A/N: This is my second full story ever and my first Rookie Blue fic, though I only expect to write periodically.
This is my version of 3x05, so some things will not be canon, though we don't know how Andy is gonna react to her mother. I purposefully did not use Claire's name because I wanted to de-personalize her, as a way to emphasize "her mother".
A huge thank you goes to (in abc order): deedee920, marap, margie311, snafu, snapple79, and vixenali for their time, guidance, and edits. This story was a team effort. I couldn't have put all this together by myself.
An extra special thanks goes to srsn for co-writing with me.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue.
The dilapidated two story house was the picture of defeat and neglect. The family that lived there was just as broken. Inside, there was a little girl whose face reflected misery and despair, matching the exterior of the house far more than it should have. When the 911 call was placed, no one knew that the little girl's life wouldn't be the only one drastically changed that day.
All available units had been dispatched to a volatile domestic disturbance; Andy and Oliver were the third to arrive on scene. Andy hadn't been partnered with Sam because Jerry had requested his assistance for an old case, which had recently been re-opened.
When Andy and Oliver walked into the house, the situation was already under control. Noelle informed them that both Chris and Dov were getting ready to transport the parents to the station.
On her way out the door, Andy's attention was captured by the little girl sitting on the floor with a lost look in her eyes; she couldn't have been much older than six.
Andy walked over and kneeled down. "Hi."
The little girl looked up and muttered a solemn, "Hi", in return.
"What's your name?" Andy asked cautiously.
"Sophie," the little girl responded timidly.
"That's a pretty name. I'm Andy."
Knowing that the little girl had been forced to witness violence that no young child should, Andy did not want to appear intimidating, so she decided on a gentle approach.
"Whatcha got there?" Andy inquired, as she pointed to the toys and shifted into a more comfortable position next to the little girl.
The child looked up from the plastic figurines that she was barely moving around. "Toys."
"What kind of toys?" Andy questioned kindly.
"Wizard of Oz," Sophie said simply.
"Wow," Andy exclaimed. "That was my favorite movie when I was your age." Andy was being sincere, but she also wanted to build a rapport with the heartbroken child in front of her.
The statement seemed to spark the child's curiosity. "Really? It's my favorite, too. Look at my shoes!" She squeaked, pulling her feet out from under her to reveal a pair of shiny, ruby red flats.
Andy grinned at the sight. "Those are beautiful!"
Giggles filled the air before the child's mind seemed to suddenly switched gears. Andy should have predicted that a 'why' question would come out of the child's mouth; that is one thing all children have in common. "Why is it your favorite movie?"
Andy was not prepared for that question, and stuttered a bit through her answer. "Well, I like that all Dorothy wanted to do was go home," Andy answered honestly.
"Go home? But I thought she ran away 'cause they were mean to her and tried to take Toto." Confusion was clearly etched across the little girl's face.
Not knowing exactly how to respond with an answer a child would easily be able to understand, Andy just smiled sympathetically. As is expected with children, the next words Sophie spoke changed the direction of the conversation.
"Sometimes I wish I could be Dorothy."
The words shocked Andy a little. "Why do you say that, sweetheart?" Andy asked curiously.
"So I could run away, too." Sophie shrugged, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.
Taken aback, Andy was speechless. Aware that she needed to give the child a response, Andy questioned her again. "Why would you want to run away?"
"So my mommy and daddy don't fight anymore."
Struggling to contain the emotion that arose in her throat, Andy breathed deeply before she answered. "Sweetie, I know that you don't like it when your mommy and daddy fight. But their fights are not because of you. I promise it's not your fault. Can you remember that for me?" Andy spoke softly and reassuringly.
A shaky and unsure "I'll try," was the only reply she got.
Before she stood up, Andy told the little girl that she would check on her later.
"Ok," Sophie smiled.
After Andy took a few steps to leave, the child called out to her. "Andy?"
"Yeah, sweetie?"
"Do you… do you think that someday… I can go anywhere I want… if I tap my shoes together?"
In an attempt not to exacerbate the child's worries and fears, Andy swallowed the cry that wanted to escape her mouth. "Maybe." Andy smiled, as best she could in the moment, before she turned to leave. She noticed Oliver's look of understanding filled with care and concern as she walked briskly out the house.
