I couldn't resist adding another reflection, this time from Sam's perspective. I'm curious to find out if others viewers – like me – were a bit bewildered by 2x13, when Sam exits the house after the torture/fight scenes. He and Andy have a very emotional exchange, but (perhaps intentionally) it is difficult to decipher. Inferences – many; conclusions – none. The following is my interpretation. Read on and let me know what you think!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue, but I do own two arms – They would gladly give Sam a hug as he stepped off Maggie Wilder's porch.
She had a lion's heart.
He's not sure when he first realized it. Perhaps it was the first day, when she mistakenly arrested him, effectively blowing eight months of undercover work. She wouldn't let him wallow, either. No, she forcibly questioned him in the locker room, intent on capturing the shooter.
Fresh out of the Academy, she was consumed by the drive "to serve and protect." The signs were all there on Day Two. Her concern for Emily was commendable; few cops – and rookies at that – would dwell on the safety of one girl who had the misfortune of being employed by Anton Hill. Her desire to protect took precedence, prompting her to follow him to the parking lot of the Black Penny. Shift may have been over, but her concern didn't have an "off" switch. That should have been his first clue. She had a compassionate heart, through and through.
As they continued to work together, he learned more and more about Andy McNally. Not just Andy McNally, Rookie. Not Andy, daughter of Tommy McNally. He learned about Andy McNally, Person. Partner. Officer of 15th Division. Generous Woman, Unconvincing Prostitute, and Stubborn Mule.
That's what made it interesting. She surprised him at every turn.
He witnessed it, time and time again: Her warm heart took the oath to protect very seriously. Coupled with her copper instincts, that heart helped them solve countless cases. She wasn't willing to believe Dhara stole that ice cream truck simply to get attention, and who knows? Without her efforts, perhaps more teenage girls would have been victims. After the shooting that claimed the life of Kate, an innocent college student, she refused to abandon the investigation until justice was served. She placed her own injury on the back-burner, and no words of wisdom or experience could placate her. The grief she suffered, the helplessness she felt – that was more painful than any physical bruise from a stray bullet.
The list went on: Benny. He was just a kid, really, trying to do right with what he had. She saved his life, only to learn the harsh reality of "witness" versus "evidence." There was that stint at Patrick Murphy's club. She quickly acclimated to her undercover role as a waitress, simply because she could empathize with the bartender. Something about a classic Scorpio? He couldn't remember the exact phrasing. And then there was the laundry mat. She ran into that damn firetrap, exposed beams and burned wreckage be damned, all for the sake and safety of a distraught wife. She sat for hours with a hysterical woman and the charred remains of the late husband, and yet Andy kept her cool. Most recently, of course, was the car accident and the subsequent explosion. She refused to leave that woman, Leslie Atkins, pinned beneath the steering wheel. Instead, she risked her own life to pull Leslie to safety.
Naturally, there was one incident that hit home for Sam. Even deep cover couldn't hide her heart. Officer McNally, not Edie, had walked away from Ricky in the Mermaid Lounge. She turned her back on an armed individual, and she walked away – a cardinal sin in the world of law enforcement – to save him. It was because of that lion's heart that his own heart was still beating. She saved his skin and risked her own life to do so.
A lion's heart. It was one of things he loved – yes, loved – about her, but it was also one of the things that frustrated, exasperated, and worried him to no end.
Lions were fierce. They growled. They clawed. They fought to protect all that they loved. They didn't back down, and in the heat of the moment, they didn't hold back.
Maybe that was why the burden lay so heavily on his shoulders. Because of their relationship – because of him – she had been forced, for the first time, to hold back.
When he exited the Wilder property, his eyes immediately sought McNally. She was there, in uniform, standing in front of the cruiser. More importantly, she was unharmed. Brennan had been telling the truth about that, at least.
He kept his gaze locked on her face as relief coursed through his body. For the first time since Oliver burst through that door, he drew a breath and the oxygen finally seemed to reach his brain. His mind went into cop mode, and his penetrating gaze read her tells, as easily as he might at a poker table.
