CHAPTER 4: Woke up This Morning, The Whole World Turned Upside Down

Summary: "Born under a bad sign, blue moon in your eye..." A decent night's sleep and a big meal puts Swarek in the mind to get some answers.

Well into A/U territory, trying to build up a story for our off-season pleasure. A. McNally and S. Swarek discuss next moves. Angst/Comfort/Drama. Rated K.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Woke up This Morning" by A3 or Rookie Blue.

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The floor catches him up short, winding him. His throat, already dry, sore, reacts to the dust kicked up by his fall, spasming – but he can't cough. His jaw is pinched open, agony in the joint forcing it wide. And then the water. What to do? His mind is a bright white space of pure animal terror. Brennan's relentless, flat-toned description of what's happening – he's choking. Breathe, choke, drown… Fight.

The tension in Sam's body is what awakens her. Curled away from her in the fetal position, hands fisted, he is twitching and jerking, as if taking invisible blows. But the part that scares Andy is the gasping, the rigidity of his chest. His breathing is strangely erratic, too labored to be sustained. Andy does the instinctive thing: molds herself to his back, hoping the feel of her body will ease him out of the nightmare. Because that's clearly what this is.

Their difference in height puts Andy's face between Sam's shoulder blades, and she presses light kisses to his skin. One hand drifts from his knee to his hip and back again, over the lightly furred expanse of his stomach and chest. She wills peace with each pass of her hand over his body, peace and wakefulness. I'm with you. His breathing evens out; Andy can tell the moment he slips from nightmare to bare sleep, from sleep to fully awake. "You were dreaming," she whispers.

He nods, silent. Every part of his body registers a different complaint, although muted where Andy is stroking him. Slowly he unlocks his knees and hips, stretching to his full length. Her wayward hand is captured, kissed, then her fingers unfurled to cup his jaw. "They said to expect it," Sam answers, voice low and scratchy.

Andy grazes his back lightly with teeth and lips. "They say anything else?"

"Frank give you the 'seventy-two hour' speech?" Sam pauses, squinting in the afternoon light at the bedside clock, "Sixty-eight hours, twenty-seven minutes and twelve seconds now."

It's Andy's turn to nod. "Three days to 'settle my affairs' before the suspension hearing." She fell silent, considering. "How long do you think the suspension will be?"

"Shorter for you than for me, but…" Sam rolls in her arms, "I don't wanna talk about that just yet."

Andy drops her lashes, then glances up coyly through them. "What do you want to talk about, Sam?" As usual when they are naked together, Sam is hard; if nothing else, she'll never have to guess whether he wants her or not. She trails a finger around the flat disk of his nipple; it hardens immediately at the attention.

"Getting awfully sure of ourselves, aren't we?" he rasps, grinning down at her, stopping her exploration of his chest while bumping her teasingly with his hips. "But…" his smile turns rueful, "I'm going to have to overrule that suggestion, too, McNally." An unholy rumble thunders out from his well-muscled midsection. "I gotta eat."

He almost changes his mind as Andy dissolves into helpless laughter against him, head thrown back, bare column her neck enticing him. She's beautiful, sweet… And mine, his inner Cro-Magnon insists. And leaving him in the dust, a long leg thrown over his hip on her way out of bed. "Come on, you're so hungry," she sasses down at him. Shaking away the lingering chill of the nightmare, he rolls, follows.

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Andy shakes her head with amazement, watching as Sam chases the last of his fifth runny-yolked egg with a crust scammed from Andy's plate. The bacon had long been consumed; she felt lucky to have gotten the two slices she'd had, the way Sam attacked the platter. Seemingly half a loaf of whole wheat bread, hash browns, fruit, juice, three cups of black coffee… And all of it disappeared effortlessly. Sensing her regard, Sam raises his head, eyebrows high. Swallowing, he holds her gaze shamelessly. "I have a high metabolism," he offers, shrugging.

"Oh, I'm admiring your handiwork," she says, glancing pointedly at the stack of dishes on his side of table.

"And I'm healing," he adds, dustting his mouth off with his well-used napkin.

A slow, small smile curls her lips, drawing his glance to her mouth momentarily. "I'm not worried about today's pig-out, Sam," she states, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table.

"Good," he says, moving forward himself while smoothing his snug tee down his front. "Wouldn't want you to get the idea that all this is going anywhere."

"Well, now I'm sure you're feeling better," she shoots back, rolling her eyes.

Dropping the napkin in the emptied plate, Sam extends his undamaged hand across the table to her, eyes intense, battered features falling serious. "I am feeling better," he says, closing his fingers around her proffered hand. "And I'm glad you're here."

Andy's eyes flick to her watch. "For another sixty-six hours and change."

"Which doesn't give us much time to plan."

Her frown is immediate. "Plan what?"

"Our investigation into Boyd."