A/N) This is dedicated to the lovely ladies (and gentleman!) that I've met since joining ranks with the McCollins shippers out there. AmyLeigh88, sweetliar327 and especially my twitter ladies: Deb and Trish—Thank you for the awesome reviews and encouragements!

To everyone that reviewed "Easy," to everyone that loves Andy McNally and Nick Collins. And most ESPECIALLY: To everyone that had their eyes film over in red rage at the end of the season 4 finale: This one's for you. (And definitely Deb & Trish!) ;) lol)

ETI:) I started writing fanfic many moons ago, and it's been a while since I've been truly active, so I hadn't realized that it was necessary to say this, but I suppose I'll have to make a note:

I appreciate reviews. I appreciate reviewers. I love it if anything I've written has made you think or feel in any fashion. But I've also made it quite clear which pairing I was writing for and while it may not be to your taste, I only ask that you, as a reader, recognize that I made it very clear that this is not a McSwarek fic and to review in a fashion that befits this.

I am not forcing you to read this story, I am merely putting it online and allowing you to choose for yourself if you would like to read it. And if you choose not to read it, please don't message me to tell me why. Writing fanfic does not make me desperate to hear about your own personal feelings on Rookie Blue, or any of its characters. Writing fanfic is just my way of sharing a story with those that are receptive to it.

Cheers!

~Ellie

Shot Through the Heart

by Ellie

Ford had the gun in his hands, and he raised it to point straight at Collins. No time. NOTIME. Sam could feel the moment begin to stretch like elastic as the adrenaline kicked in and he yelled because he couldn't do nothing, not when Ford was a heartbeat away from shooting Collins point-blank. And like a lightning bolt, the gun changed course and Ford fired. Bang.

Andy felt her heart gallop in her chest like she had just been sucker punched. Because it was Sam that was falling, Sam that had the small red wound that seemed to blossom onto his chest like a special effect. She barely noticed the double shots that had come so quickly after the first. She barely noticed that Ford was down and she definitely didn't know that Nick had been the one to put him there.

Because in that moment, Andy wasn't thinking of anything but Sam and getting to his side, of looking into those brown eyes and willing him to live, to fight. There was no room for the Andy that had already had her baptism by fire, Swarek style. She was no longer the Andy that had been nearly apoplectic at the thought of Nick wandering around 15 division unaware of the deadly Trojan horse in his midst. All she saw was Sam, all her thoughts were for Sam. She was in a Sam bubble and every emotion that she had bottled up for him for over a year was bursting out like lava.

She rode with him in the ambulance, desperation had her babbling like her Rookie days of old, and Sam's tawny skin was gray around the edges, and his eyes were dull with pain and Andy could feel panic crawling up her esophagus like acid. "You are my story, Sam. You are my story."

And in the moment that she said it, clutching his hands in hers like her strength was enough to anchor him to the earth, like her conviction had the power to extract bullets and heal blood vessels and change fate, she meant it. She meant every word. She was Andy. He was Sam. And she loved him.

When Nick had rushed into the waiting room and headed straight for Andy, his gaze running over her quickly, assessing, stopping a second longer on her puffy eyes and her twisted hands, she had looked into those brown eyes and felt the smallest balm to her pain. Nick was here. Nick was alright. He hadn't said a word, just eased into the chair next to her and leaned in so that their shoulders touched. And something in her chest eased enough, just enough, for the gasps to stop even as the tears continued to run from her eyes and leave clammy tracks along her cheeks.

After what felt like exactly a million years, Andy began to feel a creeping barbed emotion that twined around all of her panic and heartbreak and squeezed—here she was, leaning against Nick, using him and she had just told Sam that she loved him. And she hadn't been lying. So this painful, clawing emotion was guilt. And just like that she was drowning in it. She pulled herself up and forward, resting her weight against her own legs as her head wilted toward her knees and she looked at Nick and her voice was a rusty useless thing: "I'm sorry."

Nick's voice was firm and sincere, "Don't be." And in the way that Andy and Nick had always had conversations that went between the lines, that said things unsaid, Andy heard that he meant it, that he understood, that he didn't blame her. She heard the truth in his voice, the steadiness, that intrinsic nobility that always seemed to cloak Nick Collins like he was a masked crusader for truth, justice and the American way. And it was just so Nick that she felt the clasping guilt-vine loosen even as she plunged right back into the deep riotous ocean of panic for Sam.

She closed her eyes and let it take her under.

An eon later and Nick was pushing her forward. Telling her to go and be the one with Sam, telling her with his eyes and hands and words that he understood that she needed to be in there with Sam and that he was letting her go.

And even in her panicked pained bubble, even with her heart beating in time to a chorus of Sam's name in her mind, she felt something wrench in her heart as she walked away. She owed Nick more than this, she knew. It was more than the bubble of Sam that kept her from looking behind her as she walked resolutely from the waiting room; it was self-preservation, because Nick's face had said something else, another silent message that she had received even if she refused to process it. He was in pain. And even with Sam in the next room fighting for his life, Andy couldn't, wouldn't see Nick in pain.

So she walked away, and she stayed in her bubble, and the piece of her heart that she hadn't realized she'd given away grieved.

Nick waited for ten deep breaths after Andy had walked through the hall toward Sam before he let himself walk away. He waited two breaths after that to start unstrapping his flak jacket which had begun to feel like a weighted noose. But even loosened he could feel his throat closing up, his eyes watering as his heart screamed at him to go after her. To fight for her because after all this time, all these unrequited feelings, they had had something special. Something wonderful and easy and deep. Something real. But she was Andy. And he was Nick. And Sam was Sam.

Every idiot out there who thinks love triangles are romantic should try living it themselves. Bet they'd all sing a very different tune.

Sam had seen—Sam had seen Ford about to pull the trigger on Nick. And Nick had looked into Ford's eyes and watched as his arm angled for a head shot. Sam's yell had drawn Ford's fire and before the shot had finished echoing Nick's military training had asserted itself and he had fired twice; one to the heart and one to the head. Like riding a bike. But too late for Sam, who had been in civvies. Too late to stop Ford from putting a good cop in the hospital, fighting for his life. Too late to stop the boulder from breaking off the mountain and beginning its inevitable fall down the hill. And Andy was the boulder, and she was gathering speed, and even knowing that he was about to be crushed Nick couldn't bring himself to regret anything.

But god, he wish he'd had more time. More time with Andy, more time to tell her... His hands clenched on the jacket with it's silver message hidden in the lining and he allowed himself a moment to acknowledge the pain. Sam was a good man and if he was who Andy needed then Nick would do the right thing. He'd keep those silvery lines to himself and let Andy be happy. But right now? Right now he'd let himself mourn. He'd let himself love.

Sam had definitely felt better. In fact there had been epic novels involving fingers bitten off and horrors against humanity which were all better than how he felt at present. He could hear beeps and feel the foreign objects in his arm and clasped on his finger. His head was swimming and his chest hurt, god it hurt. But there was a warm weight against his legs and even with the lights a dim glow that had his eyes straining to make her out, he knew it was Andy. His body was so attuned to hers that he would know her if he were blind and deaf.

