Summary: My take on the beginning of S2 (starts with the final scenes of S1). This is not how the show will take it, my version is too dark, but really, doesn't anyone else worry about how quickly Andy bounces back from all the horrific things that keep happening?

A/N: This is my first Rookie Blue fanfic. It's been a while since I was involved in a fandom, and I've only ever written one shots before. Working on dialogue for the next chapter. I want to make sure I get the characterisation right. And this was just bubbling away for me, so I started scribbling.

She'd been close to hyperventilating in the van on the way over to the warehouse. The thought of Sam being hurt or even dead, and it being her fault ... It was all she could do to keep her breathing under control and to not throw up on Luke sitting next to her. Her pulse had spiked with every chirrup of the radio, and then the call for an ambulance had come through and she'd had to close her eyes at the terror that had washed over her.

Let it not be Sam, please let it not be Sam ...

And when they'd arrived, and seen the body bag, the fear had been so strong that she'd felt dizzy and seen spots in front of her eyes. Then someone had opened it and she'd seen it was Angel; the relief had been palpable, but the terror had still ruled until she'd heard him call her name, turned and seen him. She'd wanted to close her eyes at the sweet, sweet strength of the relief, at how the knowledge that he was safe, and whole, and unharmed was letting her heartbeat slow and allowing her to breathe freely again.

She'd wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn't look away from him, and the huge, almost manic grin on his face. She'd wanted to touch him and reassure herself that he was really all right and really alive and really here. But that wouldn't have been appropriate so she held herself back. She'd wanted to kiss him, but that would have been really inappropriate and she was pretty sure he didn't her any more – especially not after the way she had treated him. So she'd just stared at him while he'd talked, dredged up some response to him – even laughed along at some joke he'd made, but her heart wasn't in it – the fear was too recent, too fresh in her mind for that. She'd wanted to carry on just staring at him for as long as possible, to keep drinking in the sight of him for as long as he'd let her, but then he'd sent her after Luke – like she was some puppy following him around. And maybe that's all she was to him.

So she'd nodded, stopped staring and gone to Luke. He'd greeted her briefly, gently cradling her cheek in his hand. Luke kissed her forehead and wrapped her in a hug – one hand on the back of her head, the other on her lower back. In a flash she felt like it was so she couldn't get away. All the while she could feel Sam's eyes burning in to them.

Luke had pulled away after a brief time, told her that he was needed here, but that she should go back to the station.

She'd felt the same blank, dream like quality on the ride back. It wasn't until she was under the shower back at the station that joy had hit her. Joy for being alive, for Sam being alive, for both of them being ok. The feeling was so strong that she'd laughed with it and it had carried her through to laughing outside with the other rookies on the squad car, bright eyed with wonder at it all, that the world was painted with new colours just because Sam was alive.

They went to the bar, they drank. Sam didn't show – probably shook up, and Luke was still working, so she went home alone. She felt great, everything was just dandy, until she was asleep.

She dreamt. She dreamt that she hadn't been quite so clever – hadn't engaged that kid in conversation quite fast enough, hadn't asked the right questions to piss him off and to give her the information, hadn't had the guts to turn her back on him as quickly as she had, hadn't run fast enough, hadn't driven fast enough. The dream had slowed even further as she walked towards the body bag, and when the officer had unzipped it, the body hadn't belonged to Angel. It had belonged to Sam.

That was when she'd woken up, breathing slow, but heart pounding, slow yet so hard it hurt her with every thump.

She'd barely made it to the bathroom in time to throw up.

She knew there was no way she was going back to sleep. No way. Not if there was any chance she'd be seeing Sam's lifeless face again, his eyes glassy, his skin greying. She curled up on her sofa and stared at whatever mindless program she could find on the TV. She quickly came to the conclusion that programming at 4am had gone downhill since the nights she'd spent waiting for her dad to stumble through the door during her teens. She had been hoping that she would doze off sitting there, but no such luck.

Come morning and the start of her shift she drank twice her normal dose of coffee and practically poured on foundation to sort out the circles under her eyes. She hoped. She smiled at everyone, said good morning, managed to seem normal. Luke dragged her into the interview room, and she was sure that, even to him, her kisses must seem lacklustre. He didn't notice though, or if he did, he didn't comment. It wasn't until she went into parade, until she caught Sam watching her out of the corner of her eye that she finally relaxed. Finally took a deep breath. Finally felt the fear leave her. He was alive. He was ok. He was here. She managed to pay attention, just. And in the car with Sam, she did her best to act normal – to smile and banter, but she knew the smile didn't reach her eyes, and that the banter didn't have its usual bite. And she knew he could tell.

Still. Fake it till you make it, right?