- Week One -

If there was one thing Andy enjoyed about being suspended, it was the hours and hours of sleep she was able to catch up on.

Okay, there were obviously other things she enjoyed doing with her newly acquired free time, but sleep was pretty high up there on the list.

So when Sam climbed into bed with her one afternoon and shook her hip to wake her up, she groaned unhappily and rolled over, pulling a pillow over her head.

"Andy," he tried again, not giving up easily. "Andy, wake up."

"I'm sleeping," she whined, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Leave me alone."

He laughed while pulling the pillow off of her and found himself on the receiving end of a very dirty glare. "You've been asleep for almost three hours already," he reasoned with her. "As much as I love having you in my bed, you can't stay here all day."

Andy blinked a couple of times and then narrowed her eyes. "That's not what you said on Saturday," she reminded him, grinning sleepily as she rolled over and wrapped her leg over his.

She had done it without thinking. If she hadn't seen the flash of pain that flickered through his dark eyes or the tightening of his jaw in a grimace before he quickly schooled his expression, she might not have remembered.

But she did see it, and the guilt washed over her so strongly she felt like she couldn't breath properly. Sobering, horrified that she had forgotten and had been so careless, she withdrew her leg with a hastily whispered apology.

He shook his head, like he always did, and his eyes returned to their usual warmth when told her not to worry about it. He propped himself up on one arm and leaned over her, brushing his lips against hers in a reassuring kiss.

No matter how many times he kissed her, and at that point it had been more than a few times, she still felt like she could melt under his lips. He kissed her and all of a sudden she forgot about Brennan and Boyd and their suspension and what might be waiting for them when they returned to work, all things that had recently plagued her mind. None of it seemed to matter and she sighed contentedly beneath him.

He pulled back and looked down at her with a small smile. "Come on," he said, undeterred from his mission, slapping her backside a couple of times as he climbed off the bed. "It's dinnertime. Get dressed."

"I'm not hungry," she mumbled with a heavy sigh, wanting to stay wrapped in the warmth of his bed.

"Get up," he instructed simply, ignoring her complaining as he made his way out of the room.

Andy flipped to her back and stared at the ceiling. She took a couple of deep breaths and then, with a exaggerated disgruntled groan she hoped he could hear, forced herself to get out of the bed. She pulled on what she hoped was a decent enough outfit, she hadn't worn real clothes in who knew how long, and even took the time to run a brush through her hair. She headed out to the foyer and was pulling her boots on when he snuck up behind her, surprising her and almost causing her to fall over.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm putting my shoes on," she answered, precariously poised on one foot as she tried to slip her boot on. She held a hand out and he took it, helping her get her balance.

"Why?"

Andy shot him a look of disbelief. "You said if I got up we'd go out to dinner!" She couldn't exactly recall, but somewhere in her foggy memory she knew he had said something about dinner.

Sam rolled his eyes. "No," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the kitchen, "I said it was dinnertime."

"I can't believe you woke me up for take out Sam," she grumbled, following behind him.

"Would you just sit over there an be quiet?" He asked, pointing towards the table in the small dining area. It was then that Andy noticed that the lights were low and that there were candles flickering on the already-set table.

She looked back at Sam, who had already turned away from her, and then cut her eyes back to the table. "Did you make me dinner?" She asked, a wide smile spreading across her face.

"I just thought it was time we ate something that didn't come in a box and wasn't heated up in the microwave," Sam said nonchalantly, stirring something that she suddenly realized smelled delicious.

Dumbfounded, though she wasn't sure why, it took her a moment to recover. When she did, she picked her wine glass up off the table and walked up behind him, wrapping her arm loosely around her waist. She pressed a kiss against his back, murmuring her thanks, and then rested her head on his shoulder. He quickly turned his head to press a kiss against her cheek before ordering her back to the table.

She didn't go right away, instead choosing slowly run her tongue along the shell of his ear before taking the lobe between her teeth and biting down gently. She could feel the shiver that ran through his body and grinned against his skin.

He chuckled and turned in her arms, holding a ladle in one hand. "Andy," he cautioned, "Unless you want dinner to end up all over the floor, you better stop."

