The emergency room at Toronto General Hospital was surprisingly empty when the paramedics wheeled McNally through the automatic double doors. Sam was quickly shooed to the waiting area with the assurance "We'll let you know as soon as we know."
He collapsed into a floral print chair between an elderly woman wearing an oxygen tank, knitting a pair of booties, and a sullen teen listening to death metal at a volume that would not be contained by his headphones. He buried his head in his hands, leaning forward so his aching eyes stared down at the tops of his shoes.
Shoes that were streaked with blood.
He leapt up and just made it to the garbage before the Boston Cream doughnut and coffee he'd shared with McNally that morning came spewing back out of his mouth. "Sir?" a petite blonde nurse in yellow and pink scrubs handed him a damn cloth and waited until he'd cleaned off his face before informing him in gentle voice. "Andy is going in to surgery right now. There's damage to her kidneys and maybe her spleen as well. If you like I can show you the way to the operating waiting room, the Doctor will update you as soon as we know anything more."
Surgery. Sam took two steps in the direction the nurse had turned and then came to a halt. He knew he would lose her someday, probably to Callaghan, but it wasn't going to be today and it wasn't going to be like this. It couldn't be. He gasped for air. The waiting room walls seemed to close in around him and getting oxygen was like trying to breathe freely in a vacuum. He had to get out of there. "I'm sorry..." he turned 180 degrees and made a beeline for the exit.
He started to run the second his feet hit the pavement outside the ER. No destination in mind he sprinted as if hell itself was biting at his heels, driven by adrenalin and a need to put as much distance between himself and Toronto General Hospital. He ran full out, not noticing or caring about the strange looks from pedestrians, until his breath came in desperate, ragged gasps. A mile away from the hospital he slowed to a jog, long even strides, letting the pounding rhythm of his feet on the pavement wipe out any thoughts. Each step beat out a single tattoo. She. Will. Be. Fine. She. Will. Be. Fine. She. Will. Be. Fine.
When he was too exhausted to take another step he leaned against a mailbox and hailed a cab. If the driver thought it was strange to see an out of breath, blood stained cop flagging down a taxi, he did an admirable job of hiding it. "Where to?" Sam gave his address and slumped back against the dingy grey seat.
The cab ride was over too quickly. He threw a twenty at the driver not bothering to wait for change and dragged his sorry self up the stairs to his third floor apartment. He shucked his uniform and tossed it carelessly on the floor by his bed. The part of his brain that was able to process ideas in a semi logical manner reminded him that the blood would come out best now, and if he left it too long it wouldn't come out at all. He scooped up the whole lot, shoes and all, leaving only his belt, gun and radio and threw it in his kitchen sink. He flipped the tap on to cold and let it run.
He probably looked ridiculous, standing naked in his kitchen, watching his sink fill with cold water that rapidly turned pink as it soaked through the dirty fabric; he didn't have the energy to care. When the sink was nearly overflowing he turned the water off and headed for the shower.
Twenty minutes later he was clean, dry and dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple white shirt. He slipped his Glock into an ankle holster and pocketed his wallet. His cell phone showed seven missed calls.
He listened to each, deleting them one at a time until he got to the fourth message. It was from Boyko and it settled like ice in the pit of his stomach.
"Swarek, where the hell are you? The store clerk says the guy you collared isn't the one. What the hell happened over there? Call me."
Sam stood frozen as the next three messages, all from the station wondering where he'd disappeared to, played into his ear. Andy was in the hospital, having surgery because he'd let a perp get away, and they hadn't even got the right guy.
It wasn't possible.
He'd seen the man, looming over her. She'd been fighting him, hadn't she? His brain stuttered as he tried to recall the scene. The perp was wearing dark colours. Green maybe? What had the man he'd cuffed worn?
Sam didn't know. His mind refused to fill in the blanks. All he could see when he closed his eyes and tried to picture the scene was Andy. Her pale face, the steadily growing pool of her blood on the white and green linoleum, and her dark eyes pleading with him to make the pain stop.
She wasn't his type, but he cared about her. More than he'd cared about anyone in a long time. And she'd been hurting. It was all he'd been able to see. All he could comprehend. And now he may have assaulted and arrested an innocent bystander. A man tried to help in a time of crisis and Sam rewarded him by tackling him to the ground, breaking his nose and cuffing him to a door.
Serve, protect, and don't screw up. He snorted. Yeah, right.
A/N: Thanks for the love everyone! I am trying to get this finished before the new episode on Thursday. Please keep the reviews coming :D