The time frame here is 5.01 - 5.04. I actually drafted this a while ago but never finished it. Now, being faced with a Downton Abbeyesque hiatus, I decided to finish it up and post it, assuming people might be looking for things to read in the off-season. As always, thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, following and favoriting (that covers everyone, right?).
The first sensation was so faint that he almost didn't recognize it for what it was. After all, it had been a really long time. And to be honest, he'd thought that part of him was dead.
Although it would barely qualify as a feeble thud, he'd definitely felt it, and as weak as it was, the solitary thump was enough to give him that small rush that he remembered from before. The tiny, insignificant reminder brought him some small hope that perhaps what they'd had wasn't lost after all—only shoved into the far recesses of some dusty shelf to be discovered again when the time was right.
"McNally, I don't want to waste any more time, and I don't want to be sad anymore."
"Me neither."
After such a long time, the feelings and emotions hit Sam with such force that he almost couldn't process them all at once. Andy was there by his side. Watching him. Smiling at him. Truly connecting with him for the first time in a year.
Not only that, but he was still basking in the warm glow of all that she had said to him in the ambulance. She'd told him things Sam had never expected to hear from her again.
Although almost a full night had passed since Ford shot him, to Sam, it had been mere minutes. Fifteen minutes before and he'd been standing in the hallway confronting Andy, feeling raw and poised for flight. At the ten-minute mark he'd been lying in that same hallway with her hovering over him anxiously, and honestly, he'd thought it might actually be the end. Just five minutes before, he'd been in the ambulance listening to Andy telling him she still loved him. And now, she was sitting at his bedside and everything was different. Fifteen minutes and his life had completely changed . . . .
Sam eyed Andy hesitantly. As good as it felt to have her there, the part of him that was most concerned about his own self-preservation urged him not to let his expectations get away from him. So he waited cautiously, wondering if and when she might try to backpedal, explaining away her ambulance confessions as the panic-induced ramblings of a woman who thought he was dying. When minutes ticked by, though, and she did nothing to dispel anything she'd said to him—if anything, her continued presence seemed to confirm the truth of it all—he was forced to acknowledge that maybe she wasn't planning to take any of it back.
And so Sam allowed himself to derive some small shred of optimism from having Andy there with him. He was exhausted but truly happy for the first time in more than a year and although he reminded himself to proceed with caution, for the moment, just being there with her was enough.
Sam felt it again when Andy started making daily visits to see him in the hospital. One spontaneous blip. It was still just the one, but it was stronger than the first and when it happened, he knew beyond all doubt what it was and he liked it. He wanted more of it.
Sometimes she'd show up with a pack of playing cards, the overly-confident trash talk flowing freely from her lips. Other times, she'd smuggle in some form of edible contraband to give him a much-needed break from the Jell-o and chicken soup that was featured so heavily in his hospital-approved diet. With a conspiratorial wink, she'd shove a bag at him, and he'd open it to find his favorite sandwich or a brownie from that bakery around the corner from her condo. Sometimes she'd sit on the edge of his bed or get comfortable down at the end, tousling the bed sheets and creating a messy depression in the mattress wherever she decided to sit. At the end of those visits, Sam always did his best to refrain from disturbing whatever rumpled mess she'd left behind. Of course, it was inevitable that some well-meaning nurse would come in and smooth it all out for him, prompting a grimace and an irritated glare from Sam as he tried to maintain his composure.
With each successive visit and each little gesture, Andy was breathing life back into him. He wasn't even sure she realized the importance of what she was doing, but it was happening.
By far, the visit that stood out the most to him was the one when she'd touched him. He vaguely remembered holding her hand in the ambulance, but at that point, he'd been so distracted by his own physical pain and the things she was saying that he couldn't fully appreciate the contact. And before that, he could barely remember when they'd last touched each other. So when she offered him a sip of her milkshake and her fingers grazed his during the handoff, it carried with it a significance that Sam knew he'd still be thinking about hours after she left him alone for the night.
