Hi everyone! So the ending of 'Bad Moon Rising' just about sent me off the deep end, and it looks like from the promo that next week's episode is going to have me reaching for any weapon that will put me out of my misery. My only consolation is the clip that shows Luke and Jo getting it on outside a motel room, and I just have to keep reminding myself to keep my bitterness down, and what better way to get my bitterness to go away than to write a story with a bitter Andy?

This story takes place the day after Andy finds out about Luke's cheating. I don't know how it's going to play out on the show, but if I were one of the writers for RB, I'd have the whole issue go just like this.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! And please, pretty please, review. I love getting them, I really do. They make the hurt of being an unsatisfied McSwarek fan go away temporarily, plus I want to find out if my bitterness has impaired my writing at all. Because it's completely possible that it has.

All day, the only thing that kept Andy McNally from completely breaking down into a giant puddle of tears was the thought of the large white porcelain bath tub that awaited her, filled with rose oil and an exorbitant amount of bubbles that she could disappear in and never come out of.

Of course, at the end of the day, when it was time to go home and slip into the blissful oblivion she so desperately needed, she realized that she couldn't go home. Because it wasn't her home anymore; it wasn't their home anymore.

She had given her own home up five months ago, and by "given up" she meant gave the keys back to the actual owner, signing over her rental papers so that Mr. Mitchell could find another tenant for the apartment she had resided in for all of ten months.

A month and four days ago was when Luke had proposed to her. Of course she had said yes, it would have been implausible and incredibly stupid not to accept. Now, thirty-four days later, she was regretting that decision to permanently move out of her apartment so much. So, so, so much.

It had been bad enough today on patrol when Sam had innocently, with just a touch of animosity, asked if she had picked out her wedding dress yet. She had told him, curtly and without any emotion, that the wedding, the engagement, and the whole relationship, was off. When he asked why, she proceeded to use language that she was now ashamed of. Actually, she was ashamed of not feeling ashamed, because quite frankly, it had felt rather good when she had described Detective Rosati as a 'blond bimbo with no respect for the monogamy of a relationship.'

Actually, 'blond bimbo' wasn't what she had used. Her choice of words had included a colorful variety consisting entirely of four letters. And when Sam had had the gall to smile, smile at the news, she had hit him. Hard. Albeit, in the shoulder, but it was better than slapping him across the face, which would have definitely made him crash the cruiser, instead of merely causing him to swerve. He had agreed to her rather threatening plea to not talk about the topic any more, and they had proceeded to have a wonderful conversation about absolutely nothing.

There was no place she could go. Traci was out of town for the weekend visiting her mother in her new nursing home, so not only was her house out of the question, she didn't even know about the broken engagement, since her phone had been unceremoniously dumped by Leo in his cereal yesterday morning.

Dov and Chris' place was also out of the question. If it had just been the two boys, then she would have been over there in a heartbeat, and they would have been throwing darts at Luke's picture right alongside her. Unfortunately, Gail was also currently residing at the Epstein-Diaz home, and there was no way in hell that she was going to talk about her break-up with the queen of perfect lives.

Noelle, absolutely not. Oliver, she wouldn't even dream of asking him. A motel room was the worst option of all, because if she had to be alone tonight, after the morning from hell she had just been through, there was a good chance the TV electrical cord wouldn't just be used for watching soap opera reruns.

Sam had offered his place after overhearing one of her many voice mails to Traci (in the hopes that somehow a miracle would occur and the phone would work so her best friend could tell her where the new place for the spare key was, for she had had to change the locks after breaking it off with Leo's dad) and she had momentarily been touched by his sincere attempts at trying to help, no matter how awkward the exchange, and her refusal, had been.

But now, standing in the women's locker room, completely and utterly alone, she realized she had no other options. She reasoned with herself mentally, at war with the choice she had. She really didn't want a repeat of the blackout, and she was in the same emotionally vulnerable state now that she was in then. On the other hand, Sam was the only one she could actually see helping her. Truth be told, he was the only one she wanted to help her. It wasn't like he hadn't been there before for her, because he had. Every single time she needed him, he was there. So why should this be any different?

