A/N: Alternate ending, 5.2

Just a little way of saying thanks to my friends for their continued support and good wishes as I work my way through a really tough time.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rookie Blue.

I need more time. Ok?

And she does. She really, really...

Does.

Really.

I'm not going anywhere.

He's ...not going anywhere. Okay. That's a good start. Well. Of course, she'd much prefer he wasn't stuck in a hospital bed, much prefer he didn't get shot, much prefer they had've done a whole bunch of things differently the first...or...even the second time around.

Anyway. The point is: he's not going anywhere now.

Neither is Andy, apparently. She doesn't...can't...move for the next half an hour.

(It takes at least that long for her heart to rise back into her chest.)

She stares out the window, watching Sarah disappear behind a wall of the bus shelter, out of sight...but not out of mind.

The truck has gone cold. That warm air that had started to fill the cabin when she turned on the heat back at the hospital never did quite reach her feet.

She blows out a loud breath, and looks over her shoulder. More than half expects to hear Sam's voice give her advice.

Start the truck, McNally.

She sinks some teeth into her lip. Turns the key to the ignition, the leather of the wheel and low hum of the engine conjures up a clear image of Sam's face. Other parts too.

Andy, just drive.

She blinks, slowly. Pulls from the kerb, slower, mindful as she can be about traffic and road laws and...

Of driving... As best she can... What with the distraction of all these other drivers that have appeared on the road.

She focuses only on what is in front of her. The traffic, the road, the lights and levels that are showing up on the dash.

Admittedly, thoughts of Sam enter her brain once in a while. Tug at places inside of her too. She frowns at those memories of the times he's made her angry, gets teary when a replay of the heartbreaking moments pops up...

Smiles at everything that flashes between all of that.

Sometime later, she's not exactly sure when, Andy finds herself in the same hospital parking spot that she had driven Sarah away from tonight.

She cuts the engine. Grips the keys very tight.

He looks up from the book he's reading as she steps through the door. Smiles, warm, with his eyes. Just like every other day she's seen him since he woke up.

"What time is it?" His voice has this soft edge that draws Andy to the edge of his bed.

She perches herself on the edge, thigh close to his free hand, looks at her watch. "Late," she replies, mouth twitching into a smile. "But not too late."

Sam smiles some more, dimples remaining as he keeps his eyes on her, and places his book on the side table.

(On the Waterfront. Andy borrowed it from the library after doing an extensive study of his bookshelves, gave it to him four days ago. He's almost got the thing read.)

"Happy you came..." Sam starts, clearly curious about her change of heart after their exchange of texts earlier. "Good to see you."

"I..." Andy deliberates, unsure of herself. "I decided I really wanted to say goodnight in person." That's the truth. As much as she needs some time to think through what she wants and needs from Sam...and what she needs and wants to give to him...she wants him to know that she's not going anywhere either. She smiles at him, happy she's here. "It's really good to see you."

Sam's smile grows brighter. His head nods three times. The rest of his body also makes a move. Swings his legs slowly, shuffles into a sitting position...right by her side. The seam of her jean that was near his hand is now occupied by those comfortable looking pajama pants he's got on.

(The ones she wants to take off.)

"Well," he murmurs, interrupting her train of thought. "I know I'll sleep better now." He bumps at her shoulder. "How about you?"

Andy looks up from their legs, finds Sam watching her face...

She watches his too.

"Andy..." He bumps at her again, this time with an elbow, just gently. "Wanna tell me what's on your mind?"

She nods, slowly, considering how best to articulate her apparent inability not to fall back into cycles and patterns that take her to places she doesn't want. And of how, every damn time, she seems to pedal too fast -

But. In the end, the only thing she comes up with is:

"Lemons."

Well, that word, and a loud swallow of a lump in her throat.

Sam licks his lips. Looks down at her mouth. Waits until his eyes flicker back toward hers before he responds. "Sounds pretty sour."

He reaches across, takes her hand in his.

(The gesture has become their go to this past couple of weeks when they want to a) talk, b) listen, or just...c) be in one another's company and not need to do either of those things. )

"My sister been spilling the beans?"

