Inspired by a concept belonging to RB_Anon, this story was going to be a two or three-shot, but then oops - turned into seven chapters long (I will post one per day over the following week).
It's rated M for scenes of a sexual nature, and my usual use of language. It also contains some brutish behavior, but it's really not my style to go overboard with the details on that. (I also trust that you can suspend disbelief when it comes to what may be possible in terms of fiddling/hacking into items of a technical nature – because I'm not an expert, but I assume anything is possible!)
As mentioned in the description, the storyline is AU from just before the end of 2.10. Sam doesn't go on the Brennan op, but he does do a job for Boyd…I trust it will all make sense when you read. It also references my imaginings of other events that happened after 2.7 (aka 'Trust You Any Way').
I hope you enjoy the ride. If you do, go thank RB_Anon on Twitter …and drop me a line too if you so wish :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue
Andy splashes her face with some of the cool water that's been running from the bathroom faucet a little longer than she would normally let. She takes a long look in the mirror after a few goes at bringing her body temperature down. She bites at a corner of her bottom lip as she notices her appearance remains…flushed…and tries again with the water, not wanting to go to bed feeling….bothered…like this. It's been over two hours since he dropped her home for goodness sake –
(One drink at The Penny after shift, just the two of them because no one else was around; Sam's leather-clad elbow touching hers every so often as they sat side-by-side at the bar. Andy didn't think it was deliberate on his behalf, what with the way their stools were perched together so close before they even sat down.
It was good to reflect on the day with him, despite any lingering tension over the almost-but-not-quite-kiss they shared under the lights of the fire truck (of all things). It gave her the opportunity to offload about how the death of Leslie changed her mind about her incessant need for planning every single thing in her life, and drop some subtle hints to him:
"You see an opportunity, you take it…" she told her drink quietly, hoping Sam would recall his words earlier that day. On his response of a mirthless laugh, she continued: "I think I could learn a thing or two."
When she looked up, Sam was shaking his head gently. His eyes caught the ambers of the bar-lights above them, making them warmer than ever before. "If only I was the man of action that I actually profess to be."
Andy quirked an eyebrow in question, supposing that might be enough for him to continue – tell her…or show her…just what type of opportunity he was yet to take up.
Instead, they just sat staring at one another for a long and quiet sixty seconds or so; Sam with his mouth part the way open and only ever almost saying the words.
For most of those seconds Andy was convinced he was going to lean in and kiss her, much as she thought the same by the fire-truck. She hoped the only thing stopping him back then was the uniform, but maybe it wasn't, as it turned out.
He glanced down at his watch eventually, "I…ah…I got some place I need to be. You…ah…you want a ride home?"
Despite her best efforts, Andy couldn't hide the frown that crossed her face at the time. She looked sideways at the corner of the bar and no one in particular, tried not to think of who Sam might be going to see. Tried not to think of the fact she might have read him all wrong, that maybe she had left her run too late.
"I said no to Boyd's UC," he told Andy on the way to hers, this hushed voice after a pause between her telling him that she might take up with the Mounted Police.
Her face whipped around to the direction of Sam's quick-smart, the relief a wave through her body when her brain finally caught up.
"Just…um…I am doin' a job for him though. That's where I'm headin' tonight." Sam looked into her eyes as he was telling her, a tiny smile at one corner of his mouth as some sort of reassurance that –
Well, Andy's still trying to figure that one out.
She gave him a smile for his efforts to placate her insecurities though, promptly thinking of a thousand questions about this other op of Boyd's. (Mostly what was in her head: how dangerous it was, and of what it might mean for Andy becoming more…significant…in Sam's life).
"Don't ask me about it, Andy." Sam pleaded with her quietly. "Just…you know how these things are…okay?"
She blinked and tried to smile back at him, wishing to God that Donovan Boyd didn't exist.
"I'll...ah…see you at some point tomorrow maybe, okay?"
Andy did frown at that one, completely unsure of what Sam was trying to tell her about where he would be. "What…"
"Change of shifts…I…um…'cause of the night gig, I'll be starting a little later in the day."
Despite the fact Sam was using that gentle tone he gets with her, Andy couldn't help but feel disappointed at the situation. Not only was he not out-and-out kissing her, but he was no longer going to be her riding partner now.
"It's…um…it's a month or two. Tops." Obviously Sam was reading something off her forlorn expression, probably that sulky two-year old thing she gets going on when she loses her favorite toy.