He tried to speak and began to cough uncontrollably. Sam's throat ached and his eyes watered as he hacked so hard he felt the hospital bed shake. Andy was up like a shot and calling for a nurse and water before he could even wheeze in the breath to say her name.

Then there was a Nurse whacking him on the back and instructing Andy to give Sam the water slowly, and that he couldn't have more than what was in the cup for fear of causing problems with his stitches. (After all, that was what the IV was for.) Andy nodded and looked at Nurse Ratchet like her dictates were inviolable. And even with needles in his arm and more bandages around his midsection than an Egyptian mummy, Sam felt a happy pang that Andy was near. She was here and when she had been with him in the ambulance she had told him a story and she had kissed his forehead and he had felt more at peace than any half-dying man had a right to. Than any half-dying man should, especially given the circumstances.

And now Andy was giving him his water in microscopic tips of the little styrofoam cup and even though he loved her to distraction he was gonna knock the damn thing out of her hands if she didn't get it away from his mouth soon.

"I think I've had enough, thanks." His voice was raspy, but there. And his grin, though at half-power and lacking it's usual boyish panache, quirked upwards as he cupped her tired face with the arm that didn't have an IV stuck in the bend of his elbow. "Not looking so hot, Slick."

Andy's mouth quivered into a fragile smile, "This is one of those Pot calling Kettle situations."

Sam stroked her cheek idly, "Yeah, well, good thing I never wanted to win any beauty contests."

Andy's face crumpled as she reached up and clutched his hand and there were tears and whispers and silly promises and after a while, healing silence. As Sam slipped into sleep, aided by a wash of drugs and the contentment that only McNally could provide, he had a moment to flash back to the hall. Ford and his gun and Collins in the crosshairs. Collins. His hand tightened over Andy's reflexively and he forced his fingers to relax. And just as the darkness overtook him, Marlo's face flashed into his mind.

Nick had taken a short leave of absence. Considering that he'd also been the target of a madman and then been the one to end Ford's life, he wasn't feeling any guilt about it. A couple of tests and forms and he would be cleared back to active duty, until then he would stay in his apartment and try to keep it together. This wasn't the first time he'd stared down the barrel at someone and watched as they died, watched as his training made him a second faster, a moment luckier.

But this time it had almost gone the other way—he'd looked into Ford's eyes and read his death there—Nick wouldn't have stood a chance. And now Sam was in the hospital. They'd been getting hourly updates on Swarek, Price, and Shaw so Nick knew that Sam was in stable condition. Still in the ICU, but recovering. Price was battling off a nasty infection and they were worried that she might stay catatonic, but they had hopes that the swelling was going down and that she might wake soon. And Shaw was still a little concussed and banged up but otherwise alright. (And pissed mightily about his squad being commandeered.)

And even with all of that, Nick couldn't help but think of Andy at Sam's side in the hospital. Andy, whose face and body language had given her "I'm sorry" the full weight of her unspoken words. There had been a goodbye in her eyes when he'd first sat down beside her. But her hand had clung to him with unconscious desperation and it was a contradiction that gave his broken heart the tiniest bit of hope.

And it had hurt more than he'd care to admit to watch her walk away from him. To know that she was walking away from everything they could have had, everything that he knew they would have had if it hadn't been for Swarek.

Nick's hands ran through his hair agitatedly. He couldn't even hate the guy, where was the justice in that? Swarek had saved his life and lost him Andy all in one fell swoop. And he couldn't even hate him. Because how can he begrudge someone for loving Andy? And Swarek did. In his way—it was obvious to anyone that cared to look for it.

Nick sank into his couch and palmed the remote, trying desperately to think of something other than Andy, trying to remind himself that after everything, she should be happy even if her being happy meant that she wasn't with him.

But a stupid line from a book he'd read once kept slipping through his mind like the lyrics of a much-played song: "He loves you in his way, but I can promise you that my way is better."

Nick set the remote on the couch and rose abruptly, heading straight for the liquor cabinet.

"Fuck it. If I'm gonna be pathetic I might as well be drunk and pathetic."

Marlo hadn't stopped crying in days. She had thought that she'd already plumbed the depths of the despair that her condition could bring her to. She'd thought that the manic drive that was a staple of her disease was regulated to figuring out cases or random inconsequential things like the color of her bedroom walls or the number of books she could have on a single shelf. She hadn't counted on her Bipolar focusing on how her heart was breaking.

And she'd taken her meds. Hell, she'd even tried sleeping pills, alcohol, even exercising to the point of exhaustion. And sure, maybe the river of tears would subside for an hour or two, but they would start right back up again. Marlo had actually started having Alice in Wonderland flashbacks. (And she hated that movie.)

All to no avail. Apparently she was destined for Kleenex and about a thousand bottles of Smart Water to keep dehydration at bay. And the worst part wasn't that she'd been summarily dismissed from her job and had to face an inter-disciplinary hearing. It wasn't that she might lose the one thing that she'd ever shown any real skill at. It wasn't even that a madman had tried to shoot up 15 division like it was his own personal showdown at the OK Corral. The thing that was killing her, the thing that was causing her incessant weeping, was that somewhere in all of this she had lost Sam.

Sam, who had been shot. Sam, who was recovering at the hospital. Sam who had broken her fucking heart without even trying. Sam who was still so in love with Andy McNally that he could barely function lately.

Oh, she'd noticed. She'd noticed and she'd filed it away and she'd tried to figure out what the hell she should do. Because he hadn't acted on it—that damnable spark between the two of them—and he had been committed to Marlo. Or maybe it was just that he had wanted to be.

So now she was an automatic watering can with no off-button. And she was wearing that old shirt he'd left at her place and it still had the faintest hint of the no-nonsense spice that was Sam Swarek.

Marlo curled into a ball on the couch, surrounded by a ragged army of discarded tissues and she cried and wrapped her arms around herself and wondered whether Sam was okay, wondered whether he'd even spared a thought for her.

Most of all Marlo wondered why someone who had the kind of strength that she knew she was capable of would let a man like Sam go without so much as a whimper of protest. She wondered why she couldn't seem to muster up the courage to fight for him, to fight for their relationship. Because there was something real there. Something good.

And Marlo wondered why the thought of fighting for Sam and then losing to McNally by default filled her with more terror than the fact that Sam had been shot and was in the hospital. So Marlo cried and her tears were for Sam and because of Sam until they were a single point of pain centered right in the middle of her extremely shattered heart.

After over 72 hours of being by Sam's bedside Andy was starting to feel decidedly soiled. It wasn't pleasant, but with Sam in the ICU she didn't see the point in doing anything but being by his side. The Chief had pulled some strings, gotten her admitted as a "guard" allowing her to flout hospital procedures regarding unimportant things like "visiting hours."

