A/N: This is a response to the ABC promo called "Risky Business" for episode 3x07 (Leap of Faith). It is pure speculation based on one scene from that promo. There are no spoilers in this story that are outside of what was shown in that promo from the ABC website.

I've lost five pounds in the last week. My stomach is in continuous knots and I can barely stand the sight of food. I feel like a nervous wreck.

"Andy, are you pregnant?" Asked Traci, when her offer of a Timbit was met with a squeamish look.

"Ew. Do you have the flu?" Asked Gail, who took two steps backward after seeing my apparently flushed face.

"You look like a girl in love!" Teased Noelle as my shaky hands, again, sent a mug crashing to the floor.

I'm not in love. Not yet anyway. Sam and I have only officially been together for three months, certainly that's not long enough to fall in love. We're taking things slow, after all. He doesn't even have a key to my apartment and I give everyone a key to my apartment. Hell, Mrs. Winestein down the hall even has a copy.

"Hey," Sam's deep voice, interrupts my thoughts. "Listen I was thinking we could try this new Thai place on Bathurst tonight— " His words quickly became a jumble as I watch him stir a sugar packet into his coffee. I look up at his face, mesmerized by the way his jaw moves up and then down, a quick shift of an eyebrow here, a crinkle of crow's feet there "— and then Sarah called and said that clowns had kidnapped her kid."

"What?"

"Are you okay?" He takes a sip from his coffee and makes a face. "You seem… distracted." Sam rips open a second sugar packet and empties its contents into his cup. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yah. I'm fine. Great." I flick my right hand to my holster to play it off; my cool cop stance. "Everything is great!" I say, my voice cracking. Damn it. My left hand bats at an errant piece of hair. "It's all great."

Sam narrows his eyes at me as though he's going to say something. Deciding against it, his face relaxes. "Okay. See you later then." With a quick pat on my shoulder, he unhooks the squad keys from his belt and heads toward the door. My eyes follow him as he heads toward the exit. I feel my teeth hooking themselves onto the corner of my bottom lip as I watch him walk away.

"Shit!" I stomp my foot like a petulant child. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" I am in love.

"You know you shouldn't swear…" Chris' boy scout-y sounding voice rings out as he enters the break room.

"Shut up," I say warningly, shooting him a dirty look.

oOo

Today was a disaster. I swear if I'd gotten one of the EMTs to take my pulse they'd probably commit me to Victoria Mercy for an irregular heartbeat. This is ridiculous. I've been unfocused all day and have barely managed to scrape by. That damn psychic is lucky he's alive to call his lawyer. I could barely keep Nick in check and how I even managed to arrest anyone today is beyond me.

This can't continue. It's like I'm seeing Sam around every damn corner. The messenger cyclist that hit the pedestrian… looked like Sam. The bank teller that had his wallet stolen… looked like Sam. The kid who got lost at the Eaton's Centre… looked like a kid version of Sam. Even the damn lady that served up my late afternoon coffee looked like Sam! I can't seem to get him out of my head!

All day I itched to call him about the joke that Nick cracked at Gail's expense (she totally deserved it). Or to tell him that Oliver had apparently bought Dov lunch (there's always a first time). I even wanted to let him know that Jerry finally let Traci do an interrogation on her own (I bet she was amazing). But in reality, I just longed to hear his voice.

I also can't sit still. My nails are now nubs on my fingers. I want more than anything to see Sam's eyes darken as he makes me guess for the millionth time if he really did like pistachio ice cream (seriously, no one actually likes pistachio ice cream). I'm desperate to feel his hands against my body (he may not go to yoga, but he certainly knows how to work a woman's body). I yearn for the feeling of his hot breath against my lips when he pretends that he's debating kissing me (he's such a damn tease).

"Shit."

"What's your problem? You keep muttering under your breath," Gail says, slamming her locker closed. "You know, I always pegged Dov as the first to lose his mind. But you," she points her finger at me and clicks her tongue. "You might actually beat him to it." With what can only be described as a sarcastic wink, she heads toward the showers.

I quickly gather my things and when I get outside I find Sam leaning against the bumper of his truck. His arms rest across his chest, his muscles pulling at his long-sleeved shirt. My heart flutters against my chest.

"You wanna drive?" He offers, holding up his keys. I gladly accept them, anything to take my mind off of… well, him. I chuckle in spite of myself.

"What're you laughing at?" Sam asks as he climbs into the cab of the truck. I buckle my seat belt and debate confessing how I feel. I put the key in the ignition and wonder how he'll react.

"Andy?"

Screw it.

