The Witness

by margie311

When left to her own devices, Andy finds herself in trouble again.

11. Chapter 10

A/N: Long chapter, so I'll keep the note short. (and if you get a hundred alerts for this chapter, I apologize - having problems posting)

First of all, if the food in this chapter sounds good, please visit www . sowritten . com /?p=212 for the recipe. It's delicious :)

Second of all, many many people had to suffer my neuroses to make the completion of this chapter possible. In no particular order: rookiebluefan89, tikvarn85, cocobean2206, SoWritten, icewitch73 just to name a few. Also, special thanks to Hawley from TWC for help in previous chaps.

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"Son of a bitch!" Andy held her target up alongside Sam's and shook her head slowly in frustration. Hers was covered in holes, spread randomly around the middle, but Sam's shots were densely packed in the middle of the head and chest. She swore again, her voice echoing throughout the empty firing range.

He laughed. "I told you. You're not gonna beat me. I was number one in my rookie class, and I guess…" he paused for dramatic effect. "I guess I'm number one in your rookie class too." She gave him a shove and then crumpled up the target and tossed it over her shoulder in the direction of the garbage. It fell alongside three others. She ran a finger around the collar of her shirt, flipped the top button open. She should have changed into civvies before agreeing to this. Oh well. Too late now.

"We're going again."

Sam checked his watch. "Andy, we've been off shift an hour already, we haven't even cleaned up yet, and I'm starving."

"Again."

Sam inhaled deeply through his nose and then gave a nod. "Fine. Let's load 'em up." He went back to his stall and Andy hung a new target, then reloaded her weapon.

They emptied their clips into the targets, and when they were finished, she hit the button with her fist and dropped down the pass-through, tossing her safety glasses on it. She pulled the earmuffs off one ear and blew out an exasperated breath.

Andy shook her head as the paper flew up. "Fuck," she muttered, tearing it down. Each time, she seemed to get worse, if that was possible.

"Here." She jumped, startled as Sam spoke from behind her and when she turned, he was holding his target up to the divider. She rolled her eyes and held hers up for half a second to compare before dropping it on the floor. Sam raised his eyebrows. "You're ahorribleloser."

She made a face. "I can't help it. I like to win. I'm gonna do it one more time." Sam opened his mouth to protest again and she held up a hand to stop him. "We can clean 'em at my place, okay?"

Sam put up his hands. "Fine. Last one though, right?"

She inhaled deeply and then nodded with a defeated smile. "Yeah. We can leave after this."

"Okay, I'm gonna wash up quick." He walked away and as Andy loaded up the last target, she heard Sam's muffled voice as he spoke to the safety officer, and then the sound of the water running as he washed the powder residue from his hands. She refilled the magazine and loaded it into her gun. Then, she poked her ear plugs back in and dropped her earmuffs into place, rolling her shoulders. Just a little stiff.

She'd just raised her gun when she felt a strong arm wrap around her middle.

She instantly lowered the weapon, and glanced over her shoulder at him, then pushed the earmuffs forward a little.

"What're you doing?"

He laughed low and quiet and then he reached down and grabbed her wrist, straightening her arm along the length of his. "I'm showing you something."

"Sure you are," she mumbled, but let him manipulate the limb.

His palm moved back until it rested against her shoulder. "The rotator cuff stabilizes your shoulder." He rubbed at it with his fingers, massaging it, moving up until his thumb was dug deep into the muscle near her neck. She stiffened her legs when she felt her knees buckle the tiniest amount. "It's also important in grip strength, trigger pull strength. Your shoulders are…fine, obviously," he said quietly, dropping a kiss onto one. Andy could hear the smile in his voice and she sank her teeth into her lower lip as she started to see where this lesson was headed.

Once her arm was straight, he moved his hand down her side over her hip to her thigh, dragged it back a little to better support her weight. "Arm up," he reminded her and she lifted it a bit. He slowly moved his hand along the muscle, under her arm; the light touch making her squirm against him, but his hand circled her wrist, holding it straighter.

"I know how to shoot, you know," she argued with a grin.

"Yeah, I've seen it," he joked with a short laugh. "Show me how you breathe."

"What?" She twisted to look at him, undoing all the positioning he'd just put her through.

He rolled his eyes and moved her back, foot braced behind her, hip thrust back against his. "Put your gun up, like you're going to shoot and show me how you breathe." Again, her supporting hand came up and she breathed normally.

"Now show me a shot."

"This is stupid."

"Do it anyway." He replaced her ear muffs and she fired once. He squinted a little as he looked down-range, checking the result. "A little high. Blowing a hole in his neck might not be the best thing."

"If he's coming at me, does it really matter where I hit him?" she asked glibly.

He smirked. "Kind of. Try this.' He stepped up behind her again and ran his hand up under her vest. He flattened his palm against her stomach and held it there. "Breathe for me," he said quietly. So she breathed, trying to ignore the way her heart was suddenly jack-hammering at feel of his lips in her hair and the slight pressure of the tips of his fingers as they drummed lightly against her midsection.

"Okay, put up the weapon. Now, before you take the first shot, take a breath." He pressed his hand more firmly against her abs, and she felt him warm and strong against the full expanse of her back. "Take a breath, and then blow out half of it and fire. Exhale after." When she hesitated, he put his face down next to hers. "C'mon. Do it."

"Okay." She took a deep breath, feeling it catch a little in her chest as his hand moved against her stomach, fingers sliding down, tips tucked between her shirt and waistband. She closed her eyes briefly against the heat that suddenly flooded her and then opened them. She straightened her arm again, took another breath, exhaled part of it and squeezed the trigger.

"Better," Sam said, leaning over her shoulder to look at the target. "That's a heart shot."

For a second, she just stood there, feeling his fingers flex against her and then, testing a theory, she pressed her shoulders against his chest, head falling back until it hit his shoulder. She felt his laugh vibrating through his chest as he tipped his head down and ran his mouth over her neck. His hands moved up, over her vest to the Velcro fastenings at her side and shoulders. He ripped them open quickly and let the whole thing fall to the floor.

Fumbling a little, Andy clicked on the safety and set her gun on the pass-through, letting him drag the earmuffs from her head. She reached up, pinched out the earplugs, then snatched off her safety glasses and tossed them down on top of her vest. Then his arms were around her again, his chest hard against her back as his hands flattened and slid into the gaps of her shirt, between the buttons. They clutched at the cotton of her undershirt, stroking over the hard lines of her ribs hidden beneath the fabric. She made a soft noise of encouragement as he nuzzled at the hair at the nape of her neck and her eyes fell shut as his hands slid around under her shirt. And then, as the ridiculousness of the situation hit her, the smile spread wide across her face and she laughed a little.

"This seriously turns you on?" she asked, unable to help the giggle that bubbled out with the words. "Girls with guns?"

"Just you," he said against her skin as he stepped up even closer, pulling her hips back, tight against his, letting her feel just how worked up he was.

Her eyebrows nearly met her hairline. "God," she said quietly, mouth gone dry.

"Like this is doing nothing for you," he said quietly in her ear.

She let out another shaky breath and pressed her butt back against him. "I didn't say that."

And when his hand moved under her uniform and cupped her breast, she let her head fall back again, against his shoulder and his mouth worked familiarly below her ear. She leaned back into him, laughing lightly at the scrape of his teeth against her skin. But when he pulled his hands out of her shirt and ran them down, yanking both shirts up and out of her waistband, and she stiffened, grabbing his wrists.

"Hey, the guy is like right there," she hissed, craning her neck, trying to look around the wall. But he held her in place.

"Who? The safety officer?" he hummed against her shoulder. "I paid him twenty bucks to take an early break." Again, his hands tugged at her shirts and she twisted away.

"What about the cameras?" She backed up until she hit the divider holding up a hand when he advanced a step.

"They're down for the day." Sam's grin widened. "C'mon, McNally. Where's your sense of adventure?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're like sixteen, you know that?"

He chuckled and rubbed his hand over his jaw. "Hey, you're the one that said we should make this last week worth it."

"This wasn't what I meant, and you know it." She put her hand up again. This time it landed on his chest; he was closing in. "What if someone hears?"

He shook his head and raised his eyebrows, circling his index finger in the air. "Sound-proofing." He checked his watch. "You're out of excuses, McNally. And we have exactly fifteen minutes left of Luda's break." He stepped up close to her again, getting a knee in between her legs. He bumped his nose against hers, skimming her lips with his. "So, you in?"

Andy stared at him, chewing on her lip, and after a long moment, when she lightly scratched her nails against his chest, his smile spread and he kissed her hard. Instantly, she opened under him, moaning loudly when he thrust his tongue in against hers, and moved his thigh up and pressed it into her. His hands were on her shirt again, had finally freed it from her pants and were now rapidly unbuttoning it, fingers flowing over the placket expertly. His thigh was riding higher between her legs, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't getting to her; if she said it wasn't making her break into a hot sweat, making her breath come short and shallow against his face. But when his hands moved to her belt, she grabbed them and looked at him seriously. "The pants are staying on, buddy."

He grinned wolfishly. "I can work with that."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I cannot believe I'm doing this," Andy muttered, but the corners of her mouth were curling. She released his hands and found herself holding her breath as he unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned her pants, and lowered the zipper. As his knuckles skimmed the elastic of her underwear, his mouth covered hers again, and she nipped at his lip, gripping his arms tightly when he growled into her mouth. When she tipped her head away to take a breath, she narrowed her eyes playfully.

"You are gonna owe me so huge after this."

Sam laughed as he traced over the front of her underwear with his fingertips.As he watched her eyes darken, when he heard the quiet, involuntary begging noise she made in her throat, and he smirked and leaned in. "If this goes the way I imagined it, I think you'll probably owe me," he murmured against her ear.

She let her head fall back against the divider, and inhaled right before he took her mouth again. When his warm fingers first grazed the skin of her stomach, she took a shuddery breath. And when he flattened his palm against it, and very slowly, slid down under the elastic of her underwear, she gasped into his mouth.

He'd barely touched her, only had time to mutter a brief "Jesus Christ" at the feeling of her hot against his palm, when they heard the noise. A sort of rattle. He froze against her, hand trapped between her legs as she snapped them closed. Her teeth sunk into his lower lip, hard, as her eyes snapped open. Then came the hiss of the airlock and the creak of the door as it swung open. Andy started scrambling, shoving at him, but he leaned into her, holding her in place.

"Swarek?" Frank called, his voice echoing throughout the room.

Sam exhaled forcefully through his nose, cursing softly, and tipped his head against hers, trying to calm them both down. Andy squeezed her eyes shut, breath coming heard and fast. "Yeah, Frank," she heard him say in a strangled voice. He leaned again, poking his head around the divider to look at Best, keeping his lower body carefully hidden, pinning her between his hips and the wall. Andy gripped his wrist hard, nails digging into his flesh as her heart pounded nearly out of her chest.

"Luda said you were in here."

Andy heard him take another couple of steps closer and her heart caught in her throat as Sam took a heavy breath and then pulled his hand out of her pants. She slumped back against the divider, knees practically knocking together as her hands fumbled at the fastening of her pants.