But a girl cannot live on vending machine food and bad coffee alone, especially not when the oils from her hair has started making her resemble nothing so much as a 1950's Greaser. Andy actively tried to avoid mirrors, though she had never been a girly-girl her current appearance's main distinction seemed to be in the ability to make herself cringe on command.

It was during just such a cringing session after accidentally catching her own reflection in the hazy reflection of her phone that Sam spoke up with a decidedly amused tone in his voice.

"I don't think I've ever seen you stare at yourself for this long in all the years I've known you."

Andy rolled her eyes, "It's not that I want to stare at myself, I'm actually trying to avoid mirrors. Or the teeny tiny reflection of myself in your pupil. Because I am disgusting and if anyone looks directly at my hair I think they'll turn to stone. Seriously, avert your eyes, you were shot—you've been through enough trauma!"

Sam let out a soft woof of a chuckle before wincing and adjusting. Andy was by his side in a shot. "Does it hurt? Do you need me to get a nurse?"

Sam grinned and took the opportunity to ring an arm around her shoulders and give a glancing look at the top of her head. "Huh, maybe I'm immune to the Medusa effect."

Andy pulled away with a gasp, "You!" she sputtered.

Sam raised one sardonic eyebrow and smirked, "Me?"

Andy huffed away and slumped into a chair, "I can't believe I was sitting here thinking about kissing you. I should've been planning on how to place the pillow over your head perfectly enough to smother you and make it look like an accident."

At the word "kiss" Swarek had perked up considerably, "If I apologize nicely, will I get a reward?" He batted his eyes dolefully at her.

Andy's mouth quirked into a smile and she pretended to consider the matter carefully, "Maaaaaybe."

"I'm really very sorry. Can I have my kiss now?"

Andy stretched casually out of the chair and approached his bedside. With a darting fleetness she smacked a kiss along his cheekbone and backed up with a grin. "Better?"

Sam winced and let out a little pain sound as his hand clutched at his bandages. Concerned, Andy stepped forward and bent over to inspect. Quick as a wink Sam had slung her into the side of the bed and was laving her neck with kisses that moved in a steady march toward her mouth.

Andy sighed into his kiss and she felt her heartbeat pick up giddily. A playful Sam was one of the best facets of the man. It came out so rarely—not like... With a mental slam, Andy stopped herself from finishing. She wrapped her hands in Sam's hair and tried to throw herself back into the kiss even as a nagging voice finished the thought that she had started. Not like NICK who always tries to find the fun in things. Not like NICK who lets you relax and enjoy being with him. Sam is not like Nick.

Sam pulled away and smiled and Andy looked into deeply into his eyes...and caught her reflection. She barely restrained the shudder. Sam rolled his eyes and gave her a swat to get up, "Go home, get a shower and a few hours sleep. I'll still be here when you get back."

Andy hesitated, "Are you sure? I can stay."

Sam smiled, "I'd like to kiss you without you having a fit over your hair. Go home. I'll be here. I love you, you know."

Andy grabbed her jacket and vest and paused by the door, wondering why she felt a pang when she replied, "Love you too, I'll be back by tonight." She stopped by the nurse's station to let them know that she would be returning later and then made her way to her car. Nick had dropped off her phone charger and her car and keys a day ago. Nick. Andy felt tears well up as she allowed herself to think of him. She owed him more than this. He deserved so much more. She would have to go and talk to him. With that exhausted resolve, Andy strode to her car and winced as she caught sight of herself.

But first, definitely a shower.

Sam smiled into the empty room, thinking about the woman that had just left it. McNally must've been feeling really gross to be so focused on her hair that she let him trick her not once—but twice! She was usually more astute than that. She was also usually a lot less focused on her hair.

He moved a bit and winced. He wasn't entirely playing possum. Gunshot wounds hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and his had been a real doozy. The bullet had nicked a couple of vital organs and glanced off a rib but all-in-all he was just lucky that he didn't bleed out during transport. Fortunately for him, the bullet hadn't been through-and-through or he probably wouldn't have been alive to wince about it. As it was, he'd still lost a lot of blood and he was in for a grueling recovery. There was no such thing as a minor gunshot wound once the trunk of a body is involved. There's only lucky or dead.

And Sam Swareck was smart enough to take lucky and thank his stars for the war wounds he knew he'd carry for the rest of his life. Fortunately for him, McNally never minded scars.

Sam had a sudden and visceral flashback of soft lips kissing his scars. Brown eyes that held intensity and locked onto his own and full lips curved into a sweet smile. Not Andy's lips. Marlo's.

He felt a pang of guilt and worry at the thought of Marlo. She hadn't been Andy. He'd chosen her knowing that her personality was as similar to McNally's as Price's was to Shaw's. Where Andy was silly and open Marlo was serious and closed. Where Andy was always trying to pry into his head and play with his inner child, Marlo was content to let him share when and if he wanted to. Andy was invigorating while Marlo was soothing. Andy was pushy where Marlo was evasive. And Jesus H. Christ if he couldn't keep up the list of asinine comparisons until he was old and gray. Whatever pain med they had him hooked up to was obviously the good stuff. He didn't normally dither like an old lady comparing knitting patterns.

Point was, they were very different. Period. And McNally, she was just the splinter that wouldn't work free. He loved her even when he was enraged with her. Even when he was ignoring her. And he never felt his love for her more keenly than when she started playing house with Collins. They were just so disgustingly happy all the time. Always joking and touching. Not even gross touches, just little arm bumps or fist bumps. Happy little touches. Quiet ones. Neither one of them even seemed to notice how much they actually sought those little touches out.

But he'd noticed. Oh, he'd noticed. And even though he'd been the one to cut McNally loose it had stung seeing her light up when Collins was around. And Collins was something else. War vet, every move he made telegraphed it—soldier here! Ay ay, Captain! Collins on duty!

Being around Collins made Sam feel old. And there was this aura about the guy, like he was some modern day knight in shining armor. Collins didn't make a big deal of it, but it was there in the simple way that he took charge or opened the door for anyone filing in after him. Collins was the perfect boy scout to McNally's girl scout and it had set his teeth on fucking edge thinking about Andy riding off into the sunset with him when Sam's heart still wanted to jump out of his chest every time he got close enough to feel her body heat. Or every time he caught a whiff of her shampoo. Or every time he closed his eyes and dreamed of being the type of man that deserved someone like Andy in his life.

This time, he wouldn't fuck it up. This time he would be whatever Andy needed. And if it meant that he would have to open up about his childhood or whatever, well he could do that. And if it meant that he needed to be more open about his feelings, he could manage. And McNally knows me. She knows that I'm not a fucking Saint. She'll understand that I'm trying. She'll...

Sam shook his head and tried to remember the point of his inner diatribe. Oh yeah, Marlo. Marlo and Andy. They were both so different. And maybe Marlo hadn't wanted to pry into his past or force him to start gushing all over the place with his emotions or whatever but she had wanted something from him. Always looking at me with those eyes of hers. Deep... Like falling. She had wanted something... She just never asked.