She kissed quickly him before backing away to the other side of the kitchen, holding her hands up in innocence. "I'm stopping, I'm stopping." She leaned against the counter and watched him plate their food, his forearms flexing enticingly as he spooned the homemade sauce. Sam had great forearms and Andy couldn't help but notice that the way he had pushed up his sleeves to the elbows showed them off perfectly. She grinned indulgently. "You know," she mused, taking a sip of her wine, "You're pretty sexy when you cook."

Sam turned to her, a full plate of spaghetti in both hands. "McNally, please," he said with a cocky smirk and raised eyebrow, "I'm always sexy."

- Week Two -

Andy looked up from her spot on the sofa when she heard the front door open and then jumped when she heard it slam shut. When Sam didn't come into the living room she called out, "Hello?"

A few seconds later he came into view, his brow drawn together as he looked her over from head to toe. He was clearly agitated about something and surprised to see her in his living room. "What are you doing here?"

She looked at her watch before looking back at him. "You said to come over around six… it's six fifteen."

"How'd you get in?" He asked.

She tilted her head, confused. "You gave me a key," she reminded him. "Sam, what's going on?"

"Nothing," he told her, moving into the kitchen and disappearing behind the counter.

Andy heard a cabinet open and could hear him tossing something around. She laid the magazine she had been reading down and stood up. "I brought stuff to make dinner," she said, walking over to the kitchen. She leaned over the counter and could see him, crouched down and pulling what looked like cleaning supplies out from underneath the sink. "So, you know, whenever you're hungry…"

"I'm not hungry," he said dismissively, standing up and grabbing the paper towel roll off of the counter.

"Okay, well," Andy watched him curiously. "Just let me know."

"I will," he said, heading for the front door, a bucket of cleaning supplies under his arm.

"I'm just going to hang out here," she called after him. "Read my magazine."

"Whatever." His grunt of a reply was cut off by the sound of the front door slamming.

Left alone, Andy glanced around the kitchen, unsure of what had just taken place. After a moment she walked to the foyer, grabbed her coat and followed him outside.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she walked over to the driveway. "What are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning my truck," Sam answered gruffly, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Andy was taken back by his tone, but decided to let it slide. "Why?"

"It's filthy."

Andy looked inside at the spotless interior and raised an eyebrow. "It's immaculate."

"No," Sam huffed, "It's not."

"Okay," Andy agreed reluctantly, drawing the word out. "Any particular reason for the obsessive compulsive behavior?"

"I thought you were reading your magazine," he said, not answering her question.

"Oh," Andy smiled sweetly, needling him, "So you were paying attention to me."

He didn't reply, just flicked his eyes over to meet hers in a dark, unamused glare before moving around to the other side of the truck and throwing the door open.

Andy rolled her eyes heavenward, frustrated. She waited a moment, gathering her courage, and then rounded the back of the truck to stand next to him. "Sam," she said somberly, "What's wrong?"

He continued what he was doing for a minute, ignoring her, until he finally exhaled heavily and braced both hands on the side of the truck. Andy watched as he slowly rolled his neck from one side to the other before staring at the ground and telling her, "I went to the firing range today."

"I know," Andy nodded. When he didn't continue she asked, her nose scrunched, "Did you kill the lady with the baby? I hate when I kill the lady with the baby."

"No, I didn't kill the lady with the baby," Sam muttered, turning to face her. "I didn't even get the chance to kill the lady with the baby."

Andy's frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Sam sniffed and rubbed his thumb underneath his nose. "It's my hand." Andy nodded slowly, encouraging him to keep going. He swallowed hard and stubbed his toe against the ground a couple of times before admitting quietly, "I can't grip my gun."

Realization dawned on Andy and she understood why he was acting the way he was. "Oh Sam," she breathed, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding sharply. "So there's that."

Andy moved closer to him, hesitantly reaching out to rub his shoulder. As close as the two had become, especially in the last couple of weeks, she still felt out of her element; there had been very few times in the past when he had actually admitted to her when something was bothering him, and even fewer times when he'd accepted anything more than a few cursory words of advice or comfort before changing the subject.

"It's only been a couple of weeks, it'll come back." She tried to reassure him but knew the words meant very little, if anything. "The swelling hasn't even gone down all the way yet."

"I know that, Andy," he said, his volume rising with every word. She could almost feel the anger radiating off of him. "I'm still pissed off about it."

Andy tried not to flinch when he yelled. "I know you are," she said softly, "I'm sorry."

He sighed, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat, and then rubbed a hand over his face. "If I can't hold my gun, they're going to put me at a desk."

