really nice of you. This," she tips the box towards Andy, "is really nice of you too. Anything else I should be expecting?" She teases, the grin still firmly planted on her face as pieces start falling into place.

Andy smirks a little, mostly to herself, and Sarah thinks she looks a whole lot prettier with a little light in her eyes.

"You don't happen to have a dog with you?"

Sarah laughs again, caught off guard by the random question. "No, why?"

Andy's step has a little more bounce in it as she turns to leave. "No reason. Have a great night!"

"Hey, I didn't get your name. What do I tell Sam?"

Andy shrugs. "Tell him I was happy to do it, that I hope he likes everything." She then bounds down the stairs before immediately stepping into a light jog.

"But who are you? We weren't properly introduced."

Andy's already gone though.

Sarah shakes her head as she closes the door behind her. When she tugs open the box, it smells heavenly. She flips on the oven and puts it in to stay warm for whenever Sam is ready, which she hopes is soon.

A few minutes later, Sam leans up against the door jamb as he watches his sister root around inside his fridge. "You're not gonna find much."

She arches a challenging eyebrow at him. "You might be surprised."

It's at that moment that Sam finally notices the smell in the air. It almost smells like…no. "How did you make supper?" He knows he was in the shower a while, but there's no way he had enough in his fridge to make anything that smelled like that. And even then, the chicken would have to have been thawed.

"I just opened the door and there it was," Sarah offers innocently.

Sam glares at his sister; there's no way… "That's not take-out."

"How can you be so sure?"

Sam's scowl just deepens as he tries to wait his sister out, neither one willing to give an inch.

So Sarah just decides to take one. "Who is she?"

That knocks the confidence right off his face and they both know she's got him. Of course that doesn't stop him from trying. "Who is who? I don't know who you're talking about. I was in the shower, remember?"

Sarah's eyebrows jump up in disbelief. He obviously wasn't fooling her. "Okay, let me ask you this. Can you think of anyone who would want to come in to your house, take out your garbage and make you dinner? Because you can't tell me that you don't know, that it could be any random co-worker or friend of yours. This…" She waves her hand around the room, "is not nothing."

No, it's everything.

"She didn't tell you?"

"Nope," Sarah confirms, eyes narrowing a little. "She did ask me if I had a dog though?"

Sam starts to laugh; he can't help it. It's so ridiculous and not near as random as his sister might think. But it is so McNally that he can't help but smile. And he just feels…lighter, better.

Sarah's eyes soften. "She makes you happy."

And she's not even asking him; it's like she can just see how much lighter he feels, how the weight of the world doesn't feel quite so heavy right now.

She doesn't say anything else after that. Just reaches up and grabs them both a plate setting them down beside the oven. By the time she gets her hand on the cutlery, Sam already has the casserole out of the oven and is dishing it up.

Dinner is a quiet affair. There's not much talk as they enjoy the meal and afterward Sarah insists on cleaning things up. When she comes out about fifteen minutes later with two bowls of pistachio ice cream, Sam knows he shouldn't be surprised. But he is.

She drops down on the sofa next to him and they sit in silence again until Sarah finally sighs. "I think I'm going to head home tomorrow."

"What? Why?" Last he heard she was planning to stay for at least a couple of days, maybe a week.

He feels Sarah's shoulders shrug against his. "House is clean and I can take you for groceries after breakfast tomorrow, but I really don't think there's anything else I can do for you. You can clearly get around here on your own. And you obviously have people that care about you willing to come by if you need them, if you just ask them." She throws Sam a pretty pointed look. She knows as well as he does how hard it is for him to ask for help, to let anyone know that he needs help. "Everything you could ever want is right there Sammy. I can see it and I know you can too."

"Sare," Sam cautions, he was already warring with himself enough without having to defend himself to her too.

"No. Don't. Not this time. You're the strongest man I know Sammy. The bravest man I know. I don't know what it is about this girl, but-"

"I'm not good for her Sarah."

"Sam," she admonishes her heart hurting for her baby brother who really has no idea just how great of a man he is.

"No. She feels everything Sarah, soaks up everyone's feelings and…" He blows out a breath. "I don't want to bring her down with me."

He looks up at Sarah after a couple of seconds, knows she's waiting him out.

"Yeah and what if instead, she lifts you up huh? Maybe she's stronger than you think."

"She's one of the strongest women I know."

"Then give her a chance. I think it's pretty obvious that she wants one. You deserve to be happy Sam."

"What about her? Doesn't she deserve to be happy?"

"I think she already is, Sam."

"What do you mean?"

"I asked her what I should tell you about the supper she brought over. She said she was happy to do it. Heavy on the happy, like that should mean something. Does it?"

Sam takes in a long, slow breath. He usually avoids these conversations like the plague, but he knows… he knows that if he truly wants to give him and Andy a go, he has to try, has to be willing to open up. "Before I got shot, I told her I was leaving. She was with this other guy and she looked happy with him and I want that for her. I want her to be happy more than anything. But I just, I can't watch her be happy, not when it's with someone else. It hurts too much."

"But-"

Sam holds his hand up, silently asking her to let him finish. He needs to get this out. "She told me in the hospital that if I want her to be happy." Sam closes his eyes, swallows hard. "She said that I need to do something about it… that I'm the only one that can."

"She's right you know."

Sam huffs out a disbelieving breath. "You don't even know her."

"That's not what I mean. I can talk to you until I'm blue in the face and knowing Oliver, I'm guessing he's talked to you a few times to, but Sam, you're the only one that can do anything about this. The only one that can make you both happy. So do it. If you don't, the regret will eat away at you. Trust me. You don't want to spend your life going 'what if'."

Sarah rubs a soothing hand along her brother's shoulder before she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. "You know; you're your own worst enemy. Always have been." She gets up and heads towards the guest room.

"Love you too, Sis."

The sentiment is said in jest but it still stops her in her tracks. Even as a joke, she can't remember the last time Sam said that out loud. She bites her lip, blinks back a couple of tears. "I love you too, Sam."

He watches her shake her head and hears a quiet chuckle as she makes her way down the hall.

He spends the next hour on his couch deep in thought before he shuts off all the lights and retreats to the comfort of his own bed.

Laying down he stares at the empty side of the bed, reaches out and runs his hand across the cold pillow.

There's a content smile on his face when he drifts off to sleep.

The next day's a long one for Fifteen Division. They're still short two officers and a detective so everyone's been picking up extra shifts to help out. And at the end of this one, they're all more than ready to unwind.

Andy's standing at the bar listening to Dov and Chris argue over which song they should sing. Traci and Steve are up on stage right now belting out and interesting rendition of 'Almost Paradise' and Andy can't help but smile.

A year ago, her best friend was utterly devastated, her world torn apart. And now, seeing the wide grin on her friends face, Andy was just really happy for her.

She's pulled from her thoughts when she feels Chloe push against her with her hip. "What would you sing?"

Andy chuckles wryly at the first thought that runs through her head. But she doesn't voice it out loud. Doesn't want to make it real. Doesn't want it to be real.

She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and waves it at Chloe in deflection. As she pulls it out, she holds her other hand over her ear to try and drown out the noise. "I can't hear you."

She listens intently before an excited smile takes over her face and for the first time in almost a year, it lights up her eyes too. "I'll be right over."

On the other side of the bar, a lone figure sits at the counter and watches as she races out into the night. He tips his glass in salute.

And you always will be.