Hey guys, sorry again for the delay. Enjoy!

"He doesn't live there anymore." Sam dropped the new file onto his desk, Larry's picture on the cover. "He's in the wind. Probably because of what happened to his brother."

Andy put her hands in her pants pockets, a shrug.

"Maybe your guy, Larry, was a part of it."

Sam sat down behind his desk, a long sigh of exhaustion, picking up a paper clip and beginning to fidget.

He looks up to see Andy watching him.

"How's your case going? I heard you like the local pastor for supplying to those homeless kids."

Andy took a perch on the edge of his desk, crossing her ankles and sandwiching her hands between her knees.

"Yeah, he didn't seem completely legit." She looked down at her feet. "I'm working against the clock, though. Once the coroner rules it an overdose, they'll probably reassign me, let guns and gangs take over if there's anything McLeish is hiding."

"You don't think it was an OD?"

Andy shook her head, looked at him and felt the exhaustion ripple through her too, weighing her eyelids down. A new case, a new brand of tiredness.

Sam's eyebrows lifted in curiosity, then he nodded.

"So, what do you think happened?"

Andy pulled her hands from her lap, leaned them on the desk either side of her.

"He ran away from home, found the church, the pastor, then the halfway house. McLeish could tell the kid came from money, maybe knew he'd be good for some business. But, as most upper middle class, he wasn't used to the scene, threatened to tell somebody, or maybe just wanted to leave. Somebody stuck him with a syringe to make it look like an overdose."

"Sounds possible," Sam agreed. "You've got a fascinating talent for overlooking the obvious answer." He joked.

She rolled her eyes.

"That's what you said about The Rouge Brothers, and they turned out to be victims."

Sam raised one eyebrow.

"Okay, not totally blameless," she digressed with a grimace. "...but they didn't kill those kids, they didn't try to kill me."

Sam's face fell, and she could see the memories playing out in his mind, translating to the tension and the hardness in his eyes.

"Overlooking what the obvious answer is got me the truth." She shrugged. "You can't take things for what they appear, you gotta dig deeper," then she looked him in the eyes. "My T.O taught me that."

"I've heard he's a great guy." Sam deadpanned, but she could tell he'd lightened up. "Can't seem to shake this rookie, though. Even told her she wasn't his type." He couldn't help but smirk through his teasing.

She cocked her head.

"Well," she sighed, "he's okay. I mean you can't be that good if you get chased down and tackled by a rookie on her first day." She grimaced.

He opened his mouth wide, feigning insult.

"Besides, the rookie keeps trying to get away, but he's the one that keeps coming back..." She leaned down to kiss him, parting her lips, a little more heated than their usual chaste-work-kisses.

She pulled back an inch, and whispered, "...for more."

Attempting a smooth exit, she pulled away, but Sam grabbed her arm, pulled her back for another kiss. His finger tips, curling around the back of her ear.

She shuddered, pulled back and swatted his hand away, not out of discomfort, she could just feel her self control waning towards way inappropriate.

"I'll meet you at the truck." She ground out, about to concede defeat in their little battle of wills.

She stood back as Sam promptly pulled himself back to his desk, muttering a small, "shit" under his breath.

He looked back at Andy sheepishly, "Give me a minute."

"Are you serious?" She chuckled. "At least you know you're not dead, huh, Officer Swarek?"

"Take it as a compliment, McNally," he bowed his head over his paperwork, adjusting himself awkwardly under the desk. "You should go, you're not helping the situation."

She snorted, and fled for the locker room.

~0~

Andy has her eyes on her phone, scrolling through Facebook as she blindly makes her way to the truck. She wouldn't have noticed him if he didn't clear his throat loudly to get her attention.

She shoved her phone in her jacket, stuffing both hands in either pocket.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed, surveying the parking lot to make sure Sam wasn't outside yet.

"He won't listen to me." Anthony grumbled, leaning with his back against the passenger door of the truck.

His head lolled forward as she heard something swish-liquid inside glass-he brought a bottle up to his lips. Some dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt, the blue fabric already stained with previous spills. He wiped it with the back of his hand and looked at her.

"I need your help, darlin'...what's your name again, Andy?" The bottle dinged against the car as he lowered it to his side.

"What makes you think I'm interested in helping you?" She spat acidly. "Sam doesn't want to see you. You need to go. Being here in this state will only make it worse." She warned.

He swayed slightly, eyes on the ground, bottom lip jutted out like a scorned child.

She hated herself for it, but she couldn't help but draw a similarity between this hopeless drunk and her own father, when he was at his worst.

He swigged again, leaning his head right back and downing the last inch of the amber coloured liquid-bourbon? He dropped the bottle then; it didn't smash, just made that hollow clinking sound as it hit the concrete and rolled under the car next to them.