Andy nodded after a few beats. "Please tell me it's nothing extraordinarily dangerous?" Her voice was shaky and rattled, despite her best efforts to not waiver at thoughts of what he might be up against every night.
"Just surveillance, McNally…you'll still have the privilege of seeing my awesomeness day after day." The grin he'd grown by that point was wicked and teasing, perhaps a sign of his growing confidence that Andy was caring about him a little more than he thought she might.
She did her best job of rolling her eyes and smirked at him. "Least this time you'll be in a van, right? Probably you can't let yourself get tackled by any girls in there."
Sam's tongue popped into the side of his cheek, evidently trying to tamp down the appearance of some dimples. He gave her some heat with his eyes. "Might not be so bad if I did."
The blush spread across Andy like a wildfire, she felt it run right from her core and was unable to stop it until it hit her extremes. 'Pfft' she snorted at him when it was over, at a loss for what else she might say.
"You, ah. You want me to walk you up?" Sam asked after another few beats, pointing an index finger to her new apartment, which had somehow appeared to the left of the passenger window during the cheeky transaction; the truck having been at a stop for Andy had no idea how long.
Yes was the answer she'd wanted to give, but she knew it was unfair. Sam obviously had to keep moving, and get to stupid Boyd-faces stupid job. Andy shook her head slowly, not wanting to leave Sam at all. "I'll be okay."
"You will," he agreed, winking back at her, the damn dimples popping back out.)
She blows into the wet liquid that is sluicing about between her hands and her face, tries to quell the wave that ripples through her body when she recognizes it as desire - a response to having just imagined Sam's mouth on her neck.
She gives into it when she ascertains her pulse-rate won't rest unless she takes action, does something to release the tension that's been coiling tight inside of her for the past few hours (days, weeks.)
She slips her hand down her yoga pants and into the elastic of her underwear without thinking further, slides her fingers until they reach where she is sticky and wet. Her icy, cool fingers make her shudder in response, but as she closes her eyes and thinks of the way Sam might say goodnight to her on other evenings, she sinks one finger inside.
Her sigh swooshes about between her ears before it muffles its way out her lips. She licks at their dryness as she imagines Sam kissing her, his tongue and teeth inching a trail into her mouth the way they did the night of the blackout –
The orgasm is languid, one slow ripple around her abdomen as she crooks her finger forward and teases her thumb on her clit. "Shit," she sobs as she opens her mouth wide for some air, still not feeling completely relieved.
She pulls her hand out of her pants and stares it down angrily, scrubbing it under the water as punishment until it's all the way clean. She peers back into the mirror as she flicks her hands dry, not bothering with a towel and finally turning the tap off. "What are you looking at?" she demands into her reflection crossly, before she turns and snaps the light switch for darkness and stomps away from the room.
By the time Andy gets to her bedroom, she's resolved; she's just going to lay it on the line. She's going to tell Sam she wants…tell him she wants to eat good candy now and drink the Champagne.
As she picks up her mobile, she scowls at it – realizing that right this minute he'd be on the job. She twists her mouth in consideration, and figures she'll talk to him in person tomorrow. Only maybe she'll do something that can set all of that up:
She types out a quick message as she paces her room, a bundle of nerves in her stomach that are making it knot:
Run tomorrow a.m.? And Coffee after that?
(They've run together before, a few times actually since that night they patched things up about the Nixon fiasco…the morning Andy woke up sprawled on top of Sam.
That was the beginning of her endless days of letting herself be distracted with thoughts of what might come next…)
Her phone rings about 15 seconds later, the screen telling her that it's him. She feels like the worlds' most awkward teenager, and chomps a few fingernails before she plucks up enough courage to green light the call. "Hey…sorry I…"
"S'okay, McNally. I'm watchin' nothing of interest tonight." His voice flips Andy's stomach, this soft edge to it that almost makes him sound nervous.
Andy's mouth twitches, her ears humming for more. "Oh-kay, yeah…just I know you'll be working late and all, so maybe you won't want to do an early morning thing, I just…"
"Yeah," Sam sighs, a tinge of what Andy thinks is regret in his voice. "My body probably won't be ready by 5am…"
"S'okay. Yeah, um. Totally. I'm an idiot…" Andy stutters and slaps a hand to her forehead.
