Author's Note: Well, after more than a year, I decided to just upload the last completed installment. There will be no more after this one. I sincerely apologize for taking so long, and huge thanks goes to everyone for being so patient and encouraging as I struggled to finish this. If things had gone as planned, this would have been Chapter 5. Now, it's merely the last of "4 times Andy and Sam could have gotten together". Thanks again for favoriting this, and all of your kind words - I hope this helps make up for the long wait. As usual this is un-betaed and all mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I own nothing - I'm just borrowing them for a little while longer.
Takedown (1/2)
Andy sucks in a deep breath, attempting to calm her still-racing nerves as she knocks on her dad's apartment door. Just three hours ago, she was finishing up her involvement in an undercover operation that turned out to be the biggest bust in 15 Division's history.
She's still wired from the adrenaline and fear – fear of screwing up the operation, fear of being made before they could arrest anybody, and most of all, fear for Sam. When Sam left with Angel, her heart skipped a beat and then started running double-time. It wasn't so much because she was scared for him - though she most definitely was - but more because she could practically count on one hand the number of times in the past six months that she wouldn't be there to watch his back.
The five minutes after hearing "Shots fired!" over the radio, followed by the report of a single casualty, might as well have been five years considering how time seemed to slow. Hearing his voice a split second after realizing the body under the tarp wasn't him, being able to confirm that he still was among the living, had brought the world back into sharp focus and it had taken all of her self-restraint to keep from commanding him to strip to prove that he really was unharmed.
Tommy opens the door, slightly bleary-eyed, as if he was still asleep when she knocked, and seems to be more than a little confused. "Andy?"
"Hi, Dad," she replies. "Did I wake you up?" A quick look down at her watch reveals that it's only six in the morning, and that she's been rhythmically tapping her hand against her leg with leftover nervous energy.
"No, Sweetheart, come on in. I just got up; want some coffee?"
Coffee on top of her still jittery nerves is a bad, bad idea. "No thanks, Dad. I'm still a little wound up."
"I see that. What's going on?"
"We, uh, we took down Bergan and the Landrys tonight. Big sting operation that started with me screwing up an undercover op yet again."
"Swarek's not still giving you a hard time about that, is he?" Tommy looks skeptical at the notion of the hot-headed but unconventional cop he'd known holding a grudge this long. Especially given the way Swarek had nearly put everything on the line just last month in trying to help Andy prove Tommy innocent of murder.
"No, no, I think he's pretty much over it. Tonight he gave me a compliment on it, actually, which was kind of weird, but…" Andy trails off, lost in her train of thought.
"…But, what?" Tommy prompts.
"Dad, why does Sam keep trying to push me towards Luke every time I start to step back?"
Tommy blinks at the sudden change in subject but can't stop the chuckle that erupts from deep in his chest. "Sweetheart, I'm not exactly the best person to ask, but it seems to me that Swarek wants you to be happy – and apparently he thinks that Callaghan makes you happy. I wonder where he got that idea?" he adds pointedly and watches with a smile as his only child turns bright pink. "Andy, why are you pushing it so hard with Callaghan anyway?"
"I don't know!" she moans and flops down on the couch. "I'm tired of falling for the wrong guys; I'm tired of having to pick up the pieces every time I start to open up and they leave. I wanted to be smart about it all for once! Because I knew that if I really let myself love Sam, I'd never recover when he left. Luke is safe. Sam is… not."
"Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but if Swarek was going to leave, he'd have done it when you started seeing Callaghan. So the question you should be asking yourself isn't why does he keep pushing you towards Callaghan, but why do you keep letting him?"
Tommy leaves his daughter alone to consider that while he retrieves a package from the kitchen table. "By the way, this was delivered here yesterday for you."
Andy is instantly distracted and takes the medium-sized box from him. It's about eighteen inches high and wide, and around three inches deep, but the weird thing is that it's addressed to her at Tommy's address.
Which is… odd. She hasn't lived with her father in almost ten years, so why on earth has something been sent to his apartment for her?
The return address identifies a community college out west as the sender. Curiosity piqued, Andy slits the tape with a pair of scissors Tommy grabs from the kitchen and opens the box. Inside is a binder containing what looks to be material for a distance-learning course on Business Ethics for Financial Managers, a textbook for the same, and a letter thanking her for enrolling in the class.
Andy skims through the introductory letter – fairly straightforward – and opens the binder. Tucked into the cover pocket is another letter, this one handwritten in a neat, precise script.
"Officer McNally (and Sam)," the note reads, "First, I want to apologize for taking so long to get this to you. It took a while to find a place to settle down, and then to set up what I'm about to tell you.
"Secondly, I want to tell how grateful I am to you and Sammy. While Sam had promised to help me with a fresh start, you were under no obligation to assist him or me. Despite him behaving like a typical male by putting you in the middle of our little operation, and doing his best to make you miserable, you still came through for him and, by extension, me.
Back to my original point: the key enclosed opens something that has been concealed behind the mini-fridge in a suite at the Fairmont Chateau Laurier in Ottawa, which has been reserved for you both for this coming weekend. Inside, you'll find the files you need to close the investigation. Don't worry about finding me as a witness, I'll be watching and waiting for my turn on the stand.
Good luck and thanks again,
E.S."
Andy bolts off the couch as if electrified. "Sorry, Dad, I gotta go!" She shoves everything back into the box it came in and tucks it under her arm.
Looking more than a little bemused, Tommy watches his daughter bolt for the door. "Andy, what's wrong?"
"I'll tell you later!" With that, she's gone – he can hear her clattering down the stairs as she races for the street.
"Go get 'em, Copper," Tommy murmurs proudly, closing the door behind his offspring. She's unconventional, thanks in no small part to her mentor, but turning into a damned fine cop. And if she manages to hold on to even half of what he knows Swarek has taught her over the past six months, she'll only continue to get better.
Andy hails a cab, justifying the expense as worth it - especially when she considers what Sam would say if he found out that she didn't bring it right over. Her flagging energy levels (what with having been up for almost 24 hours straight combined with the highs and lows of a high-stakes undercover operation) have gotten another boost of adrenaline and she's wide awake now.
After realizing that she had deluded herself into forgetting about the threat Hill presented (and probably still presents), Andy is now in a state of hyper-vigilance, constantly checking behind the taxi for suspicious cars or people. She pays the driver when they arrive at Sam's house and knocks frantically on the door.
For a split second she wonders if he might be asleep, but the door swings open a minute later, disproving that theory. "Andy, what-…? Are you okay?" Distracted as she is by the break in his case, Andy still struggles to keep her eyes on his face – Sam is dressed in only a threadbare pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips, revealing a torso and arms that have only gotten more defined since her last good look at him. He's put a bit of weight on in the past few months and, if the way he's been filling out his shirts lately is any indication, it's all muscle.
She brushes past him, heading for the living room, and shoves the whole package into his arms. "Read this."
Sam quickly ducks into his bedroom to put on a shirt and re-enters the living room, watching her warily as he joins her on the couch. She's all but bouncing in place with barely-concealed excitement, and while he wants to know what has her so worked up, Sam isn't sure he can handle her telling him that Callaghan proposed or something similar.
"McNally, seriously, what's going on?"
She waves expansively with a wide smile. "The answers you seek lie within."
Eh?
His unspoken question must have appeared on his face because Andy rolls her eyes at him. "It means 'quit interrogating me and see for yourself'."