He turned so he was facing her, unable to or unwilling to hold himself upright, he leaned his right shoulder on the door and scrutinised her with a curled lip.

"He'll regret it if he doesn't just...listen to me." The words were slow and laboured, stretched out at the end.

The liquor kept him from opening his mouth properly, forming or shaping words articulately.

He leaned back a little, arching his neck to stare up at the sky. The air bit with the fresh chill of the evening.

"You seem to think you've got something worth listening to." She replied easily, her voice calm but a boiling rage hidden just beneath the surface.

He seemed to look at her more pointedly, then, as if just now realising how little she was humouring him. A deep furrowed brow, his lips parted in a sneer.

"You don't know what's good for him, either, you know." He accused, standing up straight. "You're just like his mother, you're just like Sammy himself. You got no idea! I'm a person, I deserve..."

His voice was getting louder. Andy looked over her shoulder; some people glanced over at them curiously, but nobody stopped.

"Look at me!" He barked just as she glimpsed Sam approaching.

She turned to look back at Anthony when he lunged forward. His heavy body hit hers, hands at her throat. She stepped one foot back to steady herself so he didn't come toppling down on top of her. Instinctively, her hands came up to grab his wrists, to keep him from hurting her, to pull his hands away from her neck.

He focused on her, almost as if he weren't piss drunk.

"I'm dying," he hissed into her face, to which Andy couldn't think of a reply.

"Hey!"

Shit. Sam had seen them.

Anthony squeezed her throat, enough to scare her, enough to make her own defences more frantic. She let go of his wrists, steadied her hands on his forearms and thrust her knee into his gut. Sam was at his back then, grabbed him by his jacket and threw him to the ground.

Anthony grunted when he hit the asphalt, hands over his stomach where Andy had hit him.

"Sam, don't-"

He crouched down by his father, gripped the mans collar in his fist and pulled his face close.

"You come near me again, you come near her again, and I'll kill you."

"Sam." Her voice shook.

He stood up then, shrugging his jacket back into place, still glaring down at his father. Anthony managed to roll over then, get on his hands and knees.

"Sammy, you guys okay? What's going on?" Oliver had caught sight of the debacle, stopped at Andy's side.

"Yeah, man," he answered, and Andy found it unsettling how drastically his tone of voice shifted from fury to eerily calm. "Just some drunk, came stumbling through the gate. I'll throw him in the drunk tank."

She glanced at Oliver who, obviously, didn't buy the facade.

"Andy?" He murmured in question.

She nodded and gave him a tight smile.

"We're fine. Thanks, Oliver."

~0~

Sam unlocked the front door, nearly snapping the key off in the lock. He threw the door open and dumped his bag on the floor. Instead of sitting down in the living room, he made a bee line for the bathroom.

Andy collected their stuff from the front door and sat it by the kitchen counter as she heard the shower turn on.

She got a beer out of the fridge, took it to the couch and turned the TV on, pulling her legs up to cross underneath her.

She wasn't entirely sure what had happened tonight. How it had happened... Everything felt cold and surreal. She wasn't just angry at Anthony Swarek anymore, she was scared of him. Not because of what he did to her, but of what this new information could do to Sam.

If what he said was true, and he was dying, how would she tell Sam? Should she tell Sam?

The shower turned off.

She wasn't paying attention to what was on the screen, instead, trying to track Sam's movements without turning her head to watch. She cradled her untouched beer and waited for him to make an appearance.

She was almost relieved to see him enter the living room out of the corner of her eye. His hair still glistened. She'd almost assumed he'd go straight to bed, anything to avoid the inevitable conversation.

He sat in the arm chair to her right, not on the couch beside her. Andy noticed he tended to do this during a difficult conversation. Like physical distance would keep him distant from the situation, or whatever feelings it gave him. Or whatever feelings Andy gave him. He wore an old grey muscle shirt, and some boxers. Andy fixed her eyes on the TV, waiting for him to talk, trying and failing not to seem obvious.

She could see him fidgeting.

Running his fingers along the arm of the chair, picking at fraying threads that weren't there.

"Tell me what happened." He said calmly, hence his silence up until now; he was cooling off.

Andy bit her lip, put her beer down on the coffee table, and angled her body so she was facing him.

"He was leaning against your truck outside the station, he said he needed to talk to you about something important."

"I don't care what he has to say." He dismissed, still looking straight ahead.

"I know." Andy assured him. "I told him that, and he...you know..." She shrugged, not wanting to describe him being violent.

Sam looked at her then.

"Are you hurt?" He glanced at her neck.

"No." She answered softly and he looked back to stare blankly in front of him.

She wasn't sure if this was progress or not. He was talking, but rather matter of fact about it. She assumed this kind of occurrence was commonplace when he was a kid, and that made her stomach clench in anger. Maybe that's why he wasn't falling apart or pacing the room like a caged lion. He was eerily calm, possibly his way of dealing with one of his father's outbursts when he was younger. Although, maybe she would rather have him be outwardly angry. Looking so laid back made his actions too hard to predict.