The quiet beeping of his heart monitor faded away as Sam slipped back into sleep. Only in this dream he wasn't alone. He could feel someone ahead of him—a dark-haired woman—and he kept trying to catch up to her. But she never said a word, she just ran ahead and glanced back. Daring him to follow.

Nick was more than a little hung over. Thank god for ESPN and Chinese take-out or he would've been mostly dead all day. He'd guzzled about 6 Gatorades and he'd downed some Aleve to deal with the pounding in his head. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days and his shirt had a burrito stain on it. Living large, that's me.

He had definitely seen better days but what did it matter anyway? Better days were definitely not here to stay. And what's more—he had no one to impress and he was sure that the Chang's delivery guy had seen worse in his many years of serving food to the masses. God, he hoped that the Chang's delivery guy had seen worse.

It was with this fuzzy judgment that Nick proceeded to wash down his luke-warm noodles with equally luke-warm Gatorade as he tried valiantly to focus on the football game instead of remembering when he and Andy watched a game and then started a competition during the commercials that involved catching and eating different finger foods thrown at one another and polishing off the competition with silly reenactments of their own devising using a soft nerf football that he kept for when his cousin's children visited.

Realizing he had completely missed the play while he spooled off to dreamland thinking about someone whom he should NOT BE THINKING ABOUT, Nick changed inputs and went to peruse his blu-ray collection. Time for a movie! His fingers dragged along Indiana Jones before ultimately moving on. Indy had a problem with the ladies, after all. Same deal with Bond, James Bond.

Do I own a single movie without some kind of obvious romantic angle to it?

With a grin of triumph Nick held a case aloft. Horror. Clearly today was crying out for a horror movie!

Not two minutes into the movie Nick knew that something had gone horribly wrong. He had opened the horror case, inserted the horror disk, but the movie that had begun to flash it's cheesy menu at him was none other than The Princess Bride. A movie that he had always appreciated and Andy had adored.

With a sudden burst of clarity Nick realized that he had stumbled onto a snare that Andy had laid for him. Clearly she had intended at some point to "let" him choose the movie and she had booby-trapped some of the cases for her own amusement.

Resigned and missing Andy. Missing them. Nick pressed play.

Andy's hair was a wet mass against her neck and back as she scurried to Nick's apartment as fast as her hastily thrown on shoes could take her. She had grabbed tennis shoes and hadn't even noticed that they were two different colors until she was already halfway to Nick's place. Her shirt on backwards with purple-gray rings around eyes that were more than a little crazed resulted in people giving her strange looks and a wide berth.

But Andy didn't notice and she was so exhausted that the trepidation that should have been running rampant through her system was completely overridden by the overwhelming, overbearing NEED to get to Nick.

Traci had let it slip that Ford's original target had been Nick. Nick. MY Nick. Andy had just climbed from the shower and was in the process of putting on some nightclothes when the news had galvanized her into throwing on the first clothes she could find and heading straight for Nick. Whom she needed—And he needed her! And everything was jumbled in her head and her heart, but her legs had no issue with making a beeline to Nick. It didn't even occur to her to call ahead until she was at his door and her hand was already lifting to grab his spare key.

She stopped and tried to think. Better to knock. So she did. And then she knocked louder. And then her hands snatched the spare and she let herself in, using her hip to close the door behind her even as she automatically locked the deadbolt and scanned the apartment for Nick.

There he was, lying on the couch—she could see his feet and head at either end—surrounded by empty Gatorade bottles and Chinese food cartons. The disarray was enough to penetrate her sleep-deprived fog. Nick was usually something of a clean freak. Clearly he was suffering.

Is he watching... The Princess Bride?... Alone?

She nearly tripped on an empty pizza box but she made it around the couch and got her first glimpse of Nick sprawled out and sleeping. His face was grizzled, his t-shirt was stained and he was wearing tatty sweatpants and socks with holes in the toes.

Nick had his lazy days but she had never seen him be less than fastidious, she'd always chalked it up to that good ol' military training. Andy's mouth actually popped open in astonishment. She was reaching for his shoulder when he murmured her name and swung out his arm, it connected with hers with a clap and Andy let out the girliest squeal she had ever voiced, causing Nick to jolt upright in alarm.

Nick thought he was dreaming. But Andy was still standing there no matter how many times he blinked and she looked rough. Her hair was a tangled mess, her shoes were mismatched and her shirt was backwards and maybe even inside out. And her eyes, her beautiful eyes were ringed with dark circles and bloodshot. She looked like someone had been running a sleep deprivation scenario on her. And almost immediately following the thought came the answer: Sam.

"Sam. He's okay?" He rubbed a hand wearily across his face and tried to push his brain out of sleep mode.

Andy had been inching steadily forward, the feeling of a balloon letting out air in her chest becoming stronger and stronger with each minute that she lacked physical contact with Nick—she needed to make sure that he was okay. To apologize for not realizing that he had been the target. To apologize for so many things.

"Sam's fine. I'm here for you." Andy could feel the babble escaping and she, like always, tried to stem the tide, only making it worse, "I came to see you. I had to see you. Because I didn't know before-About Ford." Her earnestness played across her mobile face even as she winced at the words coming out wrong.

Nick's head was full of cotton and dream and he tried to decode the babbling but found himself repeating her dully instead, "Here for me? About Ford?"

Andy was so exhausted and she could feel the heat rising up from Nick's sleepy form and something in her just snapped and she literally threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso and ignoring his groan of pain as her body settled atop his with the impact of a bag of rocks.

"Mmm worriedaboutyou. Mmm couldn't-" Her words were slurred and half smothered into his neck and Nick had settled his arms around her naturally, trying to sooth her even as he fought to understand.

Nick's hands rubbed in idle circles against her back as he tried to focus on more than just the perfect rightness of having Andy McNally in his arms. "What now? McNally? Andy?" Her hands clung to him, her legs and feet tucked into the hollow between his own, and he could hear and feel the soft rhythmic puff of her breath against his skin.

Andy, like a true crushing boulder, had barreled into Nick's apartment, sputtered stream-of-conscious babblese at him, jumped him and then passed out like the worst kind of narcoleptic.

Nick sighed and held her, trying to imprint in his memory the feel and shape of a sleeping McNally in his arms. It wasn't the first time that he had turned masochistic but surely given these circumstances he was due for a pass. After all, no one turns away the woman they love, especially if it might be the last time. No one really knows when the last time is. It's part of the cosmic crap-shoot of lovers to never know their last romantic moment until after that moment has already passed, until the break-up has happened or the love is well and truly lost.

Right now, Andy was in his arms. Nick closed his eyes and let himself believe, for just a moment, that she really had come for him. That she was choosing him. But deep down he knew the truth. Andy had come to say goodbye and Nick was man enough to let her do it.

But for now, she was here and she was his, and her deep breaths were a lullaby that softened the edges of his awareness until he too dropped quietly into sleep.