"You're not an idiot, Andy," he responds no-nonsense, his words getting swallowed at the end by a clearing of his throat. "I…um…I like that you want to hang out with me, okay?"
Andy blushes because she can't help it, feeling well and truly sprung. Still, Sam's voice is lovely and gentle and not the teasing that she expected he might use when he says stuff like that. "I wanted to talk to you about something," she blurts out eventually, looking around her bedroom as though all sorts of skeletons might have just fallen out of her closet.
"Okay." Sam's reply is immediate, and again very soft. Andy figures he senses it's something she doesn't want to discuss over the phone. "Ah…if you're happy to wait until I'm off shift tomorrow. Ah. Maybe we could get a bite to eat before I'm back on Boyd-duties again?"
Andy's mouth curls into a smile automatically, something finally, finally loosening up in her chest. She contains it enough to respond so he can't actually hear the way it's taken over her face. "Yeah. Yeah. I'd like that a lot."
"Okey doke," Sam says, perhaps his automatic reaction to the curiosity he's got going on about what Andy wants to talk about. "Um, I'll call you at 7…see where you are?" And then, like maybe he gets another thought. "Or we can figure it out if we crossover on shift?"
"Yeah. Yeah." Andy smiles happily, tapping the toes of one bare foot against the floorboards. "Okay."
Both finish the conversation with a series of a few more okay's each, neither apparently wanting to hang up first. "I better get back to it," Sam says after a while longer. "Catch Boyd some crims."
Andy grins and flops back on the bed. "Good luck with that, Swarek."
It's the way he says: "Sweet dreams McNally," that has her grinning harder still.
Andy plants a pillow over her face as she finally hangs up on his call.
Sam shouldn't have taken this fucking job. He's more than halfway convinced that Boyd's pulling his chain; punishment for Sam saying no to the deep cover gig he dangled in front of him like a damn carrot for more than a week.
He looks down at the blue screen of his phone again and thinks about McNally. Thinks of her lying in her bed, cotton sheets curled around that tanned, tone body. (Thinks of unraveling them and feels himself start to go hard).
He tosses the phone to the floor of the van with a clutter and blows out a frustrated breath. He could be watching these guys for months for all he knows, weeks on end of pulling double shifts - daytimes in 15 and nights of waiting for Boyd's big break. He decides to talk to Don about that later, clarify that this is two months max for Sam.
He bites his bottom lip hard and bends to pluck the phone off the floor. He considers calling McNally again; telling her screw his need for some sleep in the morning - he'll run with her or do whatever the hell she wants.
He conjures up images of buying pancakes and coffee for her like he did once last week; her back from that ridiculous pony-club camp and wanting to tell him how good she got at mounting a horse.
(She told him about fucking horse-boy too, how she got asked on a date. Sam wasn't entirely sure if she was a) trying to make him jealous, b) drop a hint, or c) just sharing the news like she would with Nash or any other BFF's.
Sam thinks it could've been a combo of the three actually, the way both of them are skirting the issue of what they are to one another...or more's the point: what they want to be.
Sam's not sure either, actually. All he knows is that he's wanted McNally too much for too long of a time. He's trying to be real careful with her; keep giving her that time and space he's such an expert at, continue to wait until she's all the way done with the betrayal Callaghan pummeled her with and then...maybe...take a chance. (Assuming of course, he can sort his own fucking head to that point).
On that note, he doesn't call her for a second time, despite wanting to tell her in person: change of plans. Instead, he tries to get his head back in the game. The quicker he can get enough on these dead-beats to get Boyd off his back, the quicker he can spend a little extra time with McNally and at least figure out exactly where that pretty head of hers is at.
Sam plants the phone firm in his front pocket and picks up the binoculars for the umpteenth time tonight. He listens closely to the crackle of a wire that's telling him squat, and peers through the small space that allows for viewing from the back of the van.
He can see two of the loons Brennan employs for his warehouse, beefy meatheads they are - the pair of them. So is the third. They sit in the ratty kitchen playing poker at the small, ratty piece of furniture Sam assumes is a table of sorts. They're a pack of thugs, for sure. Dangerous meatheads that do some of the dirty work for Brennan – rough up people and take them to the kingpin before he gets the pleasure of torturing them to death.
He rolls his eyes and silently curses Boyd as he watches their mouths move in silence - a dead wire is the last thing he needs in terms of moving this job to his finish line.
