Chapter 9

June 27, 2016

"I'm going."

Andy smiled a little at Tracy's tone. It was still a month until her friend's due date and she'd already been on bed rest for six weeks. No wonder she sounded ready to mutiny. "Everyone will understand if you can't."

"It's Chris." Tracy said in a choked voice. "I'm going to be there if I have to wheel myself on Jerry's skateboard."

"She'll be the ravishing woman in the wheel chair," Jerry's voice called from the background.

Andy's heart ached a little. They were so perfect together. She never would have thought seven years ago when Tracy was sleeping with one of their former instructors and she was trying to make things work with Luke Callaghan and ignore the burning sexual tension with her Training Officer that things would end this way. "I'll see you there." She said disconnecting the call before she gave in to the tears that always seemed to be hovering just on the edge.

"You okay?" Sam asked. He was leaning against the door frame. The white bandage on his neck mostly hidden by the collar of his dress shirt. The stitches had come out two days ago, but the doctor wanted him to keep it covered for another week just to be safe.

"Yes. No." Andy shrugged. Her emotions were all over the place. She wasn't sure if it was Chris or Sam that had her so mixed up. Maybe it was both. She hadn't slept in four days. Every time she nodded off she saw Sam crumpling to the ground, only in her dreams it wasn't a bullet graze. Sometimes the bullet went straight through his chest, or his head, killing him instantly. Most of the time it nicked an artery and no matter how firmly she pressed her hands against the wound she couldn't stop its spurting. Every time she felt him go limp under her hands and heard her and Jo's last conversation, "you think he said no because of me?" "Who else?"

She forced a smile she didn't feel and rose to her feet. Her dress uniform was neatly pressed, right down to the perfectly straight crease down the center of each leg. She hadn't bothered with makeup, it was just going to end up all over her cheeks. Her hair was pulled back in a tight French braid that would fit under her hat but hold its shape when she took the hat off to enter the chapel. She looked serious and sad and altogether perfect for a funeral.

Sam opened his arms and she stepped into them, allowing him to pull her against him. "I'll be right here. If there's anything you need."

Funny, once that would have made her feel safe. Now it made her feel responsible. "I know." She stepped back, set her hat on her head, centering it with both hands. "Let's go."

o o o

The chapel was packed. The family had held a proper Catholic funeral mass in Timmins where he was buried, but no one had objected when Denise suggested a second service in Toronto the day after. She hadn't lived in Toronto for more than a couple of months, but she knew Chris' coworkers and friends and that he had loved them like family. There would be no casket, no grave side, just a big picture of Chris on the altar and most of his favourite people in the world crowded into the front three pews to say goodbye.

Andy sat in the front row, Tracy on one side, Gail on the other. Jerry and Sam sat directly behind them, and Sam reached forward to squeeze her shoulder, offering her silent support. It was all he'd ever given her, but this was the first time she'd wished he wouldn't. His unconditional support only reminded her what he was giving up for her.

Dov was on Gail's other side. He hadn't let go of her hand since they stepped out of the car. If it had been any other day, Andy wouldn't have been able to stop teasing them. As it was, she was just glad they had each other to lean on. She'd never had a brother so she couldn't say for sure, but the relationship between Dov and Chris had absolutely gone beyond that of friendship to family. Even after he moved back to Timmins in search of some peace and quiet, and chasing the girl he'd let slip through his fingers, he and Dov had remained closer than close.

Oliver took his place behind the microphone and the room quieted almost immediately.

"Thank you all for coming." Oliver gave the assembled group, a mix of police and civilians whose lives Chris had touched, a small smile. "We are all here today to say goodbye to our friend and colleague, Chris Diaz, and to pay tribute to his life, and, in our own ways, to express our love and admiration for him. On behalf of fifteen division and Chris' finance, Denise, thank you all for being with us today.

When Denise first asked me if I would officiate, I thought 'Oh God, why me?' but as we worked together to plan this memorial, I realized what a great... tremendous honour it is to be standing here today. Chris Diaz was a great man, and a great cop." Oliver paused for a moment, blinking away the sheen of tears in his eyes before continuing. "Most of you know me pretty well, and you know I like to give speeches."

