A/N: I had real problems with characterisation here. Sam is a nightmare to get a handle on. Ben Bass is amazing - half of what Sam says, he says with his facial expressions. I hope I got it even close to the mark. Any suggestions for improvements are really welcome.
She went with Luke to his place that night. He wasn't busy with work. They discussed moving in to the new house together – he told her his offer had been accepted. She asked for a timetable, ostensibly so she could give notice on her apartment, but really she was giving herself a date on what felt like imprisonment.
When they made love later, and it was just that from him, making love, all gentle caresses and sweet kisses, she tried very hard to keep her mind on Luke and off the fact that the one kiss Sam had given her whilst they were undercover, whilst she was running on fear and adrenaline, had aroused her more than this whole … charade. She was so tired afterwards that she fell asleep almost immediately, but less than four hours later she was awake again; shaking, heart pounding after nightmares of Sam's lifeless face and blood soaked body. She stumbled from the bed, not caring if she woke Luke. She needn't have worried, he slept like a log, especially after sex. She spent the night much like the one before – staring zombie-like at the TV, but this time she slid back into the bed just before the alarm sounded so that Luke wouldn't know anything was wrong. As he woke, he turned and wrapped an arm around her, kissing her sleepily.
"Morning", he mumbled.
"Morning", she replied. She kissed him on the forehead in what she hoped was an affectionate gesture, before sliding out from under his arm and heading for the shower.
She tried not to think about how trapped she had felt by his embrace.
It wasn't until parade, when she saw Sam again, that the fear began to dissipate. It wasn't until they were in the squad car, where she could look at him, or at least keep him in the corner of her eye without it being weird, suspicious, that she began to feel at peace. To know that he was alive. It was at odds with the way she normally felt around him, at turns pissed off and anxious and unsure of herself and then completely calm, accepted and accepting, and always, always a hair's breadth off half aroused.
But as soon as he was out of her sight, the gnawing anxiety returned.
She carried on only managing to sleep a couple of hours a night until the last shift of her week. The same nightmare, every night, again and again and again. Lifeless brown eyes staring up at her again, and again, and again. By that point, she was running on empty – caffeine pills and coffee all that stood between her and keeling over from lack of sleep. So she decided that drastic measures were in order. She was going to the Penny and she was going to drink until she passed out. She knew it wasn't really a good idea, she knew it was probably the way her dad had started on his long road to alcoholism, but at that point she didn't care. She hadn't lied that night to Sam. She was tired of being scared, and now she was scared all the time, even more so than before, and she was just plain tired. So tired she couldn't eat, so tired she felt nauseous all the time. All she wanted was a night of sleep without visions of Sam's corpse.
But she still wanted to make sure that no one knew anything was wrong, so instead of sitting at the bar with the older cops and ploughing her way through a load of whisky, she did shots of tequila with the other rookies and tried to drop the impression of a zombie she'd been doing for the last few days. She laughed. She talked too much and too loud. And she flirted with pretty much anybody and everybody. At one point, Sam grabbed her.
"Did you have a fight with Callaghan or something?" he asked, and even in her drunken state, she could hear the combined concern and hope mingled in his voice, or maybe that was just something she imagined because it was what she wanted him to feel. For some reason, she found his question incredibly funny and pretty much laughed in his face. She saw the anger this reaction caused, even eight shots of tequila to the wind, saw his defences go up, saw him getting ready to hide it with a flippant, half-bitter half-mocking comment.
"No. Luke is perfect, as always. Luke," and here she broke off with a bitter (to her ears) laugh "is always perfect. Ev-er-y-thing is perfect."
She could see the storm brewing behind is stone-faced mask. To forestall his next comment, which would no doubt have lead to an argument and them both being pissed off, she placed a hand on his chest. She saw a muscle in his cheek twitch.
"Come on, Sam. Next round's on me. What do you want?"
She looked up at him through her lashes, half-smiling and bit her lip in unconscious imitation of just after he'd kissed her at the Mermaid Lounge. He shook his head in disbelief,
"You've had enough. Come on."
They'd been by the door already and he manhandled her out quickly enough that she could barely make any protest and that no one noticed them leave except Gail – and all she did was smirk and sip her drink.
"What are you doing, Sam?"
"Taking you home."
He pretty much dragged her over to his truck and pushed her inside. She gave up on fighting. She had scotch at home, she could just as well drink there. This way no one would notice how much she was drinking. Except Sam, apparently. And this way, maybe she could get him to come inside, stay. Maybe if there were nightmares even after as much alcohol as she intended to consume, seeing him immediately might calm her down enough to get back to sleep. A couple of minutes into the drive, Sam glanced over at her.
"Everything all right with your dad?"
She frowned at him, unsure why he was asking, "Yeah, at least I think so, as well as can be, I expect. Sober, which is something. And over the shakes."
She realised she was rambling and shut up, turning to stare out of the window.
"That's good. So what's eating you?"
She started laughing again, and didn't stop until they pulled up outside her building. "What's eating me? What's eating me, Sam? What are you, five?"
He smirked a bit. "Maybe, but it doesn't stop me being right. Something's wrong. I've never seen you act like this, so what is it?"
"Nothing, Sam. Nothing's wrong." She couldn't tell him that it was nightmares about something that hadn't even happened. That her behaviour was due to what was now an irrational fear of his death. She couldn't say it without feeling stupid – and without letting him know she cared about him more than he knew. More than she'd even admitted to herself.
"So why were you acting like that?"
"Acting like what, Sam?"
"Drinking too much, flirting with every guy in the place – you've been out of it for days, and now this, McNally? What's brought it on?" He was angry now, she could see, and she was reacting to it in kind. Grateful to feel something other than mindless terror for the first time in a week.
"I was having some fun, Sam, something you seem to know nothing about. It's really none of your business that I do in my off time, with my friends."
"I thought we were friends." He smirked, let out a short bark of laughter. "I thought that was what you wanted, but excuse me, McNally. Excuse me for giving a damn, when you are clearly upset about something."
"I'm fine, Sam. There is absolutely nothing wrong." It was a lie. They both knew it. She was a terrible liar, and she was even worse when she was drunk.
"McNally ..." He sighed, paused as if collecting himself to give another of his great speeches. Right now she really didn't want to hear it. It wasn't going to make her feel better, it wasn't going to make the nightmares stop. Reminding her of how wonderful he was was only going to make her more dependent on him. "Whatever it is, getting out of your head like this isn't going to help. I know it seems like it will, but all it does is -"
She cut him off "Sam! Would you just stop? Stop pushing! You're always pushing me and it's too much. I've told you I'm fine, what more do you want from me?"
She saw the breath he took to answer her, but she couldn't stop feeling angry at him. If the anger went, all there was left was the fear, and she couldn't cope with feeling it any more. She just couldn't cope. So she said the only thing she was absolutely sure would shut him up.
"Luke asked me to move in with him. And I said yes."
She saw the look on his face, for just a split second; grief and rage and hatred and regret and other things she couldn't put a name to. Or maybe it was just a product of her imagination. Then it was replaced with the happy-go-lucky, self-mocking smirk she'd come to hate.
"Congratulations, McNally. Guess the benefits'll be more frequent now."
She didn't dignify his jab with a response. She was suddenly achingly, achingly tired.
"Good night, Sam. I'll see you on Monday."
