Doing what's right
A/N: So, I couldn't resist.
Disclaimer: Don't own Rookie Blue, or the characters. Just take 'em out to play with ever so often.
Andy opens her eyes, yawns and stretches languidly on the sofa. She readjusts the thin blanket, tucking it under her arms as she sits up. Watches as Sam unabashedly bangs about in the kitchen, the late afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. "What are you doing?"
He looks up at her: "I don't know what you are running on woman, but I am starving. When did you last let me eat?"
"Ummm…" She scratches her head, "… pizza. Last night."
His only response is a low grunt as he places the frying pan on the hob; cracks the eggs into a bowl on the counter and mixes. The bruises, the evidence to his … talk with Brennan starting to fade; his one eye still purple, a black brace securing his healing wrist.
She raises an eyebrow; gathers the flimsy blanket around her, flipping the corner over her shoulder toga-style, what all suspended disgraced rookies are wearing this season, she thinks to herself as she shuffles towards the kitchen counter. She climbs up onto the stool by the breakfast nook, leans on her elbow, her chin in her hand. "Not that I am complaining, but if you are going to be pouring pancake batter into hot frying pan, do you not think that you need to…" she waves her free hand up and down his naked form.
Giving her a dark look, one she is well used too, he reaches into a drawer, pulls out an apron and hooks it over his head. He moves across to her, gesturing for her to secure the ties around the back of his waist, his brace hindering his movement. Glances over his shoulder at her: "Happy?"
"Very…" she murmurs, unashamedly, appraisingly, as he saunters back into the kitchen, pulls the syrup from the cupboard. She rests her hand on her chin again, licks her lips: "If I knew this was how you made pancakes, I would have taken you up on your offer for breakfast ages ago…"
"Uhhuh…" Grasping the bowl in crook of his bad arm, Sam stirs the batter wildly, without looking up at her. "I am sure that would have been an interesting conversation to have had with Callaghan."
She doesn't hesitate.
Sam grunts loudly as the still rolled newspaper connects with the side of his head.
"I can't believe you even went there," Andy huffs in his direction.
He shrugs his shoulders, "to soon?"
With a wolfish grin he looks up, tilts his head, watching her as she attempts to stalk back into the sitting room. The trailing blanket has other ideas, the soft material snakes around her ankles and she stumbles forward. Glaring down at the blanket, she roughly hoists it up higher, clutches onto the material as it determinedly threatens to slip down again; her head darting from side-to-side, muttering under her breath.
Sam places the spoon on the counter, stands legs akimbo, his arms loosely crossed, a smirk playing on his lips: "Andy, what are you doing?"
On her hands and knees, her bottom tantalizingly up in the air, she peers under the sofa. "Looking for my bag … Or my clothes. Either would do at this stage."
A knowing grin, a swallowed chuckle: "Your bag is by the front door. Where you left it. Four days ago."
Andy glances up at him, blows the wisp of hair off the side of her face. Rolls onto her bottom, tucking her feet under her, the blanket slipping slightly, as she clutches the edges between her breasts: "Has it really been four days?"
Sam moves across to her, reaches his hand out, pulls her into his arms.
"What, tired of me already?" he asks, his eyes darkening as he glazes down at her.
She links her arms around his neck. "I thought you were hungry," she whispers, her eyes shifting down towards his mouth, before meeting his again.
"I am." He growls, dipping his head towards hers.
He watches her sleep, her arm draped across his chest, hair splayed out on the pillow. Cannot fully believe that his rookie is here… in his bed. And that's half the problem… It's his rookie. And she is here. In his bed.
He knows how much her job means to her. How much integrity she has. And he has taken that all away from her. She hasn't said anything about the suspension. But then again, he hasn't brought it up. They shouldn't be here, in this situation. Together. If anyone found out, it could mean the end of their careers – for good. But, he reasons, it's not as if they have been parading around in public. As far as Nash knows, Andy has taken herself off, hiding, licking her proverbial wounds. And well, Oliver and Jerry know better than to contact him when he is in one of his moods. Let sleeping bears lie, or is that dogs?