Marlo had finally stopped crying. She had gotten in the shower, shaved her legs, applied makeup. Her outfit was perfectly color coordinated with her shoes. Her hair was loose against her shoulders because Sam had told her once how pretty it was down. She was as perfect as she could make herself. As beautiful as she could make herself. As Marlo as she could make herself.

And then she hovered outside Sam's hospital door like she was afraid that he had a communicable disease that she might catch. Marlo leaned against the oatmeal colored wall and banged her head against her hands, frustrated with her inability to ante up and walk through the door.

A nurse cleared her throat from behind her, "Oh, you must be the girlfriend. We were expecting you later, but you can go on in. Detective Swarek is napping but he's due for a bandage change soon so you won't be disturbing. You just head in there, Sweetie. And if you're planning on staying all night again I've put in a request for a cot, there's no reason you should have to keep sleeping in that chair." With a kindly grin the nurse nudged the paralyzed Marlo inside and closed the door behind her.

"McNally? You back already?" Sam's voice was raspy but aware.

Marlo swallowed hard and gathered herself, stepping further into the room so he could see her. "Sorry, Sam. Wrong girlfriend. If you're expecting more company I can just go."

Her lips were pursed and her eyes had started burning but for god's sake she wasn't going to start crying again. She wasn't going to give him the fucking satisfaction. But oh it was hard with him in that bed, with the shock and disquiet that had cloaked his face. But his eyes, his eyes were trying to do that damn Sam Swarek thing. They were trying to say that he was sorry without words.

But Marlo wasn't going to go down that road anymore. She had gone over a year without words, content to wait for him to give them to her, content because she was afraid of what it might mean if he never did. But Marlo wasn't here to confirm her deepest suspicions about Sam and McNally. She wasn't here to beg or scream or compete. She was here to tell the truth. To simply tell it as she felt it and then to walk away.

Nails digging trenches into her palms, she steeled herself to speak before he could.

"Actually that was a lie, I'm not leaving until I say what I need to." Her eyes met his, brown on brown and she almost lost her nerve after seeing the touch of misery in his gaze.

"Marlo—I"m so sor—" Sam began.

She raised a hand and interrupted, "I know. I know about McNally. I've always known about McNally. And everything has just been so fucked up, Sam." She stopped for a breath and felt the pinpricks of tears at the edges of her eyes and she willed herself to stay strong, for her eyes to stay dry, for the words to continue. She had come this far, hadn't she? She had begun and just like lancing a wound she needed to follow through—it was too late to turn back.

"Please, Sam. Just let me say what I came here to say. You owe me that. I've messed up and I haven't been honest with you, and I almost brought everything tumbling down around our ears at 15 but god dammit Sam, you owe me your silence so I can get this out. I need to get this out."

His mouth closed, his jaw tightened, but he nodded without a word, letting her speak. Marlo took a breath and reached deep, feeling more naked in front of Sam than she ever had.

"I'm sorry Sam. I lied to you, I hid things from you. You had to go above and beyond what a boyfriend should. Beyond what a friend should. Beyond what a good cop should. But you have to understand, I have lived with this, this illness all of my life. I've watched people walk away from me the moment that they realized that I wasn't the definition of "normal." I've lost family, friends, lovers. I almost lost the only career I have ever been suited for because of the prejudices of academy. And I may have lost it forever now. And that breaks my heart, Sam. It all breaks my heart. All of it.

Because all I ever wanted, from the moment that you asked me out and we started to get to know each other—all I've wanted is to be honest with you. To work in 15 division and to live my life. And my life, screwed up as it may be, is still something that, until recently, I've been proud of."

She paused, a hand rubbing idly against her temple as she felt those bastard tears trying to make her break down. She breathed around it and continued, meeting Sam's eyes directly, like putting a finger directly onto a raw nerve, "But honesty, Sam? Honesty about my condition scares the shit out of me. It's taking everything I have, everything I have just to stand here and tell you the truth.

And the truth is that I will never be normal. I will always have mood swings, and periods of mania and moments when I will chew on something like a dog with a god-damned bone because it's all I know to do. And the medication tempers that, it lets me function on a more even keel. But it doesn't change me. Because being bi-polar is as much me as my skin or my eyes or my hands. And I fight it by keeping steady, by keeping emotion out of my life and by focus, regimentation and routine."

She looked away at the softening in his eyes and she forced herself to finish it, "And when I started falling in love with you, Sam, I realized how much I wanted those emotions I'd always avoided. I wanted to feel what it was like to love you. Because you are so worthy of love, Sam Swarek. You deserve to be loved and be in love. And it's taken me days now, days of hurting and wondering whether you were okay. Whether you and McNally had allowed this gunshot to finally push you back together. Whether you had thought of me at all because I could barely breathe without you."

She stepped forward and ran a shaking hand down the side of his face, resting tenderly on the hollows of his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble. "I do love you Sam, I love the man that you've made of yourself. And if you loved me back I would stay by your side and love you through anything. Through everything. But that's the thing that I realized, Sam...

And the thing that I realized, is that I deserve love too. And if you can't give it to me because you're too full of McNally I'll understand. But if that's the case then I can't wait for you. My world is shifting on its axis and I have no idea what's going to happen to me. Where I'll go, what I'll do. But I wanted you to know that I love you.

But I need to you to love me too, or I need you to let me go."

Marlo darted forward and slid her lips over his. And her damn tears had been falling and she could taste the salt on their lips. Her hands raked through his mane of hair and she let herself feel his kiss, to capture it like lightning in a bottle—something to warm herself with later. His hands had gone to their customary spot against her shoulder blades and it was the hardest thing she'd ever done to pull back and let those palms slide away from her. But she did it. She walked away, toward the door. And if her own hands shook and her heart was grinding to dust—it was only for her to know.

She opened the door and turned back.

Sam's face was anguished, "Marlo. Marlo please—I don't know, I don't know what to say. I need to say something." He smacked his balled fist into the mattress with frustration. Sam Swarek, little boy lost, but always trying to do what he felt was right.

It was one of the many things that she loved about him. "Don't worry about it Sam. I'll be around for a little while. We can talk again—after all, it's only fair that you get a turn."

And then with a heroic smile that sat on her face with all of the fragility of spun glass, Marlo turned away and walked out the door.

I did it. Jesus it hurt, but I did it. I'm stronger than I thought.

And clearly her tears were back to stay but her spine still straightened as she walked out of the hospital and into the night. She had said her piece, she had unloaded the burden on her heart. Now it's up to Sam. With a twist of irony, Marlo amended the thought, Now it's up to Sam and McNally.

Andy woke up with the comforting weight of Nick's arms around her. She felt more rested than she had in days. Weeks. Years. And she could just as easily go back to sleep and hibernate if it weren't for her elbow stinging with pins and needles. With barely a thought she brushed kisses across Nick's face as she tried to adjust her position to one that eased the weight off of her angrily throbbing limb.

