A/N: This is my second story since I've kind of gotten back into writing, my first foray into Rookie Blue which I've very recently fallen in love with, and it's also un-betaed, so my apologies for any mistakes. Any feedback or constructive criticism is very much appreciated!
Warnings: Spoilers for episode 1x07 ("Hot and Bothered").
Disclaimer: I don't own Rookie Blue or any of its characters, they belong to Tassie. I only play with them. Title taken from 'Sleeping Sickness' by City and Colour, the full verse being:
"And I'm afraid to sleep because of what haunts me,
Such as living with the uncertainties,
That I'll never find the words to say
Which would completely explain
Just how I'm breaking down."
Just How I'm Breaking Down
"Out, damned spot!"
'Twelfth grade English class,' Andy muses as she stares at her hands, 'Macbeth'. In her case, though, the stain is metaphorical. The only thing that was on her hands earlier was sweat born of anxiety and adrenaline and heat as she sought out a predator in the dark.
She remembers the cool, smooth texture of her gun in her hands; her grip had been solid while inwardly she had trembled. She remembers the cold stab of fear that put her heart in her throat when the pedophile raised her training officer's weapon against her. She remembers the holes in his chest and the red on the floor and his body's stillness and she had done that –
A small whimper slips out and then a choked sob as Andy contemplates the first life she has taken.
One sob turns into many and soon she is crying loudly, the sound piercing in the quiet darkness of her apartment. She drags her hands through her hair as she finally allows herself to unleash her emotions. Her hands are lying palm-up on her knees and she stares at them again, before finally clenching them into fists. She cannot not bear to look at her hands – the hands of a killer – right now, no matter how justified the kill.
Andy quivers and rocks and sucks in deep, heaving breaths as she tries to stay afloat in the tidal wave of her grief. It is not grief for the loss of a wretched man, a monster who hurt children. It is grief for the loss of her own innocence, one of the few remnants torn away from her as swiftly as she'd torn away a human life – with three gunshots.
She feels so cold. Cold like Luke's eyes, bright and blue and insensitive to her pain. She wants so badly to be held but he did not see, earlier, how much she was hurting. Either that, or the case matters more to him than she does. She doesn't know which option is worse: that he's detached enough not to recognize her pain or that he's callous enough not to care. Andy just wants someone to tell her everything will be okay, like…
Like Sam had.
Sam had been all warmth today, from his hand on her shoulder to his concerned gaze to his kind words. He had offered her unconditional support, putting aside his gruff exterior and the sarcasm and snark that usually come attached, in her time of need. He had told her that he was there if she needed to talk. Andy makes up her mind and stumbles to her front door, still unsteady and shocked from the day's events.
She just needs to hear him say it one more time.
"It's okay…it's okay."