A/N 17th July? 17 OF JULY?! This hiatus is going to kill me! R & R my lovely people!

Sam's hands shook as he peeled the Velcro back from the corner of Gail's vest. He tried to focus; there was barely any light. He was using his left hand, his right still clutching his gun. The rancid smell of the warehouse mingling with the unmistakable metallic scent of blood made for a potent mix. If it weren't for the adrenaline pumping, forcing his limbs to move, his mouth to speak reassurance, he'd be curled over a stack of pallets, emptying his stomach onto the floor.

Her eyes were fluttering, her forehead beaded with sweat. He put his hand there to soothe, leaving a smear of blood on the skin, a shocking red. It stuck to her hair. Looking up and around again quickly, he had to move them. Weapon poised, he aimed it into the darkness.

There was no other sound, their radios echoing off the metal walls, the sound of Sam's boots against the concrete as he shuffled around her. It was the sound of laboured breaths; one hanging onto consciousness, the other exerted with the burden of saving both of them. He counted to three then holstered his gun. All first aid training was far from his mind in that moment; unsure of everything except getting away from the danger, Sam knelt down snaking his arm under Gail's knees.

"Come on," he whispered, rousing her a little.

He lifted her at the shoulders, pushing his arm under her back. He huffed two breaths and lifted, struggling with his fear ridden body to straighten out his knees. He tensed his calves, locked his knees and let the strength travel to his thighs, up his abdomen. And he walked, promising things he wasn't sure of. Things like 'you're gonna be okay', 'we're gonna be fine', things like that.

Maybe they would be fine, but in what capacity.

They were covered in the soupy slime of rotten food; it couldn't have been more bizarre. They stank and shivered as Sam walked them out into the daylight, vowing never to venture into another dark fucking warehouse ever again. You'd think he would have learnt that one by now. As he pushed through the door they came through, the sudden brightness stung his eyes, forcing him to squint and duck his head.

He walked across a driveway, down the opposite side lined with a chain link fence. He couldn't run, didn't trust his legs, didn't want to drop her or make them both fall. All the time she was murmuring something, mostly unintelligible.

He reached the end of the fence where the road was, their squad parked on the curb. The sound of distant sirens was a slight comfort. They were on their way, but not here yet.

He just wanted to scream. Help. Help. Help. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Why did this have to happen today, to Gail Peck, to him, to this division. For fuck sake, was the universe trying to challenge him? Or did he get stuck in the path of one of Gail's trials of humanity?

Was it his problem or hers? Or both? Is this his test? Or Gail's?

He lowered her down to the ground on the side of the car facing the road, away from the warehouse.

She gasped, gritting her teeth as she hit the ground. At least she hadn't passed out yet. It probably wasn't a good gage of how bad her injuries were or her likelihood of recovery, but it comforted him. He wasn't alone; she wasn't gone.

He knew she wasn't gripping onto life; but she was badly hurt. There was nothing he could do for her as she groaned through her pressed lips. He felt pathetically helpless.

Not just because he was at a loss, but he wasn't even hurt and he could barely function under his own fear. He should have been more on the ball. The rookies were still rookies, even over three years into the job. They were his responsibility; he should have known, should have seen it coming. He should have been able to stop this from happening.

But it did, and it was more real than he could stand, holding Gail to his side like they were intimate friends, pressing his hand to her shoulder. He still couldn't slow his breathing, and Gail's was way too slow, like she was falling asleep.

"Peck," he shook her a little, trying to be gentle. "Stay awake, kid. Please."

She frowned, even with her eyes closed.

"Don't call me 'kid', old man." she muttered, words slightly slurred.

Sam chuckled, a helpless sound.

"Fifteen-nineteen. Where the hell are the medics?"

"Sam?"

It felt like he was underwater, breaking the surface; sounds sharpened, his vision focused.

"Sam?"

His head snapped up at the sound. He hadn't really noticed much since their backup arrived. Now they were in the hospital; Gail was out of sight, being worked on. Sam had been sitting in the waiting room with no memory of how he got there, or even when he'd gotten the coffee he had clutched in his right hand.

Some blood had rubbed off on the styro-foam. He stood up, dumping the half-empty cup in the trash.

"Sam!"

He stumbled a little as Andy ran up to him, her hand at the back of his neck, her other wrapped tightly around his waist.

