Author's Note: Just a quick, somewhat fluffy McSwarek story but I had the idea and it just wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it out :). I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue.

"So," Andy wondered aloud, tracing her finger over his tattoo. "When people ask how we met, what should we say?"

"People know how we met, so no one's going to ask." Sam replied, yawning as his hand curled around her waist. "C'mon, let's just go to sleep, I'm exhausted. I had to ride with that new guy today, what's his name? Something Moon?"

She laughed. "Pete Sun?"

"Yeah, him. I never thought anyone would ask more questions than you did," Sam grumbled fondly, "But I was wrong."

"Aw," Andy grinned, cupping her hand around his jaw. "You sound like you actually miss me."

"I do miss you," he told her softly, nuzzling her nose before brushing a chaste kiss against her lips. "At least I got to look at you when I was answering all your questions."

"Pete might get a little concerned if you look at him the way you looked at me," she replied, a faint smile gracing her lips.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Well I certainly hope you don't look at Oliver the way you looked at me," he said, referring to her partner for the day.

"And how did I look at you?"

"Like you wanted to rip my clothes off," he replied smoothly, confidently.

Andy snorted with laughter and rolled her eyes. "Oh, okay."

"Don't even try and deny it McNally," he warned her playfully, chuckling as he rolled her beneath him. She giggled helplessly as he planted sloppy kisses up along her neck and across her cheek, ending at her lips, claiming them with his own. "You know it's true."

"Maybe," she admitted coyly, "But if I did it was such a deeply repressed desire that I didn't even realize it."

"Well it's definitely not repressed now," Sam teased, smirking down at her. "I think my shirt lost a couple of buttons earlier."

"Oh, whatever," Andy laughed, easily dismissing his claim.

"Hey," he confessed, "I wasn't complaining."

Andy shook her head, smiled and sighed happily. She ran her hands around to his back, lightly scratching her nails up and down the smooth plane of muscle. "So," she asked, "If Pete asks how we met, what are you going to tell him?"

"That it's none of his business," Sam replied, wiggling his hips and settling comfortably between her legs. He lowered himself to his forearms and nipped at her jawline.

"Sam," Andy said, her irritable tone offset by the fact that she widened her legs and bent her knee behind his, trapping him against her. "Come on. I wanna know."

"You know Andy," he said, sighing against her skin as she brushed her toe up the back of his leg, "That day you arrested me… it wasn't the first time that we met."

Even in the darkness, Sam could see the way Andy's brow drew together in confusion. Her hands stilled on his back. "It's wasn't?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "We met a long time ago, back when I was still a rookie. Actually, you threatened me with a bat, so it was very similar to when you busted down that door and pointed your gun at me."

"What are you talking about?" Andy asked, even more confused than before. She framed his face in her palms and forced him to look at her. "Sam?"

"You really don't remember?" She shook her head. "I brought your dad home one night after work."

Andy felt horrible, but she had absolutely no recollection of meeting him. "When was this?" She asked, hoping that knowing the time frame would jog her memory.

"Oh, I don't know," Sam said, trying to remember. "I'd only been a fifteen a couple years. Maybe thirteen, fourteen years ago?"

"Huh," Andy sighed. "What color hair did I have?"

A small smile spread across his face. "Brown," he answered slowly. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"I went through a blonde phase when I was fifteen," Andy told him, admitting, "It was the first in a long line of bad hair decisions."

"I'd like to see pictures of that," Sam said, his eyes crinkling around the edges and sparkling mischievously.

"There are none," she informed him quickly. "I burned them all. Every last one of them."

"That's too bad," he murmured, dipping his head and pressing his lips against her collarbone and enjoying the way her body involuntarily shuddered beneath his.

"Oh yeah," Andy mused, tapping her finger lightly against his chest. "I remember you have a thing for blondes."

Sam looked up her, his eyebrow quirked. "What makes you think I have a thing for blondes?"

"Well, there's Monica," Andy began. "She was blonde."

"One woman that happened to be blonde does not mean I have a thing for blondes," Sam protested, returning his attention to her clavicle. "You were with Callaghan. Does that mean you have a thing for blondes?"

