Author's Note: Okay, I suck at hiatuses. I've already started CH. 7. It's just no good for me :) This chapter was hard to write, and hard to read over and over again. So, I need to thank the following people for helping me out, editing, distracting, opining, etc.: rookiebluefan89, cocobean2206, thismomentisstardust, SoWritten. Without you guys, this chapter would have been...much more irritating for me *L*

Also, I feel the need to warn you, this is not a particularly cheerful chapter. That being said, if you're having a bad day, maybe save it for tomorrow :) My feelings won't be hurt. But please, review either way :)

*** Also, I've made some revisions to the timeline, starting with Chapter 1. Either everyone was so engrossed in the story that they didn't realize I made some HUGE errors in spacing, or everyone was just too kind to tell me. Whatever the reason, since I saddled myself with a real date in the flashback for Ch. 5, I backtracked and fixed everything up until that point. Hopefully, everything is back on track now. Sorry for the confusion.


Andy opened her eyes. The room was still dark; it was still very early. She grabbed her phone and clicked it on. 6:12 AM. She took a deep breath and burrowed deeper under the blankets, pressing back against Sam. His thighs were stacked up behind hers, warm and hard with muscle, and his arm was banded across her front, hand curved around her rib cage. Again, she looked at her phone, this time at the call log and text messages. No calls, but a couple of texts between one and one-thirty, which meant that if he'd sent them when he left Sarah's, he wouldn't have rolled into town until almost 3:30.

She stroked a hand over his arm gently, not wanting to wake him, but feeling the need to touch him all the same. If she let him sleep, he wouldn't be up for hours. But she was awake now. She jumped a little in surprise as her stomach growled. Awake and hungry apparently. She bit her lip as she pulled her legs away from his, androlled carefully out from under his arm. Andy looked at him as she stood and watched as he pulled his arm back and rolled over onto his stomach, face in the pillow.

She tiptoed out of the room and into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Then she walked to the living room, put on her shoes and threw her coat on over her pajamas before snagging the keys to his truck out of his jacket pocket. She didn't even let the door click when she let herself out.

It was a short ten minute drive to the coffee shop she liked, and when they'd filled her order, she stacked the bag with the doughnuts in between the cups in the carrier and walked it out to the truck. She set it on the passenger seat, keeping a careful eye on it as she put her belt on and pulled out into traffic. After a second thought, she reached out and kept her hand on one of the lids, holding the whole mess back from the edge. Even as much as he liked her, she knew he'd lose it if she dumped coffee in his truck. Soon enough, though, she was home and pulling the truck back into the same exact space outside her building.

Andy went around to the passenger side to grab their breakfast and something in the backseat caught her eye. She pulled out the food and set it on the hood of the truck, keeping an eye on it to make sure it didn't slide off, and then opened the rear door. Wedged in behind the driver's seat was a banker's box, complete witha lid. She reached in and dragged it forward, setting the cover aside gently. Inside was a mess; photographs, newspaper clippings, a ceramic handprint (Andy smiled at this), a few yellowed letters, a few comic books that looked like they were maybe thirty years old, and a few other odds and ends, all tossed together haphazardly. She glanced up at her apartment, feeling a little guilty for snooping, and then took out the first fragile-looking newspaper clipping. 'Wife, Mother of Two Dies in Car Accident.' Andy sucked in a quick breath and lowered her eyes to scan the article quickly, unable to help herself. She'd gotten halfway through the first sentence when a car alarm went off across the street.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, crunching the article between her fingers as her head snapped up and her eyes went to the offending vehicle. The alarm was shut off quickly by the owner who climbed right in and took off. But by that point, she'd lost her nerve. She flattened the article out as much as she could and then attempted to put it back the way she found it. Then she put the lid on and slid the box back behind the driver's seat and closed the doors.

When she let herself back into her apartment, she slipped her shoes and coat off and made her way back down the hallway to the bedroom. Sam was still face down in bed, sheet bunched up low around his waist. He'd fallen into bed naked, not an uncommon thing. Her eyes moved appreciatively over him, over the lines of muscle and dusky skin, heavily shadowed in the dark of morning. And then Andy couldn't help herself. She wanted him awake. She smiled to herself as she crouched down on his side of the bed and gently ran a hand over his head, holding back a grin as the corner of his mouth turned up briefly.

She bent close to his ear and whispered, "Wake up." Again came the almost-smile and she leaned close, pressing her lips against his cheek. "Wake up," she said again, against his skin. This time, he opened his eyes. For a moment, they rested on her face, and then the corners wrinkled a little in a smile. He slid his hand behind her head and pulled her close for a quick kiss.

"Get up here," he mumbled against her mouth.

"I brought you coffee," she said, grinning as she set it on the bedside table. "And doughnuts." He snatched the bag from her hand and tossed it over the other side of the bed. As he flipped onto his back, he pulled her down on top of him, groaning loudly in jest as she settled her weight along the length of him and her hipbones dug into his. He leaned his head back on the pillow and she folded her arms over his chest and smiled down at him. "Something I can do for you?"

His hands stroked down her back, over her butt. "I think we have some unfinished business."

She set her chin down on her arms. "Oh yeah?" She adopted a thoughtful expression. "I don't really remember where we left off."

"I think it was right about here…" He moved his hands down to the backs of her thighs, pulling them apart, hitching them up, fitting her body more intimately to his. She wouldn't exactly call it a gasp, that noise she made, but it made him laugh low in his throat like he was proud of himself. And he arched his hips pressing himself up against her.

Andy's eyelids sunk a little then, and her face grew hot as she tipped it down to Sam's. She slanted her mouth hard across his, thrusting her tongue against his purposefully. His hands moved from her thighs to her neck, cupping, fingertips rubbing circles deep into her skin. His dark eyes were open, watching her, and as they looked into her, the heat made her go all molten inside.

As they crept up his chest, her fingers splayed wide across the muscle, digging in when he arched against her again. Then Andy dragged her mouth from his, down over his chin, scraping her teeth possibly a little rougher than usual against the skin at his throat.

