Sam stared at the battered version of his ex-girlfriend sitting across from him. He had almost leaped to help her when she fell, but he had been so surprised that she had gotten herself up before he made it to his feet. He watched her throw herself at Oliver in silence, not wanting to disrupt the moment. Now she was looking across the bed at him, something like discomfort in her eyes. It bothered Sam.
"How's it going McNally?" He winced internally at the casual tone as it came out, but it was too late to take it back. He wanted to grab her and check every inch of her body for injuries, never let her go. But it wasn't his place.
Andy felt her heart flutter unpleasantly in her chest. She hadn't been expecting to see Sam here. If she was being honest, after waking up and not finding him in her room, she had assumed he was busy enough not to be there. But here he was, sitting across from her in Oliver's room, casually greeting her like nothing had happened. It hurt. "Oh, you know," she waved a hand airily, wincing at the soreness in her arm. "I'm fine." She thought she saw Sam's eyes flash at that, but it was gone so quickly she decided she must have imagined it. Something in Andy's stomach seemed to deflate as she observed him, his casual smile denting her childish hope he was worried about her.
Of course she would say she was fine after nearly being raped and beaten to death. It was so Andy that Sam could have laughed, if it didn't piss him off so much. There was something about the way that she waved her hand so carelessly in the air that made Sam want to grab her and shake her. Didn't she realize how close she had come? Didn't she care about herself at all? It was one of the things Sam had struggled with when they were together. Andy's selflessness mixed with her compassion had put her in more dangerous situations than he had cared for. She wasn't stupid she was just… amazing. The word popped into his head unexpectedly as Sam watched her turn her attention to Oliver, and place her bruised hand on his cheek. She was so gentle, like she was afraid she was going to hurt him. Oliver smiled up at her, and made some stupid comment that Sam was too distracted to catch. For some reason sitting there, seeing McNally broken like this, it had been bearable until now. Until she reminded Sam exactly who she was and why he had fallen in love with her. And now it was breaking his heart. He turned away, and tried to collect himself as memories of the past few months without Andy crept into his mind. It had been easier to be angry at her when she was gone.
Andy bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder at Sam. Now that she was satisfied that Oliver was alright, and just as sarcastic as ever, she couldn't shake the desire to check on Sam. Even though he didn't seem to be worried about her at all, Andy suspected there was more going on under his cool exterior. She knew he had moved on, but he had always been overprotective of her, and she figured he still cared about her. She sat on her hands to keep from reaching out and grabbing Sam's face, pulling it closer so she could assure herself that he was alright. Once again, she let out a yelp of pain due to the injuries she kept forgetting. It would take a while for her to get used to being overly careful, she had always been on the clumsy side. Rubbing her wrist gingerly where the throbbing was the worst, she sighed. She doubted either Sam or Oliver wanted to talk about what had happened, but there were too many holes in her memory of the story. Andy was beginning to realize that she had missed a lot that night, and after everything, after killing someone, she wanted all the pieces. She cleared her throat, suddenly nervous. "I.." Sam and Oliver looked at her expectantly. She struggled for the right words.
"Spit it out McNally." Oliver grinned at her, then faltered at the look on her face, for once losing his irrepressible optimism. "Hey, what is it?" He reached out and placed his hand on hers, wishing his buddy would man up and do it, but knowing he wasn't there yet. Sam only regarded them silently, and it irked Oliver. He knew things were complicated between his friend and his former rookie, but he also knew that they weren't nearly as happy separate as they had been together. Andy was good for Sam in a way Oliver had never even realized Sam needed. She pushed without being pushy. Actually, she could be extremely pushy, but only when Sam needed it. Oliver had never known Sam to share as much of himself with anyone as he had with Andy. Looking over at her, as she chewed on her bottom lip, he doubted she even realized how open Sam had been with her. They were both idiots. Oliver had secretly been hoping that McNally's near death experience would have been enough to push both of them to make things right, but it didn't seem to be going that way. He bit back a sigh of frustration and patted Andy gently on the hand to recapture her attention. He had a feeling that whatever Andy was thinking, it was something more serious than her love life with Sam.
