Hey guys, know it's been almost two months or something crazy since my last update. I've been working on quite a few things, and basically outlining the rest of this story. Hope you enjoy, despite the lateness.

Andy flinches at the words, and closes her eyes. Sam let's go and disappears out of the room without another word. She's left reeling, stomach clenched uncomfortably.

Finally. Finally an insight into why Sam was the way he was. And she hated the world for it. Normally, Andy was an optimist, didn't have enough room in her mind and heart for hate. But she couldn't stop herself from picturing a young Sam, black floppy hair and a more innocent smirk. For somebody to hurt him, or any version of him, made something more poisonous and acrid than hate rise in her chest.

She let a breath out she didn't realise she'd been holding.

She smelled smoke, and fell unceremoniously back into reality. The saucepan was bubbling over. The food was burnt. It would be bitter, just like everything else.

"Shit," she hissed, grabbing the handle reflexively and feeling the keen sting of a fresh flesh burn.

She ran her hand under cold water and let her head fall back to stare at the ceiling. Andy could only hear Sam's words and the deafening silence he left in his wake.

With a heavy hearted sigh, she leaned her forearms against the basin and let the water run over the reddened skin.

The sauce was burnt; it would be too bitter to stomach.

Sam was walking down the frighteningly quiet hospital corridor. He thought he'd pay Gail another visit to update her on his progress, and because he'd woken from a nightmare in a cold and Andy-less bed.

He wrapped a knuckle against the door to her room. He looked around him, no staff hovering, no admonishing eyes. It wasn't quite visiting hours.

"Peck, it's Swarek. I heard you liked donuts." He called through the door. "Speak now or forever hold your peace." Sam pushed it open.

Empty bed, rumpled blanket and a closed bathroom door with the water running.

He let himself in.

"Never took you for the bashful type, either, Peck." He commented on her silence to which she remained.

He rolled his eyes and took a seat on the chair to the left of her bed.

Kicking his feet up to rest on her blankets, he cleared his throat.

"You should really let Nick see you, you know. He's been pestering the crap out of me to get you to let him come. Wonders why you'll see me and not him."

Not like he needed any more reasons to be pissed at Sam. He could guess the reason though; probably the same reason why he was talking to Gail and not Andy. It wasn't as easy facing the person you cared most about.

They were each other's sounding boards, Gail was a buffer. Albeit a glib and somewhat dispassionate one.

"I spoke to Andy. About Anthony." He confessed.

He looked around the room, getting restless with her lack of response.

There was a knock at the door. Andy, herself. In uniform.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Surprised, and sheepish, he stood up to greet her.

She smiled, leaning in to kiss him.

"I needed to see you. I'm worried about Anthony."

At her words, Sam's walls of distrust flew straight up before he could even blink.

"I'm worried he wants to hurt you." She continued despite his frown.

"What are you talking about, McNally?" He tried to sift through the past two weeks in his head to find any inkling of that fact.

"She's talking about me." Thick rough voice from the bathroom door, the door crept open, Gail stumbled out still in her hospital gown, an unimpressed look on her face.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Sam's arm stretched out toward McNally, to stand their ground.

Anthony, red eyed and cowardly, shoved Gail to the floor, revealing the gun he had trained on their friend.

"McNally-" he panicked, shifting slightly to her.

"Oh? McNally first?" He pointed the gun at her.

The room stretched between them and colours leeched into grey. The shot was fired, Andy's body slumped against the wall and Sam stared.

This isn't real...

"Still afraid of your old paps?" Gun trained on him, shaking metal, drink weakened hand.

And yet he couldn't move, couldn't look away, and now he was five again, shrunken to a third of his size, hair falling in his eyes and they were in their old living room.

Old carpeted floor, stained with who knows what, dotted with burns from dropped cigarette ash. Millionaire was playing in the background; he caught it with the corner of his eyes before his fathers shadow loomed over him.

"No!"

His childhood home, if one could call that hell a home, disappeared. A flash and he was sitting upright. A look around and he could eventually recognise his own home, the one he'd lived in for five years. A hand on his upper arm, warm, soft.