He knew she'd felt it, too, because as her fingers brushed lightly across his, she froze. Her eyes snapped to Sam's, searching for what appeared to be some sort of tacit approval from him. If that was all she needed, Sam was more than happy to assure her that he definitely approved. His smile was small but confident as he set the milkshake on the bedside table and wove his fingers through hers, bringing their joined hands palm to palm. For a long time, neither of them moved. But then one of the floor nurses bustled into the room, announcing her presence by authoritatively clearing her throat and effectively bludgeoning the moment to death with a hammer. With tactless precision, the nurse descended on Sam to check his vitals, and he grunted in frustration as Andy reluctantly backed away to give the woman greater access. Sam's only solace was that he got to appreciate Andy's self-conscious smile and flushed countenance as she stood to the side, no doubt thinking about what the nurse had just interrupted between them.
Not long after, Sam experienced the sensation again. That time, though, instead of a single thump, he felt several slow but distinctive beats. They faltered before they could really gain momentum, but he'd felt them nonetheless. In an unexpected turn of events, they'd come at the tail-end of the visit when Andy met his sister for the first time. He never would have guessed that a family visit could inspire something that felt so unbelievably right, but there it was—definitely unexpected but also very welcome.
Through the open door and the bank of windows lining one wall of his hospital room, Sam watched with an impending sense of dread as McNally and his sister zeroed in on his room from opposite ends of the hallway, neither of them suspecting that they were heading for the same place. Sam sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable and congratulating fate on a hand well-played. By a strange happenstance, several days had passed and the two of them had inadvertently managed to time their visits so that they never crossed paths. It wasn't that it hadn't occurred to Sam to introduce them to each other. He just hoped to forestall that meeting as long as possible. McNally was suddenly back in his life after a long hiatus, and it all felt so fresh that he had been hesitant to complicate matters. And his sister was nothing if not complicated.
Out in the hallway, McNally and Sarah averted a near-collision in front of his door, both stopping short and eying each other curiously. "I'm here to see Sam," Sarah explained in a tone that was bereft of any real enthusiasm.
"Me, too." Andy emitted a nervous laugh accompanied by a small, unreciprocated smile.
Stepping back, Sarah made a subtle, sweeping motion with her hand, indicating that Andy should go in ahead of her.
"Thanks," Andy muttered. As she entered the room, her eyes sought Sam's, and he attempted to respond to the uncertainty and hesitance he saw there with a small, encouraging smile.
After a few seconds' pause, Sarah filed into the room, focusing an expression of bland disinterest on her brother as she hovered near the foot of his bed. Perhaps her only tell—the sole indication that there was actually a hint of any real emotion beneath her inscrutable exterior—were the taut, white knuckles that gripped the shoulder strap of her bag. As she raked her gaze across the stranger beside her, Sam knew she was trying to figure out who and more importantly, what, Andy was to her brother.
"McNally, this is my sister," Sam offered stiffly, keeping a close eye trained on Sarah.
Andy grinned broadly in Sarah's direction. "Andy McNally. Actually, it's just Andy. Or McNally is, you know, okay, too," she introduced herself, stumbling over the words in an endearing display that was as self-conscious as it was disarming. Sam was fairly certain there were few people in the world—his sister included—who could resist McNally's effortless charm when she turned it on. He certainly never could.
"Andy McNally," Sarah repeated, letting the name roll around on her tongue. "Wish I could say I'd heard a lot about you, but if you know Sam, you probably realize that's too much to expect."
Sam rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly enough to bring the attention back around to him. "Sarah, Andy is my, uh, my—"
"Your what, Sam?" Sarah goaded him with a sly smile and a subtle eyebrow twitch.
Shifting uncomfortably, Sam asked himself why he'd begun such a ridiculous exchange in the first place, but as he glanced at Andy, he saw mild amusement in her eyes. She seemed to be enjoying his discomfort, and if nothing else, he was glad to see that she didn't seem bothered by his inability to label whatever was happening between them.
In a show of mercy, Andy cleared her throat and said, "I'm Sam's friend. We work together." Sam winced as the words came out of her mouth. A quick glance at her, however, alleviated most of his concerns. Her smile was playful, and he knew she was silently daring him to come up with something better.
"So you're a cop, too. And a friend," Sarah confirmed, aiming a shrewd look at Sam as she said the last part. "A friend I haven't heard much about, apparently."
"That makes two of us," Andy said evenly. "You're a sister I haven't heard much about."