Andy chuckled along with most of the congregation. It felt strange, it seemed like all she'd done for the last four days was cry.

"I'm not going to give a speech today. But I do have something I want to read. I didn't write it, but bear with me anyway. It's by Henry Scott Holland. I know Chris would have shared his sentiment.

Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Whatever we were to each other, we still are.
Please, call me by my old familiar name.
Speak of me in the same easy way you always did.
Laugh, as we always laughed, at the little jokes we shared together.
Think of me and smile.
Let my name be the household name it always was,
Spoken without the shadow of a ghost in it.
Life means all it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
Death is inevitable, so why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, - for an interval very near.
Nothing is past or lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before,
Only better and happier.
Together forever.
All is well.

At this time I'd like to invite anyone who wants to say a few words about Chris to come on up." Oliver picked up his notes, folding them precisely in four before sliding them into his pocket. He stepped down from the raised platform at the front of the chapel and took his seat in the front row.

Frank, looking dignified and grave in his dress uniform, stepped up to the microphone. "Chris Diaz was an amazing guy. An idealist. The first time I met him I couldn't believe this sweet, friendly kid was going to be a cop. I wouldn't have given him two weeks on the job. But he made it through the first two weeks, and the rest of his six month probation and I realized there was something special about the guy from Timmins."

As Frank shared some of his favourite moments from Chris' years at fifteen, Andy felt the butterflies stirring in her stomach. Suddenly the words she'd practiced in front of the bathroom mirror seemed so trite, so inadequate. As if sensing her inner turmoil, Sam's hand came to rest on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. She placed her own hand over his, lacing their fingers together, selfishly clinging to the support he offered.

"Chris always wanted to be a good cop." Frank smiled as he spoke. "There was one night when I was training Chris, we were doing some undercover work and we put Diaz in these tight white pants." He shook his head at the memory. "But he let us. He wore the hell out of those pants."

There was a ripple of watery laughter. Noelle smiled up at her husband. She remembered that night well. Sitting in the squad car, laughing at a rookie, she hadn't been kidding when she said nights like that were why she loved her job. A tear trickled down her cheek. It was impossible to believe that Chris was gone. They'd never see him at a July 1 barbeque or a mutual friend's birthday. She took a deep shuddering breath. She was so grateful Frank had offered to speak for both of them, she didn't know if she could get up and talk right now without breaking down completely.

"Goodbye Chris. You will be missed." Frank concluded, smiling sadly at the portrait of Chris as he stepped back from the microphone to make room for the next speaker.

Dov squeezed Gail's hand before releasing it to step up to the microphone. He pulled out two sheets of paper from his coat pocket and placed them on the lectern "Chris was best man at my wedding." He began in a steady voice that belied the slight tremble of his fingers. "Two weeks ago he asked me to be his." Dov smoothed the papers with both hands. "I was so excited I started writing my speech right away. I'd really like him to hear it, if that's okay." He looked at Denise.

"Yeah," she said in a hoarse voice. Tears were already streaming from her eyes, but she nodded encouragingly.

"Let me start by saying that it is an honour to be here with Chris for the happiest day of his life. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Dov, the best man. I like long walks on the beach and really expensive scotch.

"I met Chris in our first week at the Academy. Some mean blonde girl was giving him a hard time about his long distance girlfriend, Denise." Dov met Gail's eyes and winked.

She shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

"Chris is the best friend I have ever had. He's the kind of guy who wasn't just your buddy. When Chris was your friend you were in his life. I'd never met anyone so open and trusting. I always figured it was a small town thing, but I've been to Timmins now, and I know better." Several people chuckled.

"Of course Chris isn't perfect, and there are a few things I think I should tell Denise, now that it's too late for her to run away screaming. As a roommate, Chris left a few things to be desired. Especially when it came to operating the bathroom lock."

A sob welled up in Gail's throat and she pressed her hand to her mouth, clenching the other so tightly her nails bit into her palm. She could practically see Chris standing in the bathroom of their old apartment, brushing his teeth. It was so long ago, and yet she could see it like it was happening right then.