"Boyd's in my office," she heard Frank say. "He wants to see you before you leave tonight."

"He couldn't have come earlier?" Sam muttered under his breath, but flashed a quick smile and nodded. "Yeah, I'll be right out. Just…ah…just gotta get my stuff together."

"Sounds good. See you out there." Sam moved back around the barrier, pulled Andy into his arms and pressed his face into her hair, inhaling deeply as Frank's footsteps landed quickly as he headed back out of the room. But they stopped before the door opened. "Oh, Swarek?"

Again, Sam swung his head around. "Yeah, boss."

"Have you seen McNally? She forgot to sign one of her reports," Frank clarified, sounding far too close for comfort. Andy sucked in a breath, not even close to being ready to face her boss. Sam's other hand slid up her neck, cupped her face, thumb stroking slowly over her jaw as he addressed Best.

"She left a while ago. I'm just cleaning up."

"Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes." This time, Sam watched as Frank walked out of the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. Then he moved back against Andy, running his hand behind her head as he held her to him, as he pressed a kiss against her hair.

Andy exhaled forcefully and then she pushed at Sam, pounding at his chest with her fists. "You are totally at the top of my shit list right now," she hissed, finally dropping her hands to do up her pants. He was laughing, pressing her back up against the wall again. She shoved at him ineffectually, letting her head fall back in defeated mortification after a few seconds. His hands moved to her shirt and she slapped them away. "They could totally fire us," she muttered, feeling stupid and panicky and still inexplicably turned on.

Sam just pushed her hands out of the way, and his fingers went to her buttons. "Just let me help," he said gently when she tried to pull away again. As she tipped her head down, she watched as he unbuttoned and rebuttoned. She'd misaligned the placket; she was crooked. After he finished, she glanced away and started stuffing her shirt back into her waistband. "And they wouldn't fire us anyway. They need us."

"They need you." Her hands were still shaking as she fastened up her pants, buckled her belt and then she started to move, to walk away on even shakier legs, but he put his arms up, planting his hands on either side of her head.

"Look, I'm sorry." He ducked his head down to hers, ran his nose along the side of her face. "It was a bad idea."

She rolled her eyes and then put her hands on his chest, smoothing them over his shirt. Then she shook her head. "Maybe. But it would have been kind of…" She took a breath. "Kind of awesome."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Like he wasn't sure he believed her.

She ran her lip through her teeth, purely to keep the grin off her face. Then she nodded. "Yeah. Really."

He raised an eyebrow and smoothed a hand down over her hip, tugging her against him one last time. "So, maybe when I come back we could try it again?"

She flashed her teeth at him. Now that she was dressed and the fear of discovery was slowly dissipating, she couldn't deny the thrill of it. Not even to herself. "I think next time, we can do better," she said quirking an eyebrow at him suggestively. "You know, finish, or whatever."

He chuckled and bent down to her ear, running his lips over the lobe. "You're a tease, McNally," he growled. "Am I going to see you tonight?" As if they both didn't already know the answer to that question.

She nodded, and leaned up, kissing him quick. "I'll grab your stuff. But, uh… You think you're okay to go out there? You know…" Her eyes bounced down once to the vicinity of his belt, and then she grinned up at him.

He pushed out an amused snort. "Yeah, well, Best is sort of a buzz kill. Plus, you know that I'm not actually sixteen, right? I do have some self-control."

Andy rolled her eyes. "I'll believe that when I see it." She let the challenge hang out there, and then ran her hands up his chest. "Just hurry okay?" She took a deep breath and her lips moved against his as she spoke. "And Sam?"

"Yeah?" he said with a smile as he lifted his head and reluctantly let go of her, backing towards the door.

"Thanks for the lesson," she said, giving him a wide grin.

He chuckled and then ran his hand up behind his neck, ruffling the hair at the back of his head; somehow managing to look both proud and a little shy at the same time. "Hey," he said, aiming for casual, coming out a little rough. "What are partners for, right?"

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Saturday, March 31

Andy lowered her gun for a few seconds, teeth dug hard into her lower lip as she tried to control the shit-eating grin quickly spreading across her face. It took a while, probably the longest minute of her life as her cheeks flamed and her chest shook with silent laughter. After it was properly subdued, she wet her lip and she lifted the Glock again, resting on her back foot, holding it solidly in her hand. Bracing with her left, she sucked in a breath, blew out half and fired. One shot after another for five more counts. Then she lowered the weapon, hit the return button, and whipped off her safety glasses and earmuffs. As the target flew up, she removed the brace on her right hand and rotated the joint, wincing the whole time.

"Aim's not bad," Stone said as she came up behind her, lifting her own glasses as the target rattled to a stop. She glanced down at Andy's hand. "How does it feel?"

"Hurts like hell," Andy said with a small smile. She glanced at the target. Unlike the cartoonish paper targets used at 15 Division, it was a simple upper body outline. Low on the chest, maybe around diaphragm level, was a loose cluster of six holes. She shook her head in disappointment and then ejected the clip from her Glock and cleared the chamber. "And my aim has been better."

"The cast only came off a few weeks ago. Maybe you should give it some more time," Stone said as she stepped up next to Andy and field-stripped her weapon. She reached into her black nylon range bag and pulled out a small box. Inside were cleaning rods, patches, a bore brush, some solvents, oil, and a few other tools.

"It's been over a month," Andy muttered, but shook her head. "The doctor cleared me. It'll be fine." She too removed the slide from her gun, took out the barrel and the recoil spring assembly and started cleaning.

They worked separately; the same actions, the same practiced movements. It felt natural to Andy, the maintenance, the feeling of the pieces coming apart in her hands. She reamed out the barrel a few times, first with the bore brush, and then with a few patches until the cloth came back clean, then she wiped down the recoil spring. When Stone finished up, Andy was handed another brush, and she went to work on the frame. Finally, she replaced the spring and the barrel and then ran the whole thing back up the rails, letting it snap back into place.

Once outside the range, the guns went into the trunk of Stone's car and as she slammed it down, Andy glanced up, squinting in the bright sun. Spring had finally arrived. All around her, even in the city, she could smell it; amongst the exhaust from the cars, and the scents from restaurants and people. She could smell the dampness in the air and in the ground; the plants poking through the dirt, the leaves budding on the trees. Back in Willow Bend, it was far more potent; the smell of wet decaying leaves in the woods behind her house was almost cloying. She should have enjoyed it, winter finally departing, warmth settling into the air. But she didn't. Not entirely.

She climbed into the car, buckled her belt and leaned her seat back a few degrees as Stone pulled out of the lot. Andy dropped her sunglasses down onto her nose and closed her eyes. It was by no means early in the day, but Andy was tired, all the way through her body down to her toes.

They were on the edge of town by the time Stone finally spoke. "How's your dad doing?"

"He's good," Andy said, shifting in her seat.

"That's…informative," Stone muttered, taking a left as the light turned green. "Care to elaborate?"

Andy yawned and shrugged. "You talk to him."

Stone shot a glance over at her. "Yeah, but lately, we seem to be talking a lot about you."

Andy scratched at a worn patch on her jeans, but didn't turn her head. "What's he saying?"

Stone reached between them, snagged a bottle of water from the console and took a drink before answering. "He says you've been quiet, a little moody maybe."

Andy gave a tight, irritated smile. "Anything else?

"He said you're spending a lot of time alone lately." Stone's eyes flitted over to Andy for a second and then back to the road. "You know, walks in the woods with the dog. Shutting yourself up in your room. Avoiding Rebecca. Which, normally, I could understand, but I know you were spending a lot of time over there."

Andy shrugged. "I'm trying to get Brody off the leash. And Dad likes to leave the TV on while he naps. It's annoying."

"And Rebecca?"

Andy looked out her window. "I just haven't felt like company lately, I guess."

"Okay," Stone said, obviously working to keep her tone casual. "So what's the story? I thought that having your dad here would make things easier."

Andy shrugged. "So did I." She looked over and gave her an apologetic smile. "I guess I just got used to it. Being here alone. I'm screwed up."

"No, you two are just getting used to each other again," Stone said, eyes on the road. "What's really going on?" She gave Andy a quick glance, and when she saw her staring at her, she frowned. "Seriously. What is it?"

Andy swallowed and took a deep breath as she looked down and pulled her knees up, balancing her heels on the very edge of the seat. "It just seems so easy for him," she admitted quietly. "I think he sees it as some really long undercover assignment."

Stone considered it. "Well, I suppose it kind of is. What's the problem with that?"

The problem was that Andy'd figured that her dad would need more time to settle in, to get his bearings. In addition, she'd expected a sort of ally, someone who would commiserate with her over the difficulty of their situation. But that had been a miscalculation. Because Tommy McNally - who was so resistant to change that he'd stayed at the same station his whole career and had owned the same furniture and hideous table lamp since before her mother left - was thriving.

"Nothing, really," Andy relented. "I guess I just thought it would be harder for him. Like it is for me. But he…" She shrugged. "He is Mike McAllister. He's only been in town three weeks and he's already got everything set up. He's been to almost a dozen AA meetings, he's down at that café on Main Street twice a week rolling dice with a couple of guys from his group. And really, who the hell rolls dice these days?" She shook her head in frustration. "He told me the other day that he's even got a line on a job. Some hardware store." She glanced over, saw Stone raising an eyebrow at her. "It's just not fair," she finished, knowing exactly how childish she sounded, and not caring a single bit.

But she wasn't exaggerating. Tommy had spent exactly one week tiptoeing around Andy's routine, figuring out which drawer the silverware went into, where the nearest grocery store was, and then it was business as usual. The same applied to their behavior toward each other. For that first week, they'd been sort of…polite. Andy tried to make him feel welcome and Tommy tried not to force himself too readily into her space. But by the second week, all bets were off.

It was actually a vivid reminder of why Andy had moved out as soon as she'd been old enough to afford it. They got along fine under normal circumstances, but when constantly in close quarters, they wore on each other. Sometime over the course of his sobriety, he'd developed the habit of rising at 6:00 AM and finishing up any dishes leftover from the night before. While she appreciated this, she wished he'd at least wait until her alarm went off. And Tommy hated the way his daughter left the remote on the sofa, letting it fall between the cushions so he had to send out a search party every time he wanted to watch something. Just little things like that.

But more than anything, Andy was resentful of the fact that he'd managed to just fall right into it. That he was taking to the new life like he'd been born into it. Like it didn't even faze him to have to literally create a new being out of thin air. In fact, they'd been sharing a pizza the second week and he'd clicked on the television, leaned back in his chair and winked at her, saying, "See, honey? Just like it was back at home." He'd turned back to the game not even aware that she was staring at him, her brows drawn together and her mouth dropped open in shocked disagreement. Because it wasn't. Not at all. Not even a little bit. At least, not for Andy.

Back home, they wouldn't be eating nearly every meal together in a house that was, for all intents and purposes, hers. The person she'd be excited to come home to at night wouldn't have four legs and a serious case of dog breath. And she wouldn't be feeling as if she were constantly on the edge of a full blown identity crisis, trying desperately to hold onto the person she was while the people closest to her were encouraging her to be someone else.