And Nick let out the grumbly groan that he made when he was tired and waking up, and his hands settled on her hips and ass and stretched out and kneaded. He woke up just like a cat: in increments and with an accompaniment of sanguine stretches and vocalizations. Nick could be so damn adorable. He nuzzled his scratchy chin against her cheek and she squirmed away with a laugh. And he was cuddly in the mornings. Cuddliness was something that Andy had never experienced but had grown to love about Nick just as much as his military bearing and ridiculous propensity towards tidiness.

And then they were both awake, and they were both smiling at each other, and how odd that the sun hadn't risen with them...And like a bubble popping, Andy realized what had happened. And she watched as that happy light in Nick's eyes faded because he was realizing it too. And his hands flexed one last time into her skin before he shifted them and pushed and lifted her off him enough for him to swing his legs around. Typical Nick, giving her the distance she wanted but was afraid to take. He was always doing things like that. Anticipating her needs, looking out for her.

Andy had remembered Gail bitching about Nick's genteel qualities, about how ridiculous it was for him to open doors or pull out chairs because it was the twenty-first century and she wanted a boyfriend not another Daddy.

Having been on the receiving end of Nick's gallantry, Andy could say with honesty that she appreciated the effort he took to see to her comfort. And he never expected anything in return. It was just so... Nick. Even with all of Gail's bitching he had never stopped his little habits and Traci and Chloe had heaped praise upon Nick for treating his female acquaintances as equals in intelligence even while employing those touches of chivalry.

And why was she thinking about that right now? With all that needed to be said between the two of them, why was she reminiscing like an old woman? And so she opened her mouth to start, even as her heart clenched at his stoic-invincible face. He was bracing for her to say the hard things.

"Hey Collins, remember how all the guys at 15 started calling you Galahad?"

Nick's eyebrow winged up and then smoothed out, "Uh, yeah. They still do sometimes, actually."

Andy gulped and remembered that she still hadn't explained herself. Or at least not clearly and in anything that could be easily recognizable as English.

"I'm so sorry for just showing up last night," She paused and looked out at the dark windows, "Or, uh, earlier? Anyway, I'm sorry it's just that with Sam in the hospital and everything that happened I didn't know until Traci told me." Andy's hands reached out of their own volition and gripped Nick's arm. "They told me that Ford was going to shoot you. And then that you were the one that tagged him. And god, Nick. I just had to come and see you because I was with you in that hospital and I had no idea. I swear."

One of Nick's hands had automatically covered hers and he gave it a little pat before pulling away. "It's okay, Andy, I know that everything was crazy in there. And Swarek..." He trailed off and his jaw worked before he caught her eyes and continued, "Sam saw that Ford had me in his sights and he yelled, and that was when Ford shot him. He saved my life, Andy."

Nick crossed and uncrossed his arms before rising and striding a couple of steps away. "I understand Andy. I know that you've always had strong feelings for him. I just hope that we can stay friends, because I don't think I could handle you not being in my life at all."

Andy could feel her mouth moving but there were no words coming out. Nick was standing in front of her, smiling his calm little smile and his eyes were clouded. And she could see that it was costing him to keep things light even as she realized that he had pulled another Galahad—preemptively telling her that it was alright so that she wouldn't have to be the one to say the words that kept sticking to her throat and sinking down into her stomach like lead weights. And Nick was just standing there and she had told Sam that he was her freaking story and Sam was waiting for her in the hospital. But oh, god. Her heart was fucking breaking.

Nick just looked at her with his gallows smile, "It's really okay, Andy. I understand."

"No. You don't. Because I love Sam and I couldn't think of anything but him the second after I saw that shot take him down—"

Andy was talking furiously and pacing a tight line back and forth, one hand clenched on her hip and the other rubbing and tugging at the hair at her forehead. Her manic pacing saved her from seeing Nick visibly flinch the moment that she said the word "love."

"—but the second that Traci told me that Ford was going to shoot you all I've been able to think of is seeing you. And you're doing the knight thing, and you're standing there and telling me that you'll always be my friend, and Jesus Nick it's like being stabbed by a knife! I can't even breathe right now!"

She broke off in sobs and Nick's face softened and clenched as he swayed forward trying to decide what would hurt less—her in his arms or watching her cry in front of him.

Andy's shattered face swiveled to him and she choked out: "It hurts so much."

With a muttered curse, Nick was striding forward and enfolding her in his arms. His voice was broken with the truth of it, "I know, baby. I know."

And they held each other with the desperation of lovers parted by fate, by war, by forces beyond their control. And they cried and they clung and while Nick fought to let her go—fought to keep his heart from his lips, fought to spare her the knowledge of his love—Andy fought an internal war of her own.

Sam or Nick. Nick or Sam. A heart can only take so much and it seemed that hers was spoken for by both of them. She could feel Nick shaking almost imperceptibly and his hands were warm and sure and she tucked her swollen face into the hollow of his neck and breathed him in. And she realized something, something so significant that she actually pulled away to face him, her eyes seeking his.

And Nick's expression was tortured and taut with the pain of holding back the words he desperately wanted to say and the moment she pulled away he took a single deliberate step back. Because he assumed that this moment was ending, that she would be backing away and then leaving him alone with his painful truth, the loss of her as agonizing and constant as a phantom limb.

"Nick. I love Sam—" This time she saw the pained flinch before his face began to smooth back into an impartial mask. She could have slapped herself and his pain only made hers more sharp so she rushed on, begging him with her eyes to understand, "I love him, but the thought of walking away from you right now, the fact that you aren't touching me right now is making me feel like my heart is being pounded on by a meat cleaver. I love him Nick, but I think I love you more."

Nick's gaze had dropped to the floor and at her last words they snapped to hers and focused. "You... You love me?"

Andy grabbed his hands and held them like a lifeline as she pulled all of the tangled emotions out of her head and heart and laid them at his feet. "It's horrible and you deserve more—better. You deserve someone who doesn't constantly fall right back into old patterns of loving someone who can just never love them back the way they need. You deserve the fairytale because you are so wonderful. You care about people—you've got the most amazing heart, Nick, and when I'm with you I'm happy. I'm actually happy. And I'm so sorry because I'm just dumping this on you and I'm such a mess. But I do love you. I love you so much."

Nick's shoulders relaxed and his thumbs caressed the hands that held his in a death grip. He was a simple man who liked simple truths. And she loved him. He was opening his mouth to speak when in true Andy-style she beat him to the punch, words tumbling out in jumble of anxious sweetness, "I'm so screwed up, Nick and I'm so sorry. I'll understand if you...If you can't after all of this... But I'm just begging you, you said that you couldn't live without me in your life but it's the other way around—"

She dragged in a breath and Nick slid a hand up and pressed it to her lips, "Andy. Stop. I've been wanting to tell you for a while now. But it was just never the right time and then—with everything, I just never got the chance... Andy McNally, I love you."

Andy's eyes welled up with more tears and her soft lips trembled against his fingertips. Nick's smile was a familiar one now, a rueful little upturn of lips that had her flashing back to a moment that had changed everything. It had been Andy and Nick in a squad car and it had been magical.

