First of all, thank you for the great response to "Steady Now". It took a lot out of me, so I'm aiming for something a bit closer to the fluff end of the spectrum. As the summary mentioned, this is the first of five parts (the others are all written to varying degrees in my head, and this one was the most difficult for me to conceive of). I find it a lot easier to get into Sam's head for some reason, so I wanted to challenge myself by writing from Andy's perspective. I guess time will tell if that was a worthwhile decision or not. :-)

This one is set toward the end of 1x04, Signals Crossed – if the "I don't want anything to happen to you" conversation never took place. (I do love that conversation, so hopefully this kind of works in lieu of it.) Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading.

Because.

She lets him drive her home because her feet hurt and it smells like rain. She knows the offer is his attempt at contrition for his harsh words at the scene earlier, but as soon as she closes the passenger-side door, the palpable tension within the cab of the truck engulfs her. He jams the key in the ignition and the engine turns over a little louder and longer than is probably necessary. She glances surreptitiously at his clenched jaw, the white-knuckle grip on the gearshift as he yanks it into drive, and sinks down a little in the bucket seat.

They turn out of the parking lot and are stopped at a red light on the following block when he breaks the silence. "You're lucky your instincts are good."

She looks at him, surprised. "Thank you, sir," she murmurs.

"Not a compliment," he says tightly. The light turns green, and her head meets the backrest as he accelerates. "You know, I knew you were gonna be a pain in the ass from day one, but you really know how to exceed expectations."

Yeah, he's definitely still pissed. "Okay," she responds quietly. "I know I screwed up tonight. I get it."

"You're relentless," he continues, as if he didn't hear her. "Stubborn. Clearly can't lie to save your own life. You're the only rookie I've ever seen who manages to be impulsive and overanalytical at the same time."

She looks out the window, where dark clouds are rapidly rolling across the sky, blocking out the morning sun. She briefly debates jumping out at the next stoplight and taking her chances in the imminent downpour. "Are you done?"

He shoots her a brief look, surprise and irritation evident in his expression before he turns back to the road. "No. You could've gotten someone – gotten yourself killed…"

"I know," she says sharply. "And I already feel horrible about it, so really, thank you for finding new and creative ways to remind me. So glad to know I'm worth your time in spite of all that."

"You're not," he says evenly.

The words sting more than she wants them to, and she's attempting to compose herself enough to tell him that it's one thing to criticize her for a mistake and something else to be downright rude, when he clears his throat.

"Not 'in spite of'." He pulls up to the curb in front of her building, putting the truck in park and shifting in his seat toward her. "You're worth it because."

Because? Are we speaking in riddles now, Officer Swarek? His laundry list returns to the forefront of her mind. Oh. She blinks a couple of times as the realization washes over her, hesitantly meeting his eyes.

There's something in his gaze that doesn't quite read 'training officer.' It's warm, gentle – apparently magnetic, since she can't seem to break the stare. The same sensation she'd had in the parking lot of the Penny a few weeks ago begins a measured rise in her chest: apprehension that she shouldn't be feeling any of this, with an underlying awareness that she doesn't know how not to. It's taking every splinter of self-control she has not to reach for him –

And then his eyes snap back to the windshield, and the moment evaporates. (She wants to chase after the feeling, ask it to come back; as unsettling as it is, it's somehow worse to be without it.) She slowly turns her gaze forward, watching the steady drizzle as it streams down the glass.

"You bring who you are to the job," he begins in an uncertain but distinctly professional tone. "Everyone does. You just have to figure out how to hone it, make it work for you. That takes time. Practice."

She nods, releasing a slow breath. "Right."

"Do you have an umbrella?" he asks abruptly, looking past her out the window. "It's kind of a hike to the door."

"Um…" She halfheartedly rifles through the outside pocket of her duffel, knowing plenty well that her search is futile. "No, but it's fine. It's just water."

He wordlessly reaches behind his seat and holds a compact black umbrella out to her, his eyes making it clear that there's no room for argument.

"Thanks," she says, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. "So you're always prepared, huh?"

He shrugs. "I've been known to read a weather report from time to time."

She thanks him again and opens the door, shaking the umbrella open to cover her head before she steps out. With a slight wave of her hand, she turns toward the building.

"McNally," she hears him call behind her. She looks back to see him leaning toward the open passenger window.

"It's supposed to rain all week," he informs her.

She takes a step back toward the truck. "Is that so?"

He nods. "I'll pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow. If you think you can handle being ready on time."

She can't suppress the grin that spreads across her face of its own volition. "You just want your umbrella back."

"Get some sleep," he responds. "Early mornings like to sneak up on you."

She walks toward the building as he drives off and climbs the stairs to her apartment. She drops her bag near the door, places the umbrella in the bathtub, and trades her street clothes for pajamas. Inclement weather normally leads her to sleep like a rock, and after the events of last night, she expects to hit the pillow hard – but as she sets the alarm for noon and climbs into bed, her thoughts are in overdrive.

He's her T.O. Gail stated it well: anything happening between them would be a big no-no. But she's always successfully held every guy she's ever been with at arm's length. It makes it easier to be the one who walks away, and in her experience, somebody always does. With him, though, she's not sure she'd be able to – or even that she'd want to. It terrifies her to imagine allowing anyone to see past her defenses, but she has a feeling that whether she likes it or not, he already has. She pulls a throw pillow over her face and groans into it; morning apparently isn't the only thing sneaking up on her.

Exhaustion eventually overtakes her racing mind, and she begins to drift off. He's off-limits right now – but he won't be forever.

She wakes up before the alarm, showers and gets dressed. She promised Luke yesterday that she'd meet him at Doc's down the street for coffee. The rain hasn't let up, so she slips tall rubber boots on over her jeans, grabbing Sam's umbrella as she heads out the door.

Luke is already sitting at a table with two steaming mugs when she arrives. He stands up as she enters the café. "Hey."

"Hey," she greets him, taking a seat opposite him.

He settles back in his chair, placing his hands around his cup. "Heard you had kind of a rough night."

She shrugs. "Could have been better, could have been a lot worse." She hears the smile in her voice before she realizes it's there.

"Any reason you're so happy this afternoon?" he teases. When she looks up, it's not Luke she sees.

"Just… because."