Andy continued, ignoring his question, "And then there's the fact that you straight up told me I wasn't your type."

"Maybe I was talking about chatty rookies," Sam offered, pulling down the neckline of her camisole and taking a quick peek beneath before peppering the exposed flesh with kisses. "Not brunettes."

"Well, I think it's pretty obvious you have a thing for chatty rookies," Andy argued.

"Only the hot ones," he maintained, his hand wandering down to the waistband of her underwear, his fingers skimming underneath.

She laughed, letting the nonsensical topic drop, and tangled her fingers through his thick hair, tugging his head up. "So tell me more about when we met."

Sam groaned but pushed himself up to his elbow and looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and bright with anticipation and he suddenly realized that he had made a huge mistake. He regretted bringing it up, knowing the story was probably going to upset or even embarrass her. "It's not that big of a deal," he said, backtracking, desperately trying to get out of telling her.

"Tell me," she requested again, not sensing his hesitation. "It's not fair that you remember and I don't."

Sam exhaled heavily, knowing she wasn't going to let it go, and then began. "Well, it all started because Oliver… " he stopped himself, not wanting to tell her the real reason he had been the one to take her dad home that night, "Because Oliver couldn't drive himself, much less anyone else, home, so I got put in charge of carpool."

Thirteen Years Earlier

Sam got out of his car and rounded the trunk to the other side. Before opening the passenger's door he sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward, and cursed Oliver for his lucky round of pool. Sam had lost and because of the bet that they had made, he was stuck playing chauffer to Oliver's completely trashed training officer, Tommy McNally.

In the two years that Sam had been a police officer he had only ridden with McNally a few times. Definitely not enough to know much about him other than the fact that he preferred his after-work drinks to be dark and flowing. Oliver seemed to have a soft spot for the man but he had been more than happy to pass off the task of getting him home that night.

He pulled the older man out of his car, supporting him underneath his arm, and carefully walked him into the apartment building. Sam was glad he had thought to ask Oliver which apartment Tommy lived in; based on the bumbling nonsense coming from the training officer's mouth, Sam knew there was no way he would have gotten an answer out of him.

He found the apartment and, after propping Tommy up next to the door, used Tommy's key to let them in. It was a small apartment, smaller than the one that Sam lived in by himself, but it was clean and warm. He didn't waste much time looking around before he walked Tommy over to living room and helped him stretch out along the couch. He was just about to turn and leave when he heard someone behind him.

"What are you doing?"

Sam turned around at the sound to find a thin, lanky girl standing behind him. Her messy brown hair fell into her eyes and she looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, Sam couldn't be sure. He was less concerned with her age and more concerned with the baseball bat that was in her hands, raised above her head.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, holding up his hands in innocence. He moved across the room, away from her dad, hoping to show that he didn't mean any harm. "I'm was just bringing him home."

"Who are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"I work with your dad," Sam told her, gesturing to himself with a hand over his heart. He silently cursed Oliver again for forgetting to mention that Tommy had a daughter. "I'm a police officer."

"Where's your badge?"

Sam felt his coat pockets and realized he had left it out in his car. "I don't have it with me. But my name is Sam, and your dad is Tommy McNally and we work together at the fifteenth division."

Andy lowered the bat, eyeing him skeptically. "Okay."

"Where's your mom?" Sam asked, glancing around the apartment.

Andy snorted and rolled her eyes in that way that teenagers do. "Your guess is as good as mine," she said, leaning the bat against the wall and moving into the living room. "She took off years ago."

"Oh," Sam said, feeling foolish. That was probably something he should have been able to figure out.

"It's okay," Andy told him with a dismissive wave of the hand.

He observed her as she took the in the scene, her father passed out on the couch, and noticed that she let out a quiet sigh as her shoulders sagged forward in defeat. It only lasted for the briefest of moments and then she righted her spine, ramrod straight and tall, and walked over to her father.

"Can you help me move him to his bed? It's really a pain to try and clean the sofa if he throws up here," Andy told him, her words tinged with the kind of wisdom that only came from experience.

Sam was momentarily rooted to his spot, watching as the young girl struggled to pull the older, much heavier, man into her scrawny arms. She was too young to be shouldering, literally, the burden of her alcoholic father.

