A/N: I've had this thing written for almost a year so I figure it's well past time to release it into the wild.
The thing is, in any other circumstances, he'd drive her home.
But it's late- for her, at least-, and they've been on completely opposing shifts for going on two weeks now. And she's been riding mostly with Gail, and there's only so much deadpan snark and acerbic wit she can dish and take before indulging one particularly drunk woman's request for nothing but 90's slow jams to be played. Basically, she's tired of the night rotation and this close to begging to know which of the patrol gods she'd infuriated.
She and Sam only have enough time for a few desperate kisses against her locker before he's regretfully pressing his forehead to hers, nudging at her nose and gently kissing her flushed cheek.
"Go home, McNally. Get some sleep." He flashes her a grin, jangles his keys around in his hand before tucking them in her front pocket, definitely lingering a few seconds too long to be considered decent. He kisses her again before resolutely straightening up, tugs a bit on a stray hair that had escaped her damp ponytail, tucks it behind her ear and gives her one last glance before heading out to his desk.
And it's broad daylight. Mid-morning on an Thursday in early December. The snow had let up hours earlier, the plows clearing much of it away while most of the city slept. What she really, really wants is to go home and curl up with Sam, maybe do a little more than curl up because that's all they've really gotten to do lately. But he is nothing if not good on his promises now. To open up, to talk to her, to share every little piece of himself that he'd held on so tightly to before. To take out her trash, make her dinner, drive her to half a dozen separate animal shelters before he breaks it to her that they really couldn't adopt every dog she saw and they really only had the room for one anyways.
As she leaves she bumps shoulders with Traci and promises to meet up with her the next night for Leo's Christmas concert, adjusts her bag over her shoulder and blinks at the bright sunlight reflecting off the snow. The air is crisp and cold and she breathes it in deep.
When she was a kid, days like these were her favorite. Her dad would let her skip school and build snowmen and forts, make up some real hot chocolate and order in, watch movies on the couch until she fell asleep.
It's one of those things she'd filed away, one of a few treasured childhood memories stored for future maybes. But- she's way ahead of herself here. They've just barely moved in together, her boxes still littering the guest room and driving Sam a little nuts. But it's nice, living together. No more shuttling Boo back and forth like it was some sort of awkward custody arrangement. And it's happy. Sam had grinned like it was already Christmas morning the whole first week, making sure to announce that he and McNally were going home at the Penny, just in case anyone had missed that memo.
And she doesn't even need to crank the heat up in the truck. Sam's always let off a ridiculous amount of body heat, never needs the heat as high as she likes but indulges her anyways. Always remembers to turn it up when he knows she'll be getting in and keeps the glove box stocked with her favorite bubblegum and a few tubes of chapstick.
He's been doing a lot lately. Beyond the dog and the dinners and the garbage that he'd originally promised her, even. At first, it was small things. Pointing out the landmarks of his childhood, the foster homes he'd been in and the parks he'd played at and the schools he'd gotten kicked out of. Then, there were stories. About his father and his anger, his mother and her instability, his sister and her desolation. She let him cry and cried for him as he laid himself bare to her over and over again. She'd reassure him when he'd start pulling away, afraid of her reactions only to find love and acceptance where he'd half-expected pity or judgment.
And in return, she told him about the first few years, the camping and the zoos and the road trips to her grandmother's in Nova Scotia. She got fidgety when talking about her dad's alcoholism, how she'd felt like a failure for never being enough for him to stay sober. She'd dug out some old home videos and he'd brought up the box of pictures he'd hidden away in storage for years. Andy giggled over his eyebrows and Sam smirked at how clearly she'd enjoyed the camera at young age. When the pictures mostly stop around both their early preteen years, they talk about that, too. It's new and it should be about fifteen types of scary, but it's really not and that's probably the best part. That and, well, the obvious.
She puts the truck in reverse and shivers, despite the heat slowly warming the interior. She can't wait to crawl under the covers and get warm, maybe even sneak Boo onto the bed even though Sam strictly forbids it when he's home. Of course, she'd rather have Sam to curl up next to instead of her – their - dog, but right now, she'll take what she could get. Only one more day until their schedules were back to normal, back to falling asleep and waking up with him only inches away. Making up for lost time.
She's only five blocks from home when it happens.
Right into the side of Sam's truck, which spins out on ice and flips a few times for good measure. Her head hits something pretty damn hard on one rotation, and everything is turned over as she tries to blink through the jarring pain and the lack of oxygen, knowing that she should really do something but the spots in her vision and inability to even breathe kind of complicating things.
God, she thinks. Sam is going to kill me.
She can barely make out the busted windshield and what used to be the hood before being dragged under.