Just a few steps before she reached the car, her world stopped.
There she was, standing there, right in front of her. It was a moment that had filled Andy's sleepless nights for years - the image of seeing her mother again. She had not come into work today expecting to see her; she would have expected anything but to see her. After all, it had been over a decade. A decade, Andy thought silently. Why now? Why today? What does this mean? The questions bombarded her mind. Her mother had not seen her yet, but Andy couldn't help but stare. Her dark hair was the same as it was before, except for the scattered strands of silver. Her complexion was flawless, minus the few wrinkles time had given her. Subconsciously, Andy felt of her own face, wondering what toll time had taken on her so far.
"McNally." Oliver quietly called, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. The mention of her name snapped her out of the trance she had been in.
"Sorry, what?" She shook her head trying to comprehend her surroundings.
Her mother had still been too distracted to notice Andy standing there, as there were a few officers positioned nearby, one of whom appeared to be writing down her mother's statement. Statement? Andy thought, wondering why her mother was even there.
"Why don't we head back to the barn?" Oliver asked softly, apparently sensing Andy needed to get away from the scene.
A murmured "Yeah," was all Andy could manage.
On the way back to the division, Andy's mind was on overdrive. She knew if she had been in the car alone that she would be crying. She saw herself in Sophie, remembering how she was in her exact position when she was not much older than her. She remembered watching the same movie, gaining the same hopes from it that Sophie had - hopes of finding a real home. Andy sat there in another world, childhood memories and emotions consuming her mind.
Ever since her mother abandoned her, Andy had never felt like she had a true home. After all, who in their right mind would call a house with a drunken father, and no mother, a home? This was just another example of how her life had been full of clichés. Andy could see herself, and every emotion she ever felt, reflected through the eyes of little Sophie. She knew those emotions all too well. Andy laughed dryly at the sarcasm that brought to mind - Maybe if I only had a pair of ruby red slippers my life would be a lot easier. Dorothy had a hard road, but at least the slippers took her home.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the barn. Oliver pulled Andy to the side of the hallway. "I just wanted you to know that she's gonna be here in a few minutes, in case you need to prepare yourself or want to leave."
"What are you talking about?" Andy's confusion was evident.
"McNally, I know. I saw her picture years ago at a poker game your dad hosted. He told me what happened."
Too shocked by Oliver's words to deny anything, Andy bowed her head and asked for Oliver's advice. "What do I do? I've played this scenario in my head a million times for years, and now, I don't even know what to do."
"The first thing you should do is find a quiet place, alone, and think about what option is going to give you the most closure. Then you need to call Sam, talk to him." Oliver recognized the hesitancy in Andy's eyes. "No one's made of steel, McNally, we all need support." He gave a jerky shrug as if reconciled to this truth.
Andy nodded her head in acknowledgment.
"And one more thing, I know that you may not want to, but you need to tell your dad. He deserves to know, Andy." Oliver's use of her first name got his point across. She nodded her head again.
All of a sudden, Andy remembered she hadn't asked the obvious question. "Why was she there?"
Though he knew it was futile, Oliver attempted to hide the full reason. "She made the call."
Andy's look of confusion caused him to give in. He knew he had to be honest, no matter what he wanted to say. "She's a social worker."
Oliver walked away, leaving Andy alone in the hallway. She leaned back against the wall, her head hitting it with a light thud. She closed her eyes. Andy had experienced this feeling of suffocation before, both on and off the job; never would she forget those life-changing events. She could still feel the two sets of hands around her throat, very certain of whom each set belonged to; she could feel the darkness that surrounded those seconds. And then there were those minutes before she finally succumbed to sleep the night her gun fired its first fatal shots. But this was different. A part of her mind almost wanted to believe this instance was worse. Before, she watched her world quickly become black, knowing a deep sleep would soon be imminent. Now, she was forced to see it slowly disappear, feeling as if she was dying, but without the knowledge this time that relief was about to come. She wondered if relief would ever come now or if the feeling of dying would never fade.