He sighs, knows what he must do. For her. For them.
He eases himself out of the bed without waking her, picks up his phone off the bedside table, glances at the time: 7pm, still early enough. Types a one-handed message and presses send.
He doesn't have to wait long before the phone beeps in response. Nodding in satisfaction, he bends and gives Andy a light kiss on her forehead.
She snuffles in her sleep, turns and burrows deeper into the comforter. Smiling, he shakes his head lightly. Quietly, without disturbing her further, he grabs a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt before disappearing into the shower. With any luck, he will be back before she even realizes he is gone.
Sam sits in the darkened corner of the crowed bar, nursing his beer, playing with the condensation that lingers on the side of the chilled bottle. A shadow falls over the table. He looks up at Frank standing over him, his hands jammed tight into his pockets, rocking lightly on his feet.
"To be honest Sam, kind of expected that you would call. Bit surprised that it took you this long, mind you. But then again, quite a lot of what you have been doing recently has surprised me."
Sam ignores his comment, stands instead and claps Frank on the back. "So I hear congratulations are in order?"
A brief smile flits over Frank's face as he slides into the booth.
Sam lifts his hand, waves the waitress over, orders two more beers and a basket of chicken wings.
They sit in silence, waiting until the drinks have been put done in front of them, each taking a contemplative sip. Sam puts the beer down, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "You and Noelle. Kept that pretty quiet, didn't you? You sly dog."
He takes another sip, as Frank stares him down. "What did you call me here for Sam?" he asks brusquely. "Doubt it was for small talk."
Sam looks down at the table, shakes his head before meeting Frank's eyes. Utters one word: "McNally".
It's Frank's turn to shake his head. A grimace in response. "Didn't exactly keep that one on the down-low, now did you?"
Sam raises his hands, defensive. "Just hear me out Frank. We have been friends for a long time, work colleagues even longer than that, I think I deserve this, don't you?"
Doesn't wait for Frank's reply, steams ahead, the pictures of the puzzle having rapidly fallen into place over the last week. Time and space, amazing what that can do for a guy.
"Let me guess, when Boyd recommended the three rookies to do the test and McNally was his first choice?"
A grunted response; a further sip of beer.
Sam sighs: "You probably don't know, well … you wouldn't, would you … I only found out myself earlier this week."
Frank stares at Sam, motions for him to get to the point.
"Ri-ight … the night that I went undercover, McNally called. Left a message on my phone." At this, he takes a deep breath. "Let's just say, she was pretty clear in her intentions."
Frank groans, shifts in his seat. He does not want his mind to go anywhere near a naked McNally and Swarek, any more than it has already been forced to.
"And," Sam pushes on, pretending not to notice Frank's discomfort. "Boyd had access to my phone. He had the keys to my place, said he would keep an eye on my mail and voice messages, to ensure they didn't get clogged up. Don't you think it a strange coincidence that Boyd chose to include McNally in the training test, and then dropped them off downtown, a block away from Alpine Inn? He knew, better than anyone, that it was Brennan's local."
Frank nods slowly. Not entirely sure what Sam is getting at, but not liking where it is going either.
"Have you, has anyone, considered that McNally actually saved my arse? She put her career and her reputation on the line and came to you to share what she knew. No matter the cost to her. Do you know how much that took? She didn't burn me – Boyd did – that damn drug boat did. Had Brennan suspected Candice, suspected McNally, you would have been fishing her body out of the water at the boatyard. And you know that as well as I do…"
He pauses, takes a deep swig of his beer. "Brennan told Candice to stay away, that she was too good for JD and that he was only going to hurt her, destroy her. He would never have done that if he suspected she was a cop."
"Doesn't change what she did." Frank is adamant. "She still compromised the undercover op and she compromised you. Damaged the rep of the division. Damn hormones."