Gathering her things, she took a staggered breath that hurt a lot more than it should have emotionally wise, and, entering the men's locker rooms, was faced with a delicious looking Sam.

He was shirtless, his dark hair still wet from the shower, his jeans slung low yet snug. A small part of her mind told her that shouldn't even be possible. Apparently it was.

"Did you really mean what you said?" she asked, blurting out the words before he could voice the surprise that was written plainly across his face at the sight of her.

"About what?"

"About having a place for me to stay tonight."

"Yeah. I did mean it."

An awkward pause followed, with her fidgeting on the spot and him standing as still as a corpse.

"You want to stay at my place tonight?" he asked, his voice huskier than she had ever heard it. Or maybe that was just her out of whack, extremely frayed emotions talking.

"Yeah. I mean, I wouldn't impose if I didn't have any other options. And I don't. At all."

"McNally, give me two minutes. I'll meet you by my truck."

"Okay." She hesitated briefly before leaving the room. Had it really come to this? Had her life really become so out of control that she had to turn to her former, sometimes, not-really lover for refuge after leaving her fiancee?

Lover? Really? Not the best choice of words. It was a one time deal, and you guys barely even made it to second base. She made sure to quickly clamp down on any and all images from the night of the blackout.

Exactly two minutes later, Sam exited the building and, after opening the passenger door for her (a gesture that Luke had never done) promptly sped away from the infernal place that was 15th. It wasn't that the place itself was bad. It was just the people that were. Really, only two people.

"Not that I don't like having you as company, McNally, but why can't you go home?"

"When Luke and I bought the place, it was really only Luke that bought it. My name's not on the deed, therefore, now that we're broken up, I no longer have any claim on the house."

"That was stupid."

"Yeah. Yeah it was." It should have struck her as strange to not be on the deed to the house as well when they were drawing up the plans, but then again, she had been so giddily happy at the prospect of playing house with her very own Prince Charming that he could have made her sign a million dollar life insurance policy naming him as the sole beneficiary and she would have obliged with a smile on her face.

"That's a lesson for the future."

"You mean the next time I shack up with a man, I should make sure the house we're buying has my name on it as well? Duly noted."

The silence that followed lasted until they got to Sam's place. Once again, he opened the door for her to get out of the truck, and once again, she was struck by how odd and gentlemanly the gesture was.

"So, bathroom's here, guest bedroom is here - "

"I know the way around your house, Sam."

"Actually, just around my bedroom, but I was trying to avoid that awkward piece of information." His attempt at a joke was met by a stony glare. "Too soon?"

"Yes, Sam, too soon." Despite her growling, she allowed him to give her the rest of the tour, which ended in the guest bedroom.

"I'll make up the bed for you. There is an extra toothbrush under the sink, it's new, and I'm pretty sure I have some female clothes you can wear tomorrow so no one talks about you showing up in the same outfit."

"What, you still holding onto feelings for Monica in the form of her garments?"

"The clothes are Sarah's. She keeps some over here for whenever she stays."

"Oh." Another awkward pause ensued. She wanted to apologize, but instead just asked if she could help him, and, when he refused, watched him make up the bed for her.

"You hungry?" he asked, straightening up from tucking the corners of the quilt under the mattress.

"Not really."

"You thirsty? I have a couple beers."

"Yeah. I'll take one. Or four." She didn't really understand why he laughed at that statement, since she was being completely serious. They sat at his kitchen table, the doorway leading out to the hallway allowing her eyes direct visibility to his bedroom, a line of sight she most definitely did not want to see at the moment.

"There are two rules that need to be followed in anything said from now on," Sam said, placing a beer in front of her. "One, you have to stop thanking me. You've just about exhausted every variation of the standard 'thank you'."

"I have?" She was surprised. She didn't remember saying thanks more than twice. Then again, she probably had had mini blackouts from anger and betrayal on the way over to his house.

"Yeah. And rule number two, there will be absolutely no mention of Callaghan or Rosati. And especially not wedding dresses."

"I can definitely follow that rule."

"Good. Now, have I ever told you about the time I shot Oliver in the ass?"