A.N. This is a just a quick one-shot I wrote between 310 and 311. If anyone is interested, I may be willing to add a second chapter to it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Rookie Blue or its characters. This is for entertainment only.
Her entire body aches, she can feel the pounding of her heart in her arms, legs, even her feet, but she pushes on, forces her body forward, further away from Sam and his biting remarks. Once upon a time, two weeks ago, she wholeheartedly believed Sam thought she was a capable copper, fully deserving of his respect - now - not so much. Truth be told, she didn't recognize the man who had just verbally lashed out at her, he was no longer the same man who had shared her bed not too long ago.
The thought churns her stomach, bile rising in her throat. She pushes it back and keeps walking. She stumbles, catches herself on the wall to her left, rough brick scraping her palm, just one more ache to ignore. She takes a moment to catch her breath and happens to see the door to the shop open and a trio of teenage boys file out, all wearing black uniforms consistent with martial arts, each with different colored belts around their waists. A slight woman follows them out, her head turned back to say goodbye to someone on the inside.
Andy looks up and finds herself outside of Sun Je's Mixed Martial Arts Training facility. Before she can change her mind, she shoves off from the wall, wipes her hand on her jeans to remove the dust from the brick and walks briskly through the door.
"can we help you?" a young woman behind the counter asks her.
Andy stands in the doorway willing her eyes to adjust to the dim interior lights. She sees trophies fill one cabinet to her right, a counter straight in front of her and behind the counter a full size window to the training room. It's silent.
"Yeah, do you offer any one on one training?" She finally asks.
The young woman starts to shake her head, but a man Andy hadn't seen speaks up instead.
"What kind of training are you looking for?" HE's tall, over six feet, light mocha skin, hazel eyes, hair shorn close and multiple tattoos on both biceps. He stands with his feet apart, loose fitting black pants and a black top with no sleeves; very similar to most karate or judo outfits she's seen before.
"Um . . ." Andy falters. How can she explain that she's a police officer in dire need of self-defense?
The man saves her. "We train a wide variety of ways, karate, judo, boxing, jujitsu, it's a mixed martial arts. There are classes for beginners . . . " he trails off when Andy bits her bottom lip.
She sags against the wall by the front door and closes her eyes. Her aching body finally giving in to the fatigue of the last twenty-four hours.
"Amber, get me a bottle of water," the man commands while steering Andy towards the only couch in the room. "Sit. It looks like you need rest not training."
Andy sighs in relief, gulps the water Amber brings her and leans back on the couch. The man has sat down next to her and is watching her with confusion and concern. He must have set Amber off because when Andy opens her eyes she is gone.
"I'm really not interest in classes. I need some one on one training, sparring, anything really. I can't keep on going the way that I have. . . I"m liable to get someone hurt and then . . . ." she trails off again when she realizes he has no idea what she is talking about.
"I'm a cop and my training officer seems to think I can't cut it," she explains softly, her eyes focus on the water bottle label. "I made a mistake today, one that could have cost someone's life. I can't do it again."
He tilts his head to the side and watches her. It reminds her suddenly of the way Sam used to look at her. In the beginning. Like he was taking her measure, the worth of his time. Her heart begins to ache, her chest tightening, until she remembers the words he hurled at her. Then the anger burns hot and bright. He must see something in her eyes.
"The place closes down at six on Thursdays and Saturdays. Amber stays to clean and prepare for the next day. I can give you two hours, we'll find a program that works best for you. If you can't make it a certain day because of work, just call and let me know," he says, his eyes never wavering from hers.
Andy smiles widely in relief. She did not want to use the weight room at work nor ask the on staff trainer to work with her. The last thing she wants is for Sam to know.
"We'll start this Saturday, if you can," he says.
"Yeah, Saturday works for me." Andy replies hastily.
"I'm Tate, by the way," he states with a wry smile. "Tate Renfroe."
"Andy McNally."
And that's how Andy finds herself every Thursday and most Saturdays, at Sun Je's training facility after hours. He starts her on basic moves from karate and judo, working in some kickboxing. Some days she works a punching bag, others lifting weights. He gets her heart rate up, her feet moving faster and her timing impeccable. Afterwards, Tate rubs her legs and arms to keep the muscle loose.
She spills her history with Sam, keeps to the Cliff Notes version, doesn't want to make a big deal out of it. Sam is her past and she is working on her future.
Her time with Tate begins to show itself at work. Two separate shifts with chasing bad guys, she manages to take them down easily, both Chris and Dov are impressed. Since her first shift after Sam walked out, she had yet to ride with him, Frank still being sympathetic of the situation,. But she hears things. Knows her performance is getting around the barn.
In an effort to take back her life and stop conforming to the guys she dates, she makes necessary changes in her life. She quits her yoga class and starts using a DVD at home before shift, every shift. She cuts out coffee, mainly because Tate says it'll slow her performance, it gives her a caffeine high and her body will crash faster on it than without. So she starts to drink water, lots of water, which helps avoid Sam as well. He always heads straight for it whenever he's in the barn longer than ten minutes.
Andy keeps her head down whenever he's around. She promised herself she wouldn't pine for him. He wanted out, so he got it. She refuses to endure awkward, stilted conversation, on the road to friendship. Not going to happen. No way would she be able to be friends with him. Why be friends with a guy who shares so little of himself. If anything he would be a drinking buddy. He would be someone to have small talk with at the bar for an hour and then go home to the real boyfriend. But she can't do that yet, because every time she looks at him, she thinks about how he promised to fight for her and then walked away without a backward glance. She thinks about him asking for his keys back the day after. She thinks about how she absolutely and totally fell in love with him only to find out that he didn't love her back.
