So I rewrote the ending three times. And now it's not really the end at all, because there's going to be a sequel. Because I hate myself a little and feel like I should write from Andy's perspective for a while. I swear there's still a plan. That hasn't changed.
At first he almost misses the postcard, wedged in between take-out menus and bills he can't be bothered to sort out right now, but then a corner of flashy pink catches his eye and he pulls it out from the stack of paper. He smiles at the too bright colors of the photo of a beach at nighttime, the Miami skyline lit up in the background. He turns the postcard and isn't surprised to see Marlo's familiar handwriting on it.
If you haven't managed to walk away yet, maybe you shouldn't be leaving.
It isn't signed but there's no doubt it's from her.
So, Miami, he thinks to himself. That seems like a good idea. Then he reads the card again. He isn't necessarily expecting a novella about her time in Florida, but he definitely isn't expecting this.
It's strange, somehow, how well she seems to know him, when he had the impression that they didn't really know each other at all, because they both kept such defining things about themselves secret throughout their relationship. But whereas he was absolutely clueless about her mental health issues, clearly Oliver was right that she knew his heart was somewhere else.
He turns the postcard back around, looking at the skyline for a moment before walking to his fridge and pinning the card to it with a magnet loosely depicting Niagara Falls. He opens the fridge, trying to make up his mind about dinner, but then closes it again, looking at the skyline one last time before going to get his coat and walking out the door.
He walks into the Penny for the first time in over two months, scanning the room for familiar faces.
The first person he spots is Oliver, who is sitting at the bar by himself, nursing a pint of lager. He walks over, standing behind the empty stool next to his friend and flags down a bartender. "One of those," he says, pointing at Oliver's half-empty glass. "And one more for my friend."
The bartender nods and walks away and Oliver turns to look at Sam, obviously surprised to see him. "Hey," he says after a moment.
Sam merely raises his eyebrows in greeting and pulls out the stool to sit down.
When the beers are set down in front of them, Oliver downs the one he was drinking before and then picks up the new one. "Cheers," he says, clinking his glass against Sam's when he picks it up.
"Cheers," Sam echoes, taking a sip of his drink. Part of him is expecting Oliver to say something, ask him questions about what has been going on, but he seems content to just sit there, as if Sam's mere presence answers any questions he might have.
Sam looks at him and smiles, hoping this will somehow convey his appreciation of Oliver's understanding and Oliver nods indicating that against all odds, he does get it. Sam is grateful, but at the same time he feels bad, because clearly he hasn't appreciated Oliver's friendship and the strength of their relationship enough recently.
The bartender is setting down their next round of drinks in front of them when Sam turns in his seat, looking across the room to where Andy and Nick are seated at a table, deep in conversation. "So that's still going on," he says, suddenly feeling less sure of himself than when he left the house an hour ago.
These last weeks have made it very easy to convince himself that there's no need for him to stay away, that seeing her be happy with someone else is better than not seeing her at all. But the way his heart contracts when she smiles at something Collins says makes him think maybe he was wrong about that.
"What?" Oliver asks, turning to look in the same direction. "Oh, that. No." He looks back at Sam, shaking his head. "That was over before you woke up in the hospital."
"What?" Sam almost shouts and Oliver's eyes widen in surprise. "Why wouldn't you tell me that?" He's angry that he didn't hear about this sooner, but on the other hand, he's glad he didn't know. If he had, that might've led him to make a decision he wasn't ready to make. Now he's here because he wants to be - because he wants her to be happy, but he also wants to be around. If he had thought, even for just a second, that there was room in her life for him to be the one to make her happy, he would have run too fast, either away from her or towards her.
"I don't know, Sammy," Oliver replies sarcastically. "Maybe because first you refused to talk about her, and then you disappeared, and then it kinda just looked like you weren't interested?" It sounds like a question, but actually it's more like an accusation. And it's not an unfair one.
Sam opens his mouth to apologize, or say something that might be considered an apology, but is interrupted by Collins who walks up to stand next to them, his arm raised to catch the bartender's attention. "Swarek," he says, nodding in greeting, one eye still behind the bar.