At that, Sarah laughed, and Sam noted that it was almost a real laugh—not the hollow, dispirited sound she might normally make in response to something humorous. He could easily see that his sister wasn't so sure she hated McNally after all.
"Look, don't let it bother you that I don't know who you are," Sarah sighed, apparently deciding to extend a gnarled olive branch to Andy. "How long's it been, Sam? Five years since we last talked to each other? So you see," Sarah said pointedly, redirecting her attention to Andy, "you could be the single most important person in my brother's life, and I wouldn't know the difference between you and one of those random nurses outside in the hall."
Andy nodded slowly, looking introspective and mildly uncomfortable. Sam could almost see her organizing her thoughts, no doubt trying to get a handle on the odd dynamic between the siblings.
As they lapsed into a period of strained silence, Andy swallowed and said, "So it must've been hard . . . getting that call in the middle of the night after Sam was shot."
"I guess," Sarah said with a disinterested shrug.
"I was kind of surprised to see you here," Sam admitted, looking at his sister skeptically.
"Well, it's not easy to say no when there's a cop standing on your doorstep," Sarah observed wryly, and Sam recognized it as an attempt at humor, albeit dark. She smiled faintly at him. For anyone else, it probably would have qualified as little more than a placid expression of indifference, but for his sister, the smile could almost be considered friendly.
Just when they seemed to be in danger of drifting into another awkward silence, Sarah mercifully announced her plan to step out for a few minutes to get some coffee from the cafeteria. Sam readily assented to the idea, grasping at anything that had the potential to put some distance between his sister and Andy. The inconvenient combination of Sarah's acerbic personality and McNally's unfamiliarity with the situation was beginning to wear on him, and although they seemed to be co-existing well enough together, he didn't want to press their luck. With Sarah, things had a tendency to go sour unexpectedly.
"So that was your sister," Andy said slowly, coming closer and leaning against the side of his mattress.
"The one and only. She can be abrasive." Sam raised an eyebrow as a knowing look passed between them.
"Not unlike someone else I know." Absently, Andy traced a finger along one of the wrinkles in his bed sheets. From where she stood, she was almost within Sam's reach. She only needed to take one or two steps along the length of the mattress and she'd be standing at his elbow.
"I think I'm gonna take off and give you two some time together," Andy said quietly.
"You don't have to leave," he assured her. The remark sounded hesitant and unsure, but he really meant it. He didn't want her to go. Sam reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging on it until she was standing right beside him.
"It's okay. I'll be back tomorrow," she promised. And that was enough for Sam. Knowing that he'd see her the next day was good enough. As Andy smiled at him and squeezed his hand, he realized they'd cleared a major hurdle with very little effort. She'd met his sister—something he'd never really allowed himself to consider without apprehension—and not only was she unfazed by the experience but she was coming back the next day.
When Andy's text came in, Sam felt nothing. That was definitely familiar. It was an emotion—or lack thereof—that he understood all too well. He'd been feeling it for more than a year. Out of that "nothing," though, came a more surprising "something" that caused a small, tenuous tremor within Sam. It was muted, but it was still there—enough to serve as a tiny, glowing ember of hope in that part of his soul that desperately needed it.
The text came through and Sam stared blankly at his phone, biting back the disappointment that washed over him as he read the words on the screen. It wasn't that he didn't respect and understand Andy's decision. It just hurt because he'd allowed himself to hope. As he read her text asking for time, he tried to derive some comfort from the fact that she wasn't shutting the door on them completely or even worse, running away.
After that, Sam went to sleep with a nagging ache in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know when, or if, she'd be back. And he definitely didn't know why she pulled back. The timing suggested that perhaps she'd had an exchange with his sister that had left her feeling hesitant about where things were going with them. He wanted to know why she was suddenly asking for more time, but he didn't want to push. So he forced himself to wait and tried, with very little success, not to worry.
As it turned out, the worrying and waiting were short-lived, and Andy surprised Sam when she showed up in his room the very next morning looking pensive and quite clearly wanting to talk. However, in a strange twist, whatever impulse had brought her to him was somehow failing to put the necessary words in her mouth, and instead of telling Sam what was on her mind, she stood awkwardly at his bedside examining the linoleum tile at her feet with great interest.