The bitterness and mental exhaustion were taking their toll; she was feeling a little worn down.

Stone took a few moments before finally replying, her voice patient and calm. "Well, it's not really the same, is it? Your dad had some time to prepare for this. He had nothing left in Toronto; nothing holding him there. No…baggage." Andy rolled her eyes as Stone took an exit off the highway and turned onto the road to Willow Bend. "And given the circumstances surrounding his retirement and the history with your mom, I can see why he'd embrace the chance to make a fresh start."

Andy looked over in surprise. "He talked to you about all that?"

Stone shrugged. "Well, you told me about most of it, and I do have some pretty amazing resources at my disposal." She nodded. "But yeah. He talked about it a little." They drove in silence for a while. "He must really miss it. Being a cop, I mean," she said quietly.

"He's not the only one," Andy said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Walked right into that one," Stone muttered. "Listen, I've told you this before, but relocation is different for everyone. Some people, like your dad, look at it as a chance at a brand new life. And other people…" She looked at her. "It just takes them a while to realize that the longer they resist, the longer they're going to be miserable."

"But I'm not resisting. I'm playing your game. I mean, I've got a job, and I'm making friends –"

"Who you've been skipping out on lately," Stone reminded her.

Andy shrugged. "I'm tired. And with Dad here…" She folded her arms across her middle. "And all the memories and stuff, I'm just worried I'll let something slip." It was a feeble excuse, but valid given the fact that she'd already spilled the beans about Sam to Rebecca. And by her nod, Andy thought Jill bought it. She was actually feeling a little bad about it; about blowing off Rebecca. At first, it'd made sense to spend more time at home, to hang out with her Dad, to help him settle in. But that took far less time than she'd expected, and though everything had quieted down eventually, the welcome disruption into the life she was building had left her a little unsettled; had stirred up emotions and memories she'd been suppressing. She simply hadn't had the energy to head across the street, and deal with the endless chatter and curious looks. There were far too many days lately where she wasn't sure she could pull off her cover story. In fact, sometimes, she wasn't even sure she wanted to anymore; she wasn't sure about any of it.

Stone glanced over at her. "It's hard because you're still holding on to what you had in Toronto. It's easy for your dad because he's committed to this new life; to this new identity. You just have to do the same thing. You have to commit. You know; be Abby. Figure out who she is so when people ask you questions, you don't have to think about it. You just know."

Andy smiled, a real smile, teeth flashing briefly. "That sounds like something Sam said to me once." But then the smile faded as she absorbed the full impact of Stone's words.

If what Stone said was true, letting Abby in meant letting go of the things and people that made her Andy. And she wasn't ready to do that. Some nights, she'd lie awake, sure that she'd never really be done with Toronto and with the people who lived there. And other nights, she'd curl up on her side, fearful that they were already slipping away, whether she wanted it or not; that it had already begun. She didn't think about Traci and the others as often as she used to. In fact, she'd realized only the day before that she'd missed Oliver's birthday by a solid month. And then of course, there was Sam.

When she'd first left Ontario, he'd been so vivid in her mind. Every aspect of him from the adorable wrinkles at the corners of his eyes to the rough touch of his hands. And now, most of the time she felt as if her memories of him were reduced to that single picture on that memory card, and to random surprise moments in the day; like that morning at the shooting range. It was harder and harder to summon them up at will. Harder to stretch the moments out, to truly relive them. With the photo, she could remember how he looked, but she couldn't remember the smell of his skin, or the press of his body against hers. The exact timbre of his voice was lost somewhere in the twist of present and past; and the last few conversations they'd had, the words themselves were fading. She was doing it; making it on her own, without him. But she didn't want to.

"Your dad also said you've been asking him questions about Toronto," Stone ventured several minutes later, snapping Andy out of her thoughts.

She looked over. "Actually, I think the word is 'badgering.' As in 'Andy, stop badgering me; I've already told you everything,'" she mimicked with a grin.

Yes, she'd been asking her dad about Sam. Well, more like harassing him, actually. Obviously there'd been questions since he'd arrived. At first, seemingly innocent queries, subtle mentions that were intended to get Tommy talking. However, the curiosity had morphed into a sort of daily inquisition, and for that Andy was sorry. But she couldn't stop asking. It was beginning to put a slight strain on the relationship between them.

And well, the only problem with all that was the more Andy heard about Sam, the more she wanted to hear about Sam. And in truth, she was starting to feel like she needed it.; like it was some strange addiction.

The truly low point had come just days before. Tommy had been out, and for some reason, though she looked at them most nights, running through the file of pictures with one extra glass of wine after dinner had been a mistake. Across the street, she'd seen Riley's red Suburban pulled up outside Rebecca's house, and they'd tried; first Rebecca, and then, when she hadn't answered, Riley had actually come bounding across the street and had pounded on her front door. She'd sat still as a statue at the table in her darkened dining room until the banging had ceased and Brody stopped pacing at the front door, until his expectant whine died away.

And then, she'd slammed back the rest of her wine and pulled out her phone. She'd dialed the first nine digits of Sam's number. Her thumb had actually been resting against the very last number when her dad walked in through the garage. She'd been kicked back in her chair, feet up on the table and had nearly toppled herself over right onto the floor when she heard the door open. They'd greeted each other, Andy's heart trip-hammering all over the place, and then, she'd combed her fingers through her hair, walked into her bedroom and chucked the phone into the depths of her closet. It had stayed there until morning.

Remembering that night, the weird meld of panic and shame, Andy's smile faded a little and she looked down at her knees, scratched a finger against the denim. "He uh… He told me you asked him too. About Sam." She glanced up at Stone who was looking suddenly uncomfortable, like she'd been found out. At that, Andy blurted out the question she'd wanted to ask for the last few weeks. "What did he tell you?"

"Probably the same things he told you," Stone said after a pause. "Nothing specific."

"So you haven't been keeping tabs on him?"

Stone shot her a look. "No. I haven't."

"But you could?"

Another look; this one more warning than anything else. "No."

"What about those 'amazing resources'? I'd think it'd be easy for you."

Stone took a deep breath and looked at the clock. She didn't answer.

"C'mon Jill. I'm just curious."

Jill gave a short laugh. "No, you're not. You're desperate. You'd never ask me to do this otherwise. You know what I'm going to say."

"Look," Andy said, popping her seat fully upright. "Dad said he didn't have a chance to explain, or say goodbye. I just want to know that he's okay." Which was the understatement of the year. There wasn't enough time in the day for Andy to cover everything she wanted to know about Sam. "I mean, he could have gone on another undercover assignment with Boyd. He could be dead and I wouldn't even know it." The statement was meant to make an impact, and it did. On Andy. Her voice shook a little at the end, she felt a little nausea swim up into her stomach at the thought of Sam stretched out in the morgue. She turned away, and looked out the window as she took a breath, waited for the queasiness to pass. It was more than a few minutes before anyone said anything else.

"He's not dead, okay?" Stone finally said in a tight voice.

"How do you know?"

"Because I would have gotten a call."

Andy's head snapped around and she stared at her a few seconds as the words sank in. "Do you have him flagged or something?"

Stone licked her lips and leaned forward, visibly relaxing as they reached the city limits. "Not exactly. I just asked to be notified if something major happened."

"Why?"

Stone looked at her. "Because I thought you'd want to know if something happened to him."

Andy took a good minute or two to think that over, fingers clutched tightly around her ankles, knees up against her chest as the car rattled over the bridge through the center of town. She knew what she'd see if she looked out the window. She'd taken Brody down the asphalt path running alongside the water just the day before. The river below was rushing, high with spring melt, the long branches of the willows were hanging down, studded with tiny leaves. Instead, she turned to Stone.

"So, can't you call up whoever and just ask how he is?"

"No, I can't," Stone said again.

"Yes, you can," Andy said in a hard voice.

"Fine," Stone answered in an equally cold tone. "I won't."

"Why not?" She swallowed hard. The thick, sad feeling in Andy's throat hadn't been a part of the plan. Tears had their place in negotiation, but in the past, they'd proven virtually useless against Stone.

"Beyond the obvious?" Stone asked distractedly, cranking the wheel as she pulled onto Andy's road. "It's going to set you back, way more than you can possibly imagine. You think you haven't made a lot of progress, but you have." She looked at Andy, widening her eyes to make her point. "It might still be difficult most of the time, but you're doing it, making money, taking care of yourself, you're building a support system. Really, you've come a long way, and teasing yourself with information about Sam is only going make it worse for you in the long run. I promise." She shook her head. "And this part probably isn't as important to you, but if I did that, I'd be breaking about a dozen rules; I could get into real trouble if my boss found out. Not to mention the serious breach in ethics."

"Jill…" Andy began as she watched the houses rush by on either side of the car.

"Just explain it to me." She whipped the car up into Andy's driveway, threw it into park and turned in her seat. "Explain how this is going to make things easier for you. I mean, do you remember those first few weeks? Because I do, and they weren't pretty."

"Of course I do."

"Well, get ready for a repeat. Because if you somehow convince me to do this, it's going to be bad."

Andy looked down, chewed on her lip for a long moment and then she threw in the last of her hand.

"What if I said I'd never ask you again? That this would be the last time we'd have to have this conversation?"

"And in six months, when you suddenly can't take it anymore, and swear you'll hold your breath unless I check again?" Stone asked sharply, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back against the seat. "God, I've had it with this shit," she muttered under her breath. "This isn't how we do things."

"Well obviously the way you do things isn't working," Andy replied, voice going sort of hollow and wet on the last two words. "Look, I just need this okay? And if you don't find out…" She paused as she sucked in a shuddery breath. "I don't know what I'll do to get what I want. But I know you won't like it."

Stone's eyes cut to hers, held them in a hard stare. That was the instant Andy knew she had her. Stone could threaten and yell all she wanted, but she couldn't watch Andy 24/7. And Andy was beginning to realize that after all this time, after all the money they'd sunk into this whole thing, there's no way they'd just kick her out.

"If I do this for you, and I'm in no way promising that I will," Stone clarified, pointing a finger at Andy. "I'm going to need something from you. Something big. And I'm not talking about showing up at work every day or seeing your friend. I'm going to need real proof that you're committed to this new life. I don't want to be back in this car having this same argument in six weeks."

"Like what?" Andy pounced, switching instantly to bargaining mode.

Stone shrugged and once again put her hand on the door latch. "Something that's going to tie you here. Something to help bring Abby to life. Start a book club, finally decorate your house, whatever. Surprise me." She glanced up in the rearview mirror. "Looks like you have company."

Andy glanced over her shoulder, out the back window and saw Rebecca trotting quickly down the walk, crossing the street behind them. "Fantastic." She looked out the front window again as Tommy walked out of the house, down the steps and crossed the lawn, Brody following at his heels. "By the way," Andy said, still feeling a little infantile. "Dad's not completely over Toronto. He's trying to teach Brody commands in German." Stone blinked at her. "You know, like they do on the force."

Stone cursed and was out of the car in an instant, striding over to Tommy. Andy grinned and then got out, only to find herself face to face with Rebecca.

