a/n: Thank you, thank you again, to all those who reviewed this chapter.


Chapter 4: Chasing demons


Andy refuses medical attention. Of course. Claims that she is okay. The medics quickly check her over, it doesn't look like her ribs are broken, but there will be some hefty bruising, some tenderness. Made her promise that should she battle to breathe, or have sharp, stabbing pains, she needs to go to hospital. Stat. She nods, promises.

Insists that she wants to go back to the station, despite Luke's protestations that she should be home, in bed, resting.

But, Andy, is Andy. Stubborn. Strong. Determined. Luke gives in, drives her to the station. Guides her out of the car and gingerly helps her to the locker room, gives her a light kiss on the forehead. Goes back to his office, his job, his career.

Smiling wanly, she edges into the changing area, slowly peels off her uniform, climbs into the shower. Alone. Finally. She lets the tears she has been holding in stream in silence, mingling with the rushing water. She turns, slides down the wall, grasping her side painfully. Her legs bent, she touches her forehead to her knees. Mourning the death of the woman she never knew, the woman whose blood still stains her mind. The last look in her eyes, pleading for help.

She thinks she hears footsteps outside the shower stall. Strong, determined steps that halter, falter. Stop. A hesitation, a heavy sigh. Then a rapid movement towards the door.

A few minutes pass, then lighter footsteps, this time all the way to the shower stall.

"Andy," Tracy bends her head around the wall, sees Andy crouched on the floor. "Oh, Andy…" she whispers, kneeling on the dry ground next to her.

"I… I can't get up." Andy mutters, crossing her arms over her breasts.

"Sam thought as much, called me," Tracy admits.

She stands, switching off the shower. Reaching behind her, she grabs hold the worn towel hanging on the hook. Sniffs at it gingerly. Bends down, wrapping the towel around Andy, she slips her arms through Andy's and heaves her up.

Andy, straightening the towel around her, registers what Tracy has said. "Sam?" she asks, quietly.

"Yeah. He didn't think that you would have a spare uniform here. Managed to scrounge up a pair of uniform pants and a T-shirt for you. He didn't say much, just he thought that perhaps I should come help."

Moving slowly over the bench, Andy sinks down, clutches at the worn, washed out t-shirt. Lifts it to her nose, breathes in deeply. Sam.

Tracy, making sure she is okay. Well, as okay as she can be, eases out of the locker room.

Sam is leaning, nonchalantly (so he thinks) against the wall. Stands up straighter as Tracy exists the locker room. Tracy smiles reassuringly at him. "You were right. She's just getting dressed. Should be out shortly."

Nodding, he moves away from the door. Doesn't want her to think he is hovering.


Luke sighs, heavily, picks up his already cold coffee, takes a gulp and grimaces. It sucks, he thinks, as he shuffles the papers around his desk. He knows that he looks like the bad guy, he is always the bad guy, he puts his job, his career before Andy. And, maybe he does. Doesn't mean he cares for her any less. Hell, he dropped everything – including the current case he is working on – when he got the call from Peck, saying that Andy had been injured. Made sure she was okay, wanted to take her home, but she insisted on coming in (and if there is one thing he knows with certainty, no-one argues with Andy).

The officers and the detectives, they just look at things different, you know. Okay, so, if he is honest with himself, perhaps he could have handled the whole Benny thing better. How was he to know that the kid would die? The doc said it would be routine. Yes, so his drive to put a murderer away may have swayed his opinion, but the evidence that kid was marching around with was vital. And, if Andy looked at it rationally, Benny's death was not in vain. That killer went away for two murders, instead of just one. Won't be seeing the light of day for quite some time. But, that's part of the problem, isn't it… Andy isn't rational, she's emotional…. Highly emotional.

And then there is her first kill. Did she and Swarek (oh yes, he saw those sidelong looks) really think that he didn't want to be the one to comfort her, to hold her tight, to wipe her tears away? But, again, it comes down to the nature of their jobs. Andy had done her job. She had gotten the bad guy, they saved the girl. But then, there was the scene, and the bones, all of those bones, other victims who needed to be remembered, whose deaths needed to be catalogued, whose lives needed to be investigated. So, he did his job. Is still doing his job. Leaves Swarek to be the knight in a shiny black and white patrol car.

The fact of the matter is, he, Luke, is a detective. At least that what his pay-grade and job description says. The police officers, now, they get to swoop in, cover the scene, arrest people, uncover murders, stop crimes – they are the superheroes of the division. The detectives, they are the workers, the investigators. They are the ones that mull over the scene, check out the facts, make sure the case sticks.

And that's the whole crux, isn't it? That's his job. Swarek's job, as a senior officer, as a training officer - look out for the rookies, teach the rookies, protect the rookies. And for the last six months, Andy has been Swarek's rookie, his responsibility.

So, he defers to Swarek, will stay here and do his job, leave Swarek to his - looking after their girl.

Let's not kid. He knows he shares Andy with Swarek. He is her partner, was her TO, her go-to-guy. But, she has chosen him, Luke. She lives with him. She loves him?

Oh, there is no denying that there is chemistry between Andy and Swarek, you would have to be deaf, and blind, and mute, not to know. And, his occupation demands that he is a keen observer.

But, he reasons, Everyone has their Sam Swarek, that one person that makes you smoulder, that makes you burn, just by looking at you. Those relationships, that passion, can never last. He, himself is living proof of that, got burned badly with that one, didn't he. That's the trouble with playing with fire.

He shakes his head, shifts the memories that have settled there, allowing them to once more to hide below the surface.

He and Andy, well, they have chosen the safe option, the comfortable option. And, they are happy… Aren't they, he asks himself.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he taps the keyboard, bringing his computer back to life. Work to do. Crimes aren't going to solve themselves, now are they?


Andy pushes herself up off the bench. Takes a deep breath and leans forward for a moment. A wave of dizziness and nausea floods her already aching system. She didn't exactly lie when she told the medic she wasn't in much discomfort; she just kind of evaded the truth. Her modus operandi really, isn't it… that evasion of truth.

She straightens up, clutches her ribs. Takes another moment, edges towards the door. Pulls it open and walks out, her head held high.

Doesn't notice Sam slipping out of the shadows and into the squad room behind her, easing into his chair like he has been there all along.

Andy moves slowly across to the counter, pours herself a glass of water. Tracy reaches to help her, stopped by a quick, determined shake of Sam's head.

Putting down the glass, Andy seeks out Jerry, sees him perched on the edge of Sam's desk. "I'm ready," she says quietly, firmly. Glances are exchanged over her head, Jerry to Sam, Sam to Frank, Frank to Luke, back to Jerry. Oblivious, she says again, slightly louder, firmer, controlled: "I'm ready. You know that the first few hours are the most important in any case. That is the time you are most likely to get the suspect, the best time to get a clear picture from any eye-witness." Her hooded eyes bore into Sam's. "The golden hours, right Sam? You taught me that."

Looking to Jerry and Frank, she adds, "Right now, I am the best eye-witness you got. Perhaps there is something I know that can help. You need to question me. You have too. Forget who I am. Right now, I'm the best shot you have at finding this killer."

She turns to Sam, imploring him to back her up, to support her, Sam stares at Luke, raises his eyebrow, brothers bonded by fear, by concern, by responsibility, by…

Luke shrugs, pushes off the decision to the senior officer. Frank and Jerry wait, "What do you think, Sammy?"

Biting back what he really thinks, Sam swallows thickly. Stands up, hands resting on his hips, shifts his weight, "McNally is right. Like it or not, we need her statement. The sooner, the better."