Sam does as ordered with another leery glance in her direction, which she ignores. He pulls out the cover letter first and reads it with growing impatience. "You're going back to school, McNally – that's great. But what does this have to do with anything?"
Her exasperated sigh floats over his shoulder as she leans forward to pull out the binder. "Look inside," she says curtly, shoving it into his stomach.
Deciding to humor the crazy person that has taken over his (admittedly rather excitable) rookie's body, Sam obeys and finds the hand-written note within a few seconds. He reads it once – and barely believes his eyes, so he reads it again.
The binder is dropped to the floor as Sam yanks out the textbook and tosses the box aside as well. Fingers trembling, he opens the heavy book and starts flipping. About halfway through, he finds what he's looking for: like something out of a gothic novel, every following page has been painstakingly glued to the next one and a little hollow carved into the center, just big enough to cradle the small silver key that lies within.
Sam holds his breath and carefully lifts the key out, almost afraid that he's dreaming or hallucinating and that it will disappear into thin air-…
A sharp and sudden pinch on his arm rapidly brings his attention back to Andy, still sitting beside him with a gentle smile on her face. "What the hell?" he demands.
Her eyebrow quirks as her smile widens. "You're not dreaming, Sam. She really did come through for you."
The textbook goes flying as Sam pounces on Andy, driving her down on her back as his mouth seals over hers, rivaling the kisses they'd shared the night of the blackout for sheer intensity.
Andy freezes for about half a second, stiff with surprise, but she recovers quickly, sliding her hands around his neck and back as she returns every kiss with a passion that equals his own.
She forgets everything - Anton Hill, Emily, Luke - it's all gone; everything narrows down to just her and Sam, and the way her skin burns everywhere he touches. Sam rips his lips away from hers and scorches a trail of fire across her cheek and jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her skin and stopping to suckle over her pulse-point.
Andy's back arches involuntarily as her knees come up to cradle his hips. When he moves back up to nuzzle the sensitive flesh under her ear with his lips, she hisses as heat floods her core. Sam draws her earlobe into his mouth to suck and nibble gently on it, lost in the feel, smell, and sound of her; Her sharp cry of pleasure rolls over him as her thighs tighten impossibly around his pelvis. She locks her ankles behind him and pulls, pressing the long ridge of his erection to her center, where Andy needs the pressure and friction most.
They both groan when he makes contact and Sam leaves off marking her neck to fuse his lips to hers again. Her tongue curls around his before he can blink, stroking and rubbing and generally making him crazy with need for her.
But she wants more. Needs more. A slight shift of her hips is all the warning Sam gets before she rolls them both right off the couch. There's a thud as they land on the floor, and Sam breaks off the kiss with a groan as all the air in his lungs leaves him in a rush. However, the shock is a wake-up call that he desperately needs before they do something stupid.
While he would never in a million years regret a night spent with Andy, he really doesn't want her to regret spending a night with him. Sam cups his hands around her face and gently pulls her upwards, halting Andy in the process of pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across his collarbones and pectorals through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Andy."
Her innocently inquisitive expression is at odds with the ways her hips roll and rub her center against his rampant erection. He can feel the heat of her through their clothing and it's taking every ounce of his self-control to keep from stripping their clothes off and burying himself deep inside her. "Hmm?"
Sam's head drops back with a hiss of swiftly indrawn breath. "Sweetheart, you gotta stop that." One of his hands drops down to grab her hips, halting their torturous movement. "McNally."
His firmer tone of voice finally gets her full attention. She looks into his eyes and, for the first time ever, he drops almost all of his walls. She sees everything: love, desire, hurt, loss, need, and a bit of regret. It's the last that finally brings Andy back to back to earth with a thump. Her cheeks burn with mortification and she tries to scramble off of him, but Sam holds fast.
"I'm sorry, Andy; I shouldn't have started this, shouldn't have put you in this position. You know I'd like nothing more than to take you to the bedroom and finish this," he says finally, letting her read the truth in his eyes, "but you're with Callaghan, and neither of us are cheaters."
Andy lets her forehead drop to Sam's chest as she tries to keep the sudden tears that fill her eyes at bay. He releases her face and uses that hand to gently stroke her back. "Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he insists. "This was my fault – this time I'm the one that jumped you."
"Not just for tonight, Sam; I'm sorry for everything I've put you through," Andy confesses, her voice muffled due to the fact that her face is still pressed against his chest. "At first, I started seeing Luke because he was cute and interested, and he actually asked," she adds pointedly with a narrow-eyed glance up at him, to which he makes a sheepish face and shrugs. "And later, it was because he's safe. It's easy to be with Luke, because all he really wants is somebody to talk about work with and keep the bed warm. I mean, he asked me to move in with him because having to spend time arranging a date when he could be working a case is too much effort. Never mind having to get up early to go home if he stays at my apartment. If I'm living with him…"
Andy is in the perfect position to feel every muscle in Sam's body go rigid when she drops the bombshell. "What did you tell him?" Her extraordinarily long pause is answer enough, but Sam needs to hear the words. "Andy?"
Her voice is so faint Sam almost doesn't hear her reply, and immediately wishes he hadn't: "I said 'yes', Sam. I said 'yes'." Her body starts to quiver and shake with suppressed tears and Sam wraps his arms around her. "He's a good man, Sam," she insists.
"I know."
"A good man," Andy repeats, though it sounds more like she's trying to convince herself. "So why don't I love him? Why can't I love him like he deserves?"
Sam decides that he doesn't want to be having this conversation flat on his back on his living room floor; he reaches up and, using his elbow against the coffee table, levers them both upright. He twists them around until his back rests against the couch and then returns his full attention to the woman in his arms. "You're the only one that can answer that question, Andy," he replies finally.
"Luke doesn't mind, or just doesn't care, if I hide parts of myself that I think or know he might not like. It's… safe. I don't have to worry about getting my heart broken when he leaves. But you, Sam-… you wouldn't settle for anything less than all of me. I would be yours, completely, and that terrifies me because while losing Luke will hurt, losing you will kill me."
The words are mumbled into the side of his neck, but Sam hears them loud and clear all the same and his heart leaps. But he also recognizes her absolute terror of opening herself up only to get trampled on; running when things get too close for comfort is her defense mechanism. After her mother ran away and her father all but abandoned her, Andy had sworn that she would never be the one left behind again. Sam also knows that she won't believe him if he promises not to leave – in her experience, everyone leaves sooner or later; it's all just a matter of time.
Sam sighs, enfolding her more tightly in his embrace, and props his chin on the top of her head. "I don't know what to tell you, McNally. This is one decision that you're going to have to make on your own."
"Why does everything have to be so hard, Sam?" She sounds so much like a lost little girl right then that Sam can't resist pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He sighs again and pulls her entirely into his lap, letting her curl up there, wrapped around him, until she's ready to face the world again.
He curses himself for being ten kinds of sucker: she might not ever be ready to face down her fears of a fully committed relationship, but he already knows that he'll wait (mostly patiently) until she is. Until then, he'll settle for helping her pick up the pieces when her world seems to be falling apart.
Finally, he loses all the feeling in his butt and the pins and needles of cut-off blood circulation forces him to nudge her. "Andy, not that this isn't nice and all, but do you think we can do this on the couch? My ass is numb."
