Can I just say, wow? The amount of people following this story and caring about it is completely blowing me away. It's also making me feel a bit guilty because of where this is going: If this were a game of "please don't let that happen"-bingo, I would be winning. So I'd like to take this opportunity to say thank you(!) and I'm sorry. I really mean that.

Also, trust me? There is a plan. ;)

Two weeks have gone by when Sam makes his way to 15 for his first proper dose of 'Life goes on without you.'

Really, he's there for an appointment with Dr. Dwyer, but walking through the busy bullpen, feeling displaced and out of the loop, makes him think that maybe getting to the therapist's office does more harm than one hour of talking about the color of their feelings ever did anyone good.

Some people look up as he walks past them, some come over to welcome him back, and some don't seem to notice that he's even there - and he doesn't recognize them either.

He wonders if Frank planned it this way on purpose, making sure his appointment was during a different shift. He wonders if it's supposed to make things better or worse.

There is no proof anymore that anything even remotely dramatic ever took place in the building. The glass Ford fell through when Collins shot him has been replaced, furniture has been repaired, and the blood Sam himself spilled on the floor of this hallway, in this very spot, has been removed with industrial strength cleaner by some maintenance guy who probably couldn't care less whose blood he was mopping up.

"Sam!" Someone shouts out behind him and he turns, smiling automatically.

"Nash. Shouldn't you be at home with your kid?"

"Yeah, well, y'know," she says, smiling back. "We're a detective short, so I'm pulling a lot of overtime."

"You mean Frank hasn't replaced me yet?" he jokes.

She laughs, shaking her head. "No. I asked him to, believe me, but he insists you'll be back and then there'll be too much paperwork getting rid of your replacement."

Sam frowns, glancing behind him in the direction of Frank's office. That really isn't the answer he expected and he wonders if maybe he should give the sergeant a call. He never did tell him about his plans, just sort of assumed HQ would pass on the message. He knows that's not a good way to handle it, of course, but he can't bring himself to care these days.

"I've been getting some help from Guns & Gangs," Nash explains, clearly mistaking Sam's confusion for worry that she's over-worked. "Detective Peck has been really helpful."

I'm sure he has, Sam thinks to himself. He doesn't begrudge Traci this new chance at happiness after what she went through with Jerry, but it's further proof that anyone is replaceable. "I should get going," he tells her, pointing vaguely in the direction of the stairs leading to Dr. Dwyer's office, his eyes on the ceiling.

"Yeah, of course," she agrees. "Are you coming to the Penny later? Everyone's gonna be there."

The corners of his mouth twitch downward. Clearly 'everyone' means McNally. "I don't think so. I'm pretty low on energy these days." He wonders briefly if using a gun shot wound as an excuse to get out of seeing people is cowardly, or if it's just an outright lie, but then decides that he doesn't care. It's an excuse, and having an excuse is easier.

And right now he needs just one thing to be easy.

Nash seems to accept his answer, or maybe she just decides not to push him, and she leaves him with a slightly teasing, "Well, have fun," and a roll of her eye.

He manages a half-smile in reply and then makes his way down the hall and up the stairs, feeling as exhausted as he pretended to be just minutes ago at the thought of what he's going to have to sit through for the next hour.

Dr. Dwyer looks up from the pad she's writing on when he knocks on the door and walks in without waiting for an answer. She smiles and stands up to shake his hand. "Detective Swarek."

For a split second he wants to ignore her and just sit down, but then he dismisses the idea as childish, and more importantly as an action she is definitely going to read something into, and so he steps forward and briefly shakes her proffered hand before sitting down in the sofa she's indicating.

"I'm glad you came," she tells him, settling in the armchair across from him.

He looks at her, eyebrows raised. "I didn't realize it was optional."

She shrugs in agreement. "All the same."

She is sitting in her chair legs crossed at the ankles and looks at him in a way that is not unkind but still makes him feel judged. Clearly she is waiting for him to speak.

"I never thought I'd be back here," he tells her, not sure what they're supposed to be talking about. It sure as hell isn't going to be anything important.

"What are you doing here?" She asks.

He smiles. He knows what she's trying to do, but he doesn't want to take the bait. "I don't know," he says.

"You don't know what happened to you?" She asks.

"I was shot, is that what you mean?" He says, snorting.

"I suppose," she agrees, and he's a little bit confused, because she sounds like that's not what she means. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

He sighs. "Crazy man came to our house, he tried to hurt people. We stopped him."

"We?"

"Yeah."

"We, who?"

"We, the officers of 15," he says as if he's quoting a pledge of allegiance.

She smiles at that. "All of you, working together as a team. That's nice."

He snorts but when her eyebrows shoot up in question he shakes his head. "Yeah, it is," he agrees. That's easier than trying to explain, and odds are she already knows everything that happened. Someone must've briefed her.

She doesn't say anything else, clearly expecting him to keep the conversation going. It's probably some shrink technique that's supposed to reveal something deep and meaningful about him. Well, she can just read whatever she wants into his silence, then.

They sit like that for almost ten minutes, and Sam is perfectly happy to spend the entire hour like this but then she finally shifts in her seat, smiling a little as if admitting defeat. "I feel that since you made the effort to come here, perhaps we should make use of this time and-" she pauses as if she hasn't had ages to come up with the right words. "-discuss what happened to you."

"I thought we just did that," he says. Like he's a kid pretending that ten seconds is plenty of time to brush his teeth.