One of his hands slid between them and untangled the drawstring of her flannel pants, and then he was pushing them down, using both hands, and she was kicking them away, off the side of the bed. He reached between them again and dragged the sheet out of the way, and she sat up, straddling his thighs. He used an elbow to push himself up into a sitting position and then his hands bunched in the hem of her shirt and he nodded to her, smiling expectantly. "Arms up, McNally."

She grinned back but obeyed, raising her arms above her head as he skimmed the shirt up over her ribs and breasts and lifted it up over her hands. He tossed it aside, and then his hands glided back down over her, over the tender skin of her inner arm. As goosebumps rose on her flesh, he laughed softly to himself when she instinctively leaned closer, aching for the warmth of his body. His arms went around her, lifting her, pressing her against him; chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip. As sensitive flesh rubbed against sensitive flesh, they both moaned, open mouths finding each other in a suddenly desperate quest.

As Sam lifted, hands grasping and kneading her flesh, she was reaching between them, adjusting, lining up. When he lowered her onto him, Andy tore her mouth from his and for a long second, their eyes locked onto each other. Then he leaned in, nipping at her lower lip as his hands started moving her again, this time with slow, torturous purpose.

She framed his face with her hands, stroking down over his hair and cheeks to his jaw; fingers moving to interlock behind his neck. And then she pulled her mouth away, tipping her head back a little as she sucked in a huge breath, air hissing as it moved through her teeth. Sam's mouth sank down onto her shoulder, tongue swirling over to the dip where her collarbones met. And then his hands rose; he didn't need to move her anymore. She was doing that on her own, using the muscles of her legs and hips to roll and thrust against him; picking up speed as his hands glided up over her ribs.

Sam's teeth grazed the side of her breast, a little sharper than she expected and she sucked in a quick breath, immediately feeling his tongue smoothing over the spot. Andy dug her nails into his shoulder. Giving back in equal measure, she dragged them forward over the muscle and he let out a loud moan as red stripes rose on his skin. And then his hand returned to her hips, gripping them tightly, lifting and dropping her, faster and harder, barely pausing when her body jerked hard against him. Andy's head snapped back as a cry was ripped from her lips, then it fell heavily on to his shoulder, and her breath came loud and hot in his ear. And then, as her hands moved up his neck, holding him to her tightly, she tilted her hips forward, arching in a little stretch and Sam hurtled over the edge.

.

The coffee had cooled. Sam stuck both cups in the microwave and snagged a couple of napkins from the cupboard and carried everything back to the bedroom. Andy was sitting leaned up against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles, unabashedly naked, and she was eating a doughnut, chocolate glaze stuck in the corner of her mouth.

At the sight of him, she grinned. "I think we should do that every morning."

Sam smirked as he pushed the blankets down to the foot of the bed and climbed in next to her, passing her a cup. "I almost woke you up when I got here last night."

She scooted over until her shoulder touched his and shrugged. "I wouldn't have minded." He looked over at her and she sunk her teeth into her lower lip, raising her eyebrows suggestively. "I like waking up with you."

He laughed and worked an arm behind her, holding her against his side. "I like it too."

She leaned her head onto his shoulder and traced a finger up over his knee, halfway up his thigh. "Actually," she said slowly. "It was kind of hard to fall asleep without you here last night."

He leaned his head back against the headboard and took a sip from his cup. "Is that your way of saying that you missed me yesterday?"

She lifted her head and gave him an incredulous look. "You wish."

He shrugged, completely deadpan. "Hey, it's okay. You don't need to be embarrassed." But a smile started to work its way across his face towards the end and Andy rolled her eyes.

"I think you're delirious, with hunger. Here." She shoved the second half of her doughnut at him. "Eat this."

He opened his mouth and she stuffed it in, laughing as she smeared chocolate frosting across his face. He chuckled as he chewed furiously, finally swallowing. Then Sam tightened his arm around her neck, pulling her close to wipe his face against hers as she squeaked and pushed at him. Laughing, he handed over a napkin and she scrubbed at her face, twisting out of the way when he licked his thumb and smeared it over her face.

"How was it anyway? Your trip?" He took a deep breath and again, settled back against the headboard. It looked like he was considering the question carefully, and she pulled her knees up, hugging them loosely as she waited.

Finally, he shrugged and wiped his fingers and mouth on a napkin before picking up his coffee. "It was long. And exhausting."

"Why?"

He shook his head and made a dismissive face. "Sometimes Sarah just takes a lot out of a person. She doesn't like to hear the word 'no'."

Andy snorted. "Must be a genetic thing." He smirked at her and reached over, tugging the end of her ponytail. "But really, what did you do?"

Sam took a deep breath in through his nose. "She and her roommate own this used bookstore, kind of near downtown St. Catharines. It actually does pretty well, considering that most people don't read anymore. It's in an old house, three stories, full basement, huge wrap-around porch. The place was falling apart when they bought it, and they've been restoring it, a section at a time. They finally scraped together enough cash to redo one of the upstairs bedrooms. Anyway, she'd been using it as storage and wanted help moving everything out."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad." Andy licked the last little bit of chocolate icing from her fingers.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You weren't there. There was a ton of shit, most of it was garbage; stuff from when we were kids. We spent most of the time moving out boxes and ripping up carpet. I was ready to leave by then, but Sarah wanted to sort through everything. And she didn't want to do it by herself." He grinned suddenly as he snatched up the doughnut bag from between them. "I made her buy me dinner and fill my gas tank first."

Andy smiled and put her chin on her knees, keeping her tone casual and her eyes on her toes as she asked, "So, is that what's in that box in your truck? Stuff from when you were little?"

He'd been reaching in for the second doughnut but the rustling suddenly stopped as he pulled it out and focused on her. "Did you look at it?"

She shook her head. "No." She wasn't sure why she lied, but it came out a breath too fast and for a moment, she was sure he knew.