"Everything okay?" Sam asked.
"Yeah," she reluctantly admitted, focusing her eyes on him for the first time. "I just got spooked, I guess."
"What happened? Did Sarah do something?"
Andy's eyes darted to the floor, and her silence was the only answer Sam needed. "She and I had a disagreement yesterday," he explained wearily. "When she left here, she was pretty mad at me."
Abruptly, Andy's gaze swung back to his. "Sam, I'm afraid of getting hurt again."
"You mean you're afraid I'll hurt you again."
Andy looked at him sadly. "It's not that I didn't want to see you last night. I just needed to really think about what this all means."
Sam nodded and motioned for her to sit down on the edge of his bed.
"McNally, I want you to take all the time you need," he told her slowly. "I meant what I said. As long as there's a chance for us, I'm not going anywhere." In reality, Sam knew he probably wasn't going anywhere even if there was no chance at all because there was nowhere else for him to go.
"Thanks for saying that." She gave him the ghost of a smile. "This all happened so fast. I woke up one morning with a clear picture of what my life was and then by the end of the day, everything was completely different." She quickly glanced down at the floor and ran a hand through her hair nervously. "Sam, I never expected to be back here again . . . having these feelings and thinking about us. I thought that door was closed."
"So did I," he readily agreed as he heard her vocalizing many of the same thoughts he'd been having. Sam swallowed around a thick knot that was forming in his throat, forcing himself to ask the one question that he really needed answered. "Andy, do you really want this?"
"I do," she said quietly and to Sam's relief, her answer came without any hesitation. She scanned his face and nodded her head as if she sought to reassure him. "I want this. I just don't know where to start or what to do."
"There's no rush," he reminded her. "We can take our time and figure it out as we go along. Start at the beginning and just get to know each other again. Could be fun," he suggested.
"What're you saying? You wanna be my friend?" she asked as a vague smile crossed her lips.
"Seems so," he laughed. "Are you okay with that?"
"I think 'friends' is probably a good place to start," she agreed, seeming far more relaxed than when she'd entered the room. "I'm just surprised you're the one who's suggesting it."
As she smiled at Sam, he acknowledged that he probably would have agreed to any proposition she put in front of him if it meant he got to spend time with her. Anything was better than what they'd been before he was shot, which was nothing.
And as it turned out, "friends" wasn't all that different from what they'd been before her text. Andy still made her daily pilgrimages to the hospital and everything was just as it had been before. As the days passed, Sam allowed himself to experience a guarded happiness and security. He knew from past experience that it could be yanked from him at any moment, but he couldn't stop himself from allowing hope to slowly seep through the cracks that were forming in his walls.
As time passed, the pulses became more frequent and less of an anomaly. They still came to him in isolated bursts that faltered before they could gain momentum, like the revving of an engine that stalls before it can get going. They were there, though, and they were getting stronger as if it were only a matter of time . . . .
A small part of Sam had feared that when he walked back into his everyday life, the bubble might burst and Andy would disappear again. So when he returned to work and their new dynamic didn't change, he experienced no small amount of relief. She was still there with him, and the shared looks, gentle teasing and goofy eye rolls were a refreshing change from what he'd had with her before he'd been shot. It all seemed so easy and effortless and if he were being truthful, it felt even better than it had the first time around.
The unfortunate part of Sam's return to reality was that unlike Marlo, Collins was still around. Although Sam hadn't actually talked to Andy about her relationship with Collins, he knew they'd broken up. He'd suspected it while he was in the hospital, and his suspicions were confirmed when he returned to 15 and clearly observed the distance that had developed between the two of them.
Unfortunately, as good as it felt to know that Andy had ended things with Collins for him, Sam still struggled with the idea that while he had been out of the picture, Andy formed a bond with another man. Having Collins around and watching him interact with Andy was an ever-present reminder that Sam had missed an entire year of her life. An entire year of experiences had been shared with someone who wasn't him. Sam assumed Andy had similar thoughts about the time he'd spent with Marlo. Fortunately, Marlo had disappeared from their lives and for Andy, Sam hoped there was some comfort in not having to deal with the one person who had tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to fill a void in his life while they'd been apart. Sam didn't have that luxury because Collins hadn't disappeared. He was still around, serving as a near-constant reminder of a time Sam preferred to forget.