She blinks up at him for a second, before she bursts out laughing. Andy reluctantly leaves the warm haven of his arms and stands, holding a hand out to help him up. Sam ignores her and, using the couch and coffee table to brace himself, rises on his own; he can't help the grimace when the tingling intensifies as blood rushes back into his legs. Andy's chuckles explode back into full-out laughter at the look on his face.
Sam merely crosses his arms and fixes her with his best unimpressed glare as he waits her out. In truth it's all he can do to keep a straight face, but his expression sends her into another fit of hysterics every time she so much as glances at him and he's missed hearing her laugh like this, even if it is at his expense.
Eventually Andy calms down, though she's very careful not to look at him for several seconds. "Are we okay?"
Sam rolls his eyes and pulls her into a tight hug. "Yeah, I suppose so."
He doesn't miss the relieved breath she huffs out as her arms wind around him. "Thank you, Sam."
Unseen, he smiles against her shoulder. "Don't mention it." Andy quakes with a snort of suppressed laughter and lightly pinches his side. "No, really - don't mention it."
She releases him after a few minutes – he reluctantly follows suit – and spends several long moments searching his eyes. What she's looking for is known only to her, but she eventually smiles widely and playfully smacks his shoulder. "Now, come on! We have a white whale to arrest!"
Sam is more than a little chagrined to realize that he's forgotten all about Emily and her hidden evidence against Anton but he rallies quickly. After instructing Andy to sit down, he retreats to his bedroom to grab her birthday presents - it's obviously too early, but she'll get more use out of them sooner than later. A glance at his alarm clock reveals that it's already seven o'clock – they've been given permission to clock in late today, as recompense for their very late night, but they'll still have to hustle.
"We'll be staying in the barn today," he announces when he returns to her. "We'll get Frank to rush the paperwork for permission to take your gun this morning, but in the meantime, I want you to wear these at all times," he emphasizes with a stern glower. First he hands her an ankle holster sized to hold a small- to medium-caliber pistol, a thigh holster for when she wears a dress, and then another holster that will fit inside the back of her waistband, both also sized for a smaller weapon.
Then, he pulls a medium-sized hard plastic case to rest on his forearms as he opens the lid to reveal a Glock-26 pistol, complete with two spare magazines, a fresh box of ammunition, and everything she needs to maintain it. It's a small 9mm handgun, painted a lethal-looking black, one that was seemingly designed for concealed carry and also happens to be easy to handle in a pinch.
Not that Andy can't handle her regular service weapon just fine, but it's a bit more like a cannon - large and bulky and difficult to conceal - whereas her new handgun is the opposite.
"I mean it, Andy," he says, using her first name as an indication of how serious he is while she quietly admires her present. "From now on, whenever you're not in uniform, you carry this everywhere. And you'd damn well better make sure it's within easy reach even when you're sleeping. We're not taking any chances with this one. Anton may have stopped having me followed a few months ago, but any hint that something's afoot and we'll find ourselves in world of trouble."
She nods and agrees, sensing how important this is to him and how useless arguing will be. Andy accepts the re-closed case and stuffs the keys in her pocket without a word.
Next Sam produces a small, sleek switchblade and flicks the activator; the entire knife has been painted a dull, matte black that makes the twin silvery stripes on the freshly sharpened blade gleam with menace in the early morning light. "Same goes with this," he adds, handing it to her.
Andy makes no move to take it from him. "Aren't those really, really illegal?" she asks skeptically.
He rolls his eyes and forcibly places the knife in her hand. "Emergencies only, McNally. If you wind up having to use it, there will be extenuating circumstances involved. You can even blame me if you want."
Andy makes a face but pockets the knife anyway. "Don't worry, I intend to. Anything else?"
"Yeah, make sure you have workout clothes with you today – we're going to be spending some time in the gym on a fighting-dirty refresher. All the weapons in the world aren't going to save you if you get disarmed and can't use them, so I'm going to teach you some more of those hand-to-hand techniques you keep begging me to show you." Sam chuckles when Andy pumps her fist in a clear 'YES!' gesture. "Now, we're due to be in Frank's office in a little under three hours; that gives us two to grab a quick nap. The guest room's made up," he adds, leading the way and opening the door.
Andy, clutching her new presents in her arms, pauses long enough to plant a swift kiss on his cheek. "You're a prince, Sam."
His answering smile causes his dimples to flash and her stomach to flutter. "That's what they all say. Do you need something to sleep in?"
Andy glances down at her comfortable cotton t-shirt and denim jean combo and shakes her head. "I'm all set. Thanks, Sam."
"Have a good nap, McNally." With another soft smile in her direction, he closes the door and heads for his own room and bed.
Andy feels like she has only just closed her eyes when she's jolted awake by the sound of a fist pounding on the door.
"Come on, McNally, up and at 'em! We don't have a lot of time to waste here."
Andy flops back on the pillow with a soft groan; her eyes feel gritty, and she knows they're bloodshot with exhaustion. Sam knocks on the door again, apparently unwilling to come in and physically motivate her in case she happens to be in a state of undress – he's noble and all, but a guy can only take so much temptation before he breaks. "I'm up," she calls out tiredly.
She can practically hear his smile through the door as he calls her a liar. "Come on, McNally, the sooner you get up, the sooner we can get coffee."
The promise of vast quantities of caffeine is like a siren call that she's helpless to ignore. Andy rolls out of bed with louder groan of pain – everything aches from her sprint in those totally impractical hooker heels. Then she remembers the flushed feeling that Sam's unguarded (and appreciative) appraisal had given her as he surveyed her legs in them.
"Gonna live?" Sam calls through the door, his amusement palpable.
She stumbles to the door and cracks it open, not caring that she probably looks like she's been run over a few times, glaring at him. Sam, damn him, isn't fazed at all, and grins widely at her. "Good morning, sunshine! Nice of you to join us."
Andy rolls her eyes and shuts the door in his face with a low sound of disgust. She knows that it's probably years of experience that lets him be so generally chipper after a sleepless night that doesn't involve suffering a massive hangover from copious quantities of alcohol, but right now she'd give anything for a soft bed in a dark room and 18 uninterrupted hours.
There's a rustling sound at her feet and Andy looks down to see a brand-new toothbrush still in the wrapper, like the kind given at the dentist's office, slowly appear under the door. She sighs, deciding to forgive him his good mood just this once (and the irony isn't lost on her, either), picks up his peace offering, and reopens the door.
Sam has moved back a few steps and stands before her, gesturing at the bathroom door. "All yours, McNally. Just don't take forever; we still have to stop at your place to pick up your stuff."
Andy flashes him another disgruntled look and shuffles in the direction he indicates, jumping with a squawk of surprise when he smacks her playfully on the rear end. "The hell was that for?" she demands with no little incredulity.
He flashes another smile, complete with dimples, that makes her knees go weak. "Nice drawers, McNally." He turns and saunters towards the kitchen as Andy peers down at her slightly less-than-practical, lacy, black, boy-cut shorts and cotton t-shirt and instantly turns pink from the tips of her ears on down.
Sam chuckles under his breath as he hears her mortified gasp quickly followed by the slamming of the bathroom door. There are days she just makes it too easy. A moment later, he hears the shower start up and realizes that Andy McNally, the girl he's been panting after for months, is in his shower, naked.
In his shower, wet.
Wet and naked, in his shower.