He looked at her for a moment longer and then nodded. "Yeah, we got everything down to five boxes. She made me take one." He flashed his dimples at her. "I think she's going to try and get me to take the rest next time." Sam took a swig of his coffee. "Joke's on her. Whatever she gives me is going in the dumpster."

Her brows drew together and she tipped her head a little in confusion. "Why? Don't you want it?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

"Why not? What's the big deal?"

He shrugged and broke the pastry in half and handed her a piece. "No big deal. I just don't want it."

She took it from him, tore off a piece and put it in her mouth. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, looking for some sort of emotion in his expression. "Well, I think you should keep it. You might change your mind."

"I doubt it."

Andy frowned, reaching up to his face, stroking her fingers back through his hair, over his ear. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Again, he shook his head. "Not today." He took a drink of his coffee. "Now, what exactly did we get Nash's kid for his birthday? I don't want to look like an idiot if she says something about it."


January 5 (Two Weeks After She Left)

Andy opened her eyes. In the room next door, she could hear Stone moving around. Andy had been listening to her for more than an hour now. She'd done the same things every morning for the last two weeks. Turned off the alarm, went into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, ran the shower. Five to seven minutes later, the shower turned off, and drawers began sliding out and in as Stone pulled out her clothing and dried and dressed. The television was running the whole time of course; blasting the news, or music, or whatever interested her that morning. She made a couple of phone calls to various co-workers, or maybe one long phone call to her sister or her mother. And then she got out the hair dryer.

That was when Andy usually sat up. Today, she just lay there.

They'd spent every night for the last two weeks in hotel rooms. Andy spent Christmas under the covers at the Holiday Inn in Winnipeg, staring at the television for hours, but not really seeing anything. McBride and Stone asked if she wanted to do anything, if she wanted to go to dinner, or maybe find a movie or just anything to make it a little more bearable. But all she'd wanted to do was stay in bed. If she'd been able to sleep, she would have. So, instead she just laid there, flipping through the channels until she found something that wouldn't make her cry.

They'd been in this particular establishment, a few miles from the Vancouver International Airport, for the last four nights, checking in just in time for New Year's. Things had been only slightly better since arriving in Vancouver. Although both were based here, had homes of their own here, her escorts stayed in the hotel with her. McBride had a room at the end of the hall, and mostly kept to himself, except for random sweeps where he would stop by and poke his head in, checking on them.

Stone, on the other hand, was always around. She and Andy shared adjoining rooms. The first few nights on the road, Andy had tried to keep the doors between the rooms closed, convinced that she needed space to clear her head, time to figure everything out. But when the doors were closed, things got quiet in her room; and she could hear every footstep out in the hall, and every car pulling into the parking lot. Which meant that she could only think about the floor creaking outside her door, or wonder about who was walking from the parking lot up to the building. Or even worse, she'd find herself thinking about Sam, which was infinitely more exhausting.

So, the doors between the rooms stayed open, and Andy listened to Stone snore softly, talk quietly in her sleep, wake up, startled from dreams. And so she could relax; even if she couldn't sleep. Stone never asked about the doors, which Andy was grateful for. However, she did ask about the insomnia, because with the portal open, she could hear Andy moving around and could see the lights from the television bouncing off the walls.

Andy didn't even bother to deny it. It wasn't like she'd been making an effort to hide it anyway. She hadn't made a move to cover the circles under her eyes, or to mask her yawns. They'd go out for breakfast, and afterwards, Stone would work and Andy would crawl back into bed only to drop off into her first of several catnaps of the day. For some reason, she could sleep during the day. Not for long, and not deeply, but the sleep did come.

So today, Andy was waiting. She was just going to stay in bed until her body or brain or whatever it was that decided these things, figured out that it was daylight and let her sleep. So, she kept her eyes closed, waiting.

And today, she wouldn't allow herself to think about Sam. Every passing thought brought on the water works, and she hadn't yet mastered the art of controlling the tears. It had almost been worse, seeing him, saying goodbye. If she hadn't seen him, she might have been able to convince herself that it was a passing thing; that he wasn't everything she'd remembered him to be. Strong, and solid, and the perfect height for her to wrap her arms around. She might have been able to forget the way his hands flattened against her back, the shivers she got when he pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, breath swirling hot over her skin. And that feeling, like she was untouchable. Like when he was next to her, nothing could get to her, no one could hurt her. She blinked twice, and two fat tears rolled out of her eyes and down over the sides of her face, getting lost in her hair.

Stone popped her head in the door. "Time to get out of bed."

Andy rolled over to face the wall, brushing at the wetness on her face with the corner of the sheet. So much for being strong. Stone walked around the bed and yanked on the cord hanging from the curtain rod, snapping the drapes open; letting a harsh blast of light into the room.

"Shit, Jill!" Andy flipped the pillow over her face and pulled the blanket up over it.

"Nope. It's almost eleven. I'm starving and I have to be back here for a conference call in two hours."

"I'm staying in bed today. Order a pizza if you're hungry." When Stone fisted both her hands in the blanket and ripped it off the bed, Andy sprang up, glaring at her. "It's not like I have a job to go to, or people to see, or even a single fucking thing to do today. So just lay off!" She fell back down and again, the pillow covered her head.

Stone took a deep breath and then pulled a cheaply made armchair up to the edge of Andy's bed and sat. She waited quietly for a minute and a half until Andy lifted the pillow to glare at her again.

"Look," she said before Andy could snarl at her again. "I'm only going to let you do this to yourself for maybe another week."

"You do realize that I just lost everything and everyone I ever cared about, right? It's not like I can just forget about it."

Stone held her hand out, examining her nails. "No one's asking you to forget. I'm asking you to act like an adult and take care of yourself. One week. And then things are going to change."

"What things?"

