A/N: Hello lovely FF readers! I've been lurking around for a while and finally decided to join the fray by creating an account so that I can

a) properly review everyone's wonderful stories and
b) post my first story (which is hopefully wonderful enough to prompt you to leave a review)

Some of the details from Season 1 are a little fuzzy for me so if I get something wrong feel free to PM me or just ignore the mistake. This story starts right after 1x07, Hot and Bothered. Not sure how long it's going to be yet, although it'll definitely be less than 20 chapters. The only thing I can guarantee is that it's McSwarek.

Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue or any of its characters. Title is respectfully borrowed from a Veronica Mars episode because I couldn't come up with anything of my own. ;-)

Chapter 1

By the fifteenth sheep, Andy decided that whoever created this mental exercise was a moron.

First of all, could sheep even jump that high? She could pick out poison oak from 30 feet away, but her knowledge-or lack thereof-of livestock was a whole different story. So supposing sheep could jump several feet high to get over a fence, why would they bother, let alone in single file? Unless it was a solid wooden fence, the sheep wouldn't have to jump over it to figure out if the grass was really greener over there. And anyone who jumps over a fence without being able to see what is on the other side is either really stupid or really desperate. Usually it was both, in her experience.

Wouldn't it make more sense to envision, oh, say bunnies jumping over a fence? Heck, even frogs would work. But those species were probably both small enough to sneak under the fence so why would they waste the energy going over it?

Oh, man. She was losing it.

Actually, she was pretty sure she'd already lost it. You know, about three hour agos when she showed up at Sam's door and basically jumped his bones, then jumped off said bones three minutes later. She'd been called a tease before, but this was the first time she actually felt like the shoe fit. And damn if it didn't give her a blister.

The entire walk back to her apartment Andy had replayed those delectable three minutes over and over again in her head, kind of like when she got hooked on a new song and kept it on repeat until she got sick of it (usually a couple hundred plays later). When she had hit replay number 327 of her and Sam, she had worried that she might never get sick of it. Never get sick of Sam.

At least it kept her from thinking about the shooting.

The three bullet holes in the man's chest. The dark pool of blood under his head. The slight scent of gunpowder that hung in the air. The faint ringing in her ears from the shots. The tremble in her hands that still hadn't gone away. The sound of Sam saying, "It's okay."

If he hadn't shown up, she's pretty sure that she would still be standing uselessly, staring at the body of that sick pervert while that poor little girl-Iesha-was still tied up. If his touch didn't burn her skin and ignite her heart, she'd still be sobbing on her couch about the hollowness that had formed inside of her for killing a man, regardless of the fact that she didn't have a choice. Call her crazy, but after shooting a serial rapist and getting hot and heavy with Sam, she truly doubted that things would ever get back to normal.

When she had reached her place, Andy realized that while the power may have come back on in Sam's neighborhood, her block was still without and therefore unairconditioned, which really sucked because she was hot and bothered-and not because of the walk back. No, her discomfort had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with a man who just happened to be as unpredictable as the former.

She huffed out a long breath of air. Normally, this would flutter the bangs away from her face for a few seconds, but they were matted to her forehead and didn't move a centimeter. The power clearly wasn't going to come back on any time soon and she doubted she'd be able to fall asleep even if the AC could cool her place off.

She couldn't sleep.

She couldn't even consider thinking about the shooting anymore.

She couldn't stop thinking about Sam.

She couldn't stop replaying the earlier...activities of the evening.

She couldn't stop from wanting to go back to Sam's and take up right where they'd left off.

So, she gave in to the only option left for her.

Cleaning.

Andy grabbed her iPod off of her dresser and got to work. She finished the bathroom and headed for the kitchen, ready to conquer the crusty dishes before they started growing fuzz. Absorbed in the current song blasting through the earbuds and scrubbing at leftover cheese sauce on a plate, she didn't hear the lock to her front door being picked, the chain being cut, nor the man sneaking up behind her.

A hand snaked around her head, dislodging one of the earbuds before clamping over her mouth. Simultaneously, she felt the unmistakable cool metal of gun pressed into her lower back through her thin cotton tank top. Andy froze, trying to figure out if there was any way in hell she could somehow get her own piece from the lockbox in her room before he shot her. Yeah, right.

"Don't make a sound," he directed calmly. "If you do, I will shoot you. Do what I say, when I say it. Nod if you understand."

Andy moved her chin down slightly.

"Good. Now I'm going to remove my hand from your mouth. You're not going to scream or cry or make any noise."

Another nod. He removed his left hand.

She considered yelling, thinking one of her neighbors might wake up and call the police. Although, considering she was the police, they might be more likely to come knock on her door instead of picking up the phone to dial her armed on-duty co-workers. Andy had a feeling this man wouldn't hesitate to shoot anyone who interrupted them. Based on the tone of his voice and his actions, she didn't think this was the first time he had done this and didn't doubt for a second that he would put a bullet in her or anyone who tried to interfere. Best to let her neighbor slumber in ignorance and hopefully live to see the sunrise. Or the power come back on, at least.

With the gun still pressed firmly into her back, the man continued, "We're going to slowly walk to your bedroom."

If she wasn't tense before, Andy became absolutely rigid at this statement. Oh God, she thought. Dressed in only a pair of panties and a tank top, she hadn't even had time to consider the man's reasons for breaking into her apartment and holding her at gunpoint. What if he wanted to rape her? She could barely think the words in her mind without wanting to heave, let alone believe that it was a very real possibility.

Why, why hadn't she gone back to Sam's like she'd wanted to? Then none of this would be happening and she'd probably already be on her third orgasm, if the few minutes she'd spent in Sam's arms earlier were any indication.

Thinking of Sam reminded Andy that she was a cop-a good cop, with months of training and a few months in the field and damned if she wasn't going to try her hardest to get away from this guy. He invaded her home, her privacy, her safehaven, and she was going to fight him every step of the way no matter what he threatened to get whatever it was that he wanted.

Now that she'd regrown her backbone, if not into steel, then at least wood, Andy began to slowly move her hands through the dishwater they were still submerged in, searching for the chef's knife that she knew she hadn't washed yet.

Knowing she had only a split second before the man noticed what she was doing or became impatient by her lack of movement toward the bedroom, Andy finally grasped the familiar handle firmly in her right hand. It was now or never.