"I love you!" I declare at last, the words spilling out of my mouth like a waterfall. "There I said it. I love you."

"What?" Sam's face eschews disbelief.

"I know you're gonna go all Swarek on me and you said you wanted to take things slow, but I don't care. It's how I feel and I needed to get it out there. You know, put it out in the universe and all that." Oh God, I'm babbling again.

Silent, Sam does that thing he does with his bottom jaw, like he's about to grind ice with his teeth.

"Did I freak you out?" I ask. "Oh God, I totally freaked you out, didn't I?" I sit back against the seat and purse my lips.

At last, he says, "are you going to start the car or are we going to sit in the parking lot all night long?" Heaving a heavy sigh, I will myself into patience and give Sam a look. How is it that he always manages to change the subject so easily? Begrudgingly, I start his truck and exit out of the lot.

Our drive to my place is quiet. Too quiet. I manage to steal a few glances in his direction along the way but he stares straight ahead, as though he's carefully considering what he wants to do next. Or maybe he's mulling a way to "Swarek" my declaration into non-existence.

"That's it!" I quickly steer the car to the right, pulling into an empty lot. A car honks at me and I salute them with my middle finger.

"Andy?" Sam asks in his infuriatingly, perfectly calm way as I put the car into park. "Are you trying to kill me? I thought we had an agreement: you can drive my truck as long as you don't crash it."

"Look, I'm not asking you to say it back to me," I say, ignoring his comment. "But I will be damned if you make it seem like it's nothing." I slam my hand against the steering wheel in frustration.

"Like what's nothing?" I look at him, confused. Is that a smile creeping against his lips?

"You're messing with me aren't you?" I turn in my seat to face him. Yep. He's definitely smiling now. "You jerk! I tell you that I love you and you decide to torture me!"

"I wouldn't exactly call it torture…" Sam offers with a chuckle.

"It was Guantanamo Bay levels of torture. Like I need to call Amnesty International on you or something." I slump back against my seat, relieved. Annoyed, but relieved.

"You do realize that you're the one freaking out and holding me hostage in some parking lot?" He says, teasingly.

"I'm not holding you hostage. I— oh, never mind." I reach for the gear shift, but Sam's hand stops me. I look at him and his face has changed. He's no longer grinning and laughing at me, he's suddenly serious.

"Stop," I say, trying to wrestle my hand away. "This is embarrassing enough." Sam holds on, so I continue, "Seriously. When I said that I loved you, I didn't expect anything in return. I just wanted you to know… You know?" He nods, but remains silent, watching me. "I know we're taking things slowly, but I can't help that I feel the way that I feel. It's just the way that it is. Take it or leave it."

He nods again and leans back against his seat, releasing my hand. "Andy?"

"Yeah?"

He swallows hard as if the words are difficult for him to say. Part of me is afraid to hear it, part of me wants him to be more open so that I at least know what the hell he's thinking.

"I've been in love with you for three years." The words hang in the air, the silence deafening. He refuses to look at me, instead he faces forward as though he's afraid of how I'll react.

"What? I don't understand…"

His jaw tenses and then relaxes; the corner of his eye crinkles a bit and he turns toward me. "Three years, Andy." He nods and I'm rendered speechless. I'm barely breathing, afraid I'll miss something.

"Since the night of that blackout. Three summers ago." His voice is soft, almost a whisper. "You see, that night a rookie came to my door in the middle of the night and…" He pauses and shrugs his shoulders, a smile cracks across his lips. "I was done for. Head over heels."

"Head over heels?" I repeat, wanting to make sure I heard him right.

He nods. "Head over heels. Madly. Terribly. Annoyingly…"

"In love?" I finish.

He nods, grinning. "In love."

The next day at work when Traci asks me how I got the goose egg-sized bruise on my knee, I lie and tell her that I'd tripped on my rug. In truth I'd lunged across the cab of the truck and knocked it against the passenger door handle.

When Gail asks me why I'm wearing my turtleneck under my uniform, I lie and tell her that I'm cold. In truth, Sam got a little carried away and left me a souvenir.

When Noelle mentions that she thought she'd seen Sam's truck in the abandoned lot by the Gardiner Expressway, I lie and tell her that she must've been mistaken. In truth, we may have skirted a few public decency laws in that truck.

I'd like to say that I gained those five pounds back, but in reality I wound up losing another three. Sam confessed later on that he'd lost ten. We still haven't tried that Thai restaurant on Bathurst. Maybe one day, when we can manage to avoid bruises, turtlenecks and parking lots.

.:FIN:.

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