This very little bit was inspired by the Season 4 promo (can't believe we're almost there) and a reread of Power Politics by Margaret Atwood (from which I derived the title and the opening, closing, and summary quotes. Please, read it. Read everything she's ever written). It's possible that I'll write a second part to this, maybe later in the season if things go favorably, but for the time being I'm marking it as complete. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rookie Blue, Power Politics, or any other medium of culture/entertainment that may appear in this work. Two lines of dialogue that appear here are from the S4 promo.


We are hard on each other
and call it honesty,
choosing our jagged truths
with care and aiming them across
the neutral table.


On her third day back - days one and two consisting of debriefing and a far-too-lengthy visit with the shrink - she spots him across the station. He looks different.

Lean, for one thing.

Not the six-months-under look to which she's recently resigned herself when she looks in the mirror, her face gaunt and bordering on sallow; on the contrary, he seems imbued with a healthier glow than she can ever recall him possessing. And it's not just a physical change, she swears to herself as her mind feverishly works to process that first momentary glance; there's something newly resolute about his whole disposition. The way he stands beside the coffee machine, chatting with some officer Andy's never seen before when he suddenly leans in and...

Well. She's always felt it was a little dramatic to feel betrayed at the thought of one's ex moving on - it's their right, she would think to herself as her girlfriends in high school and college would bemoan their former paramours' activities - but now that she's experienced it, that unbearable sensation of her stomach plunging to her feet, of shock and disappointment and vague humiliation... she gets it. The 'moving on' part isn't the problem in and of itself, she realizes from her place behind the doorway, still invisible to Sam and his new... whatever she is. The problem is that it's a way of rejecting her all over again.

"Ouch."

The interrupting voice makes her jump, and she turns abruptly to find Nick, who's apparently witnessed the kiss as well.

She scoffs despite knowing damn well that there's little she can conceal from him at this point. "What?" she hisses, hoping to convey both that she doesn't care and that she'd like him to please keep it down. (If she's really lucky, he won't point out the two somewhat contradict each other.)

Nick shrugs. "Hell of a 'welcome back', that's all."

(He has that look on his face that he gets whenever he feels uncomfortable; in his attempt to express understanding while keeping things light, the sympathetic smile has a tendency to come off as smarmy. Usually, Andy recognizes his intent and appreciates the effort, but right now she just wants to smack him.)

"It's fine," she mutters, knowing full well that it's anything but. "He can do what he wants."

"He know you're back on duty yet?"

Relentless today, aren't we? she considers replying. Instead, wanting to put an end to this conversation as quickly as possible, she simply shakes her head.

Nick grins again, and Andy curls her fingers tight against her palm to refrain from letting her fists fly. "Wonder how long that'll last once he does." He about-faces and heads down the hall before Andy can ask him to at least go in there and get her some coffee.

She sighs as quietly as she can muster before turning to follow him, not seeing Sam look up and catch sight of her as she departs.


"I don't get it," she pants to Traci for the fifth time since they've commenced their run. (She's had a day to process, and denial has evolved into anger. Not that she's grieving, because that would be ridiculous, but she just might be rocking the five stages all the same.) "He says he loves me, wants to make it work, and then..."

"And then you took off," Traci points out once more, her patient tone marred with an edge that wasn't there the first four times this conversation took place. "He didn't know when you'd be coming back. Or if you'd want anything to do with him. He figured it was you saying you were done."

"I know," she mutters, leaning over with hands on bent knees. Intellectually, she fully understands that his actions make sense, and while she doesn't regret accepting the task force, it's honestly not like she expected him to sit around pining for her. She wants him to be happy, whatever that takes. But her heart, with its tendency to eschew all reason and logic when it comes to him... They always come back to each other. She's long accepted that; can't believe he's forgotten.

"He just looked so... I can't describe it," she says as they pick up the pace again.

"What, happy?" Traci inquires between ragged breaths.

"That's the thing." Andy squints against the sunlight that's passing through the trees flanking their path. "I know what he looks like when he's happy, and if he were, that would be one thing, but he wasn't. He was... peaceful, you know? Like, post-lobotomy peaceful."