"Well for starters," Stone put her bare feet up on the edge of the mattress and put her hands on her knees. "You're going to start showering. At least every other day. Not just when you start to smell yourself; because I have to spend all day with you, and I notice it before you do." Andy rolled her eyes and dropped the pillow again. "And you're going to start eating. I haven't seen you eat or drink anything more than coffee, a couple of candy bars and a pop tart since I met you."

She stood up and grabbed the pillow, throwing it in the corner. Andy flipped over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "And once you ditch the coffee and the sugar, you'll probably start to sleep again. Which will not only make my nights easier, but you'll feel better, and might actually want to get out of bed in the morning. You see how this plan comes full circle?" Finally, Andy looked at her, all the fight gone from her face. "Good. Get up. You've got ten minutes."


Twenty minutes later, Andy found herself sitting across from Stone in a green vinyl-covered booth at a family restaurant. She'd had requested a quieter corner, and across the dining room, Andy could see a large table of travelers, heavily-laden with small children, and too few parents to properly corral them all. Stone was flipping through the menu; Andy didn't know why. They'd been here three times. She probably knew most of it by heart.

"What are you getting?"

Andy shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not really hungry."

"Big surprise," Stone muttered as the waitress stepped up. "Yes, hi. I'm going to get a cup of the soup and a chicken salad sandwich, please."

She turned to Andy. "And for you?" Andy pulled her cardigan tighter, overlapping the sides, then crossed her arms over it.

"Maybe a piece of pie? Apple."

"No." The waitress looked over at Stone who was pulling tablets and files out of her briefcase. "Don't bring her pie. She's going to have a cheeseburger, with a side of fruit and a big glass of milk." Her tone allowed for no wiggle-room and so the server wrote down the order, took the menus and left. She glanced at Andy's irate expression and shrugged. "Sorry. Changed my mind about the whole 'one week' thing."

"I don't want all that."

"I don't care. You need to start taking care of yourself."

"Like a cheeseburger is healthy," Andy scoffed.

"For someone who's deficient in calories? Yeah, it is. Protein, carbs, fat. Add in the fruit and the milk and you're not doing so bad." She slid a tablet and an expensive-looking pen over to Andy. "This is a working lunch."

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"The same thing I had you do last time. Except this time, you're actually going to do it. I want lists. Marketable job skills, including a rundown of every kind of job you've held. Every university level class you took. We need to start thinking about where to look to find you employment. Also, I want you to start thinking about what we're going to need to do in order for you to start feeling safe at night."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, sooner or later, we're going to find you a permanent residence. And I won't be able to stay in the next bedroom with the doors open every night." Andy ran her hand through her hair as she blushed then folded her arms again. Stone took a deep breath, and her expression softened. "Andy, I really don't mind, but that's not exactly how this thing is supposed to work. So, if you need an alarm system, triple locks on the doors, bars on the windows, let me know, and we'll see what we can work out. But that stuff all takes time, so it's better to know now." She kept digging through her bag.

When she looked up again, Andy was holding the tablet up in front of her; "SAM" was scrawled across the center of the page.

Stone's face was expressionless, her tone unimpressed. "I can't get you that." She started pulling papers out of the folders, stacking them together in a very specific order.

"Then I want a gun."

Stone slowed her movements and looked up at her again. "You're not a cop anymore. And you know the laws about civilians owning handguns."

Andy shrugged. "I want a gun. And don't give me any of that bullshit about private citizens and safety classes and carrying concealed. I know how to handle a gun and I have the right to protect myself. Your people handle all that, right?" she challenged. "I know you can get me the permits and licenses and everything."

They stared at each other a long moment and finally Stone nodded. "Like I said, it'll take a little time." She tapped her nails against the table. "And to get the licenses, you're going to have to actually pick a name." She quirked an eyebrow.

She'd been avoiding this, evading every question, ignoring the very mention of a new identity. It was like, if she could just stay Andy, then maybe there was still a way out, a way back. Picking a new name made it real.

But she needed that gun. Andy set her head in her hands and took a deep breath. "Fine. Let's do it."

"Alright." Stone flipped through her papers, finally pulling out the right one. "I know we've tried this a few times, but let's talk it through once more. Something close enough to your own name so you'll respond when someone says it. Same initials are okay. So…Abby, Annie, Anna, Addy, Allie…"

"Abby." Andy sat back and thought about it. "I think I could be an Abby."

Stone gave her an amused look. "You could be. Last name? We can keep the 'Mc' if you want. McAllister, McArthur, McCormick, McDonald…"

Andy narrowed her eyes. "You're just going alphabetical."

"Seemed easier. But there's probably a thousand different names to choose from. You could be a McBride. Mark's long lost cousin," she said with a grin.

"McAllister is fine."

"You just stopped listening after the first choices, right?" Stone's eyes glittered and Andy felt herself start to smile back, but squelched it.

"Pretty much." Again, her eyes skittered across the room to the family taking up the three tables pushed together. The children had settled down to their food, and the volume had lowered significantly.

"Not going to argue," Stone muttered. "Abigail McAllister. Same middle name." She filled the name in on a few blank forms. Her cell started to ring and her pen kept moving as she pulled it out of her pocket and hit a button. "Stone." She spoke quickly, asking a few questions; where, when, how long. She covered the mouth piece and nodded her head at the tablet. "Get to work. We've got a busy day today."

Andy picked up the pen again, flipping over the sheet with Sam's name on it. Across the top of the next page, she wrote "Skills". Computer skills for sure; data entry, report writing, filing. Interviewing, crowd control, undercover work… Okay, now she was reaching.

Stone hung up the phone and bobbed her eyebrows at Andy. "Well, Abby McAllister. It's your lucky day. Your paperwork just came in."

The server stepped up then and started setting plates and glasses down on the table. Andy waited until she'd left again before she spoke.

"Isn't that soon? You said it could take a few weeks."

"Like I told your friend, I'm good at my job." She squeezed a little lemon into her water. "Plus, you're high priority."

"What does that mean, exactly? My paperwork being in?"

