A/N: Well. Hello. I am so sorry, I really am. There were a number of reasons I stopped writing Running on Empty (though I am damned well going to finish it, if it kills me). I got distracted with some original fiction, which has been monopolising my thoughts. I got half way through this, which I really wanted to write because I think a lot of us (myself included), in our McSwarek love, are unfair to Luke and got stuck. I also have a plotbunny for a story with an OC + Sam backstory which I haven't written because I think she's a Mary Sue and in general those fics annoy me (so why inflict one on the world?) but I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT when I'm thinking about RB so it massively affected my ability to do anything constructive. Also, S2 pissed me off. A lot. The members of the triangle were all acting OOC – quite clearly to build up the Andy/Luke relationship so that when she was betrayed it was a big thing, but OOC annoys me. Especially when it's within the actual bloody show. And for some reason I found Andy really annoying which did not make me want to write happy things for her. Luke I liked more this season, not himself as such, but I think because he actually had a character, he was a lot more interesting. Hence this.
Anyway, you don't want my ramble. Let me just say – I do NOT in ANY WAY condone cheating. Please don't shoot me for this fic. *runs and hides*
Rating a high T to soft M – language, sexual references, violence references. You have been warned.
Part 1 of 2 – set S2 ep1 – beginning ep 3
He had no idea how Jo did it. Got under his skin like that. He was happy with Andy. He loved Andy. Andy was beautiful, and kind, and smart, and sweet. She was all smooth, soft edges, where as Jo was hard, glittering corners.
Loving Andy was like a drink on a hot summer's day – just what he needed. Loving Andy was easy.
She was so lovable, and so eager to please.
Loving Jo had been hard, all flaming rows and make up sex. Too much coffee and not enough sleep, because they were both working the same cases round the clock. It had been exhausting. It had been exhilarating.
He'd had to talk Jo into living with him; point out that they'd be able to work on their cases late into the night, make love on the floor, fall asleep and not have to worry about wearing yesterday's shirt to work, because all their clothes would be in the same place.
He'd had her naked and begging him for climax before she'd agreed.
She'd laughed afterwards, hard, said I was going to say yes anyway, and kissed him.
So he'd used sex with Andy before he'd even asked her to move in with him. He probably needn't have bothered. All she seemed to want was to make him happy, especially after he'd found Swarek's name in her freezer.
Loving Andy was easy.
In her own way, she was as damaged as he was. He just hid it better. Andy wanted what he wanted; love, stability. They fit well together. It was simple. It was safe.
Jo always had to rock the boat.
And she wanted him. She'd made that plain enough. For what, he wasn't sure. Just to prove that she could, probably, knowing her. Just to prove that she still had a hold on him, that he still loved her. She'd use him and be done. She didn't want them to trip off into the sunset, job done, happy ending.
That was for sure.
The thing was, he still wanted her. He had missed her, and he craved her like he craved caffeine in the mornings. It had always been like that, even when they were together. He'd always been desperate to see her after they'd spent even a few hours apart, always had to be touching her as much as possible.
She'd been his first love. He'd let her in, in a way he hadn't let anyone else in, either before or since.
He'd told her about growing up in foster care, and she hadn't reacted the way most people did, with soft words and pitying eyes. She'd just said, So you had a tough childhood. Who didn't? Flashed him that grin that sent a pulse straight to his groin and proceeded to take his clothes off.
He hadn't told Andy about his childhood. About how his parents had died when he was little, a mugging gone horribly, horribly wrong. About the blood all over them, the street, him. About how there hadn't been any family to take him in – just a grandpa in an old people's home with Alzheimers. About how none of his parents' friends had come forward. About how damaged he'd been as a child – how prospective foster parents had taken one look at his blonde hair and blue eyes and said, what a little angel! About how he'd been unable to connect with them, had whimpered and screamed with nightmares, had refused to be touched for comfort. About how they'd always, always given him back. About the ok foster homes where the kids maybe weren't loved, or hugged, but were at least fed and warm. About the bad foster homes where they maybe hadn't been made to wash enough, or had their clothes washed enough, or hadn't been given enough food, or had been beaten, or … worse. About how by the time he was ten he'd learnt to play on his angelic looks, learnt to connect with people just enough. About how by the time he was in high school, he'd realised that he really did need to be the golden boy – he needed the grades and the charm to get in to university on scholarship, to get the hell out of the foster care system; to not just be another statistic.
He hadn't told her any of that. He'd stopped telling people his life story the second he was at university. Anonymous. Not the foster kid in the cheap, hand-me-down clothes; the one everyone avoided, everyone sniggered at. He didn't want pity. He didn't want people to look at him and think (as they inevitably did) he did well, considering. He just wanted them to think Luke Callaghan's doing well for himself. He wanted people to see him as intelligent, good looking, charming, urbane, together. Not the broken little boy sobbing over his parents' cooling corpses. Not the angry kid who couldn't look anyone in the eye and stiffened when someone touched him.
Andy still looked at him like he was incredible, like he was superior. She would never, ever pity him. He wanted to keep it that way. Jo didn't look at him like that. Jo had never pitied him, but she'd never idolised him either.
Loving Andy was easy. Loving Jo had been hard. He may still want Jo, but he chose Andy.
So he started making more of an effort. He spent more time with her. He brought her lunch. He told her (unprompted) that he loved her, and made sure that it didn't just sound like he was trying to convince himself. And just smiled when she responded with a grin and a (slightly cocky) I know.
But Jo was there. Jo was always fucking there. He'd been partnered with her for Christ's sake (Best clearly had a sick sense of humour). And there she was, every damned day, in those v-neck sweaters she'd always worn, no shirt, one size too big giving a tantalising hint of all the lean, toned curves he knew were underneath. He spent far too much of his day stuck in sense memory, every time she smiled he remembered how she'd had the exact same smile every time she'd gone down on him. When she would lean over him from behind, he would remember every previous time she had stood in the exact same position as they worked in complete sync to solve a case. Every time she brushed past him and he caught her scent, he remembered breathing in the same scent as he was kissing the curve of her neck whilst he was buried in her, loving her so much he thought he would burst. He spent his days in a constant state of half arousal, and went home every night to make love to Andy, thinking of Jo.
He was so guilty he felt physically sick.
And then Andy had found Jo's ring. And without even thinking about the words that were coming out of his mouth … he'd proposed. But he didn't regret it. He didn't. It was perfect. It tied him to her, physically. It gave Jo a visible queue that he was committed to Andy and she should back the hell off. It gave him a visible, physical reminder of his relationship with Andy, the possibility of a family which he could have with her.
And he wanted a family. Almost as badly as he wanted Jo.
Jo had bitched. Jo had smirked about the ring being hers. And, truth be told, he had kept it for her. Some small part of him had held out hope that one day she'd come back and tell him what an idiot she'd been and beg for forgiveness. You'd think given how well he knew her he would have laughed at the idea, but like all delusional saps in love with people who didn't love them back, he'd wanted to believe.
But now it belonged to Andy. He belonged to Andy. Loving Andy was easy, so that was what he was going to do.
He just wished he could stop loving Jo.
A/N2: I didn't want to put this at the top because it was a spoiler for the story - Luke being in foster care has not been mentioned in the show (that I remember ... if anyone can point me to it I'd be grateful) but IS in the character's bio on the ABC website, .com/shows/rookie-blue/bio/luke-callaghan/456107 I hope it gets mentioned because I think it makes him a LOT more interesting (like almost compelling) and explains a lot of his behaviour. I'm pretty sure they've rewritten the bio slightly recently which suggests to me that it will play a feature in S3