"You see, when we lived together it was in this little two bedroom near U of T and, like most student housing, the place could have used a little TLC. The bathroom in particular had this little quirk. The door lock sometimes… stuck on the inside. Which was no big deal, unless you were alone in the apartment. Then you could be stuck for hours until someone came home and let you out.

"This was never a problem for me, or Gail, or any of the overnight guests we had over the years. But Chris somehow never learned not to lock the door when he was home alone. This one time, I had just responded to a call and we were taking a suspect back to the barn when Chris called. He'd locked himself in the bathroom. Well, I couldn't leave and Gail was on a traffic patrol, so I told him to take a nice long bath or something and we'd be there when we were off shift."

"Patience is not Chris' strong suit. At least not when it comes to being shut in an apartment bathroom for six hours with no food and nothing to do. So he started calling people. First it was the building superintendent. Then the maintenance number. When neither of them picked up, Chris started to get desperate. So he started to call anyone he could think of who could pick a lock.

"Fortunately for Chris, Tracy Nash was off shift that day and she came and liberated him from his porcelain prison. But, that wasn't quite the end of the story. Because, three days later, I'm just getting off shift and it's Chris on the phone. Locked in the bathroom again." Dov cleared his throat. "So, Denise, if you ever need to know where your husband is. Check the bathroom first.

"It's traditional for the best man to offer some words of wisdom. After much research and soul searching, I think I found the secret to a long and happy marriage. Try not to go to bed on an argument, but if you must: argue naked.

And I will leave you now with a toast. Here's to Chris and Denise. May you live happily ever after."

Denise met Dov at the edge of the stage when he stepped down and wrapped him in a tight hug. "He would have loved that speech," she whispered softly before releasing him.

Dov forced a smile and then turned away, returning to his spot beside Gail. She leaned her head against his shoulder. He reclaimed her hand and focused his attention at the front where Andy now stood, hands twisting nervously.

"As you've already heard, and I'm sure you know, Chris was a great guy. He was a good friend and a fantastic cop. He loved his job. Even if Toronto sometimes made him crazy, he always loved being a cop." Andy raised her eyes, scanning the room. When her eyes met Sam's she didn't look away. "What many of you may not know, is that Chris was a terrible horseman. Six years ago there were a couple of spots open to train for the Mounted Division. Dov, Chris and I all signed up. Of the three of us only Dov knew one end of the horse from the other, but if Dov made me look like an amateur, he made Chris look like a kid who'd just gotten the training wheels taken off his bike. Our first day I think Chris fell off that horse seven times, twice at a walk. But the next day he was back, a smile on his face and by the end of the week he could canter down the length of the ring with a bucket of water without spilling a single drop.

"That was just how he was. It didn't matter if he was good at it at first, let alone the best. He didn't need to be the best. As long as he was doing his job and helping people, Chris didn't worry about the rest of it. Chris was unfailingly humble. He was goofy and sweet, and hopelessly in love with Denise."

Sam smiled, his dark eyes never leaving her face.

"Denise, I hope you know he was never as happy as when he was with you. The day he called to tell me he was engaged was he most excited I have ever heard him."

Denise nodded. "Thank you," she mouthed.

"Chris, we will miss you." Andy finished, fixing her gaze on the picture of Chris for a long silent moment before turning back to her seat.

Dov squeezed Gail's hand and let go, expecting her to rise and walk up to the microphone.

Instead she clung more tightly to his hand. "I can't," she whispered.

He turned so he could see her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and the small amount of eye makeup she'd worn was nearly all washed away by her tears. Her lips were pressed in a tight, trembling line. "Are you sure?" He asked. He knew Gail was terrified of speaking in public, but he sensed this was more than just that.

"I'm sure."

"Okay," He pulled her against his side, bringing one hand up to brush her cheek. "It's okay," he whispered. "He would understand."

Tracy stood slowly, allowing Jerry to help her even though she didn't really need it. She was wearing a simple black dress. She was too far along in her pregnancy for her dress uniform to fit. She felt under dressed surrounded by all the navy blue, under dressed and the size of a whale. Jerry took her arm and walked with her to the platform. He stepped aside when she moved in front of the microphone. Staying close enough to catch her if he needed to.