Stone picked up her sandwich. "It means that when we get done here, we're going to go back to the hotel and you're going to shower. Then we're going to head in to the office." She nodded at Andy's plate. "Eat something."

Andy looked down at her food. "It seriously makes me sick to even think about eating this."

"That's because it's been so long since you've eaten anything that didn't come in a foil wrapper. Take a bite. Trust me. Your body will remember."

Andy took a deep breath through her nose and reached for the condiment caddy. "What happens when we get to your office?"

Stone finished chewing and took a sip of water. "First I'll file the papers for your new identity, and after that, we can go and get some pictures taken, get you a new driver's license, birth certificate, the works. We'll sit down and go through the protection agreement. It'll take the rest of today, and maybe a little bit of tomorrow to get through it all." Andy took a bite of her burger, and as she swallowed, her stomach growled, embarrassingly loud. She flushed, but took another bite. She continued to eat quietly for a minute, watching Stone spoon soup into her mouth as she made notes on the paper.

"Then what?" she asked around a mouthful.

"Well, there's still a lot of work to do. We have to deal with the people who are going to be signing your checks, set you up with short-term housing, and start the process to place you permanently." She glanced up and smirked. "Are you feeling better now?"

Andy froze a second and then swallowed the huge mouthful of milk she'd just taken. She glanced down. The burger was gone. Put away in less than three minutes, it was now sitting heavily and satisfyingly in her stomach. She grinned. "Yeah. Better."

Stone nodded. "Good. Fruit next."

Andy stabbed a piece of melon with her fork. "So, how long do you think I'll have to be in short-term housing?"

Stone tipped her head to the side, considering it. "Well, we're moving pretty quickly. I'd hope not more than a couple of weeks."

Andy sat back in the booth, milk glass in hand. "Where are you going to put me?"

"For short-term?"

She shook her head. "No. I mean, where am I going to end up?"

Stone slid the tablet over to her again. "I have a place in mind, but we have some options. We'd like to keep you close; I need to be able to get to you relatively quick. But I'd say up to 100 kilometers of the city limits in any direction. You said you had no connections in Vancouver, right?"

Andy shook her head. "No family. I think I heard that a few people I went to school with moved out this way, but I haven't talked to them in years."

Stone nodded, adding another couple of words to her notes. "I'll take that under consideration."

"What's this for?" Andy tapped her pen on the tablet.

"Make another list. I can't guarantee that I can give you all of it, or any of it for that matter, but if I know what would make you more comfortable, what would help you transition easier, it would really help. Write down anything, size, landscape, favorite stores." She smiled. "Think of it as a brainstorming activity."

Andy stared at her for a few seconds. "You usually just pick for people, don't you? You don't give them an option."

Stone looked back and nodded. "Like I said. We're willing to make concessions for you. Or rather, I'm willing to make concessions for you. And the powers that be generally listen to my recommendations, at least as far as placement is concerned." She picked up the rest of her sandwich. "Now finish up. We've got a lot to do today."


January 9

Sam opened his eyes. His second alarm was jangling loudly, vibrating his cell phone against the nightstand. He tapped a button, making it snooze for ten minutes, and then flipped over and curled his arms under the pillow, pressing his face into it, trying to recapture that quiet peaceful, dreamless state of unconsciousness he'd just woken from.

It wasn't a total one-eighty from where he'd been two weeks ago, but it was better; marginally. Two weeks ago, he'd been barely holding it together; he'd spent the weekend after Andy left in a sort of haze. He'd come home that first night, locked the doors, shut off his phone and then started drinking.

The next Monday, he'd gone into Guns and Gangs and finished his debriefing. He knew he had to stay busy. He had to keep his mind on work, on anything actually, to keep himself from feeling that sharp ache in his chest that he felt every time he looked up, expecting to see her enter the room. He needed to do something with his hands because the first thing he'd done the morning after she left was run all of his laundry through, and when he'd come across one of those tiny shirts she liked to wear to bed, he'd fisted his hands in it, held onto it for entirely too long before stuffing it deep into the bottom of the basket. So, after he'd reread his final statement, gone over the daily reports one last time, and done a closing run-through of everything with Boyd, he'd gone to talk to Frank.

This time, Sam had turned Boyd down without a second thought when he'd mentioned a permanent opening in Guns and Gangs. He wanted to get back to his job; his real job. He wanted to get into a car and drive; work the streets, and fill out reports.

But it was standard protocol for the department to offer a returned undercover operative some recoup time. A paid vacation so that they could reconnect with family, put their lives back in order. Normally it was done after trial, but since Sam wouldn't be called to testify anytime soon, Best was giving it to him early. Except he hadn't really been offering; he'd been ordering.

"Swarek, you need a break. Wherever your head is right now, it isn't here. I can't put you out on the street like this." Best gestured at him and Sam looked down. Out of habit, and because he simply hadn't been thinking, he'd dressed like he'd been dressing for work with Clay and the Malones; wrinkled jeans, a holey T-shirt and a heavier chamois button-down over the top. He hadn't shaved in days, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd used anything other than his fingers to comb through his hair. The dark circles under his eyes probably weren't helping either.

"Frank, I'm fine. I just need to work. I have to do something." Sam realized he was almost yelling, a strangely desperate tone resonating in his voice. He dropped his volume. "Look, I can stay in the barn and help with the case."

"You're not going to do yourself or this case any good if I let you bury yourself in it. So you can either take the time, or you can ride a desk for two weeks. Up to you." Sam just glared at him, loathing the feeling of powerlessness that had been coursing through him the last few days; unable to help Andy, unable to help himself. Frank clapped a hand on his shoulder and turned him towards the door. "Go home; go see your sister. Try to put your life back together. Get back to normal, then come back and we'll talk."

Sam had actually considered trying to explain it. The fact that Sarah couldn't help because she didn't know Andy, had never met her. And that there was absolutely no way she could understand because she didn't know, couldn't know the truth about why Andy was gone.