"But Nick I'm so screwed up. You deserve so much better!" She was poised to go on but he pressed harder against her mouth and raised a single eyebrow.

"McNally I was in a relationship with Gail Peck for over a year. Your crazy doesn't scare me."

She hiccuped a laugh and he continued, "So you love me."

She nodded, "I love you so much it almost doesn't matter that I don't deserve you."

Nick rolled his eyes and swept his hands into the hair at her temples, cradling her head, angling her closer, "And Swarek?" His gaze was assessing but his expression was open.

Andy looked into his eyes, "Sam is recovering. And I think we got back together. Or we acted like we were back together. Only it was almost like we were back in time, back in that place where we were together and happy. And that was so long ago—I was another person then. And I just didn't think. Not about you, or god, Marlo, or all of the reasons that Sam and I didn't work. All the times we just kept missing our moment."

She paused, "We just kept missing our moment and making each other miserable. And I thought that he was my story but I think I've finally just realized that Sam isn't my story. He's a chapter in my story, an important chapter. But my story is still being written—and more than anything—I'd like it to be written with you."

Nick's thumbs slid softly against her cheeks, "I love you Andy. And there's nothing that I want more."

And then they were kissing, and Andy realized that the love she felt in that moment was just as deep as what she had once felt for Sam, deeper even, but it was also so beautifully simple. She could trust Nick with her heart, and she would protect his with everything that she had. Loving Nick was just so easy.

Nick pulled away and Andy could feel the distance like miles, "Nick? What is it?"

He flashed her his dimple, "I want to be with you Andy, I want to go to the bedroom and strip you down and make love to you until we're too tired to move. But you have unfinished business and it wouldn't be right."

Andy grinned and let out another tiny laugh, "God, Nick you're such a boy scout."

"Eagle scout, actually."

She laughed and smacked a hand against his arm, "You're right, I should talk to Sam... I guess I should go..." She winced at the unhappy sound of her own voice.

Before she could take a single step toward the door Nick wrapped her in his arms and hauled her up. "You're not going anywhere. We're going to bed." He started for his bedroom door and laughed at her expectant face. He leaned down to give her a smacking kiss, "To sleep, Andy. You're exhausted and you and I are going to sleep." His certainty faltered for a moment, "And then later I can go with you to the hospital... If you want."

Andy heard the silent question and snuggled into his arms, "I want you with me. You can wait in the hall or something."

Nick set her gently on the bed and admired the way that she looked on top of it. At the rightness of having her there, of how agonizing it had been when he had thought himself the only one in love and how amazing it felt now to have that love returned. "Okay."

After Nick settled under the sheets, Andy slid into him and tucked her head onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his chest rise and fall. "Okay."

Sam had spent hours staring at the shiny beige wall of the hospital room and he thought about missed chances and lost confessions and most of all he thought about Marlo and Andy.

He was still staring and thinking when he noted the light beginning to seep through the cracks of the blinds. And the early morning bustle of rounds had begun and he was suddenly overrun with a surfeit of nurses requiring him to answer the same barrage of questions as the last round.

He could feel his responses getting more and more clipped as the tension began to build in his head. Staying up all night was really taking it's toll. And, fuck. Having a god-damned bullet removed from his body had taken a frickin toll, too. The nurse he made that particular announcement to was one that had been around the block a time or two and she had done the equivalent of patting the nice Detective on the head even as she made sure that the next round of meds that she ordered for him would make him sleep.

She shook her head, These cops just never know when to quit. You'd think they'd've learned that a body needs rest. She administered the meds and watched as her patient's taut face slowly relaxed into sleep. Clucking like a hen she tugged his sheet up. It's always the handsome ones that never have a lick of sense.

She left, pulling the door shut behind her with a soft click.

And Sam dreamed strange quicksilver dreams and wondered why he could see the dark-haired woman and touch her even though he never quite managed to recognize her face.

Andy chewed on her lip and stood poised at the door. She and Nick had another long conversation after waking up; they'd talked and they'd kissed and they'd had constant body contact for hours: an arm around a waist or shoulder, hand holding, even just hips bumped against each other. She'd needed to drop by her apartment for a shower and a change of clothes. She couldn't believe how ridiculous she'd looked!

She had met back up with Nick afterward and they had made their way to the hospital. He had squeezed her hand and gone to the waiting room and Andy had made her way to Sam's door.

This next part was going to need composure and honesty. And she would be lying if she didn't admit that there was a tiny part of her—the part of her that always thought that Sam was going to be the one—that was in pain.

But the debilitating torment that she had felt at Nick's apartment was no where to be found and it gave her a measure of comfort, of steadiness. She was making the right choice.

With that galvanizing thought, she knocked on the door and waited a beat before letting herself in.

Sam was groggy and confused when he woke up. The nurse had come in and given him meds and Jesus that had been hours ago. Half the day had come and gone while he had dozed like a damn invalid. As his head cleared he put it together quickly. Make that a drugged invalid. He was annoyed but the nurse had only been doing her job. And at least his headache was gone.

And his thoughts had quickly circled right back to the original reason that the tension headache had struck as hard as it had: Marlo and Andy.

And Marlo had said that she loved him. Marlo—the woman that never pried, never pushed, whom he had guessed was actually more wary of getting close to someone than he was. For the first time in his life he had understood why McNally had always pushed so hard to know him. It was fucking impressive really. Marlo had made him open up to her in ways that he had never managed with Andy's curious prodding.

A knock on the door drew him from his thoughts and he began to respond when the door swung open and McNally walked in.

"McNally." It slipped from his lips without thought.

Andy raised a brow and quipped back, "Swarek... Were you expecting someone else?"

Sam felt his mouth twist, "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Okaay. Well I came over because I needed to talk to you, and you look so much better—I'm glad. I'm so glad that you're okay, Sam."

He watched her calmly and wondered at her nerves. She hadn't rambled like this in a while, probably since before he started seeing Marlo. Dammit, Swarek. Get your head out of your ass! He mumbled something encouraging and waited to see if there was more rambling yet to come. Knowing McNally this was just the first wave.

She stepped forward and met his eyes in that earnest way that she had and part of him was expecting her to kiss him and the other half was bracing himself in case she did. The realization stunned him. Was he feeling guilt? Should he? And with the gut instinct of a seasoned detective, he pinpointed his feelings of unease. He and Marlo were still... Something. And he and McNally had just fallen right back into old patterns and he had been swept up in all of those potent feelings.

But though he might be distant and he might be prickly and closed-off—hell, there was no might about it, he was all of those things—he wasn't a cheater.

He felt relieved when Andy grabbed for his hand but came no closer. "I need to talk to you about us. Because I realized after I left here that we'd just fallen right back and we hadn't stopped to consider anything else. And we both have things to consider, Sam. We both have some-ones to consider. And the truth is that I love you, and I probably always will, but we had our time." She stopped and looked down at his hand in hers and Sam couldn't decide how he felt.

