Sam's perspective from the near-kiss imagined 'round the world in 2x10 Best Laid Plans. McSwarek, baby. [In regards to the title, there is nothing vampire-/werewolf-/Kristen Stewart-/Robert Pattinson-related in this fic. Interestingly enough, the word "twilight" was not always instantly reminiscent of a girl who stops functioning when her boyfriend leaves her. The more you know...]

So, McSwarek. This pairing is what FF was made for. Also, tell me I didn't imagine Sam saying her name at the end of this scene... I watched it seven times through, and I'm still only 90% sure. Rookie Blue issues.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rookie Blue.

Great plan - lead the pack with a kid in your arms and zero daylight, Sam chastises himself as he and the team finally near the woods' edge. The time spent tracking Elliot and his father has taken them into the beginnings of night, and a couple of near-stumbles in the encroaching dark have left him feeling like a damn rookie. Around this time in all of his evening shifts, he inevitably recalls his own T.O.'s advice from a patrol early in his career: "People say nothing good happens after midnight. Well, I say the danger starts at twilight. Be cautious, Swarek."

His T.O. was right. When twilight came, visibility decreased and the world suddenly went to shit. All best laid plans, once hit with dusk's shadows and chill, were subject to the whims of an even crazier reality than the one he and his division lived by day.

He and the guys make their way to the pavement with the help of beacons of blue and red flashing ahead of them, and Sam can't help but make a wry internal query as to where those same lights were - Was it just an hour ago?- when he and Andy had come across the car accident in the middle of this already complicated kidnapping.

Andy.

He immediately scans the road in front of him, his eyes darting to the car where he last saw her sitting with the trapped woman. But the car itself is not in quite the same shape as it was when he last saw it; in fact, it's now a smoldering frame. Shit.

"Shaw."

"What?"

"Take Elliot." Thankfully his friend doesn't hesitate before taking the kid. Sam takes off into the hectic scene before him without a second glance back.

"Andy," he calls as he strides forward. Where the hell is she? "Andy!" He can't help the desperation that has begun to creep into his voice and his mind. She wouldn't leave the scene so soon, except if... but the ambulance is still here...

And suddenly a figure comes towards him from around the ambulance door, with its exquisitely familiar voice calling his name.

"Sam!"

Andy is walking towards him, definitely not burned up in the wreckage behind him. The relief comes out of him in a full release of breath and a smile. He lets himself relax more fully as she rushes to reassure him, as usual.

"I'm okay, I got her out, like, justbefore it went up." She's "okay," she always swears to him. But she can't deny him his worry when she has had at least half a dozen near-death experiences in the same number of months, and he hasn't always been there to help her. His guilt is far from being assuaged on this one, since he literally left her by herself in said near-death experience.

"If I'd known the car was gonna catch on fire..." Sam finds himself trailing off, attempting to formulate a superhero-like re-imagining of the past hour that might have kept him by her side and out of a burning car while also allowing him to help find the boy in the woods. Meanwhile his eyes trail over her soot-smudged visage, in search of any scratch that could indicate she is anything less than healthy and safe. But she is going at her usual mile-a-minute pace, saying something about the medics and that the woman in the car is going to be fine. Sure, because that's who he is concerned about right now.

"You should've radioed," he gently chides her. The anxiety he felt in the mere 10 seconds between seeing the remains of that car and her unmarred face could have been alleviated in that way. Well, maybe not.He attempts to be honest with himself. She seems to be thinking the same thing, as she reminds him of how far away he was. Okay, so he might have just ended up worrying from miles away, rather than being relieved to know the specifics of her about to be roasted while he was unable to help. But part of him doubts the distance would have been a factor for very long. He would have had Ollie and the rest cover him and come sprinting back, if he'd known.

"And, you know, the car was on fire. I had that whole thing to deal with," she continues. He mutters half-hearted agreements at her attempted joke. The less he thinks about that, the better.

"But did you get the boy?"

"They found him, yeah," Sam replies, with a smile that has some basis in genuine happiness. It's not always a guarantee that things end up like they had tonight, particularly with kids involved.

"Good." The same satisfaction that he is feeling alights on her face as a grin that seems to brighten everything.

With that, he allows some of the tension and uncertainty that he has been holding onto break down. The kid has been rescued; his team is intact; his partner, standing just a foot away, is unscathed and smiling up at him. He steps forward and glances away for a brief second, opening his mouth to continue with their usual repartee. This is how each chapter of their story typically ends, after all - jokes and jabs, partners through and through.