Sam was confronted with those concerns yet again when he and Andy rolled into Fite Nite to find Collins in the ring instead of Duncan. The look of bewildered concern on Andy's face when she saw him was understandable but still disheartening for Sam.
Leaning over to Andy, he asked, "What's he doing up there?"
"I don't know," she responded with a shrug. Andy's eyes darted around the ring, following Collins' movements as he stumbled around the mat in what appeared to be a losing battle.
Sam cleared his throat. "I'll get us some drinks," he suggested, seizing any excuse to do something other than watch Andy watching Collins.
"Sure," she agreed absently, moving away from Sam as she stepped closer to the ring.
When he came back with their drinks, Sam stood off to the side, observing Andy and Collins warily. Even in profile, he could tell she was anxious and concerned, and he knew if he saw her head on, he'd see those same emotions echoed in her eyes. Finally, Collins dropped to the mat, and Andy turned around and scanned the large, crowded room. When Sam realized she was looking for him, he stepped forward, relieved to see that she hadn't forgotten him altogether.
He locked eyes with her as she mouthed, "I'll be right back." She hitched a thumb in the direction Collins had gone, and Sam nodded in understanding, not entirely convinced that she actually would be back. Still clutching a drink in each hand, he wandered over to a nearby wall and leaned a shoulder against it, intentionally turning his back on the curtain through which Andy had disappeared. As he looked down at the drinks, his mind was drawn to another time a few years before when he'd been in a similar position, and he tried not to let the worry eat away at him. All he could do was wait, hoping she'd come back.
Five minutes later, he finally breathed again when her voice interrupted his thoughts, wafting over his shoulder as she approached from behind. "Is one of those for me?" she asked, squeezing his forearm lightly as she walked around him and mirrored his position against the wall. She reached out and slipped one of the drinks out of his hand.
"Either that or I'm double-fisting, and believe me, no one should be forced to down two of these things," he responded easily. "Is Collins okay?"
"He will be," she assured him with a small smile. "He's pretty banged up, but he says he's fine."
"Good." Sam nodded slowly.
Andy took a gulp of her drink and cringed as she swallowed. "Wow. That is not good," she laughed.
"Did you miss home when you were undercover?" Sam asked abruptly, suddenly feeling the need to close some of the distance that had developed between them during the year they'd been apart.
"Oh yeah," she said without hesitation, adopting a serious expression that matched his. "I missed home a lot. I thought about home all the time. How about here? Did people even notice I wasn't around?"
"People definitely noticed." A look of significance passed between them. "It was a rough six months, McNally."
"Hmmm," she acknowledged thoughtfully, regarding him with an intense gaze. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for his empty hand, grasping it lightly in her own. "You know that diner where we'd sometimes go for lunch when we were still riding together?"
"I do," he confirmed, thinking about how often he'd been there since they split up, wanting to feel closer to her and what they'd once been to each other.
"There was a place down the street from our cover apartment that was a lot like it. Same layout, pretty similar menu . . . . When I was undercover, I'd go there and sit in that booth—"
"Front, far left by the window?"
"Yeah," she said with a reminiscent smile. "I'd go there as often as I could—always by myself—and I'd order a short stack and sit in our booth. It just made me feel, I don't know, like I was closer to home, I guess."
He felt his features relaxing as the tiniest of smiles worked its way across his face. It gave him the courage to ask what he really wanted to know. He felt like he knew the answer already, but he needed to actually hear it from her. "So you and Collins . . . what's the deal there?"
She tilted her head. If she thought the question was an odd one, she didn't let on, and Sam was thankful for that. "We're not together anymore," she responded simply.
Sam chewed the inside of his cheek, trying hard not to unleash a full smile. "Is that a permanent thing?" he asked, still pushing for more.
"Yes, it is," she told him definitively. "Does it bother you that he's still around?"
"A little," he confessed.
With long, smooth strokes, Andy rubbed the back of Sam's hand, reaching into some of the more conflicted parts of his soul and soothing them with her touch. "Sam, I know it's complicated, but the way I feel about you and the way I feel about Nick are two totally different things," she explained. "As long as there's any possibility that you and I might be able to fix things between us, I can't even think of anyone else. Right now, there's only room for you and me."