The waves of emotions Andy had forced herself to keep hidden for so many years came crashing to the surface. She not only felt the pounding sensation from the emotions, but felt herself drowning in them - drowning in the tears that she desperately willed back. But the flood came without fail - the mixture of the tears and thoughts formed an internal hurricane that she could not stop. How stupid and pathetic did you have to be to run your own mother away before you even became a teenager! She couldn't stand you! And then it caused your dad to become an alcoholic! He loved a bottle more than you! This is all your fault! You did this to yourself!
The emotions swirling made Andy feel like her feet had been knocked out from under her. She wasn't sure how or why, but the fog immediately began to clear, releasing inside her body the downpour of hurt and mist of anger that she had kept at bay until now. No! Stop it, Andy! It's not your fault! She made her choice! It is her loss, not yours! She's the pathetic one! Your dad is a victim of her torture, just like you! Don't fall into her trap!
She attempted to bind her thoughts into some form of a plan. A plan, really? When has that ever worked? She internally berated herself.
She knew what she needed to do. Only one person would be able to help her sort through her innermost thoughts. She needed to figure out how to approach this. She needed to run in the right direction for once. She needed Sam.
As she pulled herself away from the wall, her eyes searched for an empty room she could use to gather her thoughts before calling Sam. Not long after her search began, the day had caught up with her, and she felt the hammering start in her head. She decided at that moment that ibuprofen was her first priority if she was going to be forced to survive the rest of the day. She quickly remembered that she had meant to pick some up at the store today, but clearly had forgotten with the events going on. Hoping that Traci had some in her desk drawer, Andy set off to find her.
Not surprisingly, of course, time has never worked for Andy. Right when she stepped foot in the squad room, there she was again. Andy saw her at the front desk asking to speak with Detective Barber. Though panic surged through Andy's veins, she knew it was inevitable her mother would be here; she was the social worker who had witnessed the crime and made the domestic disturbance call. Wait, her mother? Did she even deserve that name? Andy thought with bitterness.
Before she was able to flee the room, Andy heard it. She heard the voice she thought she may never hear again.
"Andy?" the voice gasped in disbelief.
Fighting her natural instinct to respond to her name, Andy slowly spun around. Their eyes met with the same shock and surprise, but Andy's eyes held something more - anger, hurt, and the knowledge of betrayal.
The door shut with a soft click behind Andy as she followed her into the D's office. She stopped by the desk that Luke had used, leaning back so that she was almost sitting on it. Andy had no idea why, but that just made her even more furious.
She didn't want to be there. She had no desire whatsoever to talk to this woman who had just up and left all those years ago. But yet, there she was, feeling all the more trapped inside the office. She needed to get out, get some air. She needed Sam. She needed to find him and get him to make sense of everything.
"It's good to see you again."
Andy's eyes shot towards her. She was making pleasantries again. Hadn't it gotten through to her yet that pleasantries and her were not able to coexist in Andy's mind? Andy stayed silent, just staring at her from out of the corner of her eye.
She smiled, before looking out the windows, out into the bullpen.
"Do you like working here?" She asked when she turned back around.
Andy just shrugged, still only looking at her from the corner of her eye, not wanting to turn and completely face her.
She leaned forward, straining a bit to get a better look at Andy's face. "Andrea, talk to me. Please?"
"You want me to talk to you?" It somewhat exploded out of Andy's mouth. Andy whirled around and faced her like she was interrogating a suspect - back stiff, arms crossed, and a stern look on her face.
Andy's mother's eyes widened at her daughter's sudden outburst, but she quickly relaxed her shoulders. "Yes," she said, in an overly calm and collected tone.
Social workers… Andy thought with spite. "Fine," Andy's tone was clipped.
"So... how are you liking this line of work?" she asked, still using a pleasant tone, as if Andy was a client.
"You mean the fact that I've become every cop cliché because of you? Trying to get away from my life by saving others? Yeah, like you care, considering you help families for a living, but wouldn't even try to save your own."
Once more, her mother's eyes widened at the sudden outburst, but she soon regained control of herself. She looked away for a second, showing... regret? Sadness? Andy wasn't quite sure.
Her eyes quickly went back to Andy, seemingly unfazed. "I'm very different now," her mother spoke calmly.