It's a small miracle that 15-05 is the first car on the scene. Shaw recognizes the F-150 in an instant, his heart dropping to his feet and his stomach twisting as he realizes.
Diaz is with him, and as Oliver heads right towards the overturned truck, it's he who has the presence of mind to call Sam back at the precinct.
The younger cop looks anxious as he grips the phone, clearly failing to calm the man on the other side as he tries to explain the situation from what little he knows.
Oliver's afraid to look any closer than he already has, the dark hair enough to confirm what he already knows, but he finds himself carefully approaching the truck anyways. He crouches down and uses his TO voice when he talks to her unconscious form.
Another squad pulls up, followed by a fire engine and two ambulances. They're quick to take over, carrying heavy equipment and walking with an assured sort of urgency that only makes Oliver feel slightly better. He's hardly even thought about the other vehicle involved, but it looks a hell of a lot better than the one McNally is still in, and he can't really be bothered to care when there are others there to take care of it
It's another eight minutes – and Oliver knows for a fact that it should take at least ten – before Sam shows up. He's driven himself, and Oliver wants to yell, maybe shake some sense into him. He can count on one hand, maybe two, how many times his friend has looked so utterly petrified.
Sam is shock white, jaw clenched, eyes solely focused on his overturned truck. They're still working on getting her out, firefighters and EMTs all blocking his view. Oliver intercepts him and puts a steadying hand on his shoulder as Sam tries to bully his way around him.
"Easy, buddy. Gotta let 'em do their job. Just let them do their job. She's in good hands."
He barely hears him as something else catches his eye. A man sits in the nearest ambulance, a few scratches but otherwise unharmed. Eyes bloodshot, face sagging as his head lolls to one side. Blinks confusedly at all of the lights and commotion.
It takes Diaz, Shaw, and another cop to wrestle Sam down after he throws the first punch. Oliver threatens to cuff him, and even though he knows the threat is empty, Sam shuts right the hell up as he works on not losing his mind even more in front of a whole bunch of witnesses.
They finally pull her out, strap her to a backboard and lift her onto a stretcher. She's so, so still.
He hops right into the ambulance and tries to get a good look at her, but they're working frantically and all he can do is watch.
It's over a day and a half before she wakes.
He's been posted by her side almost constantly since she got out of surgery. She's lucky, they tell him. The truck took most of the damage and just left her with a few broken ribs, a concussion, and a shattered wrist. Her entire body's pretty bruised and cut up too, but she's warm and breathing and beneath the smell of hospital he can still faintly pick out the shampoo that he could probably still smell in their bathroom, too.
Her father sent him home that second night, just long enough to get a decent shower and a nap, if he was thinking optimistically, even a meal that wasn't from the hospital cafeteria. He lets Boo out while he cleans up and changes, grabs Andy's favorite pair of pajamas and her warmest pair of socks, stuffs them in a bag with her toiletries. Drops their dog off with Traci and Leo, swings by the nearest department store, and then heads right back to the hospital.
Her eyes slowly blink open somewhere around 2am Saturday morning. It's her fingers twitching that give her away, though. He's all but asleep in the chair next to her, one hand curled around hers, the other clutching -
Well, he's still working on getting to that part.
She blearily glances around, tries to shift and her entire body seizes up, which just puts her in even more pain as stitches pull and bruises throb. He's up in a flash before she can even groan, pressing the call button and smoothing a hand across her warm forehead.
"Hey, hey," He murmurs. "Easy, sweetheart."
Her brow's furrowed as she looks up at him, before her eyes widen and her hand moves to rest on his.
"God-" She croaks. "Sam-sorry, I, your truck."
He nearly chokes on a laugh - or maybe a sob -, pressing his lips to her busted knuckles as he breathes deep, composes himself.
"McNally, Jesus." He shakes his head, using his free hand to stroke his knuckles along her jaw line. "Fuck the stupid truck, don't even-"
A nurse comes in and interrupts with a cheerful introduction, checks her vitals, asks McNally some cliche questions before leaving (What day is it? Who's the president of the United States? Did you really just wake up after an accident that should've probably killed you, worried about your boyfriend's truck?)
His right hand is clenched now too, and the sharp bite of its prize nearly startles him back to reality.
"Hey, listen to me, the truck doesn't matter. Seriously. God-" He really, truly, can't believe this girl. A deep breath steadies him a little, subdues the ache that had settled in his chest. "You really wanna make it up to me?"
She blinks curiously, the pain meds slowly kicking in as her smile gets a little soft as she wiggles her toes, finds them warm and cozy in her favorite wool socks.
He opens his right fist, indents in his palm from the ring pressed into it.
All of her breath comes out in a whoosh. "I-what?"
"Make it up to me. Marry me."
