A/N: a one-shot that quickly turned into a multi-chaptered story ... begins in 3.10 and explores the breakup and a look at the character of Sam.
I'd love to hear your thoughts, and please leave me lots of feedback :o)
[chapter one]
The color red is fused into Andy's brain. Everywhere she looks these days, she sees that color, or thinks she sees it. On the floor of her condo where Gail had been attacked, on Sam's hands after having found Jerry lying in a pool of his own blood. But right now, in this very moment; it's swiveling around in a bucket of water after she has tried to scrub it off of her hardwood floors for the umpteenth time.
Her hands are raw from the task at hand, but having a job to occupy herself with helps, as futile as it might be. It makes it possible for her to push everything into a tight space in the back of her mind, at least for a little while. But the thing is that it always comes back, it comes barreling back like an insentient drill that just won't stop.
Jerry had been buried yesterday morning; there had been a vast attendance of family, friends and co-workers. It had been beautiful, yet heartbreaking, because she knew in her heart of hearts that she would be standing there again. She had chosen this job, or maybe it had chosen her. But doing this job, also means coming to the realization that she would lose more colleagues in the years to come than she would gain.
Sam hadn't been able to look her in the eyes; his gaze had been trained on the casket the entire time. He blames himself, she knows he does. But somewhere, deep inside of her, she thinks, no, she knows that he blames her too.
Their hands were interlocked next to Andy's head on the pillow. His grasp was strong; it was almost like he was afraid, that if he lessened his hold, she would disappear into thin air. Sam's lips were hungry against Andy's, though when the need for air became too great, he slid them to her neck, licking, kissing and biting, while she struggled to get her breathing under control.
He had driven her home that night, the night Jerry had died. No words had been spoken in the silver truck, the tension so thick that you could have sliced a knife through it. Andy had attempted to say something, anything, but had failed to let a single word leave her lips – a feeling she wasn't accustomed to.
No more than five minutes after Andy had locked her front door shut; there had come a knock from that direction. She had known instantly who it would be, but she had had no idea what he wanted. After having found Jerry at the house, they'd barely spoken two words to each other.
The minute she had opened the door, she knew what he wanted. Therefore it didn't come as a surprise to her when Sam had grabbed her by the waist and pushed her up against the nearby wall. His eyes had been so dark, like a thunderstorm about to erupt when he had slanted his mouth across hers, curling his rampant tongue around hers.
Andy had yelped when he had placed his hands underneath her thighs and had hoisted her up, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. With her pelvis against his stomach, Sam had kicked the door shut before walking them both in the direction of her bedroom.
It had been intense, dark and so far from what she was used to with Sam. True, they had done a lot of stuff together by now, but Andy had always been able to feel him somehow, feel the love he had for her but couldn't say, but that night, all she had been able to feel had been his grief.
Pushing himself off of her, Sam landed on his back with a noisily groan, as they both attempted to catch their strangled breaths. Both of them stared into the ceiling, as if it would reveal what would come next to them.
When that didn't happen, Sam rubbed his face with one calloused palm, while Andy held a skinny hand against her chest trying to calm her thundering heart down. She slid her other hand across the sheet until she felt the warmth of his hand, placing her hand on top of his and squeezing.
"I gotta go," Sam sighed separating their hands hurriedly before hoisting himself onto the side of the bed.
"Sam, we need to talk," Andy told him pushing herself into a seating position on the bed, clutching the sheet against her chest.
Sam stood up, revealing his rippled backside to her ravenous eyes before busying himself with dragging his boxers and jeans on before even attempting an answer to her previous question. "Andy…," he sighed leaning down to grab his tee shirt before pulling it over his head.
"You can't just leave like this…," she argued watching him tying up his boots before grabbing his leather jacket off of the chaise, and struggling to put his arms through the sleeves.
"I'll call you," Sam told her before disappearing through the bedroom door. Hastily she heard the front door slam shut, and Andy slumped against the headboard of the bed, realizing that since pulling his body off of hers, Sam hadn't looked at her.
She missed the feeling of his eyes on her.
By now, exactly one week has passed, one-hundred-and-sixty-eight hours since everyone at 15 Division lost one of their own. A dark cloud has settled over them all, it's presence in the everyday occurrences at the Division abundantly clear.
When they walk past the now empty lot where Stella used to be parked, his empty desk, his empty locker and the emptiness in general that Jerry left behind, when he left them all behind.
Sam has lost his colleague and best friend, Traci; her fiancé and step-father of Leo and Andy; well she feels like she's not only lost Jerry; a friend and colleague but also Sam; the man she just a few weeks earlier had told that she loved.