He barely restrains the urge to go offer to wash her back (among other parts) and grips the edge of the counter so tightly his fingers turn white as he breathes deeply and tries to think about anything but the fact that Andy McNally is naked and wet, not 30 feet from him.
Dammit.
Jerry in a Speedo. Ollie in a Speedo. Jerry AND Ollie in Speedos! The impromptu attempt at aversion therapy just isn't working this time, not when Andy McNally is wet and naked in his house.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Andy emerges from the bathroom less than 20 minutes later, without prompting, which Sam is thankful for. He's only just managed to get his hormones under control - if he had to bodily roust her out, he doesn't think he could be held accountable for his actions.
She looks impossibly young like this – features devoid of make-up, wet hair pulled back away from her face into a high bun, wearing a snug pair of jeans and a faded concert t-shirt, barefoot, rubbing her eyes with her fists – and Sam is beyond charmed despite himself.
"Coffee?" she asks hopefully, peering up at him. Broken out of his thoughts, Sam hands her a jumbo-sized travel mug containing that nectar of the gods, doctored perfectly. Andy sips and moans her appreciation. "You always know just how I like it," she beams.
Sam chokes and has to turn away to hide his physical reaction. The woman is Evil Incarnate, pure and simple, and he has to swallow the suggestive retort just begging to be let loose. He feels her hand on his shoulder and turns his head when she asks if he's feeling okay. "Let's get a move on," he gruffly responds instead.
Andy blinks and nods, unsure what brought the mood swing on, but goes to gather her things. She pockets the spectacularly illegal knife for now (with every intention of switching it out for the military-grade knife her dad bought her to celebrate her passing probation) and chooses the waistband holster after a few moments' consideration.
She has it attached to the back of her waistband and is practicing drawing and sheathing her new gun when Sam comes looking for her. He can't stop the smile that appears as he watches her wiggle and contort, trying to get used to the new addition to her wardrobe. "Problem?"
Andy jumps and spins to glower at him. "It feels… weird," she complains.
Sam moves farther into the room to help her adjust the holster more comfortably. "I know it does," he commiserates, "but you're going to have to get used to it, sooner rather than later."
"I know!" she retorts indignantly. "I'm just saying, is all; it feels odd."
"Eventually, you'll feel naked without it," Sam says knowingly. And he does – one of the most effective, unobtrusive hiding spots for a handgun that still keeps the weapon within reasonably easy reach is the small of the back. One of his first long-term undercover operations had required him to wear such a holster for days and weeks at a time, and when he finally got back into uniform it had taken ages for him to stop the instinct to reach behind his back for his weapon, even with it attached to his hip.
"Let's hope this doesn't take that long," Andy groans.
Sam watches her draw the pistol a few more times, making sure it's positioned such that she can unsheathe it quickly and smoothly, before he claps her on the shoulder. "Let's get a move on, Rookie." He unearths a sweatshirt for her to wear, both to help hide the holster and to protect her from the unseasonably cool morning.
"What happened to 'Copper'?" Andy grumbles, trailing behind him to the front door. He holds their mugs while she gets her shoes on, and then she returns the favor. It's all very domestic, she reflects, standing on the small porch while he sets the alarm and locks the door.
Strangely, she doesn't feel that sudden thrill of fear and anxiety like she had when Luke asked her to move into the house on the ravine with him. Instead, Sam's house feels…
Comfortable.
Safe.
Like home.
Andy lands flat on her back on the mats, wind knocked out of her, with a groan. Not quite gloating yet, Sam appears in her field of vision, still looking fresh as a daisy, damn him. "Give up yet?" he taunts.
She summons a fierce glare, and swings a leg around to sweep his feet out from under him. Sam, however, has already anticipated that and quickly side-steps out of reach with a grin. Andy overextends her leg and grabs it with a hiss of pain; instantly, he's on his knees by her side and reaching for her injured limb. "Where does it hurt?" he asks, probing her hamstring with gentle fingers.
Andy doesn't quite manage to suppress the shiver that races up her spine at the sensation of his hands on her and grimaces when he shoots her another concerned look. "I'm okay," she grits out.
Unfortunately, her voice is a little breathier than it should be and Sam leans in closer to look her in the eyes. "Are you lying to me?"
A second later, her arm is hooked around his neck and driving his upper body to the floor. Caught by surprise, Sam doesn't resist and she quickly has him pinned face-down with a triumphant laugh. "I win!" she says brightly, straddling his body to hold him down.
"Nice one," Sam agrees approvingly. "Want to let me up now?"
Andy can't resist leaning in so close her bound breasts brush his back to whisper in his ear, "What'll you give me for it?"
Sam barely holds back his moan as heat floods his groin; the effect she has on him should be illegal, he reflects sourly. "Coffee for a week?"
Andy rears back to cross her arms over her chest. "You're going to have to do better than that," she counters after a dismissive "Ha!"
It's the moment he's been waiting for – Sam gets his hands and knees under him and rolls to pitch Andy off him. She tumbles to the side with a squawk of surprise and Sam is quick to follow, pinning her in much the same position except he makes sure to restrain her hands above her head.
Andy squirms, testing his grip, but it's no use; she's not going anywhere until he decides to let her. He's leaning over her back, so close she can feel the heat of his body searing through their clothes and his breath on her neck. Sam's renewed erection is firmly pressed between the rounded globes of her rear, despite their clothing, and she instinctively clenches her buttocks around him.
A muffled growl rumbles through his chest as he leans more of his weight on her back and his hips involuntarily rock into her. Andy releases her breath on a long exhalation, dropping her forehead to rest on the mat; she's completely surrounded by him and totally helpless, and for a cop with intimacy and trust issues it should frighten the bejeezus out of her.
Except for the tiny fact that this is Sam, and Andy trusts Sam completely and totally, in a way she's never trusted anyone else. Despite their rocky beginning (not to mention the whole blackout fiasco and aftermath), she doesn't want to be partnered with anyone else.
Somehow, Sam gets her in a way nobody else ever has. It's not so much that he's broken down her barriers, but while she was busy protecting her heart from Luke, Sam found an open window and made himself at home, acting like he'd been there the entire time and she just hadn't noticed.
Andy doesn't know what to do about Sam and her feelings for him, but she has an idea of where to start: first things first, break it off with Luke. Now that she's admitted to herself that she's not in love with him, it not fair to either of them to keep stringing him along, even in the name of protecting herself.
Andy still can't quite believe Sam's selflessness in letting her maintain the charade besides the initial (and justified, she admits privately) outburst of jealousy and hurt feelings, and she regrets the hurt she caused by insisting on keeping him in the 'Friend' column after putting him on ice.
Still, somehow he keeps coming back despite the fact that he'd be perfectly within his rights to wash his hands of her completely after everything she's put him through. The fact that he hasn't yet means more than she has words to fully express.
Sam rocks that steely rod of mystery and temptation into her again, and Andy can't stop her responding flex any more than she can stop breathing. This is dry-humping at its most basic, and yet she's more turned on now than she has been in months of regular sex with Luke. Her nerves are alive and every sensation screams through her veins like fire.
"You're killing me here, Andy," Sam mutters in her ear, cutting off his moan when she clenches around him again in response to feeling his words rumble right through her. Her breasts are so swollen and tender right now, she'll probably come apart if he so much as touches them.
"God, Sam," she whimpers. This is so wrong, she knows – technically she's still in a committed relationship – but nothing has ever felt so right.
