Title: Talking isn't what it does best.

By: Maverick88

Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Rookie Blue because I did...let's just say different things would have happened ;-)

Author's Note: I wanted to have this up before the new episode but because I'll be away till the weekend I uploaded it today. Anyway, this fic is a bit different from my other fics and I took some liberties when it comes to Sam. I guess it's just too much fun playing around, haha. I'm pretty sure this is going to be a two-shot or possibly even more chapters, depending on where my muse wants to take it and how you guys feel about it. Reviews feed the muse so let me know what your thoughts are!

When Sam was frustrated, his coping strategy was not to go out and drink himself senseless. He wasn't a twenty-something anymore that could inflict that kind of brain damage on himself without having to pay for it tenfold the next day and the whole week that followed.

As he got older he realized how important it was to keep his body in good condition. So he cleaned up his diet and visited the gym 3 times a week, no exceptions. He ran every morning in the early dawn of day when the city was not yet wearing its makeup. When he didn't go to the gym he visited Moshe, a local Israeli Krav Maga instructor who helped him fine-tune his reflexes. This routine usually helped filter any tension that threatened to build up during the week, but this week wasn't usual by any standard.

He hated to admit it, but 15th Division's police work could use some polishing up. Entering buildings without warrants, racing into unknown situations without back up… These things were quickly becoming daily reoccurrences and it worried him. Everyone was getting sloppy and he found himself dragged along in their whirl of emotions and it threw him off his game, allowing him to make the same mistakes he chastised his colleagues for. And Andy…he didn't even want to go there. Their usual ritual of locker room talks had become non-existent and their partnership had regressed to something alien, like strangers working alongside each other instead of with each other.

Sighing deeply, Sam threw his towel and water bottle on the floor, kicked off his shoes and advanced towards the mats in the center of the abandoned exercise room. Outfitted in worn, loose sweatpants and a black T-shirt that had seen better days, Sam started his workout, hoping that at the end he would stop feeling the way his clothes looked.

He ran a few circles first to warm up his core temperature. Next came stretches, loosening up his leg muscles that had become too tight from all the stress he'd dealt with over the past few weeks. His calf muscles protested as he lowered himself into splits that used to come as natural as sitting normally. He wanted to push himself but he knew tearing a hamstring wasn't going to get him anywhere. He continued doing light calisthenics until the muscles in his arms, shoulders and back had been tested and stretched.

He kept going through the motions, doing pushups, sit-ups and various other bodyweight exercises. When he was done, he hopped back up, panting heavily. It had been a while since he really took the time to properly exercise every part of his body instead of blazing through workouts like a firecracker when he was short on time, and lately, this had often been the case.

He didn't know exactly when his world had started to derail, but he was pretty sure it was around the time a certain rookie arrived at the division. After a year, instead of getting better, things had gotten worse. She had a way of getting under his skin and it frustrated him to no end. Sam was used to being in charge of his emotions, even while in relationships. With Andy McNally, he ended up being led by his heart instead of his head. He misjudged her in the Nixon case and as a result she went off half cocked and almost got herself killed in the process. Rolling his shoulders in anger he prepared for his next challenge: acrobatics.

He remembered attempting backflips in the garden when he was 11 and ending up falling flat on his face, only to get back up and do it again because it was one of the few times he caught Sarah truly laughing. He hadn't realized a smile had crept up his face until the memory faded.

Exhaling, he ran up the mat, jumping into a round off backhand spring, followed up 2 more backhand springs until he'd gained enough momentum to launch himself into a backflip. He didn't get the height he wanted, but the technique was still there. There was little use for those 'fly' tricks in the real world but he felt it paid off keeping his tumbling skills, if only for the few precious happy times they'd gotten him with Sarah. The sound of clapping snapped him out of his thoughts and he whirled around, eyes zeroing in on the lone figure that stood in the door opening.

"Impressive, I never knew you could do that." Andy Mcnally was looking at him with a smug smile on her face.

Wiping his face with his towel, he silently wondered how long she'd been standing there without him noticing.

He decided it didn't matter. "What are you doing here?" It came out harsher than he'd intended, but he wasn't in the mood for talk. Hadn't been for a while. He used his teeth to pop the lid off his water bottle and took a big swig out of it while he watched Mcnally's brown eyes grow dark with anger.

"What's with the attitude?" she snapped and Sam rolled his eyes. These days they couldn't have a conversation without having it turn into an argument so he kept quiet. And waited.

"Fine, I came here to see how you were doing," Andy finally admitted, crossing her arms defiantly. She was wearing a fire engine red Nike dri-fit top that hugged her every curve and tight fitting, black yoga pants. "And to work out…on my own," she added hesitantly.

Sam spread his arms as indication of space. "Enough room for the both of us. I won't bother you. I was just finishing up anyway." Again the clipped tone. He didn't know what it was about her that set him off but he couldn't help it.

She gestured at him with one hand. "You call that flippy thing you did 'finishing up'?" Sam softened a bit at her attempt at levity. Maybe this situation between them—whatever it was—could be salvaged after all.

"You know what, why don't you warm up and I'll get started on the boxing bag. I heard you wanted to learn Krav Maga. I could teach you if you'd like."

Her eyes lit up a bit, but her smile was wary.

"Or you could find an instructor nearby. I know a good one," he added quickly. He was too tired to keep analyzing her words, her actions and appropriate reactions to them. He'd tried fixing things. He'd apologized for his screw up at the Nixon case, several times even. He explained his view on the situation at the time, admitted his wrongdoing, but it was never enough. Not to mention Luke had effectively won himself back into her good graces with his knight-in-shining-armor display that day. They weren't officially back together, but Sam could see it happen in the future. The day that happened was the day he'd go back undercover and wouldn't resurface until it all had become one vague distant memory.

"I don't want an instructor, I want you to teach me, Sam. You know what works in the real world." She approached him carefully, as if trying to coax a tiger out of its cage. Suddenly aware of the hostile vibe he was giving off, Sam relaxed his body and lost some of the bull-in-china-shop posturing.

"Fine. But we'll do this my way. No talking. I'll show you how it's done, you follow. When sparring, I won't hold back. If you fall, you get back up and try again. And again. Until you get it right. Anything less is a waste of time. Can you deal with that?"

She kept silent for a while, letting the offer sink in. Then she nodded, her long side swept bangs covering her eyes as she did so. He batted them away with a flick of his hand, not without affection.

"Braid them next time so they won't bother you. Now, let's get started before my tongue shuts down from muscle fatigue."

She nodded, a hint of a smile on her face. It was the smile he fell in love with, the smile that showed the cracks in her carefully composed mask. He watched her put her hair in a messy bun. He stole a glance and caught her rushing through the warm up. Before her sharp eyes would find his, he turned and landed a precisely aimed blow on the boxing bag, causing it swing violently. There was light at the end of the tunnel, though Sam didn't dare to count on it.

Not yet.

To be continued...

Please let me know what you think of it! Your opinion is highly appreciated!