He couldn't speak, just let his body relax into hers. He let out a breath, as if he'd been holding it since Gail got shot.

The adrenaline was wearing off, and he was beginning to feel the exhaustion ripple through his limbs.

But Andy held him, kept him standing.

When she finally pulled back, he saw the redness around her eyes. They were welled with tears, cheeks stained with the ones that had already fallen.

"We're okay," he assured; something caught his eye over her shoulder.

"What happened?" Nick strode up to them, wearing the same expression Andy did.

"An ambush." Sam replied, feeling his adrenaline kick back in as Nick continued his approach.

He recognised the look of incredulity, fear and anger. Sam could imagine he would look quite similar if it were Andy in the hospital. Nick's arm stretched out to push Andy aside.

"How the hell did you let this happen?" he shouted, poised to shove Sam in the chest.

Andy shoved Nick first, from the side, knocking his balance. His glower faltered with surprise, attention focused off Sam for a moment.

"Back off! You weren't there, you don't know what happened!" she snapped, matching his stance. "So before you make an ass out of yourself, why don't you be with Gail. She's whats important right now."

"I just-"

"You just want to know what happened?" Andy cut him off, her anger softening. "You will. But for now, she needs you."

Looking wounded and only slightly ashamed, Nick straightened up, backing away from them. Spinning around on his heel and scratching the back of his head, he walked back the way they came.

Andy waited until he was gone before turning back to Sam.

"Are you okay?" she pulled on his arm, not breaking eye contact.

She lead them back to the line of uncomfortable plastic chairs Sam had been occupying.

"I'm fine." Sam tried to smile, but knew it probably looked nothing like the real thing.

Andy narrowed her eyes at him.

"Either I'm becoming less trusting of people's honesty, or you're getting really shitty at lying." she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

She waited for him to change his answer.

He shook his head.

"I guess I'm not fantastic." he digressed, looking down at his hands.

He saw the blood on them again, and tried to find something else to look at. The coke machine in the corner. He focused on that. No pain, no tears, no blood. Just a fluorescent light flickering behind a colourful poster.

He felt Andy's hands on his.

"Come on." she whispered, getting him to stand back up.

"Andy, I can take myself to the bathroom." Sam frowned as she pulled him into the men's room.

"Here," she turned the faucet on and pulled his hands under the warm spray.

She peeled the bandage off his hand, revealing the cut from earlier that day. It stung at first. He'd almost forgotten it was there.

Sam watched her pump the soap dispenser, three times, and smother his hands in the liquid. He didn't know why, but he just let her do it, liked it, felt his heart ache as she took care of the blood for him.

The water ran pink off his skin. He watched her face.

Aside from the dark spots on his uniform, it looked like nothing had happened at all. Stepping out into the hall, he felt a bizarre sensation grip his limbs and pull him down to the floor, his heart racing. His peripheral vision blurred, and his stomach sunk as he felt the ground come up to meet him.

"Andy-And-" he lost all his strength, like he'd had the wind knocked out of him.

His hand groped the air for her, to steady himself, to anchor himself to reality.

Andy reached for him as he slumped to the ground against the wall. She got down on her knees beside him.

"Sam? Have you been checked out by the medics?" her voice echoed around him as his heart thundered in his ears.

It was hard to hear anything.

"They said I was fine." he answered breathlessly, his hand shook as he brought it up to his chest. "I feel like I can't breathe. Andy-" he pulled his collar away from his neck as if it were the culprit.

"Andy!" he could feel himself becoming hysterical, it was debilitating.

He grasped at her vest, as if he kept losing grip of her. She was the only thing that grounded him.

"Sam." she said firmly, placing one hand on either side of his face.

It centered his focus again, but his body still had no control.

"You're okay. Just look in my eyes. Look in my eyes." he did as she said, concentrating.

She still held his face in her hands as they stared. Her pupils were wide. The brown of her eyes was incredibly deep and warm. He ran his focus along the impossibly tiny lines and flecks in her irises.

"You're okay. Feel me breathe." she took one hand away to clasp the back of his that rested against her chest. "Breathe with me."

He held his hand there as she put hers back, and the ground was beginning to feel solid again. He blinked rapidly, watching her, counting her breaths and matching them with his own. That's all he did. Breathe in, blink, breathe out. The wave of fear, the sudden incapacitation subsided. The breathing began to fill his lungs fully, lending a lull in speed to his heart.