And the other truth? The one that Sam had been so incredibly reluctant to admit to Best, or even to himself, was that unless Andy was there, there would be no normal. They'd spent too much time together in those three weeks, had spent two months missing each other desperately and waiting for this. For exactly this. For him to be done and home. And now? There could be no normal. This was as normal as it was going to get. But instead of explaining, he'd yelled a little more; accusing Best and the team of everything from criminal negligence to just plain stupidity, getting louder as his arguments weakened. Frank just stared at him the whole time, letting him get it out, managing to look embarrassed and intimidating all at the same time. Finally, realizing he was probably moments away from a reprimand, he'd stormed out of the office and out of the station.

Because he didn't know what else to do, he had driven down to St. Catharines to see Sarah. He hadn't been interested in conversation, and she knew his moods well enough to not push, but she did put him to work. They hadn't made any further progress on the second floor while he'd been undercover, so she let him start on the second bedroom. However, when she'd walked up the stairs the next morning to check on him, she found that not only had he worked through the night, but he'd ripped up a third bedroom as well and was in the middle of taking apart the plumbing in the bathroom. She made him put the pipes back together and then, she'd kicked him out.

And so, he'd come back to Toronto. Mail was opened, bills were paid, then shredded. He cleaned out his truck, changed the oil, checked the fluids, and reorganized his tools. The front and back sidewalks needed shoveling, so he did that. Then he'd gone back inside and cleaned the place from top to bottom. He hadn't slept until it was done. And even then, sleep didn't come easily.

At first, Sam had been convinced that it was her stuff. Her clothes and the pile of hair binders on the corner of his dresser, and her bathroom crap still crammed in next to his in the medicine cabinet and cluttering up his shower. So, he'd gotten rid of them. Dug down into the laundry basket and grabbed that shirt, went through his top drawer to pull out a few random pairs of her underwear, and snatched up every other little thing that was hers. It was all stuffed it into a large brown paper sack and put it down in the basement. Where it'd sat for approximately a half hour until he realized that it was only making him feel worse.

So, it came back up; he'd put everything back where he'd found it. And then, he laid in bed, face-down in the pillow, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat until he fell into a restless sleep.

The next day, he'd decided that he'd already had enough. So he'd put on his clothes, packed his duffel and gotten into his truck, intent on going to work, Frank and his mandatory break be damned. But somehow, instead of pulling into the station, he'd found himself parked in front of Andy's apartment. And then of course, he'd had to go inside.

He still had her key, the one she'd left for him that night so long ago, but the locks had been changed days before. So Sam had flashed his badge at the landlord and he'd opened the door for him. Already, things inside were different. The apartment was cold, empty. Someone had already begun packing. Her personal things had been gathered together; there were boxes stacked against the walls, the throw rug was rolled up, furniture pushed into a corner, ready to be loaded. Quickly, he'd moved down the hall, to the bedroom.

This room hadn't yet been touched and at the sight of it, memories flooded and quickened his heart. The box was where she'd said it would be; his name in huge letters across the top. He hadn't gone through it, not there, not yet. He couldn't because the room still smelled like her, like her hair, and the scent of her skin after a shower, all clean and fresh and his. And so he'd taken the box and the laptop and carried them both down to the truck and sped away, telling himself that when he got home, he'd go through it. But when he got home, he'd set the box and the computer on the table and had gone back to bed, tossing and turning for hours before finally succumbing to sleep.

That had been nine days ago. Since then, he'd spent the majority of his time alternating between drunk and hung over; between being completely numb and being so raw inside that he ached on the outside. He'd completely forgotten about Christmas until he woke in the middle of the evening and moved like a zombie from his bed to the sofa and clicked on the television to find something to distract him from the noise inside his head. As flashes of red and green, and cartoons and family dinners splashed across the screen, he'd remembered how Andy'd talked about them spending the holiday together. And then he went to pour himself a Christmas present. After that, the only time he'd dragged himself from his bed was when Shaw stopped by.

He'd come over four or five times over the last several days. Each time, he brought food: pizza from the Penny, burgers from the diner, once even a lasagna that Zoe had put together. Oliver never suggested he get out of the house or clean himself up. He just sat there and talked while Sam listened, picking at the food in front of him. Another thing he brought was news of the case; or rather, only the affirmation that there was no news.

As far as anyone could tell, every involved party had blown town. There hadn't been sightings of Weston in more than a week. They'd gotten a report of a short, wiry dark-haired guy with a taped nose purchasing gasoline, but by the time a patrol car showed up, he'd driven away in a nondescript gray sedan. The license plate had been obscured with mud and snow, and so it looked just like a thousand other cars; there was absolutely nothing distinctive about it.

Bishop, Allen, and the Malones had vanished. There was no other word for it. No one had seen or heard from Bishop or Allen since the meeting with Hill. The Malones were the same. A squad car had been sent around to the apartment they shared with Evan's girlfriend, and though they kept going back, she always said the same thing. She hadn't heard from them since the night they disappeared; they hadn't told her where they were going, or when they'd be back. When asked why she hadn't gone with them, she'd snottily replied that she hadn't been asked, and that she had a real job. She couldn't just take off whenever she felt like it. Sam had a feeling that if they ever returned, they'd find their belongings on the side of the road waiting for garbage pickup.

Oliver had done one other thing whenever he showed up. He'd tried to get Sam to talk about it; about Andy. He'd never asked outright, just found some reason to bring her up, to mention her name. But each time, Sam had shut him down. Sometimes with a look, or a sharply spoken "Don't." One particularly bad day, he'd simply gotten up from the couch and walked back to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

Since then, two days ago, he'd been sober, unfortunately. Shaw had taken the last of his booze when he'd walked out the door. But it had given him the opportunity to run things through his head, as much as it hurt to do so. He tried to keep it all separate, his feelings for Andy and his theories about the case; but they were so interwoven that thoughts of Bishop ultimately led him to memories of Andy. And it was the memories that were actually killing him.