To Sam, that was very good to hear. With her simple reassurance, the insecurity he had been feeling rolled off of him in waves, evaporating instantly as it touched open air. They'd cleared one hurdle, and although he knew there would be more ahead, he was beginning to feel more confident about the foundation they were building.
And then it happened . . .
Sam pulled up in front of Andy's building and put his truck in park. Beside him, she was quiet and still. He knew about what had happened with her rookie and he'd been waiting for her to mention it, but she hadn't. So in the absence of any indication that she wanted to talk, he remained quiet. He didn't want to make a wrong move when they were still trying to gain their footing and truthfully, his faith in his ability to read her still hadn't completely recovered. After such a long time away from each other, he worried that the rules might have changed. They were both different now, and perhaps Andy's expectations had changed, as well. Above all, Sam's greatest fear was that one misstep could send them hurtling backwards, and after the careful progress they'd been making, he wasn't willing to let that happen if he could prevent it.
So Sam left Andy to her silence because he thought it was what she wanted. Probably. He was never entirely sure of anything when it came to Andy. What he did know was that no matter what, he wanted to make her happy, and if the way to do that was to keep quiet and respect her privacy, he was willing to try.
When she suddenly spoke up, calling him out for not saying anything during the ride to her place, Sam was baffled. Ironically, by saying nothing and trying to respect her boundaries, he had apparently done exactly what he had hoped to avoid. Somewhere in the very far, more logical recesses of his mind, he thought it showed progress that Andy was actually telling him what bothered her. Whether she realized it, she was giving him a chance to fix the situation, and that was because she wanted them to work the second time around.
That was merely a feeble thought, though, as Sam wondered if he could really say what she needed to hear. How was he supposed to know what to say? How could he possibly make her feel better? What if he said the wrong thing and made her feel worse?
Then she started firing off a list of things he could have said to her. As he listened, Sam felt even more confused. They were all things he assumed she already knew, and he heard himself responding, "You don't need me to say that, do you?"
If the look she gave him was any indication, yes, she did. It started to dawn on Sam that maybe she needed to hear those things from him because she needed to know that he believed them . . . . And that meant his opinion mattered.
Finally, with only a vague notion of what he should say, he started talking, hoping to hit upon something that would make her feel better. And as it turned out, he did know what she needed to hear. As the words came out of Sam's mouth, he watched her crumble, and he knew he was getting it right. Seeing that he could meet that need for her was an incredibly fulfilling feeling. Instinctively, he had known how to make her feel better. Sam questioned what benevolent force had divined that out of all the people in the world, he was the one who knew Andy well enough to give her what she needed. How had he gotten lucky enough to be that person for her?
When she moved across the truck toward him, he knew what was about to happen. His brain was alive with a million excited impulses, all firing off simultaneously. It had been too long since she had been that close, and now she was hovering in front of him looking incredibly emotional and vulnerable. Her lips sought his once and then a second time, and it was a kiss that was powerful, perfect and loaded with significance. Sam's senses were ablaze; every tiny nerve-ending vibrated inside of him. He worried that his own skin might prove inadequate to contain all of the burning emotions he was experiencing.
For a year, he'd been sinking, dipping lower and lower into the dismal reality he'd created for himself. He'd started out believing that he could move forward without her—that he was strong enough to live a happy existence alone. When she came back from her undercover assignment, he'd been firm in his resolve to keep her at arm's length, but slowly, without even realizing it, she'd begun chipping away at his hardened exterior just as she'd always done. And as that happened, he'd fallen progressively deeper into a pit of his own making, regretting that he'd ever let her go. Now, finally, after such a long time, he felt solid ground beneath his feet again.
As she drew back and looked at him with tears in her eyes, that's when he felt it—a sudden jolt and then a steady, firm pounding began deep inside of Sam. He half expected it to stop, but when it didn't, he knew it never would—not as long as she was there. Sam felt a feverish relief as the strong, reliable cadence tapped against the walls of his chest. He knew that at long last, he was back in that place where he had the potential to be truly happy and hopefully, to make her feel the same way. And this time, he wasn't letting go.