So, Andy keeps her head down at the barn, stays quiet on patrol, keeps the chatter to a minimum to concentrate on her surroundings, she starts to trust her gut again. She thinks maybe one day Sam will believe in her abilities again, but tries not to dwell on it, since only heartache waits for her there.
It's well in to winter when Frank announces 15 Division will start it's re-training exercises. It had been postponed right after Jerry died and then got pushed aside with bad weather and accidents. It's the first time the rookies have to go through it. Frank has them go in shifts to keep re-assigning shifts to a minimum. He posts a schedule outside the training room so every one knows when they will partake.
Andy finds her name, along with Chris, Gail, Sam, Oliver and Noelle. There are several others she hasn't worked too closely with. She sees she's been assigned as the cop, Sam is on the list as a criminal. She can't decide if she wants to be paired with him so she can beat him to submission or if she wants him on the sidelines watching as she takes down someone else.
"So, you think you'll get paired with Sam?" Traci asks her the day of re-training. They're sitting in the locker room, Andy changing into her uniform, sans dress shirt. "Dang, girl, what did you do?" Traci exclaims.
Andy twists to see her back in the mirror across the room. A large purple bruise has bloomed on her right side, from spine to hip. It's pretty nasty. Tate had caught her unawares the night before, she had still managed to get him down on the mat, but still . . .
"It's nothing," Andy replies, pulling her black shirt over her head.
"That not nothing," Traci argues. "It looks like someone hit you hard."
"I'll be fine. Barely hurts," Andy reassured her, sitting back down to lace up her boots.
Traci watches her for a moment with raised eyebrows clearing not believing her. "I'm sorry, but you need to explain to me how a giant bruise on your back barely hurts. Did one of our suspects get too physical? Dov said he didn't get to you until after you cuffed the guy. Did he struggle with you?"
Andy puffs out a breath, yanks her hair up into a messy ponytail and then twists it into a bun, harder for the "criminal" to latch on to.
"Look, Trace," Andy finally starts, turning to straddle the bench and look at her friend. "I've been training with someone. My right side is still weak and he got me, okay? I'll be fine. This is nothing compared to . . ." she abruptly stops.
"Compare to?" Traci prods. "Has it been worse?"
"I gotta get in there," Andy says and jumps up from the bench. She's halfway out the door when Traci stands up.
Turns out she doesn't get paired with Sam, but with Chris. She watches Sam give Officer Gelman the runaround, takes him nearly five minutes to pin Sam to the ground. It's the first time in a long time she allows herself to look at him, truly look at him. He's been going longer between shaves, so there's dark stubble along his jaw. His hair has grown longer and brushes his collar in back. He's bulked up a bit, his biceps straining his shirt. Andy can admit he looks yummy. She feels a pang of arousal in her belly when he glances at her after standing back up. He looks away first, Andy doesn't even try to stop from rolling her eyes.
Sam comes to stand by her, smelling of sweat and cologne, it reminds her of how he smelled after sex. He's breathing heavily too, which doesn't help the image of him stamped in her mind.
"Nash tells me you're hurt," he says quietly, meant for only her ears.
Andy rolls her eyes. "Traci should mind her own business."
"Maybe you should tell Frank and switch sides?" He offers, a hint of concern in his voice.
"Why? Afraid I'll beat your time and win," She asks nodding towards the bottle of scotch being offered up as the prize.
Sam snorts a laugh. "Just don't want to see you get more hurt."
Andy huffs and turns away from him, not sure if he meant physically or emotionally more hurt. They haven't spoken more than simple courtesies to each other or to relay information at a crime scene. He's stopped yelling at her and moved on to talking down to her, spelling out his every command as though she doesn't know her own ass from the ABC's.
"McNally!" Frank booms across the room. "You'll be taking down Diaz!"
There are hoots, hollers and side bets being placed as Diaz gets suited up. Andy tests out the baton she needs to use to subdue him. She hefts it in her hands, checking the weight and balance of it. She had asked Tate a few weeks back if they could train with a baton. She had already started wearing her work boots to hone her technique while inhibited with the boot's bulky weight.
"You don't think I can do this, do you?" She asks Sam, her eyes burning into his. He had sidled up to her as she waited for Diaz. "After all this time and all that you taught me, you really believe I can't do this job," she states it, but he takes it as a question.
"I think you have a long way to go."
It's the way he says it. Matter of fact. Like cold hard proof. He believes it. And it breaks her heart a little more. She straightens her spine, wills the tears away, swallows the sob choking her.
"McNally! Diaz is ready, are you?" Frank hollers.
Andy nods, her eyes focused on Sam's unrelenting gaze. "Wow, you really don't know me," she says to him and walks away.
"Don't worry, Andy," Chris says with a smile. "I'll take it easy on you, on account of your bruise."
And it makes her angry how easily everyone puts on kid gloves around her, like she's freaking breakable or something. Time to prove them all wrong.
It's easy to get lost in the fight, to find her opponents weakness, which in this case is Diaz's apparent reluctance to hurt her all because she has a bruise on her back. She gives no quarter to him, dancing him around in tight circles, feinting left and striking hard from the right, her pulse quickens as they move, Diaz is breathing heavily, weighted down by his padding, the baton another part of her body, she keeps him constantly on edge until finally she smoothly knocks him off his feet, forcing him to land heavily on his back, the baton at his throat and her straddling his chest blocking his airway.
Chris taps the ground, wheezing and staring at her with shock in his eyes. Andy grins slowly, the cheers finally getting through the pounding in her ears. She looks up and sees Sam. His mouth is open, shock and amazement written across his face. She licks her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth, releasing it and grinning widely. She knows her hair is falling out, her skin flushed from exertion, but all she can concentrate on is the flare of arousal in his eyes.
Oh yeah, she totally got him.