The distant clang of a locker slamming shut quickly followed by the murmur of multiple voices is like a bucket of cold water being thrown over them. In the space of two heartbeats, Sam is halfway across the room, matching her wide-eyed stare as he backs up. "This is a good spot to take a break," he rasps, recovering somewhat as he clears his throat. "Take ten, McNally." In a flash he's gone, beating a hasty retreat into the locker room.
Andy swallows hard and rises, praying that the flush of her arousal dissipates quickly because now seems like an excellent time for a heart-to-heart with Luke.
She lightly knocks on the frame of Luke's office door, smiling when he looks up from his stack of paperwork. "Hey," he greets easily, sitting back in his chair and noting her lack of uniform. "What brings you here? How come you're not out on patrol?"
She takes that as tacit permission to enter and does so, closing the door behind her. "Just helping Sam tie up a few loose ends from one of his old cases," she says, noting the way his features tighten at the mention of her partner as she sits in his 'visitor' chair. Ever since finding out where she went the night of the blackout and returning from the prisoner transport, Luke has been quietly urging her to change training officers, though he won't explain why. "Do you have a few minutes?"
"Not really, but I suppose I can spare a couple for you."
This next part is going to hurt, Andy knows that, so she takes a deep breath and gets right to the point – delaying the inevitable with small talk will just give her the opportunity to chicken out again. "I'm sorry, Luke, but I can't move in with you." There. She said it, and now all that's left is the part where she can't be with him anymore at all.
Luke blinks, patently taken aback. "What?" he sputters. "Why?"
Andy thinks over some of the excuses she's cooked up just for this type of moment: "We're moving too fast", "I'm not ready", "It's not you, it's me", but she finally decides on the truly honest response, "I don't love you, Luke, and I don't think you love me either. I tried, honest to God I did, but you can't build a relationship without trust, and you don't trust me."
"I do so!" he retorts.
"Then what's with the constant comments and questions about Sam if you don't trust me when I'm with him?"
"It's him I don't trust, Andy!" Luke exclaims. "I mean, sure, you shot him down once, but what's to stop him from trying again?"
Andy blinks, befuddled. "What are you talking about?" She can only think of one time she shot Sam down, but that was before she'd even considered getting involved with Luke and therefore was and is none of his business.
Luke sighs with a slight roll of his eyes, like he can't believe she doesn't understand. "I realize I gave you the cold shoulder about the blackout, after your vague non-explanation, but after you got back from the prisoner transport Swarek came and told me what happened – that he came on to you and you shot him down. I can't believe you didn't report him for harassment," Luke adds.
Andy is so stunned she's running on auto-pilot. "Sam said what?" she hears herself ask faintly. Sam Swarek – who, despite his love of undercover work, has the strongest moral compass she's ever seen – lied to help salvage her relationship with someone he doesn't even like, risking a reprimand, suspension or worse if Luke had said something?
Luke, who didn't believe her when she said nothing happened, had believed Sam when he lied through his teeth?
This all could have been avoided two months ago if Sam hadn't meddled?
That idiot.
It's not until Luke asks what she means that Andy realizes she said the last part aloud. This time she doesn't fumble for an explanation – she knows the truth now, and the truth is that Luke really doesn't trust her, despite his protestations, and this makes things a lot easier. "Luke, Sam lied. I went to him, I kissed him. I was drowning, Luke; I was drowning and you left me behind to dig for bones!"
"You said you were fine!" Luke protested.
"I'd just killed someone, Luke! How can anybody be fine after that?"
"So, what was I supposed to do? Ignore what you said? Take you home and hover all night?" he asks somewhat incredulously.
"Yes!"
"It's called compartmentalizing, Andy; that's how cops deal with things." Oh, now he's just being condescending, and her feelings of remorse are rapidly dissipating.
"Oh yeah, you can say that now, after how many years on the force?" Andy asks pointedly. "I've been a cop for six months, Luke!" She can't sit anymore, so she stands and starts to pace. "I needed you that night. I needed you to be there when I woke up a dozen times screaming because of a nightmare. I needed you to hold me, and convince me that I did the right thing. I needed you to remind me that Oliver and that little girl would probably be dead if I hadn't killed him. I needed you to be there."
"So you're saying that you going to Swarek is my fault?"
Andy sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in a gesture that she obviously learned from Swarek as Luke's jaw clenches. "It's not anybody's fault except mine for making the wrong choice in the first place. Goodbye, Luke." Andy opens the office door and slips out, only to come face-to-face with Sam, who seems to have recovered from their encounter in the gym.
"Everything okay?" he asks, glancing over her shoulder to where Callaghan appears to be throwing a temper tantrum – slamming drawers, knocking papers off his desk, and apparently considering his collection of coffee mugs as possible ammunition for target practice.
Andy takes a deep breath, feeling like a weight she didn't know was there has been taken off her shoulders, and doesn't have to force her smile. "Everything's fine," she says blithely. "How are plans coming on our field trip?"
"Good," he responds, walking with her to the locker rooms. She can tell he's a little taken aback by her cheerfulness compared to Luke's current mood, but at least he's willing to play along. "Just as soon as we finish up the reports for last night, we can get out of here and get some actual sleep. Frank's cleared us to head out tomorrow; we'll be driving but the check-in time isn't until three, so we can sleep in. Okay?"
Andy has no problem with that and says so. "Why don't I just camp out in your spare room again tonight and we can leave first thing?" she suggests. She knows she can always nap in the truck if she's still tired, and Andy wants to help Sam catch Anton Hill more than she wants to torture him by dawdling. And, by getting to Ottawa a few hours early, they'll have time to scope out the hotel and its surroundings to make sure they aren't being set up.
Sam looks surprised by her idea, and she supposes she can't blame him. "You sure? What about Callaghan?"
Andy flashes a mysterious smile that she knows drives him nuts. "What about him?" Without another word, she disappears into the locker room. She's about to change when she remembers that she doesn't necessarily need to be in uniform to do paperwork. Rolling her eyes at her own distraction, Andy makes tracks for her desk and the pile of forms that need to be filled out – not only for last night's operation, but for the arrest that precipitated it too.
Paperwork. Yuck.
A few minutes after she settles in, a fresh cup of coffee appears in a rare empty spot of her desk before her benefactor sits down across from her. She thanks him, trying not to look too surprised – bribing her out of bed this morning with coffee is a whole lot different than bringing her coffee while technically on duty – and takes a sip, managing to limit her vocal appreciation to a hum.
She doesn't know what kind of witchcraft Sam does, but somehow whenever he makes her coffee it tastes better than when she makes it herself.
Andy thinks she just might have to keep him around on that basis alone.
She opens her eyes and finds Sam is focused entirely on her; the sheer intensity of his gaze makes her squirm in her seat as heat settles low in her belly. Then he blinks and looks away and the moment is lost.
Andy smirks at his lowered head – she has plans for him, oh yes she does, but not before she torments him a little bit more for his meddling. She settles in to the largely mindless task of filling out forms as plots and schemes swirl around her head, enticing her with possibilities and roads not yet taken.
The next morning, Andy yawns widely as she makes herself comfortable in the passenger seat of Sam's big silver beast of a truck. It's actually after 7:00a.m., but with their sleep deprivation it feels like it might as well be 3:00 or 4:00 – and with rush hour already in full-swing the five-hour drive will get worse, even with Sam driving like he usually does.