Well, seems like Sam might have chosen option one or two tonight. And by the look on his face, there's not a joke book in sight.

"Not..." Andy starts, feeling her nose and forehead scrunch. "Not exactly..." She tries again.

Sam shrugs. "Whatever she said, it's probably no lie." He doesn't take his eyes off her. "But I hope you give me a chance to show you my point of view? Show you how things can change."

Andy swallows before she nods this time around. "I guess I just realized it's gonna take us a little while to work through our stuff..." She turns her hand, presses her palm into his. "Not just yours, you know, Sam." She returns the warmth of his gaze, laces her fingers through his one at a time. "Mine...ours." She smiles small, gaining some confidence as she starts to make sense of her thoughts. "But, together. You know. I don't wanna work through any of those things apart. 'Cause that never worked either."

Sam doesn't flinch, but does give Andy's hand a tight squeeze. His grin matches hers. He nods, once. Then squints, peers in Andy's direction in a way that makes her feel mostly gooey inside. "You like lemonade, right?"

Andy feels an eyebrow quirk of it's own accord. Obviously, Sam knows a lot about a whole bunch of things that she likes. "Uh huh..." She narrows her eyes in return, can't wait to see where this is headed.

"Ever made your own?" He raises one of his eyebrows, a challenge to hers. Although, his voice is still soft and lovely, so it's not really a tease.

Andy shakes her head, shrugs up her shoulders, gets more curious by the second. "Nope," she says. "Well, I tried once, when I was like, 5 or 6...until Claire pointed out that we had no sugar..."

Sam nods. Looks entirely like he can empathize. "Yeah, our family often ran out of sweet stuff as well."

Andy's eyes widen, and her whole body softens. She wonders whether that's why Sam makes sure he eats all the good candy first.

"Anyway, how 'bout we make a deal," he continues, jostling her hand. "You and me. When I'm completely healed and it's finally time to break me free of this place..."

Andy grins, body perking after having some unsolicited thoughts about sneaking Sam down the hallway and getting him home.

"I'll bring the lemons, you..." He says pointing a finger toward her chest. "Bring the sugar..."

"And we make our own lemonade," she finishes, smiling bigger, liking this story a whole lot.

"And we make our own lemonade," he confirms, leaning in just an inch, close enough to have Andy thinking she might be kissed. "But. Now, you should probably go get some sleep?"

Andy nods, feeling a little disappointed, even though she knows Sam is right...after all, she was the one that signaled they need to slow down. "I guess...yeah..." She whispers, putting one foot onto the floor and getting ready to leave. "And you need your sleep too, so..."

"Me? Nah..." He grins. "Nearly at the end of that book. Give me a couple of hours and I'll know if the good guy wins out."

Andy bites her lip, altogether pleased with herself that he's enjoying something she chose for him. "Don't they always?" she asks, now standing in front of Sam.

"Well, in this story it was hard to work out straight up who the good guy actually was," he tells her, possibly using the first piece of subtext since he's been here.

Sam reaches across to his bedside table. At first, Andy thinks it's to pick up the novel, only then, he reaches a hand into his drawer. "Take these," he says simply, handing over some thick, dark, woolly socks.

Andy raises both eyebrows, but holds out a hand. "You need them washed?"

Sam smirks. "They're clean, McNally," he half laughs. "Don't need your help with my dirty laundry. Just yet." He places the neat, cosy looking bundle into her palm. "They might warm those cold feet of yours," he closes her fingers around them. Keeps holding the outer edge of her hand.

Andy recognizes the fuzzy things with sticky bottoms as the ones Sam wore when they got him into physio. Hospital issue, minimize the risk of him falling when he started walking again. She furrows her brow. "You don't need them anymore?"

"No tripping now," he replies, eyes on hers, hand still holding on. Voice telling Andy almost everything she needs to know.

"Okay." She nods, leans forward and kisses his cheek. "Thank you".

He smiles up at her. "Night, Andy." He lets go of her hand, giving it a gentle at stroke over the knuckles. "See you tomorrow?"

She pulls away from him slowly and walks backward to the door, smiling the whole way. "Night Sam, see you tomorrow."

fin.