Tracy swallowed the lump in her throat. "There's not much to say about Chris that hasn't been said already. He wasn't competitive, but I think he was the best one of our class. Not in specific skills, Andy was always the best shot, Gail got the best grades, Dov was the best driver and I was the best at putting two and two together. But Chris was the best of us. He was the kindest, the most sincere. His boundless optimism was sometimes baffling, but it kept us going even when times were tough. I don't know if we would have made it to today if it weren't for Chris." Tracy swiped a rogue tear from her cheek. "Thank you Chris for being in our lives. You will be missed more than words can say."

Denise waited until Tracy was settled back in her seat by a fussing Jerry before taking the stage. She looked out at the group of people before her and gave them a watery smile. "I don't know how many of you knew about Chris' life before he came to Toronto. But I just wanted to say that he thought of all of you as his family." Denise's voice broke on the word. "He loved you all and he would be so, so honoured that you came today. Thank you." She stepped down, one hand pressed to her mouth to hold off a sob.

Dov was standing in the aisle, waiting for her. She stepped into his arms, allowing his dress uniform to absorb her tears.

Oliver patted Dov on the shoulder on his way back to the microphone. "We're going to wrap this up now. I know a lot of you need to get back for the afternoon shift. Thank you everyone for coming. For those who have time, there will be a reception in the hall to your left. Feel free to stay, eat and keep talking about Chris."

Slowly the chapel emptied out until it was only them, Andy, Sam, Gail, Dov, Tracy, Jerry, Oliver, Frank, Noelle, and Denise. They gathered together at the front of the chapel, almost instinctively. Chris' Toronto family.

o o o

Sam unlocked his front door and stepped back to let Andy precede him. "You go change," he said in a gentle voice. "I'll cook us some dinner." When she didn't move Sam pulled her into his arms. She hadn't said a word since the funeral. He wished he could take the pain away, even for a moment.

"We can't... I can't-" Andy pushed away from him. Turning to face him, her red rimmed eyes filled with unspeakable pain. "That could have been you, Sam!"

"Andy-"

"No. You ran into a building with no backup and no vest four days ago." Andy swiped a tear off her cheek. "Do you have any idea how scared that made me? I haven't slept, I can't breathe. You could have been killed and I can't..." She trailed off, covering her face with both hands and sucking in noisy gulps of air.

Sam reached for her, but she pulled away as soon as his fingers grazed her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

Andy wiped the tears off her cheeks and shot him a wounded look. "That's it?"

Frustration welled up inside Sam. "What do you want me to say?" He'd made a mistake. He knew that, everyone knew that, but he'd thought Andy of all people would understand why. "That I knew you were inside and all I could think about was getting to you?"

"Thank you." Andy's eyes filled with tears, her throat tightened. She'd needed to hear it. Even though she knew it was true, she'd needed him to say it. She didn't think she would have the strength to go through with this otherwise.

For a moment Sam stared at her, and then it dawned on him. "No, Andy..."

She shrugged, no longer bothering to check the tears trickling down her cheeks. "I'm not good for you, Sam." The words sounded trite, like a bad soap opera break up, but they were also true.

Sam took two steps and grasped her by the shoulders almost roughly, his eyes flashed. "Don't say that."

Andy stared up at his face for a long time, memorizing its lines. When she spoke her voice was barely a whisper, "It's true." She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his.

He kissed her back desperately; trying to convey how sorry he was and how badly he needed her in that kiss. His hands slid beneath her shirt, splaying across her back, pulling her tightly against him. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Their kisses grew more and more sporadic as piece after piece of clothing hit the floor.

o o o

Andy pulled on the spare pair of jeans and t-shirt she always left at Sam's place without looking at him. She could still taste him on her lips, feel his hands roaming over her body, covering every inch of her as if he could imprint her on his skin. It would be so easy to give in, to fall into bed with him and never get up. They could damn the world and hold on to this… whatever they had…. until everything crashed around their ears leaving nothing but pain and a list of 'if only' longer than ever. But she couldn't do that to him. She loved him. God help her, she loved him so much it hurt. But love wasn't everything. And it wasn't enough.