'Christ,' Sam curses with a scowl on his face as he dips his fingers into his jeans and reaches for his mobile again. He presses his thumb hard on the 4th speed-dial and waits.
"Yup." Don's been asleep for sure, the prick. "What's up Sammy?" He provides further evidence to that fact with a yawn that Sam can almost see the detective trying to stifle through the phone.
"Don't Sammy me, ass-wipe." And okay, it's possible Sam's itch for McNally is not helping prevent a sour mood. "You even bother to check your equipment in the last 96 hours?"
Don yawns again, and then clucks his tongue a few times. "Course I have Swarek. It's a bunch of junk, but it's been workin'. Not my problem the techs have royally screwed with their budget this year."
Sam rolls his eyes and wonders who else Boyd pins the blame on for other shit he can't sort himself.
"Oh yeah, that right?" Sam asks casual all of a sudden, like he's just enquired after that little problem Don's got with his groin. "Well, I won't be doing another shift for you 'til I can hear these scumbags again."
"Sammy, c'mon," Boyd interjects immediately. "I'll have it sorted first thing in the morning." The detective clears his throat then and takes on a tone that suggests he's doing Sam a solid: "Take the rest of the night off buddy. Go get yourself laid."
On that Sam blushes like McNally when he's got her flustered. It's not something that would normally get to him. Normally, he'd be smug and whip-smart with a retort. But on this one, he swallows and pauses a few seconds too long.
'Ha!' Sam can hear Boyd smirking at the receiver. "That what the aggro's about? You missin' that rookie of yours keepin' y'warm these cool nights?"
"Fuck off," Sam replies without thinking, and as casually as he can.
But he's not casual.
He's not casual at all - especially with Boyd talking about McNally in that sleazy tone. He's stuck in a tight one though, can't swipe back at Don or put him in his place because if he even thinks Sam and McNally are together, sure as anything Boyd will continue to shit-stir Sam, and make McNally's policing life hell.
"I...ah...heard her and Callaghan are doneski. You...ah...you have somethin' to do with that, Sammy?" Boyd's teasing and Sam knows it. Doesn't stop him feeling way more than mad.
Sam schools his features...and his voice, done with Boyd entertaining himself at the expense of Andy. "What Officer McNally...or I...do in our personal time is no business of yours. This conversation's over Boyd, and as of 60 seconds from now, I'm off the clock."
Sam ends the call, hanging up on Boyd without saying any other goodbyes. He expects Don will call again in the morning to sort out tomorrow night's shift, and goes about the business of packing up the back of the van so it's safe and secure, giving him time to think of what to do about Andy.
Less than 10 minutes later, he's in the drivers seat, looking at his phone again. He figures it's too late to call McNally now, the time well past midnight. He rolls his index finger over the keys though, takes a punt and hopes she won't wake up with the sound of a text coming through.
Text me after the run. Let's grab a coffee before your shift starts.
Sam chews into the inside of his cheek hard as he hits the send button, and runs a hand over his chest a few times in an attempt to slow his heart rate right down.
He thinks of McNally turning in her bed again, grins to himself on the assumption that she's some kind of world champion bed-hog. He imagines she sleeps in singlets and boy-shorts: always ready to run.
He closes his eyes at the thought of it all and hopes when they do finally get together, she starts to sleep nude.
Sam shakes his head briskly, clearing the lust from his brain at least.
He starts up the dark van and calculates how long it'll take to check it in over at Guns & Gangs and get himself home and having some rest.
What Sam doesn't see is one of Brennan's henchmen coming out the front door of the house he was just watching. He doesn't see the man light up a smoke and cast his eyes at the van driving down the end of the road. He also doesn't notice the man dial his cell, nor hear the conversation that starts:
"Hey boss. Van we bugged last week is back….Yup. Managed to switch some wires up too.
Swarek's the guy watching us…under of the instructions of Boyd? Sounds like we might be able to get the pin pulled if we get to Swarek's girl…McNally. Andy McNally. Dougie's hacking in to get some details up on her now."
Andy gazes at Sam's text for a good minute or two with a lunatic grin on her face. She decides against messaging him back tonight, only so he doesn't think of her as desperate. Still -
She puts a hand down her pants once more.
She comes again with thoughts of Sam's voice telling her she's pretty, and nonsense like that.
Andy gets the best night sleep of her life.