The storm died down.

That was the thing about this woman; whenever he felt like the world was ending around him, whenever his own mind got the best of him, she was there. Whether she knew it or not, she was there.

It hurt, and it ached, but it was a good hurt; the kind that wrapped around his heart and got thicker and stronger every day.

He let his hand fall to his lap.

"What the hell just happened to me?" he brought a shaky hand to his forehead.

Andy didn't move her hands, but her eyebrows pulled together.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you just had a panic attack." She bit her lip, cocking her head to the side.

If he just watched her; the way her eyes sunk into him, how her fingers stroked softly against his jaw, he could feel his body relax.

"I love you, you know." His heart sped up a little again at her words, it was still so elating hearing them from her mouth.

Her eyes watered again and she pressed her lips together, shaking her head a little, trying to stave off more tears probably. It's funny how people do that, try everything they can even without being conscious of it, to keep themselves from crying. But then they do and it releases everything. Maybe we try not to because it can be so hard to stop.

Sam put his hand over hers that rested on his cheek. He squeezed and she pulled back, standing up. Out came her hands, an offering. In more ways than one.

There was still a block keeping him from sharing his past, not because he didn't trust her. He trusted her completely, trusted her more than he trusted himself, and yet exposing her to that part of his life was more than daunting. He hated the person it made him, and he never wanted to go back. He was a firm believer in silent therapy. That is, keeping quiet about it, and allowing yourself to move on.

Of course he was aware he might not have yet, but the block was still there nonetheless. He couldn't imagine having himself so bared to another person, even Andy. No. Especially Andy.

There was something so final, so complete, in letting Andy know everything. He didn't want her to know that person, that history, to know that she loved a man that was made up of all of that. What if it changed her perspective?

He already knew he loved her but love didn't automatically remove doubt. Or fear.

There was nothing more terrifying than watching Sam feel so helpless, watching him fall to his knees in fear. Andy could almost feel it as she saw his eyes flutter slightly, the light disappearing behind them.

She couldn't stop looking sidelong at him as they walked through to see Gail. Nick had calmed down, sitting rigidly yet non confrontational, at the side of her bed.

She'd just come out of surgery, and they weren't really permitted to be there, but Andy knew Sam wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise. Gail stirred but didn't open her eyes. Nick was still stoic and protective, but barely flinched when Sam took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it.

She had the oxygen tube running under her nose and over her cheeks. Andy hated seeing Gail like this. It was unsettling seeing her in any other state besides sarcastic. It wasn't until someone was on the verge of changing, or in some altered state, that you missed them for who they were, flaws and all. Andy didn't realise how much she missed Gail's biting comments until there was just a deafening silence in the room, unbroken by Nick's anxious nail-biting brooding, or Sam's self loathing contemplation.

Gail was Gail, unalterable. It was like seeing a superhero all bloodied and bandaged; these are the unbreakable ones. How can she be lying in a hospital bed right now? Unconscious. Immobile.

It was unsettling.

"Ballistics came back," Jerry dropped the file on Andy's desk.

The rookies were gathered around, attention peaked.

"It was a bust." he rubbed his hand over his face, biting his bottom lip.

"No matches at all?" Traci asked, opening it to look for herself.

Jerry just shook his head. Andy looked up at him unable to quell the disappointment, the fear. The shooter wasn't caught; they had no idea who it was, whether it was staged or not; or even a motive. They were scraping the barrel with leads but so far nothing had turned out.

The only thing they had was a gun, serial number scratched off and unregistered. No match on the system, either, so it was never used for anything like this before. Disposable.

"Couldn't have been a low life defending his territory," Dov pointed out. "If Gail and Swarek disturbed somebody they wouldn't have left something as valuable as a gun behind."

"It was a planned attack, then..." Andy continued, her stomach clenching.

"Which could mean either someone is targeting the police, this division, or one of the responding officers." Jerry closed his eyes for a second, pulling a chair out from the desk behind them and sinking down onto it.

Andy and Traci shared a look; they were both thinking the same thing. Jerry was compartmentalising. Probably best since it keeps you objective, but calling Sam and Gail the 'responding officers' was a bit foreign.