"Hey," Rebecca said, almost nervously, like she wasn't quite sure what reaction to expect. For that, Andy felt a little guilty. "Look, I know you're still pissed about that whole Riley thing –"

"I'm not," Andy said quickly, truthfully.

Rebecca frowned. "So, you've been avoiding me because….?"

Andy glanced over her shoulder at Stone and Tommy who were deep into conversation, hands flying in jerky gestures towards Brody who sat there grinning with his tongue hanging out. Then she turned back to Rebecca. "I've just been spending time with my dad. You know, family stuff," she lied, topping it off with a semi-convincing smile.

"So, we're okay then?" Rebecca asked. "Because we're supposed to go over to Riley's tonight, and I don't want things to be weird."

"We're fine." Andy nodded glancing down. Rebecca was twisting her fingers, clenching her hands tightly together. "Are you okay?"

She gave an anxious laugh. "Actually, I want to do something, and I'm a little nervous about it, and I saw you and thought maybe you'd come with me?" She asked the last bit with a sheepish smile and Andy gave her a puzzled laugh.

"I guess. Where are we going?"

Rebecca spun around and Andy got a look at the thick twisted brain that fell halfway down her back. "I was thinking of chopping it. You know, maybe shoulder-length? What do you think?" For a second, Andy didn't answer, just imagined over a foot of blonde hair falling to the floor. She swallowed hard. "What? What's that look?" Rebecca asked, voice a little panicky.

Andy shook her head. "No. Nothing." She flashed an encouraging smile. "It'll be great."

"So, you'll do it with me?"

"Whoa," Andy said quickly, holding a hand up. "I'll go with you. But I'm not cutting mine." She ran her hand down over her ponytail, pulled it over her shoulder and checked out the ends. "Well, maybe a trim."

Rebecca grinned at her and looped her arm through Andy's towing her across the street. "Oh, come on. Where's your sense of adventure? You'll feel like a whole new person." Andy stopped in her tracks and Rebecca pulled away from her. "What? What did I say?" But Andy was looking over her shoulder at Stone, and after a second, Jill raised her eyes to hers. Andy held the stare for a moment. It wouldn't be enough; not by a long shot. But it would be a start. A little good faith. Without another thought, she turned back and walked quickly past Rebecca. "Hey, what's going on?" Rebecca said loudly, scampering after her at a slow run.

"Let's just do this before I change my mind," Andy said, hauling herself up into the passenger seat of Rebecca's van.

---

"I can't believe I did this," Rebecca said, voice shaking as she leaned forward and stared at herself in the mirror.

"Me either," Andy muttered. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling a strange dip when the layers ended just above her shoulders.

Next to her, Rebecca was using both hands, smoothing the thick chin-length cut down. "Oh, what did I do, what did I do, what did I do?" she whispered to herself.

Andy was still looking at her own reflection. She blew out a heavy breath, blinking a few times. She knew she was being stupid. It was only seven or eight inches. No big deal. But she couldn't remember the last time her hair had been so short.

"I don't get it," Riley said from where he was leaning against the door frame. Both women froze and their eyes shot to him. "It's just hair. It'll grow back." Rebecca glared at him and then whirled around, brushing past him and stalking down the hallway. He looked back at Andy. "Won't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're not a girl. You wouldn't get it." Plus, there was no way she would ever admit that the real reason she was so twisted inside over it was because the second after they made the first cut, an image of Sam flashed behind her eyes; of the way he used to wrap her hair around his fist, smoothing his thumb over it. He loved her hair; it was no secret. But at that point, it was too late.

She tucked it behind her ears and then hid an amused smile as Rebecca flew back into the small bathroom, leaned over the counter and combed her fingers through her hair. She looked over at Andy. "It looks okay, right?" Initially, they'd cut it off at her shoulders, and fueled by some unknown fire, Rebecca had given them a crazy smile and said, "Maybe a little shorter." Almost three inches later, she was having a little buyer's remorse.

"It looks great," Andy said truthfully, giving her a smile and a nod. Rebecca nodded back absently and then gave it a tousle, messing it up a little.

Riley glanced over his shoulder. "Well, not to interrupt whatever this is, but I need some help, if you two aren't busy."

Rebecca stared at him in the mirror. "My kids are at my mom's. I've had a bad day. It's my night off; I'm just here to eat and drink." She turned around and walked out of the room. "Not in that order," she shouted back over her shoulder.

"You know what got into her?" Andy asked distractedly as she faced the mirror, gathering her hair, testing out a ponytail.

Riley didn't answer right away, but when she met his eyes, he nodded. "Tony's getting remarried."

Andy stilled, elbow in the air, hand fisted around her hair. Then she let go, let her arms fall back to her sides. "Oh." She turned around and leaned past him to look down the hall. "Is she going to be okay?"

He shrugged. "When they split up, she took a couple of classes, got a new job. She just needs to work it out of her system."

"You're sure?" Andy leaned back, hands and butt up against the bathroom counter as she watched Rebecca pace at the other end of the hallway. Riley cleared his throat and her eyes flew back to him. He hadn't moved, but was watching her with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. She'll be fine. You up for helping?"

Andy snorted and gave him a look. "Stirring is pretty much as far as I go."

"Where does making a salad fall on your scale?"

She shrugged. "I'll give it a shot." She edged past him, shoulder grazing the front of his shirt as she moved down the narrow hallway.

She entered the kitchen and looked around. Rebecca was drinking a beer, taking her time setting the table. The room itself was large, with a giant butcher block-covered island right in the center, and a rack of pots and pans hanging high over the top of it. And like the rest of Riley's house, it was clean. Spotless actually, except for the pile of vegetables stacked near the cutting board and the pots simmering on the stovetop. She stepped up to the island and then spun around to face Riley as he came around the corner.

"So what do you want me to do?" she asked, hands on her hips.

He reached around her, plucked a red onion out of the plastic bag and tossed it to her. "Go nuts."

She caught it and raised her eyebrows. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

He gave her an amused look, and then reached past her again and snagged a large knife out of the block. "Peel it, cut it in half, slice it up." Andy drew a breath in through her nose and turned towards the cutting board, giving Rebecca an irritated look. But she cut the ends off, ripped the peel off in a few large chunks and sliced it lengthwise. She started cutting it, forming a pile of long strips. She was about to do the second half when Riley leaned over her shoulder.

"Thinner. You're making salad, not fajitas." Andy gave him a dirty look.

"I know how to cut an onion."

"Are you sure?" he joked, grinning. "Here." He moved to stand beside her and slid the whole cutting board over in front of him. "You want to hold it like this." He set his hand on top of it, knuckles down. "And move the knife like this." He did it slowly at first, the motion smooth and easy. Then, he sped it up into a practiced, fluid movement until he had a loosely clustered short stack of slices. Then, he slid the cutting board back to her, and snatched another onion. "Try again."

Her eyebrows shot up. "That's a lot of onion."

He gave her a grin. "And I'll use it all week." When her mouth dropped open, he gestured at the knife. "Try it."

"What is this, slave labor?" Andy muttered, but turned around to the counter, catching the smirk Rebecca threw at her.

"I'd help, but onions make me cry like a baby," she said. "Him too," she added before she downed the rest of her beer and wandered out of the room, not noticing the look Riley threw her way.

Andy watched her leave, then started again slowly, getting halfway through before she glanced to her left and found Riley next to her, staring down at her hands. As she paused, he nodded.

"Looks good. Finish up." Then he turned back to the stove.

By the time Andy was done with the onion and had also cut up a green pepper, Riley had a large pot of water set up to boil on one of the back burners. He'd had crushed a clove of garlic and was adding it to a second hot saucepan already coated with a little olive oil. Andy stayed where she was for a minute or two, craning her neck to see around him.

"Ready for something else?" Riley asked glancing at her over his shoulder.

"I guess," Andy answered. He gave the garlic a quick stir and then quickly pulled a plastic container of basil from the fridge. She quirked an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you don't grow your own," she teased.

"Don't really have much of a green thumb, I guess," he said with a small smile and opened it up, tossing out a small handful. "You want to stack a few of these leaves, and then roll them up." Andy watched as he worked quickly, then grabbed a fresh knife and ran it through a few times. "Thin like the onion. Give it a shot." He passed her the knife and turned back to the stove. Andy finished up what he'd begun and then started another stack. By the time she started to smell the garlic, she was finished and Riley was pouring some white wine into the pan. He added a few other ingredients, then scooped the basil off the cutting board and stirred it in, letting it simmer. Then, he tipped his head toward the fridge. "Want to grab the fish for me?"

"Sure." Andy walked to the fridge and paused for a second, eyes moving quickly over a few photos stuck onto it with magnets. One in particular, a shot with Riley and maybe five or six other people at a park or campground caught her eye. She stared at it for a few seconds, noting the deep summer tans, the backpacks and huge smiles.

"Abby?"

She glanced over. "Oh, sorry," she said, and then opened the fridge and grabbed the large package wrapped in white butcher's paper off the bottom shelf and carried it over to him. She set it on the counter and tore off the sticker and unwrapped it, revealing three large salmon fillets.

"And can you grab the pasta from the fridge? The big container on the top shelf?" Andy did, and set it on the counter as Riley dropped the fish onto the hot grill pan. He gave his hands a quick wash, then snatched a large sieve with a handle and started to load it up with the homemade linguine he pulled from the container.

"You made it?" Andy asked, a little impressed.

"Yeah, did it this morning," he said, like it was nothing. He dropped the sieve into the boiling water, stirred the sauce once more, checked the fish and then exhaled loudly as he walked over to the fridge. He reached in and snatched out two bottles of beer.

"Here you go," he said, tossing one to her. She snatched it out of the air, more out of reflex more than out of readiness, and gave him an annoyed glare when he grinned at her. "You earned it." He twisted the cap off, drained half in one shot, then tipped his head toward the living room where Rebecca was lounging on his couch in front of the television. Riley's small chocolate lab was nestled up next to her, nosing selfishly at her hand. "Go relax. I'll call you when it's ready."

---

They all ate until they were stuffed, and even then, Andy found herself dragging the last piece of bread through the remaining sauce on her plate. She washed the bite down with a healthy swig of white wine and leaned back in her chair, groaning.

"Yeah, I should have worn my stretchy pants," Rebecca said with a grin. Then she got to her feet and carried her plate to the sink, gave it a quick rinse and poured another glass of wine. She'd just sat down again when a cellphone started ringing. They all immediately started checking pockets. Andy jumped up and snatched hers off the island, but it was Rebecca who finally answered.

"Yeah, Mom," she said rolling her eyes at Andy. "No, I don't want to talk about it." She blew out a frustrated breath. "Because there's nothing to say, alright?" She looked at Andy and mouthed Sorry and then turned around, walking quickly out of the room. Andy could hear her somewhere past the living room, voice firm, trying to keep it down, but failing for the most part.

Andy looked at Riley, eyebrows up but he shook his head. "She's fine."

"Well, what's all that?"