Sam settles behind the wheel and starts the engine while Andy buckles her seatbelt and leans the side of her head against the cool glass of the window, wishing she'd thought to grab a pillow. She considers the lines of exhaustion on his face, knowing that she doesn't look any better after waking from nightmares half a dozen times throughout the night.
When she woke screaming from the third one, Sam had given up all pretenses and simply climbed into the bed with her, holding her while she slept and soothing her when she started dreaming again. Considering that most of the dreams revolved around Sam being killed instead of Angel, having him right there beside her to prove he was whole and unharmed did more to calm her fears than anything else.
"Thank you for staying with me last night," she says quietly.
His hand comes up to cover her knee and she looks at him in time to catch the earnest expression in his eyes. "You're welcome. I'm glad you didn't try to tough it out on your own." Andy can feel the heat of his hand through her jeans and she moves her own hand to cover his, entangling their fingers. As always, that ping of awareness that she feels every time he touches her sings through her veins, but it's accompanied by a rush of warmth in her chest.
Nobody affects her like Sam does – nobody else can make her want to jump him and strangle him all at the same time. When Sam gets violent on her behalf, Andy has the simultaneous urge to both tell him to go to hell because she can take care of herself, and strip him naked and jump him because Sam the Defender and Sam the Protector are really, really HOT.
Just thinking about the way Sam's eyes flash and his biceps flex when he's pissed off makes Andy's nipples perk and she has to shift back into the seat to try to hide her physical reaction. That move backfires when the sweatshirt she never got around to returning yesterday releases a whiff of the scent that Andy associates purely with Sam: a combination of soap, leather, clean laundry, a touch of sandalwood from his aftershave, the barest hint of musk, all overlaid with something that seems to be purely Sam.
She could smell him for days and never get tired. The only thing better would be kissing him because Sam is so good at it that it's a wonder her underwear doesn't spontaneously combust whenever he's nearby.
Sam disengages his hand from hers so he can shift the truck into gear and start their road-trip. Their comfortable silence is broken only by the radio playing quietly in the background. Ten minutes after Sam merges onto the 401 Andy is fast asleep, snuggled deep into his sweatshirt, her neck craned at an uncomfortable-looking angle as her head rests against the window..
He pulls onto the shoulder, hazard lights blinking, and parks the truck so he can help her: he unfastens her seatbelt, carefully letting it retract, and lifts the console between them so he can guide her to lie down next to him. Andy complies with a soft murmur, settling on her side and facing the windshield, tucking her feet up on the seat, and her hands under her chin. Her head finds Sam's leg, and she nestles comfortably onto his thigh, humming her approval of the new position.
He decides to leave her be with a mental shrug, and puts the truck back into gear, merging back into traffic. After setting the cruise control, Sam settles in for the long drive and lets his right hand drift down to play with Andy's hair, occasionally stroking down her arm when she shifts restlessly and whimpers in her sleep.
Glancing down at her, he's caught off-guard by the sudden image of Andy in the same position, only her left hand gleams with a modest wedding set and her right hand protectively cradles a belly that is full and round and heavy with child. And Sam, who has always preferred a bachelor's existence with his job and undercover assignments, finds himself wanting it with such ferocity that his chest actually aches.
Sam's inner masochist led him to help Andy with Callaghan and he had started to prepare himself to pretend to be happy for her and the Happily Ever After she was chasing with such single-minded determination, but now that she's given Golden Boy the heave-ho he's not about to squander the unexpected second chance.
He let Andy rebuff him once, screwed up what he thought was a second chance but was really only a scared, desperate woman trying to drown out the voices and screams in her head while her boyfriend was MIA, and tried to resign himself to just being her friend and agony aunt while she stumbled her way through her first attempt at a serious, committed relationship.
Andy is his now (whether she realizes it or not) and he's never going to let her go.
Sam finishes his coffee and starts in on Andy's after a moment's consideration. It's not how he usually takes it, but at this point caffeine is caffeine, and her falling asleep makes it fair game as far as he's concerned. As the hours and kilometers pass by, he entertains himself by leap-frogging around other cars and playing around with the speed limit – going fast enough to shave some time off the journey, but not so fast as to attract attention from some bored but zealous Mountie on speed trap duty.
Andy wakes more than halfway into the trip but seems content where she is, rolling onto her back and smiling groggily up at him. "Time is it?" she asks, voice husky with sleep as she yawns.
Sam checks the digital display and flashes his dimples down at her. "Just past eleven," he responds, answering her next question with, "we've still got about two hours to go."
Andy hums under her breath as she takes the information in and relaxes against him. She reaches up and fumbles blindly for the volume control, turning it up a bit louder, before turning her head and nestling back into his thigh with a contented sigh. Her feet twitch and bounce with the beat of the music – Sam and Andy compromised earlier on radio station choice and settled on one that claimed to play "anything", thus satisfying both their musical preferences – and Sam settles the hand that had been playing with her hair in the curve between her neck and shoulder, thumb stretching around to gently stroke the soft skin under Andy's ear. The warm, solid weight of his hand keeps Andy grounded and lulls her back into a semi-doze.
For quite possibly the first time ever, they are content with themselves and each other, the cab of the truck providing a cocoon of peace and safety, and neither feels the need to fill the silence with talking. Eventually, though, the explosive attraction between them slips under Andy's skin and she has to speak before she does something… unwise.
Like turning over and discovering just how good Sam is at multi-tasking.
"I broke up with Luke yesterday," she announces.
Sam doesn't bother to look down, lest she see the flash of triumph in his eyes. "I figured," he responds. "You know, what with that whole temper tantrum he threw when you left his office yesterday, and the constant glares afterwards."
Andy rolls her eyes and reaches up to pinch his arm in retaliation. In a flash, the hand Sam has on her neck goes from soothing to tormenting as he uses it to tickle her; she giggles and squeals, batting at him when he moves to dig his fingers into her sides. "Keep your eyes on the road!" she admonishes as she retreats to the far side of the seat. "Sam!"
Sam flashes his dimples at her, laughing softly as he teasingly reaches for her again. Andy squawks and slaps his hand away, yelping again when the truck swerves to the right, dangerously close to the next lane. He easily straightens them out again, chuckling under his breath as Andy holds a hand over her heart. "What happened to your inner adrenaline junkie, McNally?"
She scoffs and turns to face the window, obviously giving him the silent treatment as she crosses her arms with a huff. Sam smirks, fully prepared to wait her out – Andy is, as previously established, positively allergic to silence and hasn't yet managed to maintain it for longer than five minutes for as long as he's known her. He makes an internal bet with himself that she won't last any more than three.
Sure enough, only two minutes pass before Andy speaks: "You're an ass." Her tone is matter-of-fact and she's still not looking at him, but he won his bet.
Sam throws her a sidelong glance as he stifles a snort of laughter. "And since when is that a surprise?"
"It's not; I'm just saying: you're an ass."
The corners of his lips twitch as he tries not to laugh in her face. "Glad we got that cleared up."
Andy rolls her eyes at him and reaches to turn the radio's volume up, choking on laughter when Sam starts to sing along to one of her favorite songs in the most obnoxious, high-pitched, off-key voice he can muster. "I changed my mind," she announces over the blasting stereo, "you're actually a jackass!"
In the end, it's surprisingly easy: they check into the hotel without a problem and are shown to their room, which winds up being a huge suite with a fantastic view of the city. While Andy admires the parquet flooring and chandelier, Sam checks out the bedroom with a sneaking suspicion that is rapidly deepening in his gut and swears violently and loudly.