This past week has been horrific – no question about it. Everything Andy has thought would happen – well, she has been more wrong than right this past week, which is ironic considering the fact that prior to enrolling in the academy Andy studied Sociology / Psychology. So, the human mind is something that should be an easy thing for her to tap into, and it usually is.
But, this is Sam Swarek, and if there's one thing he's not, then it's an easy read.
Deciding enough is enough; Andy stands up from her crouch on the floor, staring down at the fading evidence of what had happened in this very spot, a week ago. As her mind wanders, a quote she knows very well – one she did a paper on, slaved countless hours over - enters her distraught mind.
"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."
This past week Sam has been more drunk than sober, and she is nearing the end of the line of putting up with it. She spent her teenage years watching her father, drunk out of his mind, unable to ask for help, no way is she putting herself through that again. Andy knows that he's hurting, but putting the blame on her, and walking out on her in that cold and wet parking lot with the words "I can't be a cop and be with you," hanging in the air had been beyond hurtful – it had been downright cruel.
Cruel because when she had come back from North Bay they had started over, they had agreed to give them a go, they had agreed to work on their differences. But having heard those words coming out of his mouth had almost made her knees buckle beneath her.
She is tired of crying, tired of feeling miserable, she's basically tired. A realization she had come to in the confines of Traci's living room, who one night had found that the task of settling Leo down for the night had been too much for her to muster.
So, in reality between Sam's temper tantrums and Traci's need for help with her son, Andy hasn't really had any time to deal with her own emotions. She has been attacked, and she still doesn't know how she feels about that. But she figures now is probably not the time to act all selfish, which is also why every night her bedtime ritual has consisted of her turning on her side in bed, burying her face in her pillow and sobbing uncontrollably.
Today is the first night she'll spend in the condo where it had all begun. She has been staying at her dad's for the past week ever since everything went downhill between her and Sam. She can't even remember the last time he touched her, kissed her, loved her.
Okay, she does remember their last kiss, their last mind-blowingly kiss, which also coincided with Sam walking out on her, again. He had turned up on her dad's doorstep – Tommy had been out with Amy – under the pretense of returning a hoodie of hers. Sam had looked so forlorn upon passing the hoodie to Andy, that all she had really wanted to do had been to take him into her arms, and make it all go away. But she had known that she couldn't do that, A) because he would probably run away screaming and B) because it hadn't been a hurt she could make go away.
"You alone?" Sam had asked – a weird sense of déjà-vu occurring – both of them instantly remembering the last time they had been standing on a doorstep and one of them had asked that very question.
"Yeah," Andy breathed still feeling anger boiling inside of her. Who the hell did he think he was showing up like this? "Why?"
"We need to talk," he explained further, shifting nervously on his feet.
"Talk?" Andy almost spat the word back at him.
"Can I come in?" Sam asked nudging his head in the direction of the lamp illuminating the living room showcasing a plump leather couch in front of a flat screen TV.
"Sure," she gave a sigh before stepping back allowing him to enter her dad's house.
It had taken a lot of favors and a very tenacious bank manager, but Tommy McNally had finally been able to purchase a decent home. A home he had always secretly wanted to give Andy, while growing up. It was a three bedroom house located in the outskirts of Toronto. As Sam walked past the threshold he noticed the framed photograph of a young Andy and Tommy standing on a table in the foyer. There was a flight of stairs leading up to the upstairs bedrooms. Andy placed the hoodie on the railing leading upstairs before following Sam further into the house. She passed him, walking in the direction of the sparsely furnished living room that he found to his liking in its simplicity. There was an integrated kitchen that wasn't too big, but undoubtedly big enough for Tommy.
"What is it?" Andy asked flipping her lap top closed on the dining table before facing him.
"We need to talk," Sam said repeating his earlier words.
"You want to talk?" Andy asked in disbelief – almost tripping over the audacity of his words. Sam had blatantly refused to talk about it ever since it had happened. True, Andy wasn't exactly an open book, but she didn't shut down completely, refusing to let the people who loved her in.
"Andy, please," he pleaded with her. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and a deep sigh escaped him as if he was gearing up to tell her some deep kept secret. "I can't do this anymore." He added making Andy gape at him in surprise.
"What?" she asked unable to decipher what exactly it was that he couldn't do anymore? They were already broken up, what else was there left to say?
"This, us. Going in circles," Sam tried to explain to her, waving his hands between them.
"Going in circles? We're not going anywhere, Sam, because you won't talk to me!" she snapped at him. "You broke up with me, remember?" she retorted, the memory of that night in the dark parking lot as clear as day.
"Today made me realize all over again, that we are too different, and why I can't do this anymore." He was talking about their recent case with an informant. She, Nick and Sam had been outside in an unmarked car, while the informant had been inside. When there had been some trouble with the wire, Andy had gone in to check on the situation, and had ended up being cornered by an unknown third party.