"Her mom is just worried. She's okay," he said with a nod. "She'll paint her house, or learn to rock climb, and things will go back to normal."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged and Andy swiveled in her chair as he walked to the sink, scraping the last bits of salad into the garbage disposal. "She just sort of…reinvents herself, or something. Some change to distract her until it doesn't bother her so much. She did the same thing when she got divorced, and when her dad died last year."

"And that works?" Andy asked skeptically.

Riley grabbed a rag and wiped the table down, lifting her glass out of the way and setting it back down when he was finished. Then he tossed the rag back into the sink, refilled his glass and rejoined her at the table.

"Works for her. Everyone deals with that stuff in their own way." He glanced over Andy's shoulder towards the living room, but Rebecca hadn't reappeared. "The problem, of course, is that no matter what you do, you're always the same person underneath." He lifted his glass to his mouth. "Can't change that," he said quietly before taking a drink.

"What do you mean?" Andy asked again, frowning, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she propped her head up on her hand. Her mission, at least the way Stone had explained it, was to create this new person. New habits, new likes and dislikes, new hobbies. But what Riley was saying was at complete odds with that, and it sounded…right.

He shrugged and pushed his chair back from the table, crossing his ankle over his knee. "Just that people don't change. Not really. You'll always be Abby. Even if you change the way you look," he said pointedly, tossing her a nod.

Andy snorted; but her hand moved over her hair self-consciously.

"Something funny about that?" he asked, looking at her seriously..

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head, trying to contain the ironic smile she felt coming on. "No. Not at all." She took another drink of wine, finishing it off. "But reinvention… I mean, isn't the whole point to become a different person?"

"Well, that's Rebecca's word. But after everything, she's still the same girl I knew ten years ago. She's just older, more complicated." His eyes suddenly took on a probing gleam. "Why are you so interested in reinvention? Is that why you moved here? To become a different person?"

Andy shook her head. "You know I moved here for my family."

"And how's that going? Your family, I mean," he asked.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, smiling back ruefully. "Not well."

"Why not?"

Andy tucked her hair behind her ear. "Well…" She cleared her throat, trying to find a way to explain while still remaining vague. She took a deep breath and nodded, tapping her nails against the base of her wine glass. "I guess part of it is because they want me to be someone I'm not. If that makes sense," she added quickly, eyes jumping to his.

After a beat, he nodded. "How?" She raised her eyebrows at the question. "If you don't mind me asking, I mean."

She ran her finger along the grain of the wood in the table top. "They're trying to convince me to…start over. To move on, I guess. Like moving here means I should just forget parts of my life. My 'old' life," she said, using air quotes. "It's exhausting."

"What was so bad about your old life?"

Andy pulled her lower lip between her teeth, and shook her head. "Nothing. It was just different."

Again, Riley was quiet, and after a long pause, she looked over at him, found him watching her sort of curiously. Like he had a dozen questions, but wasn't sure how to ask. Finally, he shook his head. "Well, that's unrealistic. You can't just stop caring about the things you cared about." Andy froze as his words struck a memory long buried; Sam the first day they worked together as he dug around that dingy cover apartment. Images flew behind her eyes; of him kicking in Emily's door, of the way his hand brushed hers when he smiled and took the suitcase from her, of the tense, charged moment behind the Penny that same night. She pressed her lips together, holding in the smile. Then she raised her eyes to Riley's again. He was quirking an eyebrow at her, puzzled. "I mean," he said, qualifying his previous statement. "If you liked football where you lived before, you're going to like football here, right?"

This time, Andy let the smile out. "Basketball."

"What?" His eyebrows went up with the question.

"I played basketball."

"Don't tell Rebecca that. She's grooming AJ to be the star catcher of her softball team." A small smile was playing at the corner of Riley's mouth. "How long's it been? Since you played, I mean?"

Andy thought about it. "Really played? I don't even know," she finished with a short laugh.

He tossed back the rest of his wine and stood up. "Come with me."

"What?" Andy shook her head as he reached the back door and quickly pulled on his sneakers without untying them. "No way."

"Quit being paranoid. Just come with me." She glanced over her shoulder at the living room, then back at Riley. "They're going to be talking for a while. I promise you'll leave here in one piece. Probably." He turned around and walked out the back door.

And for some reason, Andy found herself standing up and following him out to the backyard. It was chilly and dark, but the backyard and driveway were both lit up with flood lights. They walked out to the garage, and Riley disappeared inside for a second, returning with a weathered basketball. He passed it to her, hard, and she caught it, feeling a familiar sting against her palms.

Andy ducked her head a little when the grin spread across her face. "I'm not doing this. It's late. We'll wake up your neighbors."

Riley was emptying his pockets. Wallet, car keys, cell phone all went in a pile in the corner of the paved driveway. Then he paced in front of the basketball hoop mounted on the roof of his garage. He waved at her. "It's not that late. C'mon. Just to eleven."

"Rebecca is going to be done any second."

Riley walked up and stood in front of her. "She'll come out when she's done, and you guys can go home. But trust me. You'll feel better if you just play me." He said the last few words slowly with a challenging grin and Andy shook her head, biting back a smile. She tucked the ball under her arm as she walked to the edge of the driveway and set down her phone and house keys. Then, she started walking back, dribbling slowly as she approached. The moment before she was ready to take a shot, his hand snaked out and snatched the ball from her. Before she could even get the protest out, he'd spun around and taken his shot, sinking it effortlessly.

"High school basketball?" Andy asked peevishly when he turned around.

His grinned back at her. "University too. I'm not gonna go easy on you."

She narrowed her eyes and pulled the hair binder from around her wrist, tying up her hair. "Good. More fun when I beat you."

---

When Andy finally let herself into her house that night, she relocked both deadbolts, reset the alarm and then walked quietly to the bathroom. She left her sweaty clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor and stepped into the hot shower. She would be sore the next day, no doubt about that. She'd gone for a run here and there when she'd felt like it, but nothing as strenuous as a one-on-one game. And Riley was better than she'd guessed; she'd had to work for every point. By the time Rebecca came out to collect her, he was up by four and Andy made her wait until the last point was scored. And then she'd left, completely worn out, with a set of sore feet and an open invitation to use the hoop whenever she wanted. Again, she wasn't sure she'd be taking him up on the offer, but the feeling she had now, like she'd stolen a bit of herself back…it was heady. Addictive.

When the shower was over, she stepped out, wrapped a clean towel around herself. She walked up to the mirror and used her hand to wipe away the condensation. At the first smear, she caught a glimpse of the smile on her face, and it made her grin even wider. After a few of seconds of staring at herself, at the girl she'd been hoping was still in there somewhere, Andy cleared the rest of the mirror, then brushed her teeth.

She fell into bed maybe twenty minutes later, after drying off and combing out her hair. Tonight she skipped through the pictures, moving right to the one of Sam. For the first time in a long time, with the bargain with Stone still fresh in her mind, and the heaviness in her chest a little lessened, she smiled at the picture. Brody pushed the door open and took two steps and leapt up, pushing himself into a tight knot, butted up against the backs of her thighs. And then Andy turned off the lamp and pulled the duvet up to her chin. It was the first time she'd gone to bed happy in months.

---

.

---

Thursday, April 12

Sam let the elevator doors close behind him, then jabbed at the button for the first floor and sagged against the wall. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his head, feeling the wave of exhaustion hit him. Though he tried to prepare himself, to steel himself against it, each session with Dr. Curtis seemed to end the same way lately. He'd start in the chair across from her. He'd pace, and argue, and finally end up staring out her window at the street below. He'd watch the people come and go from the building, scurrying around across the road, on the sidewalks. And though he resisted, inevitably, she pulled bit after bit of information out, twisting it and contorting the facts until he felt he had to "set her straight." Which of course, lead to him practically spilling his guts, telling her far more than he intended each time. At this point in the game, he wasn't sure how much he had left inside him, and how much he'd given to her.

This last hour had been particularly difficult. Though they always began with the job, with the interaction with his new partner and his other coworkers, they always managed to get around to Andy. And it was strange, because even though it was still so hard to talk about her, some days it actually helped in the end. Everything Andy was all jumbled together, a mish-mash of intense, confused emotion; all guilt and anger and love and desolation. Up until now, he'd tried practically everything. He'd let the loss level him for months, sinking him down into a sort of catatonia that eventually morphed into an unbending rage. And then, he'd pushed it away, pushed her away into a tight dark corner in his mind; only letting her out in small bits and pieces so the hurt couldn't break him anymore. And for the last few weeks, that had been working. He'd wake up in the morning, get ready for work, do his job, and come home again. Fully functional, but still, feeling like only like a fraction the man he used to be. The shrink was helping with that. She was unraveling all the individual strands, bringing him almost to pieces each time they sat down, but it was working; it was straightening him out. Usually, he left still feeling a little undone, somewhat lost inside his own head. It was only later, when he'd had time to process that things seemed to smooth out, to get more clear.

But today… It'd been rough. She'd asked him about his plans, what he'd been thinking about, and what he wanted for his future. And he hadn't even... He'd been so deeply entrenched in the present and the past, so fully committed to solving this case now, and dedicated to getting Andy back, that he hadn't really given a whole lot of thought to how this case had altered his plans for the future.

It wasn't like he'd ever spoken to Andy about it. Sure, they'd mentioned a couple of things, but nothing long term. In fact, that had basically been the whole point. To live those three weeks, to make them count; and the thinking and the planning, that could wait. But the wheels had been turning for Sam that whole month; probably even before that, if he were honest with himself. His feelings for Andy had been allowed to build for nearly two years. It was no surprise that once or twice, he'd let himself imagine an armful of tiny dark-haired, dark-eyed babies, let himself imagine Andy nestling up against his side for longer than a few months, longer than a few years. He'd sort of gotten used to the idea. And up until very recently, it hadn't even been a question for him. No matter what, she'd come back, and they would… They'd get there. Eventually.

In truth, he hadn't known what to tell the doctor. Personally or professionally. He'd stepped back from Guns and Gangs because of his relationship with Andy, but if he accepted that she was really gone, there was nothing saying he couldn't go back. If he wanted to, that is. But he wasn't sure about any of it; not about his desire to do the job, and definitely not about accepting Andy's disappearance from his life. Basically, until he figured it out, he was treading water. And to Dr. Curtis' obvious surprise, he'd flat out admitted it. He'd admitted that he had no idea what he was going to do, had absolutely no concrete plans for his future. He couldn't even imagine what life would be like, long term, without Andy in it; didn't want to imagine. Not as long as there was even the faintest glimmer of hope.

But now, with so many things up in the air, with her so far away for such a long time, he was feeling doubt. And doubt was worse than the sadness and the anger, because doubt felt a lot like giving up.

The elevator dinged, and his eyes opened and focused on the petite redhead standing at the opening, her hands on her hips and toe tapping rapidly in irritation.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Sam stepped out and walked past her, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I had a meeting. Run out of paperwork?"

She fell into step beside him and they walked back into the squad room. "I actually finished fifteen minutes ago, thank you very much. But, listen. I got a call."

Sam moved up to the coffee cart and pulled a cup off the stack. He reached for the carafe and filled his cup, lifting it away at the last possible second. His eyes cut to hers. "Who was it?"