Standing there with him, outside in the cold, Andy suddenly felt very helpless. She couldn't fix his hand and she couldn't heal his injuries. She couldn't even tell him, honestly, that everything was going to be fine, because she didn't know that it was going to be. It was true- if he couldn't carry a weapon he wasn't going to be allowed back on the streets. She believed his hand would get better, and wanted him to believe it too, but no one could say for certain if he'd regain full use of it again.

Instead of replying, she moved to stand in between him and his truck. She slipped her hands over his shoulders and then raised herself up to her tiptoes so she could wrap her arms around his neck. At first he didn't respond to the embrace and his arms hung limply at his sides, but after a moment she felt them circle around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

He rested his head on her shoulder and buried his face in her hair, exhaling heavily. Turning her head slightly, Andy pressed a kiss against his temple. "It's going to be okay," she whispered reassuringly into his ear, words that didn't really mean anything in themselves but held promise. He nodded but didn't say anything.

Subconsciously, she started to run her hand up and down his back. She felt him momentarily tense but eventually his muscles relaxed and he became heavier, leaning into her.

Andy wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, wrapped up together. It was long enough that her calf muscles started to ache and she'd had to stand flat footed again, but he'd simply bent his knees and tightened the hold.

She knew there were very few people Sam would tell about his hand; she doubted he would even talk to Oliver about it. The fact that he trusted her enough to share it with her, share something that he physically couldn't do which she knew just had to eat him up inside, meant more to her than any words of affirmation about their relationship ever could.

Andy realized that although they were both fully clothed, in heavy winter coats even, it was one of the most intimate moments they had shared.

After a while she pulled back to look at him. "Well," she said cautiously, "If it makes you feel any better, I think we're both going to be on desk duty for a while anyway."

His lips curved into a half smile, which she was thankful to see. "Yeah," he agreed. "Probably."

His dark eyes met hers and they shared a look of understanding, of acceptance.

With a final smile she untangled herself from him and cleared her throat. "Do you, uh, want some help?"

He looked at her, trying to gauge her sincerity, and then reached down into the bucket and pulled out a spray bottle. "Windows," he instructed. "Your toe prints are all over the front window."

Andy scoffed but reached for the paper towels. "No they aren't."

"Yes," he insisted, "They are. There's no way my feet could have reached all the way over there and you're the only other person that's been in my truck."

"Yeah but when was I bare…"

Andy was interrupted when he reminded her, "Three days ago."

She thought back and remembered that he had picked her up from the nail salon after she'd gotten a much-needed pedicure. She also remembered that he had specifically asked her not to put her feet on the windows. "Oh." Sam just raised and eyebrow and she grinned sheepishly. "Sorry."

He didn't reply, just pointed towards the passenger side of the truck.

"I'm going, I'm going," she grumbled.

They worked in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Eventually Sam called out to her, "Hey, Andy?"

She looked up. "Yeah?"

His mouth opened and then closed and then opened again. "I'm sorry I yelled," he said finally, shaking his head. "It's not you."

"I know, Sam." She just nodded and smiled. "I know."

- Week Three -

"It'd be easier if you would read the directions."

"McNally, I don't need the directions," he insisted. "It's a coffee table. How hard can it be?"

Andy was sprawled on her sofa, her legs thrown over the back of it, watching as Sam pulled all of the pieces out of the box. "I don't know, you tell me."

"I don't know why I got roped into putting this together in the first place," he grumbled under his breath, just barely loud enough for her to hear.

"Um, I don't know, because it's your fault my other coffee table broke?" she suggested.

Sam looked up from what he was doing and fixed her with a questioning glare. "How do you figure that?"

"'Don't worry, it can handle us'?" She said, mimicking his words from the night her coffee table broke. She smirked. "Please."

"It was fine until you threw your leg over my shoulder."

"Where else was I supposed to put it?" Andy asked incredulously. "We were on the coffee table!"

"Well," Sam maintained, "It would have been fine if your coffee table wasn't a cheap piece of crap."

"Oh, and you know that from all your other coffee table escapades?" Sam glanced up at her and quirked an eyebrow, his brown eyes twinkling. She quickly recanted, "Don't answer that."

He took inventory of all the pieces laid out in front of him. "Okay, I'm going to need a screw driver." Andy stared at him blankly. "Andy," he repeated, "I need a screw driver."