Sam shakes his head, spits out. "Yeah, like the rest of the division is so fucking professional. Let's take a running count shall we? Peck and Diaz were caught making out in the squad car, while in uniform and on duty; Callaghan cheats on McNally with Rosati, on the division's dime; Nash's baby daddy punches Jerry out in the reception area because Nash has been sleeping with Jerry on the quiet; and let's not forget that you have impregnated one of your unmarried training officers. Can you tell me, honestly tell me that any of them had to go through what Andy has? So, yes, perhaps we did not think this through. But, we sure as hell did not bring the name of the division into disrepute. That reputation was in tatters way before anything we did. Andy came to you quietly. She admitted to what had happened, and she underwent interrogation, like she was a common criminal; when all the while the actual antagonist – the reason that my life was hanging on a thread – was grilling her, blaming her. Think about it Frank. Think about it long and hard, and then come talk to me about what is fair and just and right."
Sam scoots out of the booth, throws a few notes down on the table. "McNally and I know we screwed up, McNally knows that there are consequences to her actions and she is willing to accept that. Because that is the kind of person she is. Do what you have to do, Frank. But, deep down, you know what is the right thing. And what is currently happening, the guilt she is currently feeling about letting you down, letting the division down. That's not the right thing. Not the right at all…"
Frank just watches him. Seething, thinking.
"He's right, you know," Noelle hands Frank a cup of tea, sits down on the sofa next to him. "You may not like what he had to say, but he is right. Half of this division has been running around like a bunch of randy teenagers, but none of them have been hauled over the coals. What Andy and Sam did was just plain dumb, but they both stayed in character. Hell, if Andy hadn't spoken to Brennan, we wouldn't have had half the intel we did."
She sips her own ginger drink, swallows the nausea, rubs her softly rounding belly.
"Do you know what it must have cost her to come and talk to you like that? To admit that she had been seeing Swarek? For all her faults, McNally is a private person. She doesn't allow her personal life get in the way of her job. Hell, she worked with Rosati after discovering that she had slept with her fiancé. Had that been me, I would have smacked that smug smile right off her damn face. Takes a strong woman to swallow that, to keep working like nothing has happened, let me tell you."
Frank sits back in the chair, nods his head, listens as Noelle continues: "I saw her there that night Frank, at Swarek's cover apartment. The fear in her eyes, when she saw the blood, his blood, and realised that Brennan had him. But, what did she do? Did she go back to the barn, cry and rock herself in a corner? No, she packed it up like she always does, rallied the team and did what a good cop should do – she investigated. You have got to give her that, Frank. The kid has integrity. She may only be a rookie, but she has the makings of being a good, solid cop."
"Never thought she was your favourite Noelle, must admit." Frank takes another sip of his tea.
"She's not. Far from it, which is why you know I'm right." Noelle stands, kisses him on the forehead. "Now, I'm going to bed, you got some thinking to do."
She switches off the overhead light, leaving him in the darkness.
As Sam suspected, Andy hasn't stirred since he left her a few hours earlier. Stripping off his clothes, he slides into the bed next to her, slips his arms around her and pulls her closer, softly kissing her head before closing his eyes, sighing contentedly.
She opens her own eyes in the darkness. Smiles to herself; funny how when she started with Luke, all she wanted was her own bed, her own space. Even when they moved into together, she found his wanting to clutch onto her … oppressive, stifling. But, here, with Sam, she wants nothing more. Feels right, like … home. Making sure not to hurt him, she gently tugs his arms around her tighter, clasping his hands across her chest, her beating heart. She closes her eyes again. Trust is a funny thing, she thinks. She knows he has been out, can smell the smoke on his skin, the slight beery breathe on her neck. But, she also knows he will tell her in his own time.
It's the jingle of her phone that wakes her as the sun stipples a pattern over the bedroom floor. She blearily reaches for the offending item; Sam peeks his head out of the bathroom, a mouthful of toothpaste.
"Best." Andy mouths silently, confused. Sam nods, ducks back into the bathroom, a smile on his face as Andy answers the phone.
The conversation is short, to the point.
Andy, pulling Sam's discarded t-shirt over her head, leans against doorframe, crosses her arms. She catches Sam's eyes reflected in the mirror, raises her eyebrow. "So, that was Best, asking me to come in for a meeting today with him and Superintendent Peck. You wouldn't know anything about that now, would you?"