Green held his eye for a long second and she arched a single slim brow. "It was one of my guys. The one from the grocery store. Remember him?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and thought back. The day they'd gone around to all the CI's was a blur. They'd spoken to a couple dozen people, flashed pictures all over town at so many different places. At the time, the big winner for him had been that kid in the gas station, but he had a quick flash of a small bald man in a green apron with shifty eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, unpacking cases of spaghetti sauce in aisle four.

He nodded. "Yeah. I think. What about him?"

Green gave him a pleased nod. "He's got something for us. Well, something for you. About Malone."

---

"Go over it one more time," Jerry said, stacking the file folders together and tucking them under his arm. "I want to make sure I've got it straight before we go in there." He turned toward the parade room and Sam and Piper filed in behind him.

Sam cleared his throat, trying to slow the rapid-fire beating of his heart. "One of the delivery guys has been covering a different route for the last month or so, but he showed up today, this guy showed him the pictures, and he recognized Malone. Said he'd seen him at the bar the last two nights. Both times, he went straight to the counter, talked to the bartender for a while and left."

"And this is the same bar you worked undercover? Where you met Warren and the Malones?" Jerry asked, his voice tense as he glanced back over his shoulder and walked quickly around the edge of the room. He reached the stairs and hustled up, and Sam and Piper followed, hands skimming the railing.

"Yeah. They used to stop in almost every night. The bartender's friends with Malone, and he was one of Warren's regular customers."

Jerry paused, hand on the door. "You know, we talked to that guy. The bartender. When everything first went down, and then when you got that tip about Malone being back in the area. He swore he hadn't had any contact with him."

"Maybe he hadn't," Green said simply, giving him a shrug.

Jerry blinked at her and then looked back at Sam. "And this guy? The guy who saw him, he thinks he's going back?"

"The delivery guy said he was sitting right at the bar and overheard their conversation. Malone's looking for cash. Sounds like whatever he can get his hands on."

Jerry took a deep breath, jaw tight as he considered it. "We'll probably only get one try at this."

Sam nodded. "I know."

Barber nodded back. "Well, the room's all set up, everything's ready." He glanced over his shoulder at the parade room full of people. "And it looks like everyone's here. So, let's do this." He turned the knob and Green took a step forward, ready to follow him in, and Barber froze. "Not you, though."

"What?" she asked sharply, face soured in a frown. "Why not?"

Jerry shot Sam a look. "You want to explain it to her?" When Sam gave him a nod, Jerry stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Sam looked at her, even as he sidled around to the entrance. "Look, we've all been working this thing for a long time now. It's strictly need-to-know and we have enough people on it." He spotted Noelle down on the main floor, just sitting down at a desk. "Go talk to Williams; she'll find something to keep you busy for the rest of shift." He turned to leave and then stilled as she reached out and grabbed him, cool fingers sliding against his forearm.

"Swarek, wait." She leaned a little closer and gave him a cold warning look; eyebrows sky high, facial muscles hard with barely restrained anger. "I helped you with this. This was my tip. You wouldn't know anything if it wasn't for me." Sam looked down at her nails biting into the skin of his arm and instantly, she relaxed her hand and pulled it back, face slackening in apology. "Look," she said, lowering her voice. "I earned a spot on this. This could be big for me. I mean…" She glanced around the room, sort of covertly, like she was sharing a secret. "I mean, it would help me out here, if I had this case under my belt."

Sam hesitated, only for a second. She was right. Doing her part to help bring in Malone, and Bishop as a result, would do great things for her at 15. It hadn't escaped his notice that she wasn't exactly fitting in. As vocal as she was with him, he didn't see her taking time out of her day to converse with many others; or maybe they weren't taking the time to converse with her. He wasn't really sure. Her interactions with the rookies were short, her conversations with the other TO's even more brief. If was a tough place to be, not really a rookie, not quite a senior officer. Even after her probation, she wouldn't have the seniority or the perceived experience of her peers. But he wasn't willing to risk this case to help her fit in; not if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

He shook his head. "I can't. I'm sorry." The door handle turned under his hand and he backed away from her into the room where Jerry was already addressing the task force.

She continued to glare at him through the window as the door swung shut, and then, he turned away, glancing back just once to see her stalk away. His mouth was suddenly dry as he tried to swallow down the heavy feeling of guilt that was starting to creep through his veins. He understood it, the feeling like she deserved it. In fact, he'd probably feel the same way, be just as angry at the dismissal. But there was no room for error. No time to make her understand the full gravity of the situation.

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, resigned to being the bad guy for the moment and leaned a hip on the edge of a table at the back of the room.

"So, here's how we're going to do this," Jerry was saying, eyes traveling over the small group of people perched on chairs and tables around him. "Malone was spotted the last two nights inside this bar." He tapped a photo of the establishment that was taped to the board. "He stayed long enough to drink a beer and talk to the bartender and then he was gone." Jerry pointed to two places on the map of the neighborhood. "We'll have a couple people in an empty second floor apartment across the street, and few more in a van down the block and around the corner. Inside, we'll have Boyd's undercovers."

Sam's eyes shot to the front corner of the room. Three very average looking men in their thirties to forties sat comfortably near each other. Two of them looked vaguely familiar, but the third was Jay, the guy who'd worked the hooker detail with Peck and McNally all that time ago. Sam frowned.

"What about me?" he asked loudly, interrupting Jerry's next sentence. "I'd be a familiar face. I could keep him talking, give everyone time to get in place for the arrest."

"Or you'd spook him," Boyd said from his position, leaning against the wall near the whiteboard. "Kind of a coincidence, you being there. You know?"

"The guy trusts me-"

"The guy did trust you," Jerry interrupted. "Now he doesn't trust anyone. Boyd's right."

"Well, I want someone I know in there. Someone I can count on."

"Like who? Everyone here already has a place to be," Boyd spat out, not really mad, not yet. There was an uncomfortable shifting as everyone glanced around at everyone else and Barber and Boyd whispered a word to each other. Then help came from an unexpected corner.

"I'll do it." Sam's eyes shot over to Peck who was sitting sort of by herself, off to the side of the room. She raised an eyebrow. "I could go in as one of their dates."

Boyd snorted. "Like you'd ever go out with any of them." He glanced over at three unshaven men, at their nondescript clothing. "No offense, guys." They shrugged and made the appropriate dismissive noises.

And then Barber nodded, looking at Peck. "He's right. And you'd stand out in a place like that. You'd be made in minutes."

"What about me?" Shaw asked. Sam looked over. Oliver was less than three feet from him, and as he met Sam's eyes, he gave him a quick nod. "I could go in with one of them. Just another set of eyes." Sam gave him a small smile of thanks.

And at the front of the room, Jerry paused, eyes traveling between Oliver and Sam, and after a long moment of silent communication between the three, he nodded. "Yeah, that could work. We'll put you with Jay."

"But that means we're one short on the street," Boyd argued, pushing off the wall. "We can't start changing things now. We need that extra person."

A flash of red out the window caught his eye and he glanced over, saw Green talking with Williams near the guardrail. Her eyes flicked through the window, moved over the people in the room, and then met his. Her face twisted into an angry stare as she saw him looking at her, and she turned her back towards him in a pointed "fuck off."

"What about her?" Sam asked, jerking his chin towards her.

Everyone turned to look.

"Green?" Jerry asked, brows up in surprise. Sam nodded. Jerry leaned a hip on the table behind him, ran his free hand over his jaw considering it. Then he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. She knows about Malone?"

"Enough to ID him."

"Sammy…"

"She'll be fine," Sam snapped, frustrated at the sudden lack of faith in his judgment. "And she's good. If we need another body, she's a decent choice." Jerry was still hesitating. "Or maybe Nash would like to –"

"Okay then," Barber relented, giving him a tight smile. "Green it is. You're in charge of her. Go bring her up to speed. Everyone else…" He turned back to the group. "Get ready. We start setting up in an hour."

---

Four hours later, Sam, Jerry and Piper were all dressed in civvies, packed into the back of a dark green panel van. Audio from the wired-up undercover operatives had been feeding into the receiver for the last ninety minutes, and Sam reached across Jerry and flipped quickly through the channels. Each of the four of them had entered the building at a different time, were sitting in different areas, but all they were getting was background noise. The bar was busy. The times Sam had been inside, he'd generally left after his targets left, usually before eleven. But even at that time, he'd had to squeeze out between patrons. Every now and again, he glanced out the back window of the van to see another few people wander inside. The last two nights, Malone had been spotted well after midnight, and though they still had another hour or so until the clock ticked over, with all the activity, he was getting anxious, nervous that they wouldn't see Malone until he was right there, or worse, until he was on his way out. Sam rubbed his hands over his thighs, fingers pressing hard against the muscle, trying to expel some of the adrenaline.

"Here," Jerry said quietly, passing him a paper bag. Sam took it from him, dug around inside and started pulling out sub sandwiches. He glanced at labels and passed them out, keeping the pastrami for himself. Green took hers without a word, without even a glance. Since he'd called her into the room to give her a very basic briefing, she'd been short with him. He wasn't really expecting a verbalized "thank you" or anything, but some shred of gratitude wouldn't have been out of order. Instead, she was oscillating between hostility and cool indifference.

Sam gave Jerry the Italian, then dug around one last time for the fistful of napkins that had been shoved in the bottom of the bag. He handed those out and then grabbed his sandwich, ripping into the wrapper quickly, showering the floor of the van with a spray of shredded lettuce.

Green rolled her eyes, but Jerry glanced at him, gave him a nod. "Relax. We've still got a lot of time to wait."

Sam nodded and took a bite. He chewed and swallowed, washing it down with a sip of Coke. Then he nodded one more time. "Yeah. I know." He looked down at the food in his hand, held it up to take another bite. And then, before he did, he mumbled, "It just seems like this is our last shot, you know?" It was something he hadn't been expecting to admit, mainly because he was afraid that if he actually said it, that it might really be true. But he didn't see any way around it. After all this time, the fact that they were even sitting surveillance, were still getting tips at all… It was a miracle.

Jerry was watching him carefully, but after a beat, he nodded, looking down at the floor. "Yeah. I'm getting that feeling too."

"Why's that?" Green asked, pulling the pickles out of her sandwich and popping them into her mouth.

Jerry took a second, gave Sam a reproachful look, clearly disappointed in his half-assed briefing attempt. Then he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at Piper. "We've been after this guy for months. The tip said he was in here, trying to borrow money. It's a sure bet he's headed out of town again. Probably for good. At the very least, he's a witness to a murder and an attack on two police officers. And he might know where Bishop and Allen are. If we miss him….that's it. They all go free. Weston too."

"Won't they come back?"

Sam shook his head. "People are searching for these guys all over the place. If we were gonna find them, we would have by now. And my guess…" He folded his arms over his chest. "I think they're gone. If we can't get anything out of Malone, that's it."

Green frowned. "What about Weston? He's gotta know."

Sam snorted. "He's been one step ahead of us the whole time. If you think you can get your hands on him, go for it. Besides, that guy would never talk. Not in a million years. If we ever arrest him, he knows he'll be in prison until the day he dies."

"You don't think they'd deal him out for information on Bishop?"