When he'd been undercover, there was always the knowledge that in three months, he'd be back. That he would feel her thighs pressing, hot and firm, up against his as she curled against him in bed. And he'd hear that laugh in her voice, see the twitch of her hair as she walked away from him. Knowing that it was temporary had made the distance between them bearable. But now? Now there was no guarantee. Sure, she might come back to town for trial, but only if they found someone to prosecute. Despite the promises they'd made, he harbored a very real fear that he might never see her again. And that was the thought that refused to fade; that was the thing keeping him up at night.

His phone rang, jarring him, pulling him back into reality, and he glanced at it. Shaw. Probably calling to tell him that he was going to be late for his first day back. Sam waited until his voicemail picked up and then he pushed the covers out of the way and sat up. He staggered to the bathroom, leaving the door open as he turned on the shower and looked at himself in the mirror.

One of the bonuses about not having to be anywhere for days on end was that you didn't have to actually care about the way you looked. His whiskers had almost two weeks' worth of growth shadowing the lower part of his face and his eyes were bloodshot, thanks to another night of restless sleep. Dismissing his reflection, he opened up the medicine cabinet, and plucked out his toothbrush and toothpaste and razor, ignoring the rest of the mess in there. After expending some serious energy on his mouth and face, he stripped off his sweatpants and climbed into the shower. For several minutes, he stood there, unmoving, just breathing as the hot water beat at his shoulders and he prepared himself for the day to come.


Sam waited until the last possible second to walk into parade, trying to avoid the stares, but he felt all eyes shift to him anyway. He pretended he didn't notice as he sank down into a chair near the back and Noelle sat down next to him.

"Good to have you back," she said quietly. He glanced at her and gave a short nod, quickly shifting his focus back to the front of the room.

Frank started talking, discussing the plan for the day, but as soon as Sam heard that he'd be spending the day in the barn, he tuned out. He wasn't surprised. It made sense that Best would want to check him out; make sure he'd calmed down a little.

Nash and Barber were sitting next to each other, and Jerry had his eyes on the front of the room, but Nash was openly watching him. There was something in her expression that gave him pause. Curiosity, and something a little darker; maybe anger, maybe frustration. Not exactly what he'd been expecting. Then she turned to Jerry and whispered something to him. Neither of them looked back again.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest and surveyed the rest of the room. For the most part, everything seemed normal, if a little quiet. Usually, even during parade, there was an energy, some feeling of preparation and anticipation to get out there and work. But today, it felt more like waiting for the ball to drop. Like something was coming. His eyes slid off to the right and that's when he noticed Peck. She was doing her best to keep her eyes off him, but every now and again, they'd flick over.

Obviously long-recovered from her encounter with Weston, she was sitting closely nestled between Epstein and Diaz, leaning back in her seat. The last time he'd seen any of them, they'd had been fighting amongst themselves. Andy tried to explain it to him, but at the time he'd been thinking about the fastest way to get her home and out of her clothes; so he hadn't really been paying attention. Apparently, things had settled down. Maybe her run-in with a known assassin had shaken the boys up a little. He glanced at her again. Her expression was different than Nash's. It was more of a searching look; trying to gauge his mood, to figure out where he was. He ignored her.

And then, before he realized it, parade was over. Best nodded to him and Sam stayed put while bodies filed past him and out the door. Frank gathered his papers together and then came and sat on the edge of the table across from Sam.

"How was the vacation?"

"Sucked." Sam gave him a smile, lips pressed together tightly, irritation evident.

"I know you're not happy about being put on desk."

"Not really," he admitted, his voice cold. He sat up a little straighter in his chair.

Frank nodded and set his paperwork aside. "It's just for the day. You need to go talk to the shrink. You were supposed to do it as part of your debriefing, and you blew it off."

"Yeah, well, I had other things on my mind." The sarcasm wasn't going to help him, and he knew it. But somehow, he couldn't help himself.

"I'm not surprised." Best nodded and then spoke carefully. "Listen, I've already spoken to the rookies about this, but I just want to remind you that if you hear from her, from McNally, I expect to hear about it." His voice was quiet, compassionate. But Sam heard for what it was: an order.

"I don't know what to tell you. She's not gonna contact me."

"Probably not. But even so… Any phone calls, or emails, I want to know."

"Christ, Frank. She knows IT monitors departmental emails. She's not stupid."

"I know. But we don't know what's going through her head right now."

Yes, I do, Sam thought. If he knew Andy, she was feeling backed into a corner, completely pinned down, unable to help herself. And anxious because she didn't have any idea what was coming. They could tell her their plans, but he imagined it was like anything else. Until she was in the thick of it, she wouldn't have any real idea. But he didn't say that; he just shook his head and stood up.

"She won't contact me," he said again and stalked over to the door.

"Swarek." He paused, but didn't turn back. "When you get back, go see Barber and he'll bring you up to speed on the case." Sam gave him a short nod and then walked out, heading towards the elevator.


After an hour with the police psychologist, he returned to the squad room, glad to be at work, but almost wishing he was home in bed. She'd done her best to be subtle, but she kept at him; kept him answering questions about how he felt during his operation, about the loneliness of being undercover… Sam rolled his eyes at her when she asked that one, as if she had any clue.

But she knew more about his situation than she was letting on. Exactly how much, what details, he wasn't sure. The way she watched him was probing and expectant, as if she thought he'd break down at any second, spilling his guts. Not in this lifetime, he'd thought, folding his arms. The trick with this was to give the answers they wanted to hear; that he was affected, but not so affected that he couldn't do his job. That he didn't have trouble sleeping, and wasn't having any sort of irrational guilt over his involvement in any possibly illegal activities.

He'd done it before, more than once. And so this time, when she'd told him to come back the following week, he'd been surprised. He'd just stared at her for a long moment, and she'd stared back, daring him to argue. But he didn't. If he'd argued, she'd have him back week after week until she was satisfied she'd fixed him. So he left, feeling monumentally screwed over, and went back downstairs.