As she tried to lift her dad off the couch she lost her footing and dropped to one knee, steadying herself. Her eyes flicked over to meet his and he caught the flash of annoyance in them. "A little help? Please?"

Sam shook himself out of his reverie and moved quickly over to her, crossing the small living room in two long strides. "Here, look out," he said quietly, gently pushing her out of the way. "I've got him." He sat Tommy up into a seated position and then ducked underneath him, throwing the other man's arm around his shoulder. He straightened his knees and lifted Tommy, stumbling with the added weight. Balancing himself, he looked to Andy and asked, "Where to?"

"This way," Andy instructed, leading him down the short hallway. She opened the door and flipped a light on. "In here." She went into the room first, pushing aside the covers on the unmade bed to make a spot for her dad. "You can just put him there."

Sam moved into the room and, with Andy's help, got Tommy situated in the bed. "You're going to want to get him some water and some Advil or something, otherwise his hangover's gonna be a bitc..." he corrected himself, remembering that she was just a kid, "Gonna be bad."

Andy nodded as she was placing a trashcan next to the bed and once again Sam realized she had more than enough experience dealing with her father's hangovers. "I know," she said quietly, pulling Tommy's shoes off before covering him with the comforter. "I'm just going to let him sleep now though."

She padded softly out of the room, flipping the light off as she left and Sam followed closely behind her as they walked back out to the living room. He was about to say goodnight and head out when she asked, "Do have a girlfriend?"

Sam choked out a laugh and raised an eyebrow in surprise, wondering why the she was asking such a personal question. "Excuse me?"

Andy turned to him, her brown eyes full of innocence, and Sam felt guilty for even considering that she might be trying to hit on him. "Do you have a girlfriend?" She asked again. "You aren't wearing a ring so I don't think you're married."

"Nope," Sam answered, "Not married, no girlfriend."

Andy just nodded silently and then went into the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator door. Sam followed her, curious, and watched as she spooned what looked like lasagna into a plastic container.

"Here," she said, shoving it into his hands. "Take this."

Sam's brow furrowed and he tried to hand the container back to her. "No, it's okay. I don't want your food."

"I know how cops are," she replied kindly with a shy smile, pushing it to back to him. "You probably haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks. We would eat ramen noodles or fast food every night if I hadn't taught myself how to cook. Please, just take it." She lowered her head and then in a quiet, almost embarrassed tone, said, "Thank you for bringing my dad home, I'm really sorry you had to do that."

Sam smiled shakily, somewhat stunned that she was concerned about him when she obviously already had enough to worry about. "It's no problem," he replied sincerely, holding the container in both hands. "Thank you for the food. It uh, it looks delicious."

She smiled widely and Sam couldn't help but noticed that it lit up her entire face. "You're welcome."

Sam nodded and then hesitated a moment before looking down at her. He chest tightened and he felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to take care of her and make sure she was safe. "I'm going to go, are you going to be okay?"

"Oh yeah," she answered easily, "I'll fine." She walked out of the kitchen and led him back through the living room, opening the door for him. "Thanks again."

"Make sure you lock this behind me, the deadbolt too," Sam instructed, tapping on the door as he walked into the hallway. "And keep the bat close by."

"I will," she assured him. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight…" He paused, "Sorry, what's your name?"

"Andrea," she told him. Then, with a sheepish grin, she admitted, "But everyone calls me Andy."

Sam smiled. "Goodnight Andy. It was nice to meet you."

"And that's really when we first met," he concluded. "I asked your dad how you were doing every once and a while, but he moved to the D's office not too long after that." Sam shrugged and admitted, "I kind of forgot all about you until you came barging through that door."

By the time Sam had finished, Andy's eyes had gotten soft and watery. "I remember now," she told him quietly, looking away from him. She let out a short, strangled laugh. "God, that's a terrible story. We met because my father was an alcoholic who had to be helped home by his rookie."

One half of Sam's mouth curved into a sad smile. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

Andy sighed heavily, suddenly needing some space. "Can you get off of me, please?" she asked, arching her back. "You're getting heavy."