But as he turns back to Andy, he's caught off guard - she is much closer than he realized. Even more distracting, she is uncharacteristically silent and looks so... content. Comfortable even, despite the cold and noise. She's looking him directly in the eyes, too. He's reminded of that moment in parade when they were told to look at their partners and acknowledge that these people deserved their best. She had shied away from his gaze pretty quickly then, seeming unsettled by what she saw there. He was pretty sure, thinking about it later, that he had relayed a little too much about his feelings with that look, a little too much of the truth of what being partners meant to him - and it sure as hell wasn't just someone getting him coffee and turning on the lights of the squad car when they got a call. He didn't mean to let her see the true depth of feeling he had for her. Didn't mean to let her know how much more he felt she deserved from him, from the world at large, that neither could give her. He just couldn't help it at the time, or any other time for that matter when he could be that close to her; he invariably gave more of himself away to her with every interaction they had. It remained to be seen whether he had that same effect on her. He wanted to believe he had recently been catching occasional hints of something more than colleagues, more than friends. Unfortunately, things hadn't really been going his way on the Andy-reciprocating-his-feelings end lately - or, you know, ever.

But now...

There are lights flashing and radios going off around them, proving to be very glaring reminders of the fact that they're at work, at a crime scene, both fresh out of life-threatening situations. But she isn't backing down. And he is spellbound. Their bodies are curving towards each other with undeniable intimacy. She looks down briefly, but the connection doesn't break because she's suddenly closer. His eyes flutter down to her mouth, and hers mirror the action. If he were to lean down, just an inch...

But before anything - the one thinghe has most wanted to experience again since the night of the blackout - can happen, something pulls him back. He forces his eyes away from hers, just for a moment. His gut registers something that he can't ignore, like a caution sign on the side of the road that leaves no indication of what, exactly, you're in for. He can't pinpoint the exact sentiment but he suspects his protective side has come to bare down incessantly on his desires yet again. After all, that is why he hasn't made a move, why he pushed her back to Callaghan time and time again. This need to insulate her from everything that could go wrong in her world - including a relationship with him - is debilitating. He has been more cautious with her than he can remember being with almost any person in his life. In his mind, any misstep would be irreparable because he feels tethered to her in every way and loathes the thought of leaving her, or being forced to leave her if he screwed up.

He's tethered literally, at the moment. He can't help that his feet won't carry him away from her, can't help that his eyes return to hers again. And he finds himself hoping to find some explanation there, or maybe reassurance. Something, anything that acknowledges he isn't alone in his desire for her. Something to protect him, too.

Andy finally smiles, a small, sad, barely visible upturn of her lips. In her eyes he sees a thousand apologies, of the sort he has been imagining himself saying over and over if they were to ever... begin. Apologies for the false starts, the moments of doubt. The inexcusable accusations and let-downs. From him, those apologies would largely be for not always being there when it counted, though he said he would be. She is telling him something of the same ilk with that look, about regrets and a wish that they weren't who they were. Something of resignation that yet again, the moment has passed. That she's not sure if another moment might come again, and that maybe this just isn't in the plans for them.

She's slipping backwards, moving slowly towards the ambulance. Yet she hasn't turned away and his gut suddenly changes course. It is now a crushing fear, not of hurting if her if they become involved and it goes south, but of losing her, now and forever. He is paralyzed by it. It keeps him from reaching out for her retreating form. He manages one small victory, he thinks:

"McNally..."

But his voice barely makes a sound against the driving winter wind. And she is actually gone now, out of his line of sight, out of his grasp again.

He sighs and feels a harsh, wrenching twist in his chest as he looks out into the descending night. Nothing good happens after twilight, he can't help but think again. For now, it's easier to just blame that. Tomorrow, the sun will rise and remind him that time marches on while he remains stuck. He will go back to dwelling on this moment and all of the other moments that came before it. He will go back to ruminating on caution and courage and the fact that his best laid plans for Andy McNally have yet to see the light of day.

Mostly, he'll go back to twilight and replay its crazy reality until his mind gives out on him. And he'll wish he could live in a world where reality, crazy as it might be, meant she was with him day and night, for longer than a fleeting, could-be moment.

For good.