She's seen him exuberant and silly, furious and devastated. (Not to mention just about everywhere in between.) But not like that; never with the fire in his eyes reduced to ash.

Traci pauses to take a swig from her water bottle before responding. "Nothing wrong with just being content. He's doing fine."

They keep running in lockstep, Andy silent as she contemplates her friend's words. Traci's right; there's nothing wrong with it for someone who pursues a life that's quiet and uneventful. But 'content' is not Sam, and much as she likes to pretend otherwise, 'fine' is nowhere near enough.


They're walking out to the sally port at the same time after shift a couple days later, when Cruz is off; the hallway's so narrow that it would actually be more awkward to ignore each other than to attempt small talk. After exchanging polite congratulations on their respective accomplishments over the past six months, he offers her a ride to the Penny. It's probably just to have something else to say, which occurs to Andy as she's accepting and realizes they're now condemned to continue this little song and dance for another several minutes. As he pushes open the door, she frantically makes a mental list of topics to get them through the drive without fear of awkward silence. (Weather. Hockey. That competitive taxidermy show Gail's obsessed with right now - fine, she's truly hoping it doesn't come to that.)

Once they're both in the truck, though, doors slammed and seatbelts buckled, he fixes his eyes to the steering wheel and remarks, "Shame you were gone so long."

"Doesn't look like you missed me that much," she retorts without thinking.

He looks up at her with a start, clearly indignant. "Excuse me?"

Over the course of a fairly brief and rather reckless trip (Andy loses count of the number of times her body lurches toward the dashboard as Sam slams on the brakes, the seatbelt cutting almost painfully into her clavicle), everything comes up. Everything. How she went to the fishing cabin and moved in with Callaghan; how he pushed her toward him, told her 'it was what it was' and never told her a thing -

("I tried!" he yells at one point.

"Oh yeah? What, before I was holding a grenade? Care to enlighten me?" she shoots back.

"You asked what was holding me back from undercover," he retorts. "'You.' I said 'you', remember?"

Her eyes widen, aghast. "You were serious? God, Sam, fine. I'll rephrase. You never told me a thing without turning it into a damn joke immediately after!")

- and it just keeps getting worse. Every disagreement, every conflict that they'd swept under the rug previously is exposed, strewn about the cab of the truck and clogging the air between them. They're both so far on the defensive that at one point they're both screaming over one another, barely able to coherently express more than, "Well, you…!" before the other angrily interrupts.

They've ceased to speak by the time they pull up to the Penny; Andy suspects it's more likely that they're exhausted with the whole thing (and one another) than that they've reached any kind of détente. After Sam turns off the ignition, they sit motionless for a minute before she quietly confides, "You broke my heart."

(That's what it all comes down to; everything they've been yelling about is extraneous.)

"You got me back," he eventually replies. She's about to say she never meant to hurt him, and for Christ's sake when are they going to stop keeping score, when for a split second he looks at her with enough longing and regret to make her heart seize. As quickly as it appears, though, it's replaced with the comfortably numb expression he's been wearing around Cruz, everything he's ever felt for Andy neatly painted over once more. "Coming in?"

She shakily climbs out of the truck after him, figuring that's that (and at least they're in a place with nearly infinite booze), but he stops and turns to her well short of the entrance.

"I just wanted something to be easy for once," he says softly. "Safe. You understand?"

She opens her mouth to protest before realizing that she most certainly does, and has no reason or right to fault him for it. So she nods wordlessly, and he murmurs, "Okay."

As she watches him walk through the front door, she remains in the parking lot where they started and ended and hurled themselves into limbo. She's never fought with anyone like she fights with him; has never wanted to fight for anyone like him. She'd stake her life on the feeling being mutual. But not yet, she accepts as she enters the bar, seeking out her friends and deliberately ignoring the (admittedly insipid) smile Sam is offering Cruz over by the pool table.

Not yet.


If I love you
is that a fact or a weapon?