Sam had afterwards been furious, and okay, yeah – it had been a close call, but she'd protected herself like she'd been taught in the academy with a swift elbow to the perpetrator's face, and they had made the required arrests. Only Sam hadn't seen it quite like that.
"What are you talking about?" Andy asked exasperatedly not seeing the point of the conversation.
"I can't be a cop, and be with you," once again those words left his mouth and all but made Andy double over in pain. "Today made it abundantly clear to me that those two things cancel each other out." He rubbed the back of his neck, as Andy tried to make sense of what he was saying. Why had he shown up tonight? Did he get some perverse enjoyment out of hurting her all of the sudden? After everything it had taken for them to be together, he was just throwing it right out the window?
"Why are you here, Sam? What do you want?" Her voice was breaking, and the tell-tale sound of a sob coming on was there, but Andy didn't care, she just stared at the man standing in front of her. A man, she hadn't in a million years though capable of hurting her like this, in such an unbearable way.
"Hey," Sam took a step forward, holding her head in his hands. "You'll be okay, Andy," he traced the tears that had run down her cheeks with his thumbs. "We're just, we're too different, and I'm in a weird place right now." He spoke directly from his heart, but it didn't hurt any less because of that.
Andy inhaled a shuddering breath when he pressed his forehead against hers. He bumped her nose with his before slanting his mouth across hers, eliciting a whimper from her throat. She grabbed his leather clad arms, holding on for dear life, as Sam coaxed her mouth open with his. Wrapping her arms around his waist, Andy held on tight willing him to never leave her, despite the fact that she knew that was exactly what would happen in a matter of minutes. Sam thrust his tongue into her mouth exploring it for one last time before pulling away groaning.
"Don't go," she begged grabbing a hold of his wrists, his hands still framing her face, willing him to stay put. "Please, stay." Her brown eyes searched his for any sign of a change of heart.
"I can't, I'm sorry," he sighed apologizing averting his eyes from hers. "I'll see you around, McNally," Sam stepped back, walking backwards watching her cover her mouth with her hand. He turned on his heel when the sight of a distraught Andy was imprinted on his brain.
Before she was even aware, he was gone. Though, it wasn't until she heard the engine of his truck starting up, that she realized the reality of the situation.
They were really over.
Andy hasn't seen nor heard from him for two consecutive days – she's trying to play this his way. If she played it her way she'd be camped out on his front porch, refusing to go home before they talked this whole thing through. But Sam isn't a talker, he's a doer. It took her about five seconds of knowing him to figure than one out. So, she guesses giving him some breathing room from her and her questions is the right thing to do, even though, she hates every minute of it.
"Time and space," Andy scoffs before picking up the bucket with the now reddish water in it before walking to the sink and pouring it down the drain.
After placing the empty bucket underneath the sink, she tip-toes into the spare bedroom where Leo is sleeping. He insisted on spending the night, and Traci hadn't been opposed to the idea, needing some time to herself.
Leo had initially been disappointed to find Andy's condo devoid of Sam, but they had grabbed a couple of slices and watched a movie of Leo's choice. He had finally nodded off at about ten o'clock, and after having tucked him in, Andy had started in on her cleaning adventure.
Watching the slow rise and fall of Leo's chest, Andy feels envious of his tranquility. An idea quickly forms in her head, and she instantly knows what she needs to do.
"Forget about it," Sam grumbled pressing the pillow against his face trying to block out the sun shining through the windows in Andy's bedroom.
"Come on, why not?" Andy asked standing clad in her yoga pants, a singlet and an unzipped hoody draped across her shoulders.
"Isn't that obvious?" Sam moaned turning onto his stomach displaying his amazing back muscles to her hungry gaze.
"You're really not a morning person, eh?" Andy giggled inching closer to the bed, pulling her dark tresses into a pony tail.
"Not at…," he briefly turned on his side to gawk at the alarm clock, but seeing that it was barely seven, he rolled onto his stomach again burying his head into the creases of the pillow. "…the crack of dawn," he complained sleepily.
"Figures you were a good pretend druggie, they never get out of the sack before noon," Andy joked placing her knees on the edge of the bed peering down at him.
That makes his eyes pop open, "I'll show you 'good pretend druggie', McNally," he muttered grabbing her by the waist, initiating a yelp from Andy before tumbling her down onto the empty space next to him, and climbing her body.
"Sam!" she squeaked, as he began placing wet kisses along the rise of her throat. "I have to be in yoga class in…," Andy turned her head sideways to look at the alarm clock before adding, "…thirty minutes…" she hummed when Sam's skilled lips and tongue hit the spot on her now sensitive throat.