Barber was gone, Hendricks with him, checking out a shooting at a convenience store; a hold-up that had turned into a murder. So Sam slid into a chair at the front desk next to Diaz, keeping his eye on the door.


Barber returned an hour or so after lunch and as he saw Sam, he tipped his head towards his desk, and Sam followed. Jerry perched on the edge of his desk and Sam sat heavily in a chair in front of him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as Jerry reached behind him and grasped a thick file, then dropped it into Sam's hands.

"This is everything we have on this case. Transcript of the call to dispatch, investigation notes, evidence lists, witness statements. Full records on suspects." Sam didn't look up as he paged through it. "Also, what we've gotten of the forensics reports. Sketches, photographs, measurements, everything."

"Why are you giving this to me?"

Jerry crossed his arms and gave him a small smile. "Frank said you wanted to be involved, but he's concerned. He thinks you're too close." Sam flipped the cover closed on the folder and looked at him. Jerry shrugged. "I think he's wrong. I think you're more motivated than any of us to get these guys. And you have other information that we don't have. You spent time with them, you know how they move, decisions they'd make." He stood up and walked around to his chair and sat down. "So, I told him I'd keep an eye on you, but I don't want to do that. You know what has to be done in order to make a case and you'll do what you have to bring them in. And I know you wouldn't risk a conviction for any personal vendetta." His eyes locked onto Sam's hard; a not-so-subtle warning. Sam held the gaze for a long moment and then nodded.

"Yeah. No problem."

"Okay. Look that over, get it back to me and we'll talk." His phone rang and he held up a finger, signaling him to wait as he picked it up. "Barber." Sam opened the file again, turning pages quickly to get an idea of what he had. Jerry wasn't on the phone long. "Swarek." He closed the folder and looked up. "That was Tech, over at CFS. They've got the final report on the cellphones found in Warren's possession. They offered to fax it, but I need everything: call logs, contact lists, pictures, videos, everything. I need someone to pick up the discs." He raised his eyebrows.

"C'mon, Jerry. Send one of the rooks."

"Hey, you wanted to help. And the only rookie we have on this case is Peck, and she's out on a call."

"What about Nash? Why isn't she on it?"

"I don't want her anywhere near this case. And she's having trouble keeping her feelings for the witness separate from her feelings about the case." He gave him another pointed look and Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine, Jerry."

He nodded. "Glad to hear it. Better head over there."

Sam stood up and started to turn away, but then looked at him again. "What about Callaghan?"

Barber raised an eyebrow at him. "He's out for another week."

"Then what?"

He shrugged. "He'll probably be back. I really don't know."

Sam pressed his lips together and took in a frustrated breath through his nose, lifting the thick file once in a useless gesture as he turned to leave.


At the end of the day, Sam walked out to his truck, and took off. He was exhausted. After a long shift, he was always a little tired, experiencing a natural gradual winding down at the end of a day. But today, he was tired in his bones; like he'd almost forgotten how much energy it took to just be alert and around other people.

Sam glanced over towards the passenger seat. Wedged in between his duffel and the back of the seat were a couple of manila envelopes stuffed full of papers. A duplicate of the case file. When he'd gotten back from the Centre of Forensic Sciences, he'd ducked into one of the supply rooms and started running pages through the copier. It'd taken forever, and at the time, he'd been pretty sure someone would walk in and bust him. He got copies of everything, even the new report from the Electronics Department. He'd have to do without copies of the discs, although, he didn't think it would matter. As far as he could tell from his cursory glance, the Tech guys hadn't really found much.

The envelope they'd given him had been full of paper, three thick packets of call logs from three phones, Simonson's and Warren's and a disposable that Sam was pretty sure was used for making drug deals. On Andy's there were only a few sheets. When she'd suspended her service, she'd also activated the remote wipe function on the phone. They pulled no data from it. No contact lists, pictures, videos, or call logs. When he'd discovered that, a strong surge of pride and relief flooded him and, as brief as it was, it had been the first time he'd really smiled in over a week.

But as proud as he might be, it didn't really help the case. So the plan was to go home and start from scratch. He'd go through the file sheet by sheet, take his own notes and try to put it together. Try to figure out something; just one thing that might push them ahead. However, that would have to start tomorrow.

There was one more person he needed to see today.


Weston tipped the beer bottle to his lips, taking a healthy swig before pulling the ringing cell phone out of his pocket. He hit the button and put it up to his ear, turning around to face the mostly empty bar. He had a ball cap pulled down low over his face, shadowing it, obscuring the last little bit of bruising still present under his eyes and around his nose.

"Yeah."

"Where are you?" In his ear, Allen's voice was cold and clipped; no nonsense.

"Same place I was last week."

"Well, you need to get back to work."

"I need to get back to work?" He turned around and leaned against the bar, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper. "You promised me some real money. What the hell happened to the deal?"

"It's on hold. The shipment fell through. We're waiting on another one." He heard voices in the background as someone spoke to Allen. "He's wondering what you're doing about the Malones."

"Why's it my problem? You're the one that gave 'em the job," he hissed.

"Yeah, well now you're the only one close enough to take care of it."

"I'm five hours from Toronto."

"What's your point?"

Weston pushed an angry breath between his teeth and took another drink of his beer. "Where do I find 'em?"

"They shared an apartment with Evan's girlfriend. I'd start there." He rattled off the address and Weston snapped his fingers at the bartender, signaling for a pen.

"My face is all over the news. I can't go anywhere near that city."

"Give it a couple more weeks. Wait for things to die down a little. Then go back."

He slammed his empty bottle down in frustration. "What about the girl?"

Allen barked out a short laugh. "The girl's gone for now; we'll worry about her later. These two? They'll be easier. Find them."

"Yeah, yeah."

"And Wes?" he said, voice suddenly quiet, deadly serious. "No mistakes this time, okay?"

Weston scowled and slapped some money down on the bar, nodding to the bartender for another. "No mistakes."


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