Thank you to all who reviewed my first story – I'm still learning the nuances of this membership, but I am utterly grateful for the compliments, kindness, and words of encouragement. This next submission is an experiment of sorts. I would like to write a multi-chapter story, but my writing style is more conducive to "reflections," with few lines of character dialogue. Thus, I will be using this story as a practice round, in the hopes of gaining a better handle on dialogue and conversation flow. Please let me know what you think!

This scene takes place during 2x11 before Andy returns to the station.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue. I just have an abundant amount of feelings for the characters.

"Working the desk. Filing my own paperwork. Booking criminals from dusk til dawn. Losing to Oliver in an arm-wrestling contest. Sitting in a surveillance van with Nash and Jerry, again. Wearing some of Peck's lip color for an afternoon. Punctuating every statement I make with the phrase, Rock and Roll."

"Bull."

"What?"

"I call bull shit. Sam, there is no way you would rather adopt one of Epstein's catch phrases than finish this undercover assignment."

"Not even if it meant being with you?"

"That's sweet, but no. You would go crazy in – oh, I don't know – half a day?"

"Interesting. And here I thought the line about Peck 's lip color would give you more cause for concern. Her lips are bright red, you know. Hard to miss."

"Nah, you're too much of a man's man. Chris and Dov would probably start wearing it too, if they thought it was a trend you started. The Swarek edge and all that jazz. Anyway, it's my turn. Give me a category."

"This is a silly game."

"Give me a category!"

He chuckled, hazarding a glance at her self-satisfied grin. "Well, I was right about one thing, anyway. Bossy, demanding, insistent… Sweetheart, you really aren't my type. But hey – Gotta break the mold sometime, right?"

"Huh. Well, for what it's worth, I never anticipated falling for a blunt, unyielding old man with a penchant for bestowing condescending nicknames on co-workers. Ugh, I really don't like the name sweetheart," she added, crinkling her nose. "Especially when I hear it on my second day of work – and from another cop, no less!"

"Always with the shot about age, McNally. You wound me."

"Oh, Sam…I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I mean, at your age, your recovery time will take a little longer, right? Have you applied for that AARP card yet?"

"Alright, alright, I get it. I'm an old man. Happy? You always have to go right for the jugular, rook."

"I'm not your rookie anymore. And it's only because you have such an attractive neck… and Adam's apple… and collarbone..." She trailed off, her mouth otherwise occupied on his skin.

Sam grinned, his eyes dancing in the dim light of the apartment. "For the record, I know you don't like the name 'sweetheart.' I could see it in your eyes on our first shift together. But I could also see it got you fired up…and I like fired up."

She didn't take her eyes off his shoulder, where she continued to lavish attention, but he could see her jaw tighten, and a few mumbled words broke through his reverie. "YOU like fired up. Always about you, isn't it?"

"What? It's true. I rescind my previous statement: I won't mind if you get a little bossy. 'Watch your step, mind the stairs, follow me…into my room, right now, where I will proceed to blow your mind.'"

She broke away from him, laughing boisterously. "Blow your mind? I'm that good, huh?"

"Well you're with me, and I'm awesome, so by extension, you are awesome."

She sighed, a tiny smile gracing her features. Turning toward him, she propped her elbow underneath her head and looked into his eyes. "Sam…I really do care about you, you know? I wouldn't be here if I wasn't…sure." Pausing, her eyes drifted, and she began to pull at the fibers of the sheet that separated them. In a quieter voice, she finished, "I'm sure."

He tilted her chin towards him, and their eyes met again. All playful teasing had disappeared from his face. He looked at her intently, noting the self-consciousness that lingered in the wake of her admission. Honest and straightforward and vulnerable. A big step – he knew it and she knew it.

The room was silent for a moment. He waited until the tension left her body and then leaned forward, trying to convey with his eyes all that he felt in his heart. Until this moment, his life had been a waiting game. Waiting for the next UC assignment, waiting for a suspect to break, hell, even waiting for Jerry to fold at the poker table. But one "wait" took the cake.

After he saw the ring, he was sure nothing would come of "waiting." It was almost funny how something so small, so unobtrusive, could tighten his chest and clench his heart like an iron fist. She didn't wear it during shift, but seeing her at the Penny was enough. The light seemed to catch every damn sparkle of that ring. And yet he waited. Reluctantly? Sometimes. To his chagrin and disappointment? Often. He waited for a woman whose heart belonged to another man. He waited, more patiently than ever, as she put her life back together when that heart was broken. He waited, and he listened, and he offered a steadying hand. And one day, something bloomed in the dark winter of waiting, and wishing, and wanting - hope. With hope in his heart, he waited for a time when she would reveal the words he suspected had occupied her mind.

What was that saying? Good things come to those who wait? No, that wasn't right. "The best things," his mind corrected, "The best things come to those who wait."

His arms stretched toward her, eyes never leaving hers. She was sure. She was…his. The waiting game was over, and if every game has a winner, by God, he just took the medal.

"I know. And Andy? I'm sure of one thing. I'm sure of us."

Reviews, suggestions, critical feedback – They are all welcome! Please excuse any grammatical errors, as my tired eyes were the only things to peruse this document.

Thank you!