He had spent months coming to terms with the fact that he still loved Andy, and then he had convinced himself that his love was so selfless that he could just allow her to be happy and that would be enough for him. But seeing Ford with his gun trained on Nick had made him realize that he hadn't known the meaning of selfless. Not until he'd yelled, desperate to save Collins. And yes, it was because he was a fellow officer and a part of 15, but the bigger part of it had been that Andy would have been destroyed. And he couldn't have that, because he really did love her.

Laying on the floor, bleeding and confused with Andy's face hovering above him he hadn't thought of anything other than how beautiful she was, how much he loved her and how glad he was that even through the most horrible pain he had ever experienced he had saved Collins for her.

Everything afterward had gotten so confused. But she was right, they had both let all of those dormant feelings of love well up and they had ignored everything else. And life had taught him early on that the piper always collects his debts.

Tears were streaming down Andy's cheeks as she continued, "We had our time and I'll always treasure it. But I think that our time has passed." Those pretty eyes searched his and he lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them.

"I love you too. In fact, McNally, I think you taught me to love," Sam cleared his suddenly cracking voice, "But you're right."

He looked her in the eyes and felt his own welling up with tears that he refused to let fall. "We had our time and it burned bright and I'm grateful for it. I'm grateful for you."

With a sob, Andy threw herself into his arms and they embraced, they remembered and they grieved.

There was a quiet knock on the door and a hand poked in with McNally's red cell phone in it. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Andy your phone's been ringing off the hook and your Mom started sending 911 texts. I'll just set this in here and leave." His arm leaned to the side and started to deposit the phone on a chair when Sam nudged Andy forward.

"Go ahead and take care of that, Andy. Hey Collins, you got a minute?" Sam quickly wiped his eyes with his fingers and gave Andy a little wink.

"Seriously Andy, go take care of business. I'm in a hospital bed for god's sake. I promise we can behave ourselves long enough for you to take a call."

Andy gave him a watery smile and nodded, running her hand along Nick's arm as he stepped into the room and she stepped out.

Nick cleared his throat and stepped closer to Sam's bed, automatically standing in an "at ease" position. Sam's smirk and eyebrow raise was enough to communicate that he noticed.

Sam nodded towards the closed door, "You two look good together. I mean, you fit, you know."

Nick knew that it was probably the closest thing to endorsement that the other man could manage and nodded solemnly, "Swarek... Sam. I just wanted to thank you, when Ford—"

Sam could see the sincerity in Nick's gaze and waved him off, "Jesus the two of you are cut from the same cloth, aren't you? Don't thank me for that. It was as much for her as it was for you. Probably mostly for her if we're being honest." Sam's eyes narrowed and lasered into Nick. "You had better take care of her Collins, or I know a couple of places where they'll never find your body."

Nick nodded solemnly.

Sam looked away, "I didn't appreciate her the way she deserved. I wasn't—open. Not the way she needed me to be."

"I can promise you that I won't repeat that mistake. Andy is... She's everything."

There was a knock at the door and Andy re-entered, "Should I wave a white flag or are you guys playing nice?" There was a touch of real nervousness in her voice but the indulgent glance she gave Collins let Sam know that she didn't believe for a moment that Nick had misbehaved.

And it hurt to see that kind of trust from her for Collins, just as it hurt to see Nick's gaze, laden with the silent communication that couples that are in tune are capable of. They were both speaking without words and it reminded him of the times that he and Andy had shared similar moments.

Even then they had been mostly restricted to work and the bedroom. He had never had the kind of open intimacy that he was witnessing now. And all it did was make him fucking tired.

"Okay lovebirds, it's been fun and all, but I've got a stacked nurse just dying to give me a sponge bath and you guys are cramping my style." Sam wiggled his eyebrows in true lecherous fashion but his moment was ruined as his very plump and middle-aged nurse knocked and entered the room.

Andy gave him that look the one that always preceded a wise-ass remark and he cut her off, "Don't look at me like that, I'm talking about a different nurse, obviously."

Andy smiled and Sam smiled and he realized that maybe they still had a touch of that silent communication left after all.

It was a fitting ending to their story.

As the two of them went to leave Sam almost called out to Collins, intending to give him a little reminder of their talk, but Nick was opening the door and ushering Andy through with a hand lightly touching the small of her back. And Sam kept quiet. Galahad has his lady. He'll do right by her. She won't let him do any less.

And yes, it hurt. It hurt the same way it hurt to lose vital body parts, but it was also freeing. His mind was finally clear, or if not clear, mostly clear of those old feelings, carried in his heart for so very long. As he teased his nurse and cooperated to her poking and prodding he found himself looking forward to the future. And he wondered if his future might just be waiting for him to have his turn.

Andy and Nick were walking through the hospital hand in hand and as they passed the waiting room that they had been in when Sam had been brought in, Andy's step faltered. Nick gave her a concerned once over and she nodded towards the room, "I wish I had known, I can't believe how horrible I was to you in there."

Nick leaned down and kissed her firmly, "Maybe this is what had to happen."

Andy rolled her eyes even as her hands eased down his back, "So it was destiny for me to be a self-absorbed fool?"

Nick looked into her eyes and gave her a dimpled smile, "No, but maybe it was our destiny to almost lose each other to someone else. It's what we needed to get to this moment. It's what we needed to be able to really start."

Andy leaned into his embrace and whispered in his ear, "So we could start our story."

And so, they did.

The End.

A/N 2) So this was insanely long. I'm still not entirely sure where it all came from because I had *intended* something short and sweet and not angst-y AT ALL. And then THIS happened. I blame you Trish with your post-finale fic recommendations! And I'm not a big fan of Sam with Andy (Though I started off as one) because I think he made mistakes with her that were careless and awful but this incarnation of him made me remember his better qualities. (even if I still don't want him with Andy. :P) And I really feel for Marlo, so here's hoping that she and Sam get a new start in this little universe that I created.

This is also un-beta'd so I'll probably be making corrections and PLEASE feel free to point out anything hinky or flat-out wrong. Constructive criticism is how I roll.

And if you read this and liked it, thank Deb. Her sweet compliments made this thing happen.

McCollins for life! ;)

~Ellie

ETI) Thank you for all of the reviews! I appreciate those that are taking the time to tell me what you thought! And please don't let the first A/N scare you away-I don't mind your thoughts on characters or RB as long as it's in CONTEXT OF THE STORY, lol!

ANOTHER NOTE: I realized/remembered that Andy is tragically car-less (thus her need to constantly hitch a ride with everyone, or hoof it) shortly after posting this fic and the truth is that I am far, FAR too unmotivated to go through and make the appropriate edits to reflect cannon. If you noticed and kept quiet-bless you. If you noticed and wondered whether I was aware-I am, but I wrote this story in a frenzy of sleeplessness and inspiration and by the time I realized what I had done I had ZERO drive to figure out how to re-work it. I still don't. So this is a note to say: MEA CULPA. ;)