"It doesn't matter. You had plenty of chances to redeem yourself. You could have come back. You could have called." Andy paced the room and avoided looking at her directly. "As soon as you got into social work, you could have tried to fix your own family issues, but no, you didn't, and you didn't come back either. You've been gone for over half my life without so much as a phone call. So no, you don't get to play the 'I've changed' or 'I'm different' card."
Her mother's eyes narrowed slightly, making Andy feel like she was assessing her subject. "I'm not playing any cards," she said, evidently determined not to rid herself of her professional demeanor. "I'm not trying to justify anything. I'm just..." she frowned and fell silent.
"Just what? Just trying to make excuses? You have no valid reason for what you did. You don't get it. I don't care," Andy said. "It used to matter to me; it used to keep me up at night, wondering why my own mother would leave me. But you know what? I grew up, and I realized that nothing we had done could have pushed you away. You weren't an abused housewife trying to escape. You were just a coward who didn't love her family enough to even try to be with them. You made the choice to leave, no one but you."
At Andy's words, the glimmer faded from her mother's eyes and they became dull. She looked away again, but not into the bullpen and to the other officers. She looked down at her hands, head bent over and her back with the slightest hunch to it.
"I didn't want to leave you. But I had to make a choice," she said quietly, still staring at her hands, turning them over in her lap.
"He was never there. I felt so alone. Like no one cared. Like everything was on me. Then..." she trailed off, the room going deadly silent.
"Then what?" Andy replied in a softer, but still firm tone, not willing to give up her anger completely.
"I met someone. And he was nice. And attentive, and we could talk and…" she sighed, "It was just easier."
At that admission, Andy's anger returned. "Easier than being with your family? Easier than caring for the daughter that you gave birth to?"
"It's horrible, I know, but…" She took a deep breath before looking up at Andy. "Yes."
Andy was about to take a step forward, ready to lash out more, when her mother held up her hand, signaling that she wasn't done yet. Andy had no idea why that would make her restrain herself, but it did.
"I took the coward's way out. I admit that. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was the decision I made. I ran."
Her hand was still up, and Andy could not for the life of her figure out why that small gesture would have such an effect on her.
"And I did try to get back in touch, but Tommy wouldn't let me. He told me…"
The mention of her father's name made it feel like a veil had been lifted, and Andy could feel the effect of the hand dissipate.
"You have no right to bring my father into this. He became an alcoholic because of YOU. He let a part of himself die because of YOU, a part that I don't think he's ever gonna get back. I know he wasn't the best father, but I know for a fact he loved me more than you ever did, and nothing, and I mean nothing, you say will ever make me believe different."
"But you need to know that I tried. I wanted to get you out of that, I tried, but he wouldn't…"
"Don't you dare think you can just come in here and play hero, because you are anything but a hero," Andy said firmly. "You don't get to walk in here after over a decade and expect me to run to you. You may have taught me to run, and I will always hate you for doing that, but if I'm gonna be doing any running near you, I can guarantee you it's going to be in the opposite…"
She was interrupted by a quick rap at the door, followed by the familiar crown of Oliver's head.
"Uh, McNally," he said, rather hesitantly, eyes darting between the two women in the room. "Swarek's looking for you…"
He was back out the door as fast as he came in, leaving Andy stumped and speechless for a few, short seconds. Afterward, her legs set in motion, slowly edging her towards the door. The only thing she knew was that she needed Sam, far more than she needed to be in that room.
"You shouldn't run away from this, you know. Running never solves anything."
Andy whipped around at her mother's words, her eyes fierce and filled with fire. Where did she come off giving advice like that?
"I know you. You're like me, and running from this will only make it worse," her mother said.
"I'm nothing like you. You don't even know me. I'm not still the helpless child you left behind," Andy spoke resolutely. "And you know what? This time, I'm gonna be the one who walks away."
As the door closed behind her, Andy's eyes immediately searched the barn for any sign of the familiar, short, dark hair. When her eyes couldn't find what they were searching for, she asked the first person in blue she encountered where she could find him.
"Uhm…" her fellow officer said, pointing down the hall, "I just saw him leaving Barber's office… Think he was headed towards the locker rooms."
Her one track mind wouldn't even let her spare a thought to thank him, before she headed off towards the men's locker rooms, in nothing short of a fast jog.
