Disclaimer: As awesome as it would be ;) ... Rookie Blue does not belong to me in any way, shape, or form.

A/N: Drum roll, please! My first ever multichapter fic!

Woohoo! I can't believe it! I'm so happy right now, haha; I'm positively giddy.

This is an Andy/Sam story, set after episode 6, 'Bullet Proof', because it left so much opportunity for writing!

I'm breaking an old promise to myself, saying that I wouldn't post a fic without being done it. Oh well ... But the next chapter is done, the rest of it planned out. It will total 4 or 5 chapters, in the end.

I'll try to get it all up before Thursday night, when the new episode airs!

I sincerely hope you enjoy!

-0-0-

"Thanks," Andy tells him, quietly and genuinely, as he walks her up to her apartment. "You know, for helping out Benny's mom like that."

"No problem," Sam replies with a small smile. "She's a nice woman."

Andy nods, trying to return his smile but looking away when she only manages a pained grimace. "She raised a good son." And there it is; the elephant in the room, out in the open. She's opening up the floor for conversation, and it's his for the taking.

As much as she doesn't want to ever have to think about it again, she feels like she needs to talk about it. She feels like she owes it to Benny.

"Got to know him well, huh?" Sam asks her, attempting to keep his voice nonchalant but not quite succeeding at hiding his blatant curiosity.

Andy nods again, her eyes flashing dangerously as she prepares to go on the defensive. (It comes off more offensive, though.) She stares him dead on, saying, "You gonna tell me that that was a rookie mistake; to get personally involved in a case? Because if you are, you can save it, Sam, okay? It won't do any good now. And it probably wouldn't have done any good if you'd told me this morning, either. So just … save it."

Sam raises his hands, defensively. "I wasn't going to say that, I swear," he tells her quietly and calmly, in an attempt to diffuse the escalated situation. She hates that he's using his hostage-negotiation voice with her; as if she's some broken fuse, capable of blowing up at any moment. Nevertheless, she takes a deep breath and makes a conscious effort to cool herself off.

"Sorry," she mutters, moving her gaze to observe the contrast of her shoes against the carpeted hallways of her building. Shifting so as to lean against the wall, she sighs before continuing softly, "Yeah, I got to know him."

Sam nods, shifting and leaning up against the wall as well, looking down at her but not forcing eye contact. "Tell me about him."

This time, she manages a small smile. "He's … I don't even know, really." She shakes her head, searching for the right words to express what she needs to say. "At first, he was kind of immature; joking around, you know? I didn't take him very seriously. But there was more there, underneath … he read me like an open book, just about a half hour after he first saw me."

"You have a hard time trusting people, don't you?"

"He was … complicated. Full of layers." She pauses for a moment, thinking. "Just like everybody is, I guess," she finally adds.

Sam nods, pursing his lips a little bit. "Yeah, people tend to be like that. You think you know someone, inside and out … yet they still manage to constantly surprise you."

They're silent for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts.

With a small sigh, she pushes off from the wall and takes a backwards step towards her door. "Do you want to come in for a little bit? Have a drink?" she asks him softly, looking up at him and easily getting lost in his eyes.

She tells herself that she's just being polite; that her invitation doesn't mean anything special. But if she were to be honest with herself, she'd have to admit that perhaps it could come to mean so much more.

Sam hesitates, thinking back on what Oliver had been so close to saying earlier in the night; and the man was right.

As much as he wants to go in for a drink and the opportunity to get her to open up more to him, he knows it would lead to other things … and as much as he wants to (and God, does he want to!), he just can't. He can't put her in that kind of position.

He can see on her face that she's thinking along the same lines as him. He just gives her a small smile, saying, "Wish I could, but I should really jet." She nods understandingly, giving him a rueful smile.

"Yeah," she sighs knowingly, trying to shove down her disappointment.

He clears his throat and looks away, because the look in her eyes is making it harder and harder for him to walk away from her and her invitation by the second. And maybe he's only torturing himself, but he can't seem to resist stepping closer and lightly pressing his lips to her forehead, reveling in her scent. "You gonna be okay?" he asks her, face still just inches from her face. His voice is quiet, and his breath invades her senses in a way that she can't say she minds.

She swallows thickly, nodding quickly before managing (with a lot of determination) to respond moments later. "Yeah, I'll be alright.

He nods in return, brushing her hair back and letting his hand linger for a moment before stepping away. He has to get away soon, before he's unable to escape. He just has to make one thing clear first. "You need anything – anything at all – and you come to me, alright?" he tells her seriously. Rules be damned, he leaves unsaid; but he thinks she understands it anyways.

She smiles up at him gratefully. "Thanks," she says.

He just nods, returning her smile.

Then, desperately fighting the strong urge he has to follow her into her apartment and do things he might possibly regret afterwards (though he highly doubts he would), he stuffs his hands into his pockets and turns around, walking out of her building.

It kills him more than he'd admit to leave her behind.

-0-0-

Until next time! (Haha, I love being able to say that.)

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