"All my stuff is still packed up," she told him. "Didn't you bring your tools?"

"No, I didn't bring my tools," Sam answered irritably.

"I told you on the phone that I needed a handyman," Andy said.

"Well," Sam said, letting out a short laugh, "I didn't really think you were being serious."

"Why would I say that if I wasn't being serious?"

Sam just looked at her pointedly.

"Oh, god," Andy said when realization dawned, her noise scrunching with distaste. "You thought this was a booty call?"

"Hey," Sam replied defensively, "Don't act like it's never happened before."

"Okay, well," Andy acknowledged his point with a grin, "If it was a booty call, why wouldn't I just say that?"

"I don't know McNally, women are weird. Like the time you asked me what I knew about plumbing," he shook his head, sharply, "Didn't really think I was going to be fixing a sink that night."

Andy raised an eyebrow. "You thought I was propositioning you? I had just started dating Luke!"

"Doesn't matter," said Sam, waving his hand dismissively. "Doesn't change the fact that I don't have my tools."

She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you didn't bring them."

"I didn't know I was going to be building furniture!"

Andy groaned and pushed herself off the couch. "You're hardly building furniture, Sam, its basically glorified Legos," she said, opening the hallway closet and digging through a half opened box. Not finding what she needed, she pulled the box out and searched through another one.

Sam came to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder. "I need a Phillips head."

"You'll get what you get and you'll be happy about it," she grumbled, pushing another box out of the way. She rummaged through another box and finally found what she was looking for. "Aha!" She said, raising the screwdriver triumphantly. "A Phillips head and everything."

"Aren't I lucky?" Sam said, plucking it out of her hand and walking back to the coffee table.

Andy flopped back on the sofa, watching quietly as he struggled to fit the pieces together. When she realized he wasn't making much progress, she asked, "Why don't you just use the instructions so you can finish up and come cuddle with me on the couch?" She ran her hand over the cushion next to her before patting it a couple of time. "I have ice cream."

Sam looked up. "Is there pistachio ice cream?"

Andy nodded innocently. "Somewhere in the city of Toronto, yes, there is pistachio ice cream."

"And in your kitchen?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Seriously?" He asked, staring at her in disbelief. "I told you the story about my dad and everything."

"I know you did and it was very sweet and I appreciated it," Andy told him, smiling. "But pistachio ice cream is gross. And expensive."

"See if I ever open up to you again," Sam mumbled, going back to what he was doing.

"You didn't open up to me," Andy reminded him, "JD opened up to me."

"You just loved JD, didn't you?" Sam asked, twisting the screwdriver as he attached a leg to the top of the coffee table.

"Well, what's not to love?" She asked. "He was attractive and charming and funny and attentive…."

"What more could you ask for?" Sam muttered.

Andy caught the hint of annoyance in Sam's tone. "Yeah, but you know what? The whole bad ass drug smuggler deal?" She shook her head. "Not really my thing."

"Oh, no?"

"No," Andy answered sharply. Sam's eyes flew up to meet hers and she grinned. "I much prefer bad ass cops."

Sam just winked and grinned back at her. "Good to know."

She smiled and settled back into the cushions, waiting for him to finish up. A few minutes later, after watching him attach, detach and then reattach the same leg, she tried again. "Sam, come on. The sooner you get this done the sooner we can move on to other parts of the evening," she told him, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

He studied her for a moment, a wry grin spreading across his face. "Are you propositioning me?"

"Maybe." She shrugged her shoulders and smiled flirtatiously. "Are you going to use the directions?"

Sam glanced between her and the still unassembled coffee table. Finally he groaned and tossed the screwdriver to the floor. He sighed heavily and then, unable to look at her, held his hand out.

Andy handed the directions over to him, grinning. "There's pictures and everything."

- Week Four -

"We have to go back tomorrow."

It was late at night and Andy and Sam were lying together in his bed. He had his arm stretched out across the pillows and she was nestled against him, resting her head on shoulder.

"Yep," he replied quietly. "We do."

"It's going to be weird," she predicted. "Don't you think?"

"Why would it be weird?" Sam asked, yawning. He bent his elbow enough to run his fingers through the strands of her hair, picking it up and loosely letting it fall back down.