She moved so fast, and with such purpose and intent, that she nearly slammed into the door as she reached the locker room. Her heart pounded, and she panted lightly, as she pushed through the door and hurried inside.
And there he was. His back was turned towards her while he changed his shirt. For a moment, there was silence. Just seeing him, knowing he was there, brought a stillness upon her - the waters were now calm… then the current changed. Now it was the waves of reality that came crashing in.
"Hey," she said in an almost whisper, making her presence known. "I heard you were looking for me?"
"Yeah," he confirmed, pulling his gray t-shirt over his head. "Was just wondering if you needed a ride home."
Home, she pondered. Have I finally found it?
A weak "Yeah," was all she managed to get out.
At this, Sam quickly straightened, and pulled down the t-shirt. Not even a fraction of a second later, his brown eyes were upon her, laden with concern.
"What's wrong?" he questioned, taking a few steps towards her.
She was incapable of giving any reply other than an "Uhm…" as the tears started to push their way out, making her eyes sting.
Running was what she was known for. When it came to fight or flight in relationships, she chose flight. Over two years being a cop should have taught her to carry that fight instinct over to her personal life. It was her job, after all-to fight for justice. In relationships, she stood up for anyone but herself. Being a cop was in her blood; why couldn't she stand up for herself? The answer to that was closer than she thought; it wasn't only because of her mom, but also because of her dad. Despite the fact he had dedicated his life to the force, he dedicated his life even more to the bottle; the bottle that symbolized his ticket for his own flight. Andy had shattered the expectations of those who had assumed that the darkest side of her father's shadow, which loomed over her brothers in blue, would now be casted out by her. However, there was a part of his legacy she had felt powerless to avoid-running.
The emotions that had flooded Andy today, though, had given her a new perspective. She was forced to give herself an ultimatum she had many times before, but knew she had to make the decision she always feared to make. It was fight or flight, and this time, she was determined to choose fight. But she also had come to another realization - regardless of which one she decided on in the end, both would now have the same outcome. With her finally holding the missing puzzle piece to her scrambled up life, she was certain her choice either way would fit - because he fit, they fit. While Sam was the missing piece she found, he was also her ally, and her escape. Whether she chose fight, with him being her right hand, or flight, with him being her destination, both choices would ultimately lead her to Sam. She would no longer be afraid to make the choice not to sacrifice herself in her personal life, because now he would be there with her every day. She would no longer be afraid of the consequences of running, because from this point further, she would run to only him.
When he took one more step forward, it triggered something deep in her gut; in four quick steps, her head was buried in his chest.
She felt his arms wrap tightly around her body. The way his arms molded around her filled her with a sense of warmth, familiarity, and safety. She knew that this was where she belonged.
Then she heard his voice - sweet, quiet, and concerned. "Sweetheart, what happened?"
The overwhelming emotions left her helpless to form anything even resembling a word. She just sobbed quietly into his chest.
She felt his hands run up her sides, her shoulders, and to her cheeks. He slowly pushed her head backwards, so that he could look at her. His eyes were dark, and full of concern, worry, and affection. "What happened?"
"I saw her," she said, staring into his eyes.
She could see his features change into a look of uncertainty. "Who?" he asked, his brows furrowed.
"My mother." It was barely even a whisper.
His left hand slid around to the back of her head, pulling her close to his chest, before resting his chin on top of her head. The rise and fall of his chest as he sighed was, like all of his other actions, oddly soothing.
"What can I do?" he asked quietly.
"Just take me home. I wanna go home." Her voice sounded raspy, even though she hadn't actually been crying very hard.
"Alright," he said, barely louder than a breath. "Let's go home."
Later that night, as she laid on her couch, lost in the comfort of Sam's arms, her mind drifted off to another place. She pictured herself in the future, buying one of those home interior plaques that read "There's no place like home." She imagined hanging it in the living room, above the fireplace, in the house she shared with her husband, Sam. Each glance at it would ignite a state of reverie. She would think of her new home, and the family she and Sam desired to have together. She would think of Sophie, and pray that the child had found a safe home and loving family. But most of all, she would think of the little girl she and Sam hoped to hold in their arms one day. She would promise to give her a home filled with so much love that neither their daughter, nor she, would ever dream of running away.