"I can be fast," Sam promised taking a hold of the singlet Andy was wearing and moving it upwards passing her ribs before the elastic band of her black sports bra became visible.
"Oh, I know," Andy giggled, but began laughing hysterically when Sam's calloused fingers began tickling her relentlessly until he silenced her with his skilled mouth.
Yoga was definitely out that morning.
"What are you doing Auntie Andy?" a sleepy voice belonging to Leo asks a little while later. Andy is sitting cross-legged in her living room surrounded by lit scented candles, wearing her yoga pants and an old academy tee shirt of Sam's.
"I am relaxing my body and mind, buddy," Andy tells him trying to concentrate on her breathing exercises, the palms of her hands pressed against each other.
"How?" the ever inquisitive Leo Nash asks quirking an eyebrow in confusion.
"When I breathe out, I'm releasing all the bad energy that's in my body," she tells him before exhaling loudly.
"Oh!" Leo nods his head seemingly understanding before sitting down cross-legged opposite her. "But how will you know that you're relaxed?" he wants to know.
"The universe will tell me," Andy answers him.
"How?"
"All I have to do is reach out to the universe. Once I touch it, the universe will touch me back."
"But how?" Leo stresses.
"I will have found my center, and feel at peace with myself," she tries to explain to him.
"Alrighty!" Leo shrugs his shoulders. "Do you miss him?" he suddenly asks catapulting Andy into the real world.
She opens her eyes, gazing at the little boy sitting across from her. So much has happened to him in the short span of a couple of weeks. "Yeah, I do."
"Then why don't you kiss and make up?" Leo asks and his question almost makes Andy laugh out loud. If only the real world worked the way it did in the mind of an eight-year-old.
"It's complicated, Dude," Andy tells him blowing out the candles in front of her.
"That's what mom says when I ask her about Jerry too," he shrugs his shoulders before padding into Andy's bedroom, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
"You okay, Dude?" Andy asks five minutes later, leaning against the door frame of her bedroom door watching Leo burying underneath the covers.
"Yup!" he pops the 'p' before turning on his side looking at the framed photograph on the bedside table. "Can I sleep in here tonight?" Leo asks, as the bed dips when Andy sits down on the edge running her fingers through his unruly curls.
"Sure," Andy nods her head turning her head sideways to take in the people in the framed photograph that Leo's eyes are glued to. It had been taken the evening of her housewarming party – Traci and Andy standing front and center behind the cooking island with Jerry and Sam behind them, the men's arms wrapped protectively around the women's waists – all four of them grinning widely at the photographer.
Despite her anger towards Sam, and the way he has dealt with Jerry's death, she can't help but swim away in his brown eyes and dimples when looking at that picture. She misses those arms, she missed him, period.
"I miss him," Leo sighs in the back of his throat rubbing his eyes, undoubtedly from the onslaught of tears pressing on his tear ducts.
"I know you do, Dude, I know," Andy rubs his back soothingly, watching as his heavy eyelids drop. She tucks the sheet over his shoulders before pressing a kiss to his forehead. She figures she might as well try and catch some sleep, as unobtainable as it might be.
When the alarm clock changes from 00:59 to 01:00 am, Andy decides enough is enough, and gets out of bed, careful not to wake up Leo, who has surprisingly enough been fast asleep next to her ever since falling asleep a couple of hours ago.
She places a couple of throw pillows, where she had been laying merely a couple of seconds ago, at the off chance that he wakes up and reaches out for her. She doesn't want him to wake up scared and thinking that he's alone.
Andy makes her way to the sink, and fills a glass with water before taking a grateful sip of the cooled beverage. In mid-gulp she eyes her cell lying on the kitchen island, an idea forms in her head, and unable to shake it, she puts the glass down before grabbing her cell, and pressing a number that's been seared into her brain for the past three years.
"It's Sam, leave a message." His monotone message on his answering machine greets her at one in the morning.
"Hey, it's me," Andy rolls her eyes at her obvious greeting. "Obviously," she adds. "I haven't heard from you in two days now, and I'm getting worried, Sam." She bites down on her lower lip, willing the tears to subside. "Leo's here tonight, and I just…I don't know what to say anymore to make him feel better, like with you."
Andy walks to the couch, sitting down with one knee bent, resting her chin on it, "I know, Andy McNally – lost for words is something of a contradiction, but there you have it," she smiles a weak smile. "I just really need to know that you're okay, I want you to be okay, Sam. I want us to be okay. Just give me a call, okay? Or even just a text if that's…if that's easier," she croaks out taking a deep breath balancing out her shot nerves.
"I love you," she tells him before ending the call, cradling the cell against her chest, while closing her eyes and hoping that the message reaches him in time.
In time for whatever comes next.