Andy let out an irritated huff, then looked directly up at Sam. "I need you to tell me what happened." He raised an eyebrow in surprise, and peered at her thoughtfully before shaking his head.
"Can't do it McNally. You know we need to get someone to take your statement first. Someone who wasn't there when it happened," he added, when she had looked inquisitively up at him.
Thrown, Andy opened her mouth, then closed it again. The last person she was expecting to clam up on her because of the rules was Sam. He had never followed the rules unless it suited him, and though he had never been a reckless cop, excluding their little tryst when he was undercover, procedure hadn't been an issue. The irritation swept through her, flushing her cheeks before she even realized she was angry. "Fine," she muttered, struggling to get back to her feet. She panted with exertion as she pushed at the bed, trying to put her weight on her feet, but her body gave out. She landed with a soft thud back in the chair, turning even more red with effort and embarrassment. She crossed her arms over her chest and deliberately turned away from Sam, facing Oliver. "Oliver," she murmured softly, as though remembering something, "how did he get away from you?" She absentmindedly reached out to touch the massive bruise on his head, and he let out a humorless laugh.
"I had to load him into the squad properly after Sammy was done with him. I took him out to pat him down, he pretended to trip, and then when I leaned down to grab him, he kicked me. It's pretty much lights out after that." The corners of Andy's mouth had turned down as Oliver was talking, and Sam felt a familiar pang in his chest. That face was the one she used to wear when he got hurt on the job, nothing serious, just a bruise or some stitches. It was like it caused her physical pain to see other people hurting, and he hated it. He would have hidden the injuries from her if he thought she wouldn't find out, but he knew he couldn't get away with it. As he thought it, he reached up to ran his hand through his hair, and the massive gash on his forearm caught Andy's eye.
"What's that?" Her voice was still angry, though whether that anger was still directed at him, Sam wasn't sure. He glanced down at the laceration running the length of his forearm, remembering the unpleasantries that went along with the twenty or so stitches he had received.
"Oh, uh, just a scratch." Sam shrugged, and Andy felt a flash of irritation, the same kind she used to feel when he would play down his injuries when they were together. He was such a martyr she used to have to use physical force to get him to show her where he had been hurt. Despite herself, Andy leaned over the bed and held out her hand expectantly. He looked at her in surprise, but got up, and walked around the bed to hold his arm out to her. She knew he was rolling his eyes, but she didn't care. Her gaze was focused on the number of stitches running up his arm, she could tell by the bruising around the cut that it was deep. Stitches were nothing new to either of them, but she couldn't help but wince at the number of them. "Seriously, Andy, it's fine. just a scratch." His words brought back deja vu of the morning of the attack, and he darted a glance at her to see if she noticed. He hadn't noticed from across the room, but up close he almost recoiled at the sadness in her eyes. It was as if someone had died. Which, he realized with a start, they had. He kicked himself for being so stupid, he had been so focused on her recovery physically, that he had barely thought about how she would feel about killing someone. It wasn't the cold execution of a service pistol either, she had stabbed him through the stomach with the leg of her table, in her home. It was personal. He squinted at her, trying to gain some clue to what she was thinking, but aside from her eyes her face was impassive.
"That looks sore," she murmured, unconsciously running her fingers in patterns along his arm, an old habit. He let out a hollow laugh, and she glanced up at him curiously.
"Oh yeah, real sore. Three broken ribs, and head to toe deep tissue bruising is nothing compared to some stitches." He jerked his arm out of her hand, ignoring the rush of cold air where her fingers had been. He had missed her touch. He had been afraid he would never feel it again. And yet, here he was, she was alive, broken but alive, and he was furious with her. And himself. He supposed it wasn't fair, but he couldn't stand to have her worrying about some stupid cut on his arm while she was sitting there looking like she was. He felt the irrational anger bubbling up and out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Jesus Andy, have you even seen yourself?" He gestured vaguely at her face before swiveling on his foot and pacing back towards the wall.
