Author's Note: Well, it's finally here. I am so sad to see this story come to an end that this chapter was very difficult to write. I am so, so appreciative to all of you who have alerted, favorited and reviewed this story. I know I've said this ad nauseum, but I have been so very grateful for your feedback and support along the way. I hope that you will find the ending enjoyable and satisfying. There is an epilogue on the way- I can't promise that it will be out by Christmas (pesky holiday plans!) but I will do my best to get it out as soon as possible. Again, thank you so much.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue.
Before Sam was even fully awake the next morning there were feet pressed into his back and toes digging in a bit painfully right at his kidney, pushing him towards the edge of the bed. He yawned and ran a hand over his face, blinking to orientate himself in the still-dark room.
Andy shoved ineffectively at his shoulder. "Coffee…" she mumbled in his general direction, her voice still hoarse with sleep and her messy hair falling over her face. "Please. Coffee."
Nothing about her request, or her method of encouraging him to get out of the bed for that matter, was unusual, but Sam found himself reluctant to leave.
He felt out of sorts – honestly relieved at the reality that Andy was still in the bed with him, despite her insistences that she wasn't going anywhere and, and this was unusual and not something that he would ever admit to anyone, a bit insecure. He'd pretty much opened himself up and poured himself out the night before, stuff he'd never done with or told anyone other than her, and he was feeling a little exposed. A little vulnerable.
He just wanted to make sure she would still meet his eye after she'd had time to sleep on it.
He caught her foot in his hand, keeping her from kicking at him again, and pushed her hair back so he could get a look at her. "Hey," he said, bracing himself on his elbow and nudging her nose with his. "Good morning."
She huffed a sigh like she was already annoyed with him and her eyes fluttered open to a narrow squint. Oddly, he found her irritation reassuring. "Morning," she croaked out, tilting her face up obligingly to meet his lips. Her hand travelled up from underneath the pillow to the side of his face and then moved back into his hair, her thumb rubbing the curve of his ear.
She certainly didn't seem like she was afraid of him and she wasn't like, running away or anything, throwing her clothes on and bolting. Sam felt himself relax by degrees into the sleep warmed body that was far softer than it looked – wound tight and lean muscle during the day but loose and yielding when she wrapped herself around him at night – and he let out a sigh when her foot rubbed up his calf and locked behind his knee, cradling him against her.
He kissed her lazily, letting her wake up some more, and then carefully leaned over her body so he could flick a lamp on, bathing the room in soft light.
Andy's body immediately went rigid. "Oh geez," she whined dramatically, arching her back and squeezing her eyes shut. "Turn it off."
He didn't turn it off. Instead, he fisted the comforter in his hand and yanked it down.
Andy hissed and curled into a fetal position. "Seriously?" she whimpered. "What the hell, Sam? It's freezing."
"It is not," he replied, but he slid her closer so they could share body heat, limbs tangling together. Her knee landed dangerously close to his groin and he couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not. He let her get settled and then, trying to be discrete, he spread his hand out over the warm flesh of her hip and rolled her back, glancing down between them.
It was just… the night before was intense, incredibly so – even for him, and even though she'd sworn a hundred different times that she was "fine Sam, stop worrying," he wanted to get a good look for himself.
She saw right through it in two seconds flat, which was impressive given her lack of caffeine intake. Impressive and a little disconcerting, actually, how well she already seemed to know him.
"Oh my god, really? No, Sam. No," she said, gathering his hands and slapping them away before reaching for the comforter. She pulled it up over herself and nestled back into the mattress, closing her eyes against the light.
Sam frowned and pushed at her shoulder. "Andy, come on, just let me look…"
"Go get me some coffee," she interrupted him, yawning and starting to shove him again. "Then I'll let you look all you want."
He paused for a second, skeptical. "Really?"
She nodded sleepily into the pillow. "Really," she promised, mumbling and already drifting off again.
Sam exhaled and raked a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his neck for a long moment as his eyes wandered over the gentle curve of her body beneath the covers, then reluctantly got to his feet. He pulled on the pair of discarded flannel pants that he found beside the bed and walked out to the kitchen.
It was dark in the house – still early out, the winter sun hadn't come up yet. As he made his way down the hallway he realized that the kitchen light was still on, which was odd, but he shrugged it off and figured that he must have forgotten to flip it off before going to bed. God knew his head hadn't exactly been in its normal, rational, controlled place.
He shook his head just thinking about it, still trying to wrap his mind around everything, and when he rounded the corner into the kitchen that last thing he was expecting to see was his niece sitting down at the table, books spread out in front of her.
The sight stopped him in his tracks.
There were still moments, though they were getting fewer are farther between, when he forgot that Lindsey lived with him. Forgot that some of the events of the last six months had been more than just a bad nightmare. Then, when he remembered, there was a rush of guilt that always filled his stomach, shame that he, the person she was supposed to be able to rely on for love and security and protection, had forgotten about her.
Lindsey noticed him in the doorway and jumped slightly, startled by his presence. "Oh, hey."
He was thankful he'd taken the time to slip on some pants even though he was pretty sure they were the ones Andy had been wearing the last time Lindsey had seen the two of them together. He hoped that maybe she wouldn't recognize them. "Hey, sorry. What're you doing?"
"Studying. It's finals week," she reminded him, pointing her highlighter towards the coffeemaker. "I made coffee."