"Collins," Sam returns. He hasn't seen him since the day he woke up in the hospital, and he is surprised to see him looking almost as exhausted and worn out as he did that day. He might smile and put up a front, but Sam sees the cracks in the veneer, because they're the same cracks he has been trying to glaze over for over a year now himself. He turns his head to look at the table Nick is sharing with Andy and finds her looking up at them, frowning slightly.
When he catches her eye he holds up his beer in greeting and she holds up her empty glass and shrugs. He smiles at her and turns back around, wondering if there's a subtle way that he can be the one to bring her a beer and leave Collins with Oliver. Then he wonders if maybe subtlety doesn't matter, but before he has made up his mind Collins is dropping some bills on the counter and picking up two fulls glasses.
He nods briefly at Sam and Oliver before making his way through the crowd towards Andy.
"Well, that was friendly," Oliver says, sounding only mildly sarcastic, and Sam grins to himself, his eyes on his glass.
"You look so fucking smug right now, do you know that?" Oliver continues when Sam doesn't reply. Sam licks his teeth, trying to wipe the smirk off his face.
"I do feel bad for him," he says when he finally manages a serious face. And he does.
"Sure you do, but not that much, right?" Oliver challenges him, smiling slightly himself.
"What do you mean?"
Oliver scratches his ear. "To go over there and tell her she's made a mistake dumping him."
"I already told her that," Sam says quietly, his eyes now trained even harder on the condensation forming on his glass.
"What?" Oliver sounds so appalled that Sam looks up at him.
He shrugs. "I mean, I didn't tell her she shouldn't have dumped him, I didn't know she had. I just told her-" He sighs and scratches his hair. "I told her she was better off with him."
Oliver blows out a gust of air as if someone has punched him in the gut. "You are the dumbest sucker I ever met, Sam Swarek," he marvels. "I mean, the jury's been out for a while, but I think it's official now."
Sam grins lopsidedly. "I'm aware of that, thanks."
"So, what, two months of police issue therapy and you're Oprah?"
Sam's grin turns into a laugh. "I sure as hell hope not."
Oliver nods seriously. "Yeah, me too. I don't know how I'd deal with you actually being in touch with your feelings and-" he pulls a disgusted face. "Talking about them."
"Yeah, that won't happen. Not with you," Sam promises and Oliver grins.
"So you're not going to tell me you love me?"
Sam stares at him, his eyebrows up. "Uh. No."
"That's too bad, man, I really need to hear that from you."
Sam turns in his seat, looking directly at Oliver. "Oliver. Brother," he says, his face serious. "I love-" He pauses and Oliver's eyes widen in shock. "-Yodeling," he finishes, his face breaking into a grin at the look on Oliver's face.
"You're an ass, Swarek," Oliver says, trying not to smile. "I bet you can't even yodel."
Sam shrugs. "I've had a lot of time on my hands lately. Who's to say I didn't learn."
Oliver nods, thoughtful. "Okay then, let's hear it."
Sam takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with air, and opens his mouth. He is expecting Oliver to look either worried or impressed, but his friend just sits there, looking at him expectantly. Sam closes his mouth, his shoulder sagging as he blows the air he was holding out through his nose. He shakes his head and Oliver grins vindictively.
Sam turns back around, focused on his pint and Oliver does the same. For a while they sit in comfortable silence, slowly drinking their beer, but then Sam can see Oliver out of the corner of his eye turning to look across the room and then settle on Sam.
"You do realize this doesn't necessarily mean she's going to want you back, right? I mean, maybe she's joined Gail and the forensic chick's ladies only club," he suggests.
Sam's eyebrows shoot up and he looks at Oliver, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You should probably keep thoughts like that to yourself, man," he suggests.
Oliver looks like he's seriously considering pouring his beer in Sam's lap but then he grins back and shakes his head. "Whatever."
"But I do know that," Sam says after a while and Oliver looks at him. "I'm not expecting her to. I just don't want to run away from it anymore." He turns his head to look at Andy. She has crossed her arms and is listening to whatever Collins is telling her without enthusiasm. Never mind the fact that when he left the house tonight he wasn't even aware that there was an 'it'. "Whatever's going to happen, it's up to her."