At least if he was throwing chairs across the room she'd know what he was thinking. This...this was unsettling.

"Sam, I think you'll want to know his news." She tried.

"Nope." Was his quick response.

"No, it's just-"

"McNally," he warned, then finally made eye contact. "Don't"

She let a long breath out and he got up from his seat. He was finished talking for the night. She watched him go to the bedroom. He didn't stir after that.

~0~

Sam barely slept all night, looking back to when he had his hands gripped on his father's shirt. Wondering why he didn't smack his head back into the asphalt right then and there. Why he didn't inflict some pain, some fear, make him know what it was like. But as he imagined it now, it didn't seem satisfying. At the time, though, his control had almost waned enough for him to do some damage.

The main reason he didn't was because Andy had been watching. It was enough that she now knew about his past, the last thing he wanted was to let her see it play out all over again. And yet, seeing his father's hands on her was almost enough to forget that.

It was one of his worst nightmares, literally coming true. He didn't want Andy to be affected by his past, and now here it was, his past in the form of Anthony, physically hurting her.

He couldn't handle talking about it, opening the flood gates. For what? To relive all the shitty, terrible things that happened to him? It seemed counterintuitive. But Andy pushed, albeit delicately, but she still pushed, tried to tell him to listen to what Anthony had to say.

But he couldn't. He was too angry.

He sat up, a few beats, then got out of bed. Glancing at the alarm clock, it was only 2am. Andy wasn't beside him. He padded carefully out into the living room. The TV still on but muted, it bathed the room in flashes of soft light. She'd fallen asleep on the couch. He didn't want to wake her by picking her up, so he grabbed the throw from the arm chair (one of Andy's many home decor purchases that seemed to appear without him noticing) and laid it over her.

She didn't stir one bit.

He listened to her breathing for a moment then returned to the bedroom, trying in vain to find some sleep. He flopped I gracefully down onto his side of the bed. He found it funny how quickly they'd adopted sides to sleep on that we're exclusively theirs. He breathed in deeply then turned his head towards the nightstand accusingly. He grabbed his alarm clock and turned it so the glowing numbers faced away in a hope that it was the culprit for his restlessness.

He even spread his limbs out to fully engulf the space he had sleeping alone in the bed, way more comfortable than compacting himself to half the space when he shared it. But no such measures remedied the battle going on inside his head.

His resentment and anger still beat out a loud rhythm. Too loud not to be distracted by.

Morning finally arrived, bringing with it reports of rain and misery across the city. It was going to be a busy day for fifteen, and running on less than three hours of rest, Sam didn't know how he was going to keep going.

The sofa was empty, the shower running and the bathroom door slightly ajar. Sam went straight to the coffee pot, a small smirk when he noticed it was already full and ready. Andy beat him to it. He supposed he'd have to face her now. Besides, he'd be lying if he didn't feel his lack of sleep was mostly due to her absence. He was too used to having her in bed beside him.

He got some toast ready, feeling unusually nervous. Andy disappeared into the bedroom. Five minutes later, dressed, she took a seat at the kitchen counter. He handed her a plate. Two slices of toast with peanut butter. He grimaced when she took a huge bite. He hated the stuff.

"Coffee?" He offered, pot hovering over a fresh mug.

She nodded and nudged the cup forward, mouth full. She tried swallowing to say something as he reached into the fridge.

"Relax, I do know how you take your coffee." He poured twice as much milk in as any normal person would.

She smiled as he shook his head. He dashed his with some milk, and a spoon of sugar.

Things grew quiet and tense. He missed when things were comfortable between them. No awkward silences filled with questions she was dying to ask or answers he wasn't willing to give.

"Sam, I'm only going to say this once until you bring it up again." She paused, waiting for him to object.

He didn't. She dropped her toast back onto the plate, rubbing her fingers together.

"Whether you care or not, or if you're happy to do something about it or not, I think you should just find out this information. It doesn't have to change anything."

Sam watched her silently, looked away then back again. He licked his lips.

"I don't know if I can. I don't know that if I do, he's not going to try to get back in my life where I don't want him. I don't want him to try anymore, Andy. Those days are over. Probably after the second time he broke my arm."

He picked up his coffee and realised he didn't want it anymore. It had gone cold and bitter. He dropped the mug in the sink, heart racing. He leaned his palms against the counter, trying to grip to his composure.

Andy waited, not another word, like she promised.

"Okay." She nodded.

And it was a tone of finality, of ease. He knew she meant it when she said she won't bring it up again, despite her opinion on the subject.

"Okay." He whispered back.

She looked at her watch.

"Come on, we're gonna be late."