"Are you sleeping okay?" she asks, ignoring him. "Any nightmares?"

He shrugs. They are not going there. He dreams about the shooting every single night, but he is never the one getting shot. It is always Andy, and he is always too late to save her, and then he wakes up terrified and actually has the phone in his hand ready to call her and make sure she's okay before he realizes what he's doing and puts it away. For the last two nights he has slept with the phone in the other room just to make sure he doesn't accidentally call her in his sleep.

"I can prescribe something to help you with that," Dr. Dwyer offers.

Sam laughs humorlessly at the idea of her giving him drugs. "No, thanks."

"It's not the same thing," she tells him, interpreting his laughter correctly. "As I understand it Officer Cruz was, is, on Olanzapine, I would be prescribing sleeping pills. Temporarily."

He knows Marlo talked to Dr. Dwyer in the past, but clearly doctor/patient confidentiality isn't an issue here. Or maybe she just knows that he knows so there's no reason to beat around the bush. "Still, no thanks."

"Have you spoken with your colleagues about the incident?" She asks, moving on.

He nods. "Yeah." It's true, he has spoken to pretty much everybody. Just not since he was released. Oliver calls him several times a day and he answers just often enough to keep him from coming over and banging the door down, but he always manages to end the conversation after a minute or two. No one else has tried to get in touch, probably deterred by Oliver's failed attempts.

Well, MacNally is probably more deterred by his behavior in the hospital, but frankly that suits him just fine.

"So you feel that you're dealing well with what happened?" She doesn't sound sarcastic, which surprises him. It actually seems like she thinks he could really be of that opinion.

"Yeah," he says again. Maybe this'll be it. Maybe she'll sign off on his psych eval and that'll be that.

"Anything else you'd like to talk about?"

"Nope."

"Okay," she says, nodding and standing up. He gets to his feet quickly, surprised by how easy this has been. "Why don't we meet again next week at the same time, then?"

His face falls and she smiles, shaking her head slightly at his naive assumption that they're done. "Sounds good," he replies flatly, shaking her hand and walking out the door. When it is closed behind him, he leans against the wall to her office and sighs deeply.

As he leaves the barn he takes a detour past Frank's office, but it is empty and so he makes his way to the parking lot and drives home.

When he gets there Andy is sitting on the steps leading to his front door hugging herself against the cold evening air. He pauses by his car, sighing and then bracing himself. He's not surprised that she's there, but all the same, he would have much rather not done this now. Dr. Dwyer hasn't pushed him to talk about anything, but he went into her office expecting that she would, and it has left him feeling raw and exposed. And somewhere deep down, a little bit disappointed that she didn't, because maybe, just maybe, there are things he should talk about to someone.

He walks slowly up the path, stopping a few feet from Andy and she looks up at him. There's plenty of space on the step for him to sit down next to her, but there's a voice in his head screaming, "Too close! Too soon! Too close!" So instead he leans against the railing, putting himself out of arm's reach. He doesn't necessarily enjoy the way he feels like he's towering over her, but it's better than the alternative.

"You're leaving?" she asks, getting straight to the point when he doesn't say anything. A different point than the one he was expecting.

"Who told you?" Nash hadn't known, and it had sounded as if Frank didn't know yet either, unless he just doesn't believe it, so how could Andy have found out?

"You did, just now," she says, her eyes boring into his, looking for confirmation.

He shrugs, looking at the ground.

She scoffs, shaking her head. "This is just like you," she says, sounding frustrated and sad at the same time.

His face hardens but he doesn't look up. "It's not, actually. It's just like you."

"That's not fair," she tells him, but she doesn't sound anywhere near as angry as he is expecting, although still angry enough.

"I guess that's life for you, McNally,"

"Sam, please," she begs and he marvels at how quickly she moved from Anger to Bargaining. Maybe by the time this conversation is over she will have made it to Acceptance and they won't have to talk about it again. About anything.

He takes a deep breath, reminding himself why he's doing this. Then he looks up finally, and feels his resolve crumble immediately at the sight of the tears that are threatening to spill from her eyes. He knows if he opens his mouth he's going to say the words he's determined not to, tell her everything he promised himself he wouldn't, so he just shakes his head reminding himself that this is the home stretch.

"Why?" she asks, and he can tell that she's genuinely confused.

He shrugs, waiting until he's absolutely sure the right words are going to come out before he speaks. "I just feel like a change of scenery."

She shakes her head in wordless rejection of his explanation.

"I told you why," he says, his eyes trained on a naked branch behind her head.

"But Sam-"

"Go home, McNally," he cuts her off. He can't listen to her arguing with him about this. His mind is made up, but every fiber of his being wants him to change his mind and just hold her and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. "Kiss your boyfriend and go to sleep. I'm sure tomorrow everything'll be rosy."

She opens her mouth to speak but then closes it again slowly, like a goldfish. Then her eyes go cold, and he is momentarily winded by the loathing they project. "Screw you, Sam," she says coldly and then she gets up from her seat and walks away.

His hand reaches out for her without his brain even telling it to, but it's too late, she is already turning to walk down the street, never looking back at him. His shoulders sag and he drops to the same step she was sitting on just seconds before, feeling a trace of the warmth she left behind through his jeans. He buries his head in his hands, taking deep, slow breaths, his mind like a broken record, reminding himself that he's doing it for her, too.

TBC