He fought the urge to remind her that she was in seventh grade and that tests weren't worth losing sleep over yet. Or ever, really. Admittedly, he didn't know much about parenting but he figured that discouraging studious behavior wasn't a good thing. Instead, he narrowed his eyes. "How do you know how to make coffee?"
Lindsey shrugged her thin shoulders. "I know how to do lots of things," she told him, turning her attention back to her books.
It wasn't the most comforting response Sam had ever heard, especially not from an almost teenage girl who was far more boy crazy than he was comfortable with.
Any boy crazy, really, was far more boy crazy than he was comfortable with.
"Oh yeah? Like what?" he said, crossing the tile floor and opening one of the upper cabinets to pull out a single mug. His plan was to get Andy her coffee and then get some for himself later. He didn't particularly care if Lindsey knew that Andy stayed over – he didn't really think that she would care – but Andy still felt weird about it.
"Change a tire. Check the oil and transmission fluid," Lindsey answered smoothly, things he'd taught her how to do as soon as she was old enough because Sarah had been absolutely hopeless at car maintenance. "Pick a lock. Shoot a gun."
Sam grinned, pouring the coffee. "How'd you learn how to do all that?"
"The internet," she deadpanned.
"Funny girl," he replied dryly, opening the refrigerator. "What're you studying for?"
She stretched her arms up over her head and turned to face him again, eyeing him closely as he poured creamer into the mug. "Social studies. Since when do you take creamer in your coffee?"
Sam flinched and a little bit of coffee sloshed over the side. He was fairly certain Lindsey was going to grow up to be a detective with the way she noticed everything, way too observant for her own good. He struggled for an answer, not wanting to lie, but when he glanced over at her she was smirking at him.
Way too observant for her own good.
"I pretty much already knew anyway," she told him confidently, not sounding at all upset.
Sam was quiet, half hoping for a procedural handbook to materialize out of thin air – How to Respond When Your Niece Busts You on Your Girlfriend Sleeping Over. There was a time when talking to someone of the female gender didn't leave him completely tongue-tied and falling all over himself. He swallowed hard and tried to remember what that had been like. "Yeah?"
Lindsey nodded.
"Are you – " Sam broke off, not quite sure what he was asking. He moved across the kitchen and lowered himself into the chair beside her. "I mean, is it okay with you?"
She shrugged again. "It's your house," she replied vaguely.
The answer made Sam's chest tighten and he wondered what he'd done to give her that impression. "It's your house too, Lindsey," he told her, reaching out to cover one of her small hands with his own. "You get to have an opinion about what goes on here."
The ends of her lips curled up at that, as if it was the validation she had been looking for. "Yeah," she said, "I'm okay with it."
"Okay," Sam said, nodding once. "Good."
"I've need to get back to studying," she said, gesturing towards her books.
"Right, okay." He watched her for a moment and then, just to make sure, he asked, "You know we're talking about Andy, right?"
Lindsey looked back at him and exaggeratedly rolled her eyes, like he was honestly the dumbest person she'd ever had to deal with. "Yeah, I know."
"Good." Sam smiled. "That's good."
She grinned at him and then titled her chin towards the coffee maker. "You might as well get your own coffee now," she said. He was fairly certain she was teasing him. "Nice try, though. Good effort."
Sam smirked at her and got up to grab another mug, muttering under his breath, "Smartass."
"Amateur," she retorted, burying her head back into a pile of notes.
Sam fixed his coffee but before retreating back to his room, he made his way back over to the table and stood beside Lindsey's chair, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "Love you, kid."
She looked up at him, blinking in surprise. "Love you, too."
Sam winked and then let her get back to studying, carrying both mugs carefully towards the bedroom.
Andy was still sleeping, cocooned in a tangled mound of blankets. She'd told him at the beginning, after wringing the request for her to stay out of him, that she didn't sleep well in other people's beds and not to be surprised if she wasn't there when he woke up.
"Don't take it personally," she'd said, shrugging. "It's just, you know, preference."
But then she'd never NOT been there when he'd woken up (on the days she slept over, at least) so he still wasn't really sure what the warning had been about. He wasn't about to bring it up and ask her about it – she'd probably leave just to prove a point.
He set the coffee on the bedside table and then climbed back into the bed, slipping in beside her. As if by instinct, she slung her arm across his chest and scooted against him, nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck.
"Hey," he said, nudging her hip, "I brought coffee."
She mumbled something unintelligible into his shoulder and snuggled closer. The leg she threw over his waist and how warm she was against him was almost enough to make him give in and concede to her obvious desire for more sleep.
Almost.
"Andy," he said, rubbing his hand up and down her thigh. "We've got to get up here, we've both got to work."
Andy groaned again but opened her eyes. He could feel her eyelashes brush against his collarbone. "Next time we like… stay up that late," she said, yawning and patting his stomach, "It needs to be when we don't have morning shift the next day."
Sam's hand stilled on her leg. "Oh yeah?"
"Well," she said quietly, stretching out a little, her muscles flexing under his palm. "No, guess you can't really time that kind of thing."
Sam was quiet, worse case scenarios running through his head. "Andy," he broke off, cleared his throat and then started again. "I'm uh…"
"Don't," she interrupted him immediately.
"What?" he asked, puzzled.
She pushed herself up so she could look at him, her hands braced on his chest. "Don't apologize. I wanted you to, okay? I practically begged you. If you start apologizing now you're gonna make me feel like crap so just… just don't, okay? Please."
Sam wanted to tell her that she didn't make him do anything, that it was