Sam obediently rolled on to the bed but pulled her along with him, turning them on their sides so they faced each other. "Andy," he said, his voice low and deep, comforting her as he pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She shook her head. "I know, it's just embarrassing." He winced as she used the exact words he'd been afraid of before telling her the story. She paused and then told him, "My dad wasn't always like that, you know."

"I know," Sam said carefully, nodding slowly. "He was a good cop. He worked hard, was passionate about keeping people safe and taking care of the victims and their families. I have a lot of respect for him."

"Yeah," she breathed out. "I do, too."

Sam ran his hand down her arm before lacing his fingers with hers, holding their hands between them. "He did something else really well, too."

"What's that?" Andy asked.

His voice was low and husky, a voice she knew he reserved especially for her. "He raised you," he whispered. He smiled self-consciously, a moment of tenderness and vulnerability that was rare but genuine.

Her eyes stung with tears that threatened to fall. She scooted closer to him and tilted her head up, just enough to brush her lips against his. Their lips danced together in a sweet, gentle confirmation of their commitment and their feelings, even those that had yet to be verbalized. One day Andy would need him to tell her, would need him to say the actual words, but for right then she was satisfied just feeling his love for her.

They broke the kiss and stared at one another in the darkness, their features illuminated by the light streaming in from the street lamps, both slightly breathless.

"You know," he said after a moment, "One thing I'm reminded of is the fact that you do actually know how to cook, even though the whole time we've been together you've been pretending like you don't."

Andy laughed softly, the mood lightened. "Why would I tell you I know how to cook when you do it so well?"

He grinned and then admonished, "Compliments will get you no where with me, McNally."

"It's a good thing I have other methods then," she replied easily, the smile Sam loved so much brightening her eyes once again.

"Anytime you want to try out those other methods, I'm all for it," he told her, chuckling.

She cocked an eyebrow, chiding him, "I thought you were exhausted?"

Sam nodded and then, in one easy motion, flipped her over and pulled her back to his chest. He crooked one arm to pillow her head and the other he settled into the hollow of her waist, holding her body against his. "I am," he said, pressing a kiss against her bare shoulder. "We can try 'em out tomorrow."

She would probably roll her eyes if he told her, but there was little that Sam enjoyed more than being wrapped up with Andy in his bed. Maybe it was those protective instincts coming back from so long ago, or maybe it was just his basic masculine nature, but just having her in his arms, knowing she was safe and satisfied there, was more deeply fulfilling than anything he had known before.

Andy sighed and ran her fingers through the hair on his forearm, tracing shapes and letters in no particular order. "Hey Sam?"

"Hmm?" He mumbled into her hair.

"If anyone does ask how we met," she said, thinking out loud, "Let's stick with the story of how I tackled you and arrested you."

She could feel the rumble of his laughter against her back. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he agreed, "I'm all for not reminding people of how much older I am than you are. It makes me sound like a dirty old man."

"You are a dirty old man," she retorted teasingly, softening the insult by arching back into him, pressing her bottom against him.

The sound that tumbled out of him mouth was a mix between a moan and a strangled laugh. She rotated her hips again and he moved his hand to her hipbone, stilling her movements. Ducking his head, he nibbled along the shell of her ear and then warned, "You better cut that out. We have to get up early tomorrow."

"Fine," she conceded, sighing heavily back against him. It had been a long day and for some reason they were scheduled for the early shift.

His arm came around her waist again and he pushed her camisole out of the way, spreading his fingers out over her stomach. His thumb stroked the underside of her breast in a familiar, comforting pattern.

Just as his breathing evened out and she thought he had fallen asleep he whispered, "McNally?"

"Yes?"

"However it happened," he said sleepily, his eyes closed, "Whenever it happened, I'm just glad I met you."

She couldn't help the delighted smile that spread across her face at the admission. She turned her head slightly and kissed his stubbly cheek. "Me too, Sam. Me too."

Author's Note #2: Later this afternoon I'm going to be posting an excerpt from the chapter fic I've been working on. It's kind of a different idea so I just want to see what people's reactions are and if y'all would be interested in me continuing with it. So... check back later and let me know!