Oliver follows his gaze and they both see Andy shaking her head in response to something Nick is saying and then getting out of her seat. "You might want to tell her that, then," he suggests.
When Andy puts on her jacket her eyes meet Sam's briefly, but she turns to say goodbye to Peck and Diaz by the dart board before he can properly read their expression. Sam quickly downs the rest of his beer. "I think I will," he says.
His friend looks at him and then at Andy who is pushing open the door to get outside. He smiles and nods. "Goodnight, buddy. See you around."
"You will," Sam agrees, clapping him on the back and hurrying in the same direction as Andy. He's not sure if he should be making promises like that. After all, there are a lot of ways the next few minutes can go that would make him want to leave Toronto permanently, in spite of what he just told Oliver.
"McNally," he calls after her when he sees her. She is already walking down the street but she stops and turns, waiting for him to catch up.
"Hey," he says when he stops in front of her.
"Hey, yourself," she replies. She looks a little wary and he doesn't really blame her. Their last conversations have not all gone well. "How are you?"
"I'm good," he says, nodding.
"Good," she says, smiling a little.
"Yes, it is," he agrees, well aware of how stupid that sounds but unable to come up with anything better. He has spent hours and hours thinking through their relationship, what went wrong and what he could have done differently, but all his analysis has ended with "It doesn't matter, she's with someone else, someone better." Only now it turns out that she isn't, and suddenly the one great obstacle he has put between the two of them is gone and he has no idea how to deal with that. No idea how much hope he should let himself get from that – and even now, if it's really fair to hope for anything. On either of them.
She nods and then when he doesn't say anything else she turns to look at the road in the direction of her apartment, clearly ready to leave.
"Want me to walk you home?" he offers.
She looks at him, surprised.
"If you have any books, I could carry them," he goes on, turning to walk in the direction of her apartment without waiting for her answer.
She falls into step next to him. "Sorry, no. I left them all in my locker."
He smiles at her willingness to play along with his joke but doesn't say anything else and for a couple of minutes they just walk in companionable silence. Almost against his will he finds his body moving closer to hers until their arms are less than an inch apart. All he has to do to touch her hand is stretch his fingers. They have not been this close since the hospital, which seems like a different lifetime to him right now.
"So, how's work?" he asks her at last.
She shrugs, her jacket sleeve brushing against his. "It's fine," she says. "Different, I guess."
"How do you mean?"
She slows down a little and turns her head to look at him. "You aren't there," she says simply.
He stops walking. She takes two more steps before realizing and then she turns around, facing him. "I'm here now," he tells her when they are face to face.
"Are you staying?" she asks, studying his face as if she's expecting to find the answer there rather than in the words he's going to say.
"In this spot?" He asks, looking around him. They're blocking the entrance to a Chinese restaurant. "No, that would be be difficult."
She looks through the window of the door to the restaurant at the tables that have already been set for tomorrow's service.
He takes a deep breath. This is the part he is supposed to be better at now. "But, yeah, I think I am," he says.
She turns to look him in the eye and he doesn't look away. "You're not sure?"
He shrugs. "I guess it depends-" he trails off.
Her eyebrows shoot up. "On?"
He looks over her head at a scrawny teenager trying to walk in a straight line on the sidewalk and failing miserably, feeling glad that neither of them is on duty right now. The kid doesn't look drunk enough to worry about, but still, if she had been in uniform she probably would've had to bring him in, let him sleep it off in holding. When he meets her eye again he's surprised by how nervous she looks. He hadn't thought he could still make her feel that way; he doesn't feel like he should be able to, but he's secretly pleased nonetheless. "On you."
"What do you mean?" she asks, her eyes never leaving his, determined to pick up every signal he's sending.
He shakes his head slightly. "You might not want me to stay."
"I never wanted you to leave in the first place, Sam."
"I know," he agrees. And he does. She might not have been persistent, but she was still pretty clear. "But I did, and I'm sorry that I had to. And I know that might change things-"
"Because it did for you, when I went undercover, you mean?" she interrupts him.