He could see the emotions broadcasted on her face: Relief, mirroring his own. Then sorrow. Choking, agonizing sorrow. His eyes absorbed as much as they could, before he was forced to look away. Because in an instant, he realized why she was standing outside the house. Orders had been handed down, and she was not allowed to participate in the raid because of him. His body, slowed by injury, vaguely registered disbelief. The knowledge of her immobility nearly brought him to his knees, packing as much vicious power as one of Brennan's punches. It had come to this.
She had taken a backseat, for him. She was unable to perform her job, because she chose him. Their relationship compromised McNally's ability to serve and protect. Lions weren't supposed to hold back when hell broke loose in the jungle. Lions were supposed to be leading the charge. Lions were ferocious and dangerous when it came to things they loved, things that by nature, they were sworn to protect.
And here she was, standing, looking sorrowfully at him? He read the anguish in her eyes, although the dark blue uniform expressly forbade her from revealing emotion. The guilt he felt was overwhelming, stifling, and he had to move quickly around her.
He couldn't bear for her to see him like this. She shouldered her own guilt, no doubt, but it was nothing compared to the self-loathing that lay in the pit of his stomach, overwhelming in potency. He was her training officer, damn it. How could he have been so stupid? You didn't think, Sammy. You put yourself first, and look where that got you.
There were no mirrors in sight, but if he had to venture a guess, he looked like hell… and that was putting it mildly. His temple was throbbing, and while the blood no longer dripped steadily down his face, he could feel the harsh prickle of the wind irritating his open wounds. To top it off, sharp, shooting pain was currently working its way up the length of his arm. He didn't even want to think about the bones in his hand. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Perhaps it was better to dwell on the physical pain than the emotional pain.
After hours of near-darkness, his eyes could barely make out the radius of flashing police lights. He stumbled after Noelle and Oliver. He couldn't have a conversation with McNally – not here, not now. One word to her would have obliterated the restraint to which he was desperately cleaving.
Realistically, they would have to talk about it – where their relationship would go from here. For now, he was content in the passenger seat of his truck. Her feisty nature had temporarily eased the tension in his shoulders. Of course she would bully him, playing to his obvious handicap, if only to assume the driver's seat for one night. The teasing was light, but much-needed, and much-appreciated. The lengths to which this girl would go…
He chalked it up to her lion's heart.
When lions love, they love. And he – Well, he was one lucky bastard.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled onto his street. Parallel parking was a bitch, especially in the snow, but it gave them another good laugh before they exited the truck. She bounded forward, keys in hand, in an effort to unlock the door quickly and prevent any unnecessary snowfall from entering. His mouth tugged slightly, observing her, and in an instant, the emotion of the evening leaked out. As she fiddled with the deadbolt, he called to her, his voice a mere whisper above the swirling wind.
"An-Andy."
She turned, concerned by the falter in his speech. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip, and for a moment, Sam was frozen, trapped by the anxious light in her eyes.
"Is it your hand? Did you – "
"No, I – I'm okay. I just – "
He hesitated on the porch step, exhaling deeply.
"Thank you, Andy. For tonight. For… everything."
He reached forward, and with one hand, he slowly dragged her away from the door. His good arm wrapped around her back, pulling her tightly toward his chest. Warmth spread through his body, and he cleared his throat, fighting a losing battle against the emotion that threatened to escape. Briefly, he rested his cheek on the top of her head. One more tight squeeze, one more exhale, and he released her.
For a moment, she was perfectly still. An endearing vision, he thought: Closed eyes, mussed hair, scarf threatening to blow away in the bitter Toronto air. She was real, and she was here. He was her rock, and she was every bit his.
As they stood on the porch, the words from that tragic afternoon in the rec center echoed in their ears. This time, however, it was Andy to offer the calm reassurance, and she chose a very specific pronoun.
"We're okay, Sam. We're okay."
Thoughts? Suggestions? Itching for another reflection or is that enough for our favorite couple? (It's been a grueling evening for Sam and Andy.) Please review and let me know!