"It could be anybody," Chris shrugged, glancing at each of them. "We piss off a lot of people."

"So, we make a list." Andy provided. "Whatever it takes." she stood up, letting them all heave a breath.

Everyone had been working OT for the entire week. They were exhausted and Andy could see it, could feel it in her own bones. But it wasn't just the work that kept her from resting. Sam was like a caged lion, clawing at the bars, desperate to get back to work.

Andy slunk away, taking the moment to pull her cellphone out and back into the locker room. She didn't like doing it because she knew he didn't. But he'd do the same for her.

He picked up after the second ring.

"McNally." he answered crisply. "Any news?"

"We lifted prints off the glock but there was no match. Ballistics came back on the weapon but there was nothing there either. We think whoever did it was targeting the police." she relayed, crossing her arm over her chest.

She could hear him mulling over this new information. He was cleared to come back to work tomorrow, but that didn't stop him from bugging her for information at the end of every shift. At least he was talking to her niow. They hadn't encroached on the Anthony subject yet, but Andy was giving him time to breathe, time to calm down. She needed it for herself too, she had to admit. Only a few months ago, he was shot in the line of duty, fighting for his life. Sam didn't want to go back to that place and neither did she. Easily one of the worst things she'd ever experienced. The thought of them going through it again made her nauseated.

"What are you thinking?" she prompted after an extended pause.

She heard him let a breath out, crackling down the receiver.

"I can't even think of all the whack jobs that would have a beef with us. It's called being a cop. People don't like getting into trouble."

Andy watched the floor, her boot scuffing against the tiles. She bit her lip, flipping her hair out of her face.

"Sam..."

"Yeah?"

"What if they were targeting Gail specifically?"

"Same story pretty much goes for all of us, McNally." he sounded stressed and tired. "We're targets from day one just because of the job that we do."

"It can't be that simple." Andy argued. "If it was, it would happen more often. It's gotta be a specific case, a specific perp."

"You're probably right," Sam digressed, "I'm sorry, it's just hard to focus when I can't be there. I need to be doing something."

Andy straightened up as someone came in, they glanced confusedly at her before continuing past. She chewed on her bottom lip.

"Have you seen her?" she asked softly, knowing he'd been visiting every day.

"Yeah. She's good, talking, sassy, just being Peck, I guess. She's good."

That made Andy smile a little bit. If nothing, at least Gail was back to normal. That made things a little easier.

"This was my fault."

"Sam," Andy admonished. "Stop it. You followed protocol. You did everything right. What if it were the other way around?" the thought sent a shudder through her.

"Just...call me if anything changes." Sam answered after a while, not acknowledging what she said.

Its because he didn't believe it.

"Okay." Andy nodded, trying not to feel too distressed about Sam's self blame.

"Andy?"

She waited for him to continue.

"Be careful."

This was very very bad. What if someone was targeting the division, or targeting Gail? What if they were targeting Sam? Andy tried not to think of the last two options, somehow being part of a larger group with a mark on her head as well made her feel better.

Better that than knowing someone wanted Gail dead, or Sam. It was too hard to fathom. Mostly because experience told her when someone wanted someone else dead, there was a common ending to most cases. A homicide investigation.

Dov, Traci and Chris were going through recent case files Gail worked on; Jerry and his team were scouring back over the crime scene, trying to find something they missed. Andy was on the road with Collins. They were looking for something, but they didn't know what. Andy couldn't keep still. Luckily Nick was happy with letting her drive that shift. She needed to occupy her hands.

It was twelve past noon when the call came in.

Andy was waiting in the car while Nick was getting coffee from Timothy's across the street. Chewing on her thumb nail and staring blankly at the pavement outside, her radio crackled.

"We've got a 10-45 on Carlisle Road in Midtown between two apartment buildings. 15-23 are you available to respond?"

Andy sighed, grabbing the radio receiver.

"Fifteen-twenty three, 10-4"

She tipped her chin up as Nick came out with their coffee and a little white paper bag. Once he settled himself in, she nudged it into gear.

"We gotta go. There's a 10-45 in Midtown." Andy explained as Nick grimaced over balancing the hot coffee in his lap.

She looked pointedly at the mysterious bag.

"There had better be cinnamon buns in there."

She saw him smirk out of the corner of her eye.

"Think of it as a peace offering."