"Sorry," he choked breathlessly, trying to focus in the dark.

"Sam..." Andy whispered and he could hear the concern.

He breathed out slowly, shaking his head.

"Go back to sleep, I'm okay." He murmured, rubbing his palm over his eyes and trying to rebalance his breathing.

Andy got up out of bed and left the room.

The dream fell through his consciousness like water through cloth. Still shaken, it was hard to know how he'd been so afraid. The situation was ludicrous, the dream was surreal and disjointed when he looked back over it. It had only felt real at the time.

Before last night, Andy wouldn't have pushed him to talk, or to glean a simple explanation for his nightmare. She would have nodded when he said it was nothing. He would know she'd hate it, but acquiesced because he'd made her believe that was stepping over a boundary. She'd encouraged him a bit more since Anthony arrived on the scene. Right now, though, was going to be a different story.

Sam had opened the flood gates, allowing Andy in his past. His unattractive, bone breaking, murky past. He was worried. Andy always wanted to see the good in people, a trait that he made fun of, but another way she was endearing to him. It gave him some kind of optimism in the face of the soul-crushing work they do. She would dig, and he was worried she wouldn't like what she saw.

As he thought about it a little harder, he wondered how she, born into a similar upbringing full of heartache, disappointment and abandonment, that she didn't harbour a glimmer of bitterness.

Something cold touched his arm. He took the glass of water from her. Just the gesture calmed him down. He took a sip, placed it on the bedside table.

"It was about my dad. That's all I wanna say right now."

He waited for her to say something, when he looked over he could make out her head moving in a nod.

"I'm sorry," she said and Sam looked away, embarrassed.

He leaned back against the headboard, and she followed, shoulders brushing. He felt her hair brush his skin, then her lips against his upper arm, warm, soft. He closed his eyes for a moment. Sam touched her chin, brought her attention to his face. He kissed her. It lingered. It transitioned from warm to hot. The air was still tepid, and the room heated up quickly.

He pulled and she moved, sitting up to straddle him. Andy touched his face. He wrapped his arms around her waist. She held his head to her chest. He breathed her in. It was her skin, heated and golden and perfect.

His dreams were far away now. Sam's fingers moved in a line up her spine, to her neck. She tensed, he knew she was ticklish there. He'd found that spot two days in-brushed her hair away from her neck to kiss it, supposing it would be romantic-she had snorted and swatted his hand away.

Pulling back to watch her, the hand on her neck pulled the strap of her tank top down. It was incredibly hard to move slow. He couldn't remember how many times he'd imagined this happening before. He thought briefly back on her first year as a rookie. Her feelings for her were a maddening mixture of intrigue, attraction and exasperation. So many times he tried to convince himself he didn't like her, didn't want her, couldn't be with her in that way. But that was hard to believe when all he could think about was this.

Now he was living it.

"We don't have to..." She whispered and he paused his hand on the strap.

He smiled; she returned it. The strap was down, revealing one breast. He kissed down her chest, tongue flicking her nipple.

Her hips ground against him. He let an impatient breath out. Andy gripped his hair from the back, pulling his face up to meet hers. Breathing sped up a little, he pushed both hands up her shirt, tongues moving together.

He cupped both her breasts, thumbs brushing over her pebbled nipples. Her skin raised with goosebumps. Sam hooked his thumbs into her boy shorts; pink and purple stripes.

He stopped, grasped her hips, leaned forward and pushed her onto her back. She squeaked a little in surprise. Nuzzling her neck, he laid a kiss there, grazed his teeth against her earlobe and moved down her body. She lifted herself up enough to finally remove her top, pulling it over her head. Sam was otherwise occupied, kissing his way down past her belly button. He paused at the edge of her underwear, pinched either side of the fabric at her hips with his thumb and forefinger, pulling them down as he pressed his lips against her skin.

He brushed his lips against her inner thighs, just a whisper away from where she wanted it most. He could hear her breath quicken when he got closer, her body flinch when he flicked his tongue out, teasing.

"Sam!" She gasped as he pressed his tongue against her clit.