"What's wrong?" Andy asks, distracted from her investigation of the rest of the suite.
"I'm gonna kill her," he vows.
"Sam?"
"The little witch booked us into a room with only one bed."
Andy is glad he's still looking into the bedroom and not facing her when her stomach clenches and her expression goes blank at the possibilities.
"Guess I'll flip you for it," he adds, digging in his pocket for a coin.
Andy swallows hard and forces herself to speak up, "We're both adults, aren't we?" Her voice is husky and she can literally see him go rigid before he turns around.
"McNally? Are you suggesting…?" His eyes are shuttered, but Andy can just make out the hope and surprise he's trying so desperately to hide.
"I'm just saying that the bed is really big!" she adds as she moves up next to him to take in the bedroom, which is dominated by the massive king-size bed. "But, you know, if you don't think you can control yourself, by all means sleep on the couch."
She's baiting him and he knows it as she smirks at him, but one thing Sam finds next to impossible to resist is a challenge.
Especially when it's a challenge issued by a certain former rookie.
He's not about to give in that easily, though: "Shouldn't I be the one worried about being molested in my sleep, McNally?" He watches with satisfaction as her jaw drops and the tips of her ears turn pink while she nearly chokes on her own spit.
"Sam! I – that is – um, I – you know-…" she sputters, her blush spreading to her cheeks and down her neck. When he cracks a grin and starts chuckling under his breath at her, she scowls and slugs him in the shoulder.
Hard.
"You're an ass," she declares again, spinning on her heel and stalking away, farther into the bedroom. Inwardly, though, she's glad that he seems to have forgiven her for her temporary lapse in judgment the night of the blackout, and the events thereafter – at least to the point that he can tease her about the way she jumped him that night.
Out of everything that she regrets about her actions over the past six months (including busting him to begin with), Andy is most ashamed of the way she deliberately ignored his (and her own) growing feelings; she knew just by the way he kissed her back that night that it was more than just hormones – the sheer intensity of his response to her, and her response to his response, had scared her so badly that she'd gone running back into Luke's arms without even trying all that hard to make Sam understand, an action that just gets more cruel and cowardly the more she thinks about it.
"I am sorry, you know," she murmurs, not looking at him.
She can almost sense him turning to look at her, his eyes narrowed just a bit with speculation. "For coming over that night?"
"No. I have a lot of regrets about the last few months, but I've never regretted going to see you that night. I was drowning and you were there, like always. What I am sorry for is that I let fear of my emotions and how you affect me drive me back to Luke and my comfort zone. And I'm most sorry for hurting you."
Just thinking about it is making her voice tremble and her eyes tear up, but Andy tries to discreetly wipe them away with her fingers as male hands cup her shoulders, drawing her back against the hard, muscled body she's tried hard to not notice as Sam leans his forehead against the back of her head. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole when you came back." His breath whispers across the nape of her neck, raising gooseflesh in its wake. "I was hurt and jealous, and that made me angry, and so I lashed out at you. It was a nasty shock to walk in that morning and find out from Callaghan that you were still together and running off for a romantic, lake-side sleepover."
Andy closes her eyes, trying not to curse Luke and his own brand of unintentional meddling. "The sad part is I didn't really want to go – I was trying to tell him when he told me that you said I was all his. I thought it meant that you had decided you weren't interested in dealing with me and my baggage after all."
Sam castigates himself up and down for being such a stupid, stubborn, jealous idiot, wishing like hell that he'd thought things through and just talked to her that day instead of letting wounded feelings and dented pride do the talking for him. "You don't know how sorry I am for that, Andy."
"How did we let things turn into such a mess, Sam?"
His arms wrap tightly around her, hugging her to him, as he moves his head to rest it alongside hers. They're both stubborn, prideful people with razor-wire fences put up around their hearts. It's not in their natures to let anybody else see them flinch and the night of the blackout they both had. The fallout and aftermath had involved much backpedaling and ass-covering, trying like hell to put their masks back in place.
"I wish I knew, Andy."
At some point she turns in the circle of his arms and winds her own around him, burying her face in his neck as they just breathe each other in. Neither knows how much time has passed when they finally pull apart, and, even though Andy's eyes are red-rimmed, she's perfectly calm; for all that he delights in winding her up, Sam is the only person that truly can ground her when things are flying out of control.
His hands come up to cup her face as he presses a kiss to her forehead. "We'll be okay, Andy. I promise." Sam is about 99.9-percent sure that she's it for him, his one-and-done, but that could also be the allure of forbidden fruit talking, for all he knows. He's never felt like this before, and how many other dumb schmucks has he seen that finally made a move on the girl they've been pining for who is suddenly single - only to find out that most of the attraction was simply the thrill and chase of wanting something they couldn't have?
So, he and Andy are going to take their time so they can both be sure that he's not simply a rebound; in the meantime, he's going to have his hands full trying to prove to her that she is cut out for long-term relationships, and that all her previous failures have been more a habit of trying too hard with the wrong guys.
Callaghan included.
The smile she flashes is small but it lights up the room as she steps away. "Aren't we supposed to be looking for a fridge?"
Sam understands and doesn't try to stop her – until she figures out for herself that he'll never willingly leave her, it will be a constant dance of two steps forward, one step back. He gives Andy the space she needs to regain her equilibrium and watches as she playfully taps a finger on her chin while glancing around the suite, features alight with mischief.
"So," she says, her tone too teasing to be truly contemplative, "if I was a mini-fridge in this place, where would I be hiding?"
Sam is more than happy to play along and groans theatrically as he rolls his eyes. "Not more of that 'What Kind of Tree Would I Be?' crap?"
Andy ignores him and heads for the wardrobe in the bedroom with a shrug – she sincerely doubts that it's there but they've got to start some place. Unsurprisingly, she strikes out and Sam would help her look but he's honestly too fascinated by watching her as she looks around, easily following her thought process as she tries to figure out where the hotel might have hidden the fridge.
She methodically picks her way through the suite, gradually getting more and more irritated the longer Sam stares at her instead of helping. "Feel free to pitch in any time," she says with more than a little asperity.
He grins at her and sits on the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands. "That's okay; I think you've got it covered. Besides, think of it as more practice for searching a house for evidence."
It's Andy's turn to roll her eyes, though she's quietly amazed at how Sam manages to turn almost anything into a learning opportunity, contrived or not. If she was with Oliver, she might consider razzing him about laziness and rookie slave labor.
Sam, though, has gone out of his way to teach her his methods and shortcuts, to introduce her to his contacts and to make her known to those that have gone to him for help in the past and might again. He explained it as giving them a backup in case he goes undercover again and can't help if they need it, though Andy knows that's only part of the story.
She has a sneaking suspicion that he's including her in the Circle of Trust if and when he goes under again and can't call for backup using any of the usual means. It means that he's depending on her to be his backup if things go south.
While she's on the topic, Andy still can't decide which side of the fence she wants to be on should Guns & Gangs decide they want Sam back again and he goes: does she want to go under with him, so she can keep watching his back, or stay on the outside to be part of the cavalry if he needs it? She can't deny that the Bergan/Landry bust was a huge rush, but would she be able to live that life for months on end?