Andy blinked at the hostility behind his words, but recovered quickly. "Actually, no." She said quietly, her emotions tangling up messily inside her stomach. She knew he was doing this because he was worried, and she was surprised at how reassuring she found it. Still, the irritation from his refusal to tell her about the attack, and his ongoing martyrdom rose to the surface. "I woke up and came running to find Oliver, and then I was hoping one of you would tell me what happened the night I killed someone." She glanced apologetically at Oliver, who waved a hand in the air, then stood and rounded on Sam. "But no, apparently you're Mr. By-the-book now. And you know what? I was worried about you. I am worried about you. God why do you always have to be such a martyr?" She stalked towards him, then jabbed him in the chest. "You don't care, you don't want to come see me, that's fine. But I wanted to know if you were hurt, you know, since the last time I saw you was when you were shot and knocked unconscious." She had stepped closer as she talked, and they were now standing toe to toe. She stared up at him, refusing to back away.
Sam frowned down at Andy as she stared daggers up at him. She was close enough for him to count the freckles on her face, not that he didn't have them memorized. She thought he didn't care about her. She thought he hadn't wanted to be there when she woke up. She didn't realize that he hadn't left the hospital except to change when he had been discharged, and then had come right back. She didn't know that he had waited by her bed for two days hoping she would wake up, wishing he could somehow climb into her mind and see what she was seeing. She couldn't realize that it was killing him that the one time he had left her bed, for half an hour, was the exact time she had woken up. He knew he had been acting cold when she walked in to Oliver's room, but the last thing he had expected was for her to come waltzing through that door when he had seen her unconscious an hour before. He just hadn't had time to react. It might not be fair, considering he was with Marlo and she seemed to be with Collins, but he didn't want her to think he didn't care about her. "I did come to see you. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up."
He meant it. Andy could practically feel the sincerity rolling of him, and she let her mouth drop open in surprise. As the anger was replaced with something resembling relief, she felt a shiver run down her spine. As much as she had hoped he felt some small desire to be with her when she woke up, to check on her and make sure she was alright, the confirmation seemed to take a weight off her shoulders. She gazed up at him, and realized how close they were standing. His face was barely inches away.
Sam was noticing the same thing, distracted by the bruises on her face, the blue that seemed to cover more skin than not. He brushed his thumb gently against her jaw, turning her face so that he could see the bruising on her neck. It tore at him. If it was possible, she looked worse now than when he had seen her lying in the debris of her coffee table. The bruises had had time to bloom and spread, the swelling had gone down just enough to cast shadows over the few bits of her that remained unhurt. As he looked sadly down at her, he noticed her eyes drooping, and when he lowered his gaze, that her legs were shaking. Without further thought, he reached down, and gingerly lifter her into his arms.
"Sam," Andy protested, as he nodded at Oliver and carried her into the hallway. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing McNally? I'm taking you back to bed." He smiled at the little blonde nurse as he passed her, though something about the way she looked at Andy made him suspicious that she knew something he didn't. Monica had never come back to find him after he woke up in a hospital bed, but he had gotten the news from another nurse that Andy was stable and out of surgery.
"Put me down, I can walk." Andy pushed weakly at him, her shaking arms not helping her cause. "This is embarrassing." She let out a sigh and let her head fall back to rest against Sam's chest. The familiar smell of him, like fresh laundry and something deliciously male, had her feeling calmer than she had since she woke up. "Screw you." She muttered in a half-hearted attempt to keep up appearances.
Sam grinned down at her. "Well, I would McNally, but you don't really seem to be in the best shape for that kind of physical activity." She shoved at him again, even weaker than before, and he looked down to see her eyes closed. As he continued to walk, her breath evened out, and he knew she was asleep. Rounding the corner to her room, Sam marvelled at how far she had walked to get to Oliver's room. She must have been in pain the whole way there, and yet he knew she wouldn't have been able to rest until she had seen that he was okay. He lay her back in her bed, careful not to wake her, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. He lingered like that, for a moment, then leaned back and pulled her blankets over her. Walking over to the chair beside her bed, he settled in, and watched the rise and fall of her chest. This time, he promised himself, he would be there when she woke up.