He smiled, but continued, revelling in the feeling of her shuddering with pleasure, whenever she would elicit a moan, a quick intake of breath, or how she had to fight to keep her thighs from clenching together. He hummed against her skin as he licked.

"Oh...my god!" Her hands slapped against the mattress.

Sam couldn't wait any longer, and it seemed Andy couldn't either.

As he pulled himself up onto his knees, Andy was already sitting up, too, pushing him back onto his back.

Frenzied, she pulled his boxer shorts down to his knees, straddling his hips again. This time, they stared into each other's eyes; intense and raw. She took him in her hand and he clenched his fists a little. He opened his eyes so he wouldn't miss anything, the way she bit her lip, eyes half closed when she touched him, or the way her mouth opened, her eyes widening when he went inside her.

She rocked back and forth and he had to concentrate to keep from losing it. He watched her, so beautiful.

Andy grasped his hands and put them over her breasts. He squeezed gently as she continued her rocking, leaning back a little. He groaned, one hand snuck down to her hip.

The sensations were mounting, the peak was getting closer and closer. He could feel it in her, too. The way she started moving faster, a little out of rhythm until her body tensed magnificently. He wished he could watch it in slow motion. The moonlight on the side of her face, darkness on the other, the way she closed her eyes, her body a tight energy. Sam was mesmerised an that infinite moment, hair falling over her eyes, her release of breath blowing the strands out briefly.

And it was too easy to come undone after that. Too easy to get lost in her.

They stilled for a moment, letting their bodies calm down from the high. Andy sighed and flopped onto the other side of the bed.

Sam looked over at her. Her hand found his.

When morning came, specific scenes from his nightmare seemed to flood back. Macabre images; it made his skin crawl.

The bed was still warm where Andy had left it, but he could hear her moving around in the kitchen. It was early. They were on the same shift today.

Andy was still reeling from Sam's confession last night. Besides that, she was still smiling to herself about their tryst. And besides that, she was also wondering about Marcus-no-last-name, and how, Sam could have easily become like him. A kid, slipped through the cracks, bad father, lost mother, and no hope left over for a future. A life ended too soon.

She stopped herself though. She didn't like to imagine a world without Sam Swarek, hated to think of what kind of person, what kind of cop she may have been without him.

She couldn't keep herself from thinking back to Marcus, though, and if he'd had a girlfriend. She hated the fact that nobody would talk to them, nobody had anything to say about the boy they clearly all knew or at least, had seen around the block.

It was too easy to forget about this part of the job sometimes, when something isn't nearly as clean cut as it should be, or could be. When the only information you might need is unattainable. Infuriating.

But that's exactly what made the job. Hard work. Pain. Relief. Compassion.

She he was also beginning to realise it wasn't just the work, it was the cops themselves. When she was a kid, Andy idolised her father, and the job. It was clean and hardcore and honest. Everybody had a shiny badge and a legacy of goodness behind them.

But when she looked at herself, and Sam, she saw pain and trouble. The job wasn't clean cut, and neither were they. They were hurting, even if it was in the back of their mind. The job hurt them, their pasts hurt them, even the people they loved and that were supposed to love them, hurt them.

Sam drove them to the station, slapping the air conditioning vents to get them to work.

"I'll have to take a look at it after work maybe." He sighed, rolling his window all the way down.

The morning had heated up substantially, to an almost uncomfortable temperature. Andy had her feet propped up in the dash, shoeless, toes wiggling.

Sam looked straight ahead, fiddling with the bandage on his cut hand.

Arriving at the station, they caught up with Oliver outside the locker rooms. He was just starting, too. Sam stopped to talk as Andy continued into the ladies.

"What's a piece like you doing in a place like this?" She nudged her elbow against Traci's before dropping her bag by her locker.

"Haha," she was clicking through her phone, probably texting Jerry to come and pick her up.

"Hey, has Jerry given you an update on that 10.45 yesterday?"

Traci shook her head.

"Ask him yourself, he's working today."

"Great." Andy pulled off her tank top. "Are you okay?"

Traci shrugged.