She glances back at Sam, who looks ridiculously appealing as he lounges on the giant bed, calm and relaxed and still watching her with a smile that goes all the way to his eyes, and thinks that she just might be able to do it as long as he's with her.
Andy fights down the desire to abandon the search for Emily's evidence to jump him. After just getting out of a semi-serious relationship, the idea of rushing straight into one with Sam reeks of rebounds and nasty rumors of being the Division's bicycle. She sneaks another look at Sam and knows that as long as he's still with her at the end of the day, anything else will be worth it.
Five minutes of searching later Andy doesn't bother to stifle her crow of success upon finally finding the elusive bar-fridge. The key has been included in their check-in package, but they're not interested in the contents just yet. After a quick struggle and much cursing, she manages to work the fridge out of its cubby just far enough to peer around the back.
Carefully duct-taped to the back of the bar-fridge is a slim but sturdy-looking steel lockbox. Andy peels the tape away and sets their prize on the floor beside her before replacing the fridge in its custom cupboard. She picks the box back up and shakes it lightly next to her ear as she joins Sam on the bed.
He's given up the redolent posture and reaches into his jeans pocket for his keys, removing the newest key from the ring as Andy seats herself next to him and holds the box out, lock facing him.
It's the moment of truth and they both suck in identical breaths and hold them as Sam fits the key in the lock and turns it. There's an almost silent click and the lid suddenly pops up a bit, startling them both. Sam glances in Andy's eyes, noting the aura of tense anticipation that matches his, and slowly lifts the lid, careful of any booby-traps in case this is all a huge set-up.
Lying inside, safely ensconced in a bed of black foam, are two small, silver USB drives. Andy watches as Sam lifts them out, assuming that one holds the actual files while the other has the encryption key. She also has a sneaking suspicion that the drive containing the encryption key is also encrypted or password-protected itself.
Sam removes the drives from the protective padding and takes the lockbox from her before she heads back into the main salon to grab the laptop they brought along. She returns to find him, knife in hand, poking and prodding at the foam lining, trying to find a weak spot where it might be pulled away from the metal, hopefully to reveal the password for the encryption key.
They both freeze when they hear the almost silent clink of metal against glass and Sam gingerly pries the foam away from the front of the box to reveal a small, thin glass vial filled with a clear liquid lying on top of a folded piece of paper. Andy boots up the computer as Sam slowly slides the surprisingly thick paper (a childhood spent trying to cheer his sister up lets Sam reliably identify it as flash paper) out from under the vial of what is probably some type of oxidizer and opens it up to reveal a long, complicated string of letters and numbers written neatly in pencil.
It's apparent that if anybody else discovered the box and tried to open it without the actual key, the vial would break and the chemical inside would ignite the paper, making the USB drives all but useless.
Andy picks up the drives and plugs them into the laptop, which eventually prompts her for passwords. She shrugs and picks one of the two dialog boxes to key in the password that Sam carefully recites, feeling the need to cross her fingers and close her eyes before pressing 'OK'.
Not only does it fail, but they get a warning message that only two more incorrect passwords will be tolerated before it locks itself down forever. She winces and opens the other dialog box, repeating the process.
Success! A new window pops up and reveals the contents of the key drive: a single executable file. Well, in for a penny in for a pound, and all that, so Andy opens the file. It runs quickly, opening and closing windows faster than they can blink, and asks for the password another three times before it consents to unlock the drive with all the evidence on it.
All told, it looks fairly innocuous – a handful of electronic files, mostly spreadsheets, and a video file titled 'ME FIRST', which Andy opens after a moment's hesitation. The video quality isn't the greatest, grainy and a touch blurry, and anything in the background that might be used to identify the location has been removed, but the woman facing the camera is unmistakably Emily Starling.
She looks better than the last time Andy and Sam saw her – her black eye and cut lip have healed, her hair is longer, and she appears to be wearing better clothes (based on what they can see of her shoulders and upper chest). The dark circles of stress have disappeared from under her eyes, and she looks almost... happy.
Sam shuffles closer to Andy to get a better look of the screen, and she obligingly shifts the computer so that it shares their laps as Emily starts to speak: "Hi, Sammy and McNally," she says with a little wave and a smile. "As you can see, I didn't forget about you and what you did for me. I'd apologize for leading you on this scavenger hunt, but you have no idea how much fun it was to set it all up!
"You've probably guessed that our little relocation plan worked, but I'm not going to tell you where I am. Just know that I'm safe, gainfully and legally employed, and I'll be watching and waiting to take my place on the stand when Anton goes to trial.
"The room is paid for, so don't worry about a thing - order all the room service and pay-per-view movies you want and charge it to the room. You're booked in there for two nights, but of course you don't have to use them. I know I probably made things a little difficult in asking you to drop everything to come here. I'd better wrap this up, but not before I say this: McNally, throw poor Sam a bone, would you? I know he's annoying and way too self-assured, but you two are good for each other.
"Take care of yourselves, and each other, you two. A connection like yours only comes along once in a lifetime. Believe me, I know," she adds with a wry grin, holding up her left hand to reveal a modest engagement ring adorning her ring finger. "I'll see you guys around. Be good."
The video ends as a male hand moves into the frame to take hold of Emily's and she smiles gently at the owner. Andy comes back to herself to realize that she leaned her head on Sam's shoulder while watching, and straightens while clearing her throat. "So, uh-..."
"Why don't you email those files to yourself, me, and Frank," Sam suggests.
He doesn't have to explain his reasoning to her; Andy knows that if something happens to them or the drive, there will still be electronic copies that Anton and his men won't be able to get their dirty hands on. She hooks the laptop up to the hotel's wireless internet connection and sends the emails and files out with a politely-worded request to Best to get moving on the evidence before she and Sam make it back to town.
She also adds that the room has been paid for a two-night stay in the hotel, and it seems a shame to turn down such generosity, so she's calling in personal days for her and Sam for the next two days.
Frank's response arrives a few minutes later as Andy and Sam are perusing Emily's evidence – he seems to be more amused than anything else, and simply asks them to make an appearance in his office whenever they make it back to town; she chortles with her own amusement and shows Sam the email. "Looks like you're all mine for the next two days!" she exclaims brightly.
"Well, McNally, since you arranged for this mini-vacation, what do you want to do first?" Sam rumbles back, his eyes dropping involuntarily to her lips.
Andy's about to say "Sightseeing!" when her stomach rumbles loudly; Sam blinks at her for a second before he bursts out laughing and she can feel her cheeks get hot with embarrassment.
"Food it is!" he pronounces as he takes the laptop from her and stows it safely away back in their luggage, before coming back to herd her towards the door. "Let's get some food into you before you decide to take a bite out me instead."
He really shouldn't have left her such an opening and Andy just can't resist the reply that springs to her lips, "While you are definitely good enough to eat, I was thinking more along the lines of some nibbling, and maybe a lick or two. But, y'know, if you really want to be bitten...?"
She keeps walking, struggling to maintain a straight face when Sam stops dead with an arrested expression on his face. He recovers quickly, but his eyes are so heated that it makes her insides clench and her underwear get damp. "Not really a fan of bites," he murmurs in her ear when he catches up, "but you really can't go wrong with a good set of claw marks."
It's Andy's turn now to grind to a sudden halt as Sam smirks and she swallows hard. Whoa, Nellie, I've created a monster.
He reverses and hooks an arm around her shoulders to propel her forward again. "Coming?"
Not yet.
Fine Part 1 of 2