"No," Sam said.

"But, I mean…"

"I won't let that happen," Sam snapped, eyes jumping to hers then falling away after a moment.

Green's eyebrows drew together. "I don't understand. I thought your undercover work was about Bishop. Isn't he your focus?"

"He was," Jerry said, eying Sam carefully. "Until the thing at the hospital."

"What thing?" Green's eyes shifted rapidly between the two of them and when Sam didn't answer, when he dropped his eyes, and took another bite, Jerry cleared his throat.

"One of the cops that was attacked? The witness? She was Sammy's partner." Jerry corrected, giving her a weak smile. "The Malones broke into her place the next day, tried to kill her, and then just a few hours after that, Weston got to her in the hospital. Almost finished the job."

For a second, Sam felt a short burst of anger, at Bishop and Weston, and even at Jerry for sounding so casual about the whole thing. He glanced out the back window, suddenly ready to move, eager to be anywhere but where he was. Somewhere where he could do something.

"Hey," Green said, and Sam turned his head and looked at her. It was the first time since he'd brought her on board that she'd spoken to him directly, deliberately. The tension in her face and in her posture had sort of leached away, and for a split second, her eyes flicked down to his hands, and he followed her gaze. His fingers were clenched tightly around the sandwich wrapper, crushing it into a tiny crumpled ball. He relaxed his hand, then tipped it, letting the wrapper fall into the open bag. Green made a noise, quietly clearing her throat to bring his attention back to her. "You could have just said something, you know," Green said in what was essentially a loud whisper, looking at him pointedly, her brown eyes wide and eyebrows arched.

"Actually," Sam replied as he eyed Jerry angrily. "That information was supposed to stay within the task force."

Jerry shook his head quick, sucking a bit of mustard off the tip of his thumb. "Hey, you brought her into this. She's gonna work Malone, she needs to have the facts." Sam didn't say anything. There were a few long uncomfortable moments of quiet where Jerry busied himself adjusting knobs on the receiver and Sam leaned his head back against the wall of the van. His eyes opened in slits and he saw Green looking back and forth between him and Barber, sort of like she wasn't sure if she should say something, or wait for one of them to break the silence. But in the end, her curiosity won out and she took a sip of her water and spoke.

"So, how long were you partners?" she asked, all weirdness and bad feelings forgotten for the moment.

Sam closed his eyes and pretended she hadn't said anything.

"Almost two years," he heard Jerry reply, and Sam turned his head and glared at him.

"Shut up, Jer." He sat up on the bench seat and reached for a pair of headphones.

He held them up to one ear, and though he was trying to ignore them, he heard Jerry speak again.

"She was his rookie."

Sam whipped the headphones down and stared at him, openmouthed.

"What?"

"I'm serious. Shut the fuck up."

Jerry put up his hands and slid back in the seat, lips drawn together in a silent whistle. Sam shook his head in a sort of helpless exasperation, once more brought the earphones up, and then leaned over, forearms braced on his knees. For five minutes or so, it was mostly just background noise. Every now and again, one of the three wired UC operatives would whisper something, some sort of update on positioning, on suspicious characters in the place. Sam only heard from Shaw when he got up and made his way across the room to check out the restroom. But no one had spotted Malone.

"It makes sense, you know," Green said, and Sam raised his eyes from the floor to her. She too had a pair of earphones on her head, one side on, one side pushed forward a little so she could hear conversation inside the van. "I mean, she was your rookie. It makes sense that you'd feel protective, or you know…responsible for her."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter, okay?" he muttered, just wanting her to move past it. He was pretty sure she wouldn't be letting the subject go any time soon, but he'd be damned if he was going to make it easy on her. He heard her draw in a breath, glanced over and found her watching him with obvious concern on her face. And then, in his headphones, he heard a brief burst of static and a second later, Jay's voice.

"Hey, some big guy just went out the back."

Sam froze and his eyes flew to Jerry's.

Jerry grabbed the mic. "Was it Malone?" he asked, voice clear and firm.

"I don't know, man. It's packed in here. Coulda been."

And with that, Sam leaned forward and hit the latch on the rear door. As it swung open and he jumped out, he heard Green say, "Got him," and when he took off down the block, he heard her foot falls coming quickly behind him. They sprinted down the block and then turned the corner and turned one more time down the alley. At first, Sam didn't even see the guy. He was dressed normally, jeans and a leather jacket, but had a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. And he was just standing behind the dumpster maybe six feet from the back door of the bar.

But they hadn't come up on him quietly, and as the guy heard the sound of rapidly advancing footsteps, he glanced up and then he rabbited. It was like one instant, he was statue-still, and the next, he'd done a 180 and was moving away from them. But he was too slow, or maybe Sam had just picked up enough momentum, because he reached him only seconds later. He grabbed the back of his jacket with both hands and yanked, hauling him off his feet.

The guy hit the ground solidly on his side and as he groaned, Sam reached down and whipped the cap off and froze. Green crouched down next to him, breath coming hard and fast as she looked down at the guy and then back at Sam.

"That's not him," she said, the surprise evident in her tone. Still, Sam didn't move. He was staring at the guy; at the kid, really. Malone was around thirty; this kid was nearly ten years younger. Though he had looked the right size, Sam's fists clenched in the leather of his jacket confirmed that most of the bulk was layers of clothing. Green was right. It wasn't Malone. Not even close. But the knowledge didn't stop the adrenaline from coursing through him, and it took him another few seconds to take a breath and get to his feet, cursing loudly in frustration.

He left Green on the ground next to the guy and stalked away, then back again; basically pacing in a large endless circle. He ran his hands up through his hair and then laced his fingers behind his head, getting ready for the meltdown he felt coming on. It was like he couldn't even push it down, didn't even have the will to suppress it. But in the end, it never came. It just grew and grew and then…it started to fade. After a minute or so, he stopped walking and tipped his head up to the sky and breathed, feeling the fire as it ebbed, as it leaked away, leaving only the emptiness of disappointment and frustration.

"You okay, Swarek?" Green asked, her voice professional, clipped.

Still, he just breathed, waiting for the heavy weight of defeat to settle in; somehow feeling like once it came, he could relax again. Until then, it was just a sick sort of anticipation.

"Sam?"

This time, there was a slight tremor in Green's voice and he opened his eyes and looked at her. She'd picked the guy up off the ground, had him up against the wall, palms on the brick face and she was patting him down. But she was staring directly at Sam. His arms fell like dead weight to his sides and suddenly his body felt heavy; shoulders, arms, legs…all encased in cement as he considered moving. Finally, he sucked in a breath and let the loss fill him. It wasn't pleasant, but it was workable; it was familiar, easy. He took a step towards Green, exhaling loudly as he drew near.

"You okay?" she asked again quietly.

He gave her a quick distracted nod. "He got anything?"

She tossed a small plastic bag at him. Inside were half a dozen pills; Vicodin by the look of them.

He cursed. "Waste of time."

"What should we do with him?" she asked. "We leave him here, he'll be back inside telling everyone in a second." She glanced around and Sam realized that for the first time since he'd met her, she was nervous. "And we need to get out of here before we blow this whole thing."

He nodded. "Call Barber." He put a hand firmly against the kid's shoulder, holding him in place as Green dragged a walkie out of her pocket.

"Yeah, we're going to need you to get a car over here."

A bit of static, and then Jerry came over the radio. "Is it Malone?"

"Nope. Just some idiot with some painkillers. No prescription," she finished lamely, rolling her eyes at Sam. His mouth turned up briefly in a humorless smile.

"Bring him out to the street. I'll get someone down there to pick him up. Is everything okay?"

Green looked at Sam, finger off the push-to-talk button. "I don't know. Is everything okay?" she asked one last time, eyebrows up.

He met her eyes and then after a moment, nodded again. "Yeah. I'm good."

She depressed the button on the side of the walkie, still watching him carefully. "Everything's fine. Meet you on the street."

She shoved the radio back into her pocket and cuffed the kid, then pulled him away from the building. Between the two of them, they walked him down the length of the alley and emerged on the street just seconds before a cruiser pulled to a stop in front of them.

---

.

---

Five Minutes Earlier

Chris Malone took one last drag of his cigarette and then dropped it, crushing out the cherry with his heel as he hit the alley. His car was parked a few blocks down, and he was taking his time, walking slowly. He pulled the disposable cell from his pocket and dialed the number to the bar. It rang four times before it was picked up by the bartender.

"Hey, man, it's me. You have that money for me?"

In the background, Malone could hear random music and voices strung together in an almost deafening cacophony of sound. Wincing, he held the phone away from his ear for a second, and caught the voice of his friend. "Look, I can't get away right now."

"I'm coming in the back. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"No!" Malone paused. In fact, the sudden panic in the bartender's voice made him stop dead in his tracks. "You can't come in here tonight, man. The cops are all over this place." Malone glanced around. He'd been walking straight down the middle of the alley; he still had another couple of properties to pass before he came to the back door of the bar. But instead of continuing, he took a few steps to his right and ducked into the shadows behind a small storage building.

"What do you mean the cops are there?" he hissed. "Did someone call them?"

"I swear I have no clue, man. But they don't look like they're leaving any time soon. You can't come here."

Malone leaned back against the building, jerking in surprise when the metal creaked under his weight, but he tipped his head back and exhaled loudly. His mind was running over it all, over the events that had led him up to this point, to his plans. Then he brought the phone back up to his ear and pushed off, walking quickly down towards the bar.

"Look, just bring it out to me. I'll wait at the back door. You won't even be gone a minute." But as he walked up, as he stepped up to the edge of the property, he heard voices. Under the yellow floodlight, he saw movement, and ducked into a recessed doorway, leaning around the edge to see what the commotion was. "I'll call you back," he said quietly, and turned the phone off, shoving it into his pocket as he saw three figures beginning to move.

All were dressed in dark clothes; one of them, the larger of the three was circling, looking like he might explode at any second. There was a smaller one, slim wearing a black ball cap with a fiery red ponytail sticking out the back, and she was pressing a third figure up against the wall, his arm twisted behind his back as she ran her hands into his pockets. Cops, for sure. Malone leaned back as he felt his heart beat nearly out of his chest. Instinctively, he patted his jacket pocket, pulling out his cigarettes, but he couldn't light one, not yet.

"You okay, Swarek?" he heard a light voice ask. He leaned forward, saw the small woman jerking her chin at the larger figure. "Sam?" The man walked over to her, and they must have had some sort of conversation, because soon, the woman pulled a radio from her pocket, and spoke into it, calling for a car. The two figures spoke again, voices too low for Malone to hear and then, they each put a hand on the third figure and started propelling him back out of the lot, pushing him past the doorway where Malone was slunk back into the shadows. It wasn't until they passed that he got his second shock of the night.

The cop, the man… He recognized him. He'd worked alongside him for weeks; had even considered calling him for help when he'd returned to town desperate and broke a month before. Lee Schofield. A cop. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his head, breath coming hard and fast as his heart pounded in his ears. Then, he pulled out his phone again. He hit the call button twice, redialing the bar, and leaned around the doorway, watching as Schofield, or Swarek, as the woman called him, handed the third person into the back of a black and white.