"I'm just tired, and angry, and so, so horny."

Andy raised her eyebrows, a snort escaped.

"We'll, you're a woman, Jerry is apparently a man...so what's the problem?" She pulled her work pants out of her locker and laid them on the bench behind her.

"He's afraid to touch me, keeps treating me like glass. It's a pain in my hormonal ass." She dropped her phone, but made no move to retrieve it, instead looking at Andy with a sad pout.

Andy smiled and bent down to pick it up.

"So, take charge." Andy handed her the phone. "He won't be able to resist you once you initiate."

She stripped her jeans and stepped out of them, throwing them haphazardly into the locker.

"Alright, McNally. You can quit the knowledgable act. We both know you got laid last night."

Andy bit her lips to keep from grinning.

"Just trying to spread the love, babe." She winked, buckling her belt, to which Traci made a face.

"Ew. Try not to spread too much, somebody might catch something."

Andy threw her tie at her.

"Put me back in the saddle, Frank. Come on. I'm not working my own case, why not let me work Callaghan's like I was doing before?"

Frank, tented fingers and a contemplative squint. It was his default pose.

Sam, uniform neat and impeccable, chomping at the bit.

"Fine. But if there's any trouble, you're on the side lines."

When Sam made a face, Frank continued, "for now..."

Sam nodded in understanding. If he were in Frank's position, he'd be saying the same thing. Nobody wants give responsible for allowing someone to screw up. That's what made being a T.O incredibly hard, besides the fact that it reflected on you as an officer, you had a deep desire to protect them. They were family.

Cutting Andy loose was one of the hardest, despite her being one of the best rookies he'd seen in years.

He left Frank's office with a small victory under his belt. He could finally have something to focus on than what he could have done differently in that warehouse.

Luke, seemingly back to his old self, was sorting through old case files, looking for any links back to their victim, Danny.

Half past three o'clock; Luke dropped the file with a sigh, picked up the next one with even less hope in his eyes than before.

"You thinking the same as me?" Sam asked, glancing up from a pile of crime scene photos.

"That I could really use a coffee, and a week in the Bahamas?" He scratched his head, not looking up.

"That this could all lead to nothing. These guys are ruthless and disorganised, maybe on purpose. There is no consistency. Where are we going to catch them out? And who is 'them'? Maybe they're too smart to have a leader."

"Maybe. That would explain the messiness of it. But there can't be punishment without some kind of disciplinary structure. Why do dealers get killed?"

"Didn't make the money back to the supplier...dealing on the competition's turf..."

"Exactly." Luke clicked his fingers.

Sam rubbed his brow.

"Killed by the supplier or competition's turf?"

"Any drug system has a hierarchy, otherwise is doesn't function unless the dealers do it all themselves. Maybe for a grow house, but not stuff like cocaine and heroin. Users get from dealers. Dealers get from suppliers," Luke put his hand horizontally in the air indicating levels. "Now it can go two ways here, ending with the supplier, or like in the case of The Rouge Brothers, there can be a managerial level. Controls everything, all the way down to the dealers." He let his hand lower back to the table.

"And the last time I checked, the smartest drug cartel we knew of were the brothers, and they had leaders. They operation was named after them. Everybody knew them. They wouldn't be that successful without that structure."

Sam nodded through Luke's lecture. He'd been doing this for a while, so he supposed he knew what he was talking about.

"These guys are organised in the way that they aren't. You're right, they're smart, but we're smarter. We noticed the pattern. There have been seven other unsolved deaths since The Rouge Brothers died, all seemingly unrelated, seemingly without motive. The only thing they have in common is that they had nothing in common. Except for the fact that they were all messy, all trying too hard to seem random."

Sam chewed on his lower lip.

"So we find connections in the fact that there are no connections."

Luke seemed to contemplate that for a moment, Sam was sure he'd phrased that wrong. It was making his head hurt.

"That's what we do, they are all linked." He agreed, pressing his pen to his notepad.

Sam looked back at his hands, palms flat against the bloody scenes framed in glossy rectangles of card.

Danny's eyes, grey and glazed, stared up at him, waiting.