Sam pulled on his jeans and belted them, his eyes never leaving Andy's bowed head. "Stay." It was half command, half prayer.

"I never stopped caring about you... but the reasons we broke up, they're still reasons." Andy forced herself to look at him and took three steps back for good measure. "We can't keep doing this. I can't do this."

Sam bit back the argument forming on his tongue. It didn't matter what he thought. It hadn't mattered five years ago, it didn't matter today. The glorious and hideous thing about relationships was that they went both ways. If Andy didn't see a future for them, there wasn't one.

"I'm sorry." Andy wrapped her arms around her body, looking every inch as if she wanted to flee.

Sam's heart thudded thickly in his chest, each beat a fresh stabbing pain, but he would survive. That was what he did. Survive. If he had a chance for more than survival, he couldn't see it now.

A tear escaped her eyes, trickling down her cheek.

Sam closed the distance between them, stopping himself just short of brushing them away.

She forced a smile through the tears that were falling one by own from her impossibly sad eyes. "Goodbye Sam."

And then her lips were on his. Sam's hands rose to grip her shoulder's tightly as he returned her kiss. Their last kiss. Filled with desperation. Heartbreak was salty and wet, and crueller than Sam had ever imagined. When she pushed back, his head was still spinning. He gulped in a deep breath of air and watched helplessly as she turned and walked away.

Five years ago he'd smashed a glass against the wall in anger, today he just stood there, arms at his sides, staring at the place she had been. He wasn't angry. He didn't have enough left in him to be angry anymore. He was just... empty. Done.

For seven years Andy McNally had held his heart in the palm of her hand. Sometimes he'd forgotten, but then she would smile, or put herself in danger, or cry and he would be there. He couldn't help it. He'd never wanted it. It hadn't ever been right… hadn't ever been 'normal.' He'd wanted her, loved her, hated her... but always, no matter what, she had been there, sitting in the corner of his brain, a broadsword in her hands.

Now, suddenly, painfully, she was gone. She wasn't coming back. He was free.

And all he wanted was to throw himself at her feet and beg for blissful captivity.

June 28, 2016

"Sam." Frank sounded surprised. "What can I do for you?" He put down his pen and looked up at his old friend expectantly.

Sam jumped to the point before he could change his mind. "The task force—"

"Changed your mind?" Frank interrupted, face breaking into a smile.

Sam shrugged, "Nothing keeping me here anymore."

"What about -" Frank cut himself off mid question as every muscle in Sam's body tensed. He shuffled some papers on his desk, giving Sam a moment to regain control. When he looked back up, Sam was back to Sam, though, Frank thought, with an extra layer of armour piled on top of a gaping hole in his heart. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"When do I start?" Sam ignored Frank's sympathy.

Frank almost had to bite his tongue to keep from asking questions that had nothing to do with his job as Staff Sergeant. Instead he flipped through the papers on his desk until he found the one he was looking for and handed it to Sam. "They want you Friday for a briefing."

Sam raised his eyebrows but took the paper and read it. "You already told them I'd do it." He raised his eyebrows.

"I had a hunch."

Sam shook his head, clearly amused – though the usual Swarek twinkle wasn't there. He stood, still holding the piece of paper in one hand. "Thanks," he said, almost an afterthought, as he opened the door.

"Good luck!" Frank called.

If Sam heard he didn't acknowledge it.

A/N: *in a whisper from underneath my desk* Please don't hate me now.

This is the last full chapter. There is an epilogue which will be posted Friday (or probably really late Thursday night after I'm done watching the new episode a dozen times). Thank you everyone who has read and reviewed this story along the way. This has been one of the most challenging and therefore most enjoyable projects I've ever taken on and all of your kind words certainly were a part of that. : )

For anyone wondering 'who the hell killed Amber?' that is a mystery for Jo to solve. It should be easier now that she knows who her Jane Doe was, but the plain fact of the matter is, prostitutes turn up dead not infrequently, and the killer isn't always found. In my mind Lucas Mariano did her in after she left him to work at The Magic Carpet, but since he, and several of Ambers coworkers are now dead, Jo will probably never solve this one, so I didn't either.