"She's great."

Andy's dull and resigned voice strikes like a dull whip across his heart. Sam can see the defeated slump in her shoulders and something inside him begins to shake. But things are different.

She had made sure of that.

(Hadn't she?)

Behind him, he can hear Marlo's car pull out of the lot, knows she's going to go home after this long day and soak it out. One of her quirks he'd learned not that long ago.

He'd prefer to punch things out, knows McNally would too, likely will. Especially since he knows that Andy must be feeling exorbitant amounts of guilt after today. There's only so much her lion's heart can take, and even though he knows that there was no way she could have saved Wanda, not from what had happened today, Sam is certain that she will never see the events that way.

He wants to tell her that she shouldn't blame herself or Marlo.

But he has to keep his gloves on, keep up the front.

"Is that your talent, McNally? Pointing out the obvious?" he shoots back, hates the way her eyes flicker at his undertones of agreement.

He braces himself for her response.

"No. You know when to quit. That's my talent. You know when the odds are against me and when to walk away." She sighs softly. Something beats like a bird in Sam's throat, but he can't let it escape because he knows it can only lead to more heartache and she's already put them both through enough. And then she's walking past him, so close, and she smells of raspberries and it pains him, murmuring, "goodnight Sam."

It's instinct that drives him to say anything, instead of getting in his truck and driving away like he should.

"Andy," he calls and is dully surprise when she doesn't stop or turn. Guess she really does know when to give up.

(And how come he's never seen it before now?)

"Andy," he calls again, a touch louder (and a touch more desperately).

Inside, there's a small part of him screaming at her, you have no idea how to give up, you have the fierce lion heart. You don't know when to quit and that's what I love about you, can't you see that? You are never the girl who simply gives up. Don't do this, don't walk away, keep fighting, please, because maybe I'll see it eventually.

What comes out is, "see you tomorrow."

Dull, flat, lifeless response. A layer of cement over the real words.

She nods, her eyes a mirror of his words, and walks away.

Gives up.

He didn't stop her.

Who's to blame this time?


Short oneshot following 4.03 (what I think really happened), unedited or reviewed. Spur of the moment fic.

Opinions and thoughts would feed my muse.

(I should be working on Blood on the Sand. Clearly I got distracted).