"No. Nothing changed back then, I just thought I could make it. I couldn't."
"But you wanted to?" she presses him.
He grimaces. He really doesn't want to talk about this, but he knows he'll have to answer her questions, she deserves that much, and there's no way they'll be able to work together if he doesn't. He doesn't let himself think about what else they won't be able to do, because this feels too close to having an actual shot at 'more' and it would hurt too much if he let himself believe that and then failed. "You left. I told you how I felt and then you walked away."
"You said you'd give me time," she reminds him, her voice barely above a whisper. Technically he hadn't but he supposes it was implied in what he did say.
He takes a small step closer to her. "I didn't think you wanted time. I didn't think you wanted me."
"I never stopped wanting you," she tells him sadly.
He feels something unclench in his gut at her words. "I'm sorry I didn't wait," he says, his eyes boring into hers as he tries desperately to make her understand just how much he means it. He can't escape the thought that if he had just been single when she came back, he could have been happy for the last year, instead of having every little thing be a struggle.
He knows that's probably not true, odds are he would have somehow messed things up anyway, but the idea is in his head and there's no way he can convince himself that it wouldn't have been better. Better than the last two months, at least.
She nods. "I'm sorry I left, too."
He smiles, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek. Her skin is cold from the chilly spring night, but his fingers still burn as they brush against her skin. She leans into his touch, closing her eyes, and he smiles to himself.
He doesn't understand how he could ever have walked away from feeling like he does right now.
She licks her lips and he feels himself being drawn in, his lips pulled towards hers as if they were magnets, but when they are just two inches apart he stops himself. He has to actually tell his body twice not to lean in any further, because every instinct in him is telling him to kiss her, but still, somewhere in his head there's a voice telling him it's not the right thing to do. He hates that voice, he has for years, but its tone is different now. It's not holding him back out of fear. It just wants him to do the right thing, for both of them.
Clearly she senses his hesitation, because she opens her eyes to look at him, pulling back slightly when his face is too close to focus on it. He can see the fear he doesn't feel himself reflected in her eyes and he smiles soothingly. Then she is shaking her head and he lets his hand drop to his side.
"I can't do this, Sam," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice neutral, his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest.
"This," she repeats, indicating the space between them with a wave of her hand. "I can't do this."
He nods, smiling slightly in spite of himself. That certainly cleared things right up. "Okay," he agrees slowly.
"I'm sorry, but I just got used to you not being there," she tells him.
He looks at her, waiting for her to continue.***
"How do I know you're not just going to disappear again?"
He's beginning to suspect that the leaving thing is going to come up a lot, and maybe it hurt her more than he thought it did. But he's still tempted to point out that leaving is her thing, he's too much of a glutton for punishment to walk away.
"I really just want to go home," she tells him, her voice low, her eyes on the collar of his jacket.
He takes a step back, putting more distance between them, and waves a hand to indicate that she should start walking. She looks at him, a flash of disappointment in her eyes, but then she turns and starts walking. He gives himself two seconds to recover from what just happened before he catches up with her. When he reaches her and wordlessly falls into step next to her she turns her head to look at him and the hint of relief on her face when she sees him makes him realize that she assumed he would let her walk the rest of the way alone.
"Thank you," she says.
"For...?"
"For not pushing."
He's trying to remember ever pushing her, in fact he has thought for a long time that he didn't push enough, but right now it doesn't matter. It doesn't even matter that he can still feel a tingling in his fingers from touching her.
He came out tonight because he wanted to know that they could work together, maybe even be friends again at some point in the future, and getting a glimpse of more than that isn't going to make him retreat now.
He has had a lot of time to try to get used to the idea of leaving, so if she needs time to get used to the idea of him staying, then he'll give her that. It's not as if he has a choice, really, with the way his heart starts pounding when she turns her head to smile at him, her shoulder bumping gently against his arm as they walk.
End
More coming up in Left to Drown, the Andy-centric sequel.
Also, I just want to say thank you to everyone who followed this story. I genuinely can't believe how many people cared what happened here. You guys are kind of amazing.