Andy turned her head to look at him, his profile silhouetted by the light streaming in from the street. "Because," She reminded him as if it were obvious, twisting her hands in the sheets, "We were suspended for sleeping together while you were undercover."

He frowned into the darkness. "Are you worried about what people think?"

After a pause Andy admitted honestly, "Yes."

"Why?"

Andy flipped over on to her stomach and propped herself up on his chest. "Because… I'm that girl that screwed that undercover guy and got him taken hostage and tortured."

"That is not true, Andy," Sam told her, getting angry. "It had nothing to do with you."

"Yeah, but that's the story that people are going to remember," Andy argued. "That's the story people are going to talk about."

"No one is going to talk about it," Sam replied confidently.

"Not around you they aren't," Andy protested. "Not unless they're an idiot."

"Andy, if someone says something to you, tell them to come talk to me," Sam told her firmly. "And I will happily explain to them that it is none of their damn business."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't need you to be my knight in shining armor, Sam."

There was a moment of quiet and then Sam cleared his throat. "I hate when you say crap like that."

"Like what?"

"Knight in shining armor," Sam repeated. "That's not what it's about. You and I were in this together. We both made the decision to see each other. Hell, I was the one that called you to come back. And you know what? We've suffered the consequences and we're moving on. If someone is going to say something to you then they better have the balls to say it to me, too. You shouldn't have to deal with that on your own."

Andy looked down, watching the patterns that her fingers were tracing on his chest. "I can handle it Sam, I just…" She sighed. "I don't know, I'm just nervous."

Sam nodded understandingly. "I know, but it's going to be fine. People may care for about two seconds and then we're going to back to just being cops. Everything will get back to normal."

"Not really normal," Andy said softly. "We're not going to be riding together anymore."

"No," Sam acknowledged, "Probably not."

"We're lucky we're even getting to work the same shift," she said, blowing a puff of air out. She looked up and met his eyes. "We absolutely cannot have any physical contact at all at work."

Sam laughed softly. "I know that Andy."

"And no long talks by the coffee station, no locker room visits, definitely no interview room visits…"

"Damn," Sam interrupted. "I was really hoping for one of those." Andy shot him a look. "I'm just kidding."

Andy raised an eyebrow. "This isn't funny, Sam."

"I know, I know." He smiled at her. "Despite evidence to the contrary, I can keep my hands to myself."

"Oh yeah?"

"Two years, Andy," he reminded her, rolling on top of her and settling between her legs. "I did it for two long years and I can do it again."

Andy softened. "Good," she replied, letting her hands wander over his back. "The last thing we need is to get in trouble again."

"We're not going to get in trouble," he promised, dipping his head down to press his lips into hers. She lifted her head slightly to meet him before tangling her hands in his hair and pulling him down, deepening the kiss.

When they broke apart she gazed up at him, her eyes hazy and unfocused. She licked her bottom lip and then asked, "Two years, huh?"

He nodded distractedly, nipping at the skin beneath her jaw. "Two long years."

Andy's eyes darkened and her forehead creased. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, absentmindedly stroking her fingertips over his scalp as he kissed his way down the column of her neck.

Sam paused and then pushed himself back up to look at her. "Don't be," he said, leaving no room for argument.

She wanted to tell him again how much she regretted it, that she should have picked him all along and how no one had ever made her happier than he did, but something in his tone told her to drop it. She'd told him enough already, and he believed her. Instead, a small smile graced her lips as she admitted, "I'm going to miss riding with you."

"Even though I never let you drive?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

She nodded before flipping them over and straddling his waist, one leg on each side of him. She leaned down and braced herself on either side of his head, her hair falling around them like a curtain, enveloping them in their own little world. "I didn't mind. I liked watching you drive," she said coyly, brushing her lips over his.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Watching me drive?"

"You were always so strong and it didn't matter how fast we were going, you were always in control," Andy said as kissed her way across his jawline, the stubble scratching against her lips. She whispered in his ear, "It was very sexy."

"Well," he said hoarsely, his hands grasping her waist as she moved over him, "I am an excellent driver."

"Mmmhmm," she agreed, mumbling against his skin as her lips trailed down his neck. "In fact," she mused softly, "There's really only one thing I enjoy more than watching you be so in control."

"What's that?" he asked, his breath catching in his throat as her hand moved down his torso and disappeared beneath the sheets.

She looked up at him, a wicked glint in her eye. "Watching you lose control."