"Sam." Her breath catches on the a, turns the whole word into a little gasp. All traces of exhaustion are gone from her eyes as she levels him with a sharp look. "Are you-what?"
"Really liked my truck, McNally." His smile's a little forced, his other hand still holding hers tightly, thumb brushing over her soft skin. "Really love you."
She blinks again, looks at him like maybe he's a little crazy.
And, yeah. Proposing to her, not a half hour after she wakes up after nearly dying? Definitely high on the list of Crazy Things Sam Swarek would do for Andy McNally. Probably somewhere between sneaking her up into his cover apartment and slipping his hand down her pants in Observation One. But for a while there, he wasn't sure if he'd actually even get the chance, so, proposing to her in the hospital isn't feeling all that ridiculous to him.
The back of his hand is resting lightly across her chest, just under her heart. He can feel it thumping away as she glances down at the ring sitting in his palm.
A shiny, pretty thing. Deep blue sapphire and moissanite. He's got the matching band picked out, too, with tiny little stones all the way around. There's a matching one for him, although with considerably less sparkle, but he figures he'd better let her sort it out.
"I-seriously, Sam?" She's back to staring at the ring now, teeth working the inside of her cheek like it's a math problem she should know the answer to. She knows the answer, is the thing. Has for like, ever, if she's honest with herself. But still.
"I could wait til later." He says casually. "When you're less doped up. If you want."
Her eyes meet his sharply. "No! I mean-"
"I know the timing isn't perfect, but-"
She cuts him off. "No, Sam, that's not-I just, are you sure?"
His eyes crinkle at the corners, like he wants to tease her something fierce but settles for an amused tone. "Yeah, McNally. Pretty damn sure."
A tear drips from the corner of her eye and he uses his thumb to brush it away, kisses it for good measure. When he pulls back she starts to grin a bit, and his smile grows to match hers, the tight feeling in his chest all but gone.
She notices the cast on her wrist and her face falls. "I can't even put it on."
"Um," Sam snorts. "You actually have to say yes to get it, sweetheart."
"Oh!" Her eyes widen. "Yeah-yes! Absolutely. Duh, Sam, like I'd even-"
He interrupts her with a kiss, pressing his lips gently onto hers, mindful of the cut on her lip. But she's having none of it, sneaks her good hand to the back of his neck and pushes down.
It's only a few seconds before she pulls back with a gasp.
"What? What's wrong?" His eyes scan over her quickly and dart over to the machines. Everything looks fine, but-
"Leo's concert. His class was singing my favorite - the Hippo song - and he had a solo and I promised him I wouldn't miss it. But I did, didn't I?" Andy frowns.
Sam isn't sure whether to laugh or bang his head on the nearest flat surface. "You were unconscious, I'm sure he'll forgive you." When she still doesn't look appeased, he sighs deeply. "I'll ask Nash if it was recorded, if it'll soothe your conscience."
She tries to nod her head but winces, and Sam stills her with his hand against her cheek. "You know, you should really talk to someone about your priorities."
"That's why I have you." She tries for a cheeky grin but it's more wobbly than anything, and he hums in agreement before leaning forward to kiss her slowly.
After a few long moments she pulls away and glances at the ring mournfully. "Six to eight weeks before I can even wear it, huh?"
He kisses her again, presses it into her good hand while he stands to dig around in his pocket, pulls out a square-shaped thing wrapped in a plastic bag. "I ever tell you I was a boy scout?"
She falls asleep pretty quickly, despite all claims that she was way too wound up to really rest. When she wakes, her left hand immediately touches her neck, feels the chain against the scratchy material of her hospital gown. "So, that, like. Actually happened."
"Yup." He pops the last letter, glancing over his book at her with a smug grin. "No take-backs either. This is it."
"It is, huh?" She croaks, a little bossily, the pad of her finger still rubbing against the stones thoughtfully.
Eyebrows raised, his mouth twists like he's suddenly a little bit nervous. "Any regrets?"
Her eyes go wide. "God, Sam. No. It's just, I'm just." She tugs her right hand free from his, rubs the sleep from her eyes and bites at her lip. "This isn't, like, some crazy emotional response to me totally ruining your truck, is it?"
His chuckle gets caught up in his throat, fingers lacing back through hers and squeezing gently. "I've had it for a while, McNally."
"Oh." She says quietly. Then, her eyes widen, "Oh."
"Yeah." He smirks a bit. "Was planning some nice dinner out and some flowers. Maybe a picnic, when it got warmer. Or a weekend away. Almost dropped it in your OJ once."
She huffs. "Sorry I ruined your perfect proposal."
He shrugs back, unbothered. "Said yes. Didn't ruin a thing."