Again, the bartender answered the phone, this time on the second ring.

"Yeah."

Malone shook out a cigarette as he watched them head away from him, back down the street. "Look, I need that money. I gotta get out of town. Tonight. Just walk to the back door and drop it behind the dumpster. I'll pick it up and you won't have to worry about it again." There was a burst of noise and then a word of agreement.

"You leaving right now?"

Malone leaned back against the wall, lit the end of the smoke, then took a long drag before answering. "Soon. I have to go back to my old place and grab some stuff. Then I'm out of here." He heard a creak of a door and glanced over, saw a tall man with a long dark pony tail wearing an apron, cradling a cordless telephone against his ear. As he watched, the guy scanned the empty alley, then with a flick of his wrist, tossed a small brown package behind the dumpster before retreating back into the building. "Listen, thanks man. I appreciate it. I'll pay you back when I get where I'm going."

"No problem. Take it easy." He hung up then, no goodbye. Malone pushed the phone into his pocket, and once more, glanced around before heading over to the dumpster at a slow jog. He grabbed the stack of cash wrapped in a brown paper sack and shoved it into his pocket and then went back the way he came. It took another fifteen minutes before he reached his car, and he slid inside, eyes moving over the bags stacked in the back, nearly everything he owned in the world. He pulled the car away from the curb and took off for the apartment.

---

It didn't take him long to get there, and when he looked up at the window from the street, he saw it was dark. Sasha was never home at this time of the night. Either she'd be working or partying, but even so, he needed to get in and get out before anyone realized he was there. He got out of his car and tugged his canvas jacket tighter around his body, pulling the watch cap down over his ears and forehead. The entire way across the street, up the stairs to the apartment door, he was praying that she hadn't changed the locks. He could probably force his way in, either through the door, or through the fire escape, but it would be easier if his key worked.

Malone hit the second floor quickly, his footfalls quiet on the faded, worn carpeting. And he almost stopped, almost turned to leave when he saw the small figure unlocking the apartment across the hall. But she looked over at him. He didn't know if she recognized him; in fact, by the glazed look in her eyes, he wasn't sure she really even saw him. There wasn't a smile, no flicker of recognition. She just opened her door, walked inside and slammed it behind her, flipping the lock. He let out a nervous breath and then strode over to apartment 14 and pushed his key into the lock.

It turned easily, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung open revealing the small dark apartment. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him and flipped on the kitchen light.

He'd intended to just be in and out, but Sasha had moved some things around. His brother's stuff had all been packed into boxes, placed carefully into the hall closet. He had to dig through most of those until he found the things he'd been looking for. Family stuff, albums, papers, things that had been left behind in their haste to escape Toronto, things that would have been safer in this apartment. But since he wasn't planning on ever coming back, they needed to go with him this time.

Sasha had tossed most of his belongings. Most of his clothing was gone, his stereo, his television; all probably sold or given away. Anything that remained was stuffed into a corner, waiting to be carried out to the dumpster, and so he quickly sorted through it, stuffing a few large sweatshirts into a bag, an old quilt that had covered his bed from the time he was a child, a few CD's for the drive. He took two armloads out to the car, packed to the ceiling, and then he went upstairs for one last trip.

This time, he packed a grocery sack with food, dumping in anything non-perishable that he could eat on the road. He made himself a few sandwiches, tossed in half a dozen cans of Coke, half a dozen cans of beer. And finally, a little over an hour after he'd first unlocked the door, he stepped up to it once more, a duffel slung over his shoulder, food tucked under his arm, and grabbed the knob. When he opened it, when it creaked toward him, he froze, fear chilling him from head to toe as he caught sight of Jimmy Weston.

Weston was just standing there, hands behind his back, waiting. And then, slowly, his head came up, his eyes locked onto Malone's, and he smiled. A cruel, anticipatory smile that only widened when Malone took a step back, and then another, essentially giving him room to step into the apartment. As he entered the room, Malone's knees buckled a little and his duffel hit the ground. He shifted the food bag around, holding it in front of his body, the only thing between him and Weston. Again, he took a step back, eyes suddenly moving over the apartment, looking for a weapon, an exit, anything. The window to the fire escape was behind Weston, the window closest to the door, so that was out. And there were no baseball bats, no heavy implements of any kind. His gun was sitting in the glove box of his car, useless.

Malone clutched the paper bag to him and held up a hand. "Look, man. I'm leaving, I'm not telling anyone anything. Just let me go. You'll never see me again, I swear."

Weston shook his head. "Can't do that, kid." He reached behind him, pulled the gun from his waistband. "You know how this goes."

Malone shook his head rapidly, waved his hand. "No. No, wait. I have information. If you let me go, I'll tell you what I know."

Weston smirked, a short laugh blew out of his mouth. "Tell me what you know, and I'll decide if it's good enough." When Malone hesitated, Weston lifted the gun, pointed it at his head and released the safety. "Let's hear it."

Every muscle in Malone's body was trembling, the fight-or-flight response making him jerk in response to every sound, to every movement. He jerked his chin and sucked in a deep breath.

"Lee."

"Who?"

"That guy that worked with us in the warehouses? Schofield?"

Weston gave a short nod, though he had a look of controlled confusion crossing his face. "What about him?"

"He's a cop."

Weston hadn't been expecting that. In fact, the grip on his gun wavered, for just an instant. And then he lowered it, inch by inch until his arm hung at his side. "You're sure?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "He was working us?" Malone nodded. Weston raised the gun, used it to scratch the side of his head as he turned away, paced a few steps, thinking it over. He shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. "You know anything else?"

Malone shifted the bag in his arms, took another breath. "I got a name."

"Let's hear it."

Malone shook his head. "No way. Not until I'm in my car, driving away. I'll call you when I get on the road."

For a long moment, Weston just stared at him, and then, the tension in his face seemed to recede, and he nodded, gave him a quick smile and a nod. "Alright." He stepped out of the way, held out an arm, gesturing toward the door. Keeping an eye on him, Malone reached down, heaved up the duffel, dropped it onto his shoulder, and side-stepped around him, out the door. Then he moved quickly, booking down the hallway, even as he heard the apartment door swing shut behind Weston; as he heard his footsteps heavy on the stairs behind him.

---

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---

The Next Morning

"Swarek," Frank said. "Have a seat." Still a little wiped out from the operation the previous night, Sam took him up on that, sinking almost gratefully into one of the chairs. "How's it going?" Both the question and the tone were casual, but there was no mistaking the pointed look in Frank's eyes.

"Better, sir," Sam said, honestly. "Last night wasn't…." He drew a breath in through his nose and nodded once. "It didn't go the way we'd hoped. Malone never showed. We're going back tonight. Different guys inside."

"Sounds promising."

Sam gave him a tight smile. "Glad someone thinks so."

"Listen," Frank said abruptly, and Sam straightened a little in his seat at the change in his voice. "I called you in here, because Green's six weeks are almost up and I wanted to go over the evaluations with you." Sam didn't say anything; in fact, for the first time in a while, he felt somewhat nervous. After the hostility of their meeting, the stilted uncomfortable patrols, and especially after his proud moment the night before, he really had no clue what to expect. "Anything to add to Green's?"

He'd filled hers out the week before; a very bare bones, positive report of her skills, her work ethic. For a second, he considered adding a few notes, something to backup whatever excuses he was going to have to come up with to explain his behavior, but in the end, Sam shook his head. She'd been right the first day. She was a good cop; she knew the job. "No, it's all there."

"Alright." Best tucked the sheet of paper into a folder and then opened the second one sitting on his desk. "I had Green fill yours out this morning, and I have to say, it wasn't exactly what I was expecting."

Sam rubbed an anxious hand over his jaw and leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. "Look, whatever she said, I can explain."

Frank's eyebrows went up. "Okay," he said slowly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Let's start with 'passionate about the job'. Response?" Sam looked at him for a moment, and then, a little surprised, shook his head mutely. "Alright," Frank said. "Moving on." He set the evaluation on the desk and tipped his chin down a degree, reading directly from it. "'Sam Swarek is not only dedicated to his work, but he feels a strong connection to cases and to the people involved. His diligence in seeing each case through is unyielding, and though his patience leaves much to be desired, he's incredibly focused and willing to share his knowledge and experience.'"

Frank scanned the rest of the page and then flipped it over. "She goes on for a while. It's extremely wordy. And a little unbelievable." He glanced over. "You look surprised."

Sam was basically in a state of shock. Of the dozens of things he could have imagined her saying about him, complaints she might make against him, he'd never considered that she might stick up for him. He forced out a short laugh. "Yeah, I guess maybe I am."

Frank sat back and tapped his finger against the sheet of paper once. "Are you saying that she lied?" He glanced down. "Are you or are you not 'committed to protecting the safety of victims and your fellow officers?'"

"No, I mean, I am, I just…" Sam shook his head. "I don't know."

Frank folded his hands on his stomach and looked at him and gave a small shrug. "Well, taking everything into consideration… Her evaluation, and the improvements I've seen in your work, I'm giving you a choice. I want you partnered. We can either go back and start from scratch, choose someone new, or you can ride with Green permanently."

Sam leaned back in his chair, crossed his ankle over his knee, and ran a hand over his face, still blown away by the turn the meeting had taken.

"What did she say?"

Frank gave him a tight smile. "She has a preference, but she said she'd go along with whatever you want."

Sam took a breath, waited for something inside him to protest, to balk at the idea, but it never came. Finally, after a minute or so, he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll work with her."

Best smiled at him, a wide pleased grin and he nodded. "Alright. Well, I think I'll let you tell her the good news. If you'll excuse me, I have to get ready to meet with some people from headquarters."

Sam nodded, though Frank's attention was already elsewhere, and stood up, moving to the door. When he exited, he instantly began scanning the squad room, looking for a familiar face, and finally, his eyes landed on her. She was directly below him on the lower level, had her bag hitched up on her shoulder, waiting for someone to give her an order.

"Green," he said firmly, walking along the railing. She jumped to her feet, met him at the foot of the stairs. He swung out an arm towards the exit. "Let's get out there."

She didn't even pause, just walked quickly past him, but not before he saw the tiny smile form on her lips. But she didn't say anything, didn't acknowledge it at all until they were buckled into their seats and she was pulling the car out onto the street. Even then she kept her eyes on the road, flipped on the blinker and merged into traffic, clearing her throat before finally speaking.

"Listen, I just want to thank you for, you know. Taking me on, or whatever." Sam nodded, keeping his eyes out the window, scanning the pedestrians on the sidewalk, the cars coming to a halt at stop signs.

Then Sam gave her a short nod. "Yeah, well, I figured I owed you. Since you backed me up last night. And you know, for not ripping me a new one in your evaluation."

He heard her take a breath, a deep one through her nose, and he glanced over. She was digging in her breast pocket, pulling out the packet of gum. After extracting a piece for herself, she handed it over, and after a split second's thought, he took it, pulled out his own piece and gave it back.

Green tucked it back into her pocket, smiled and then glanced over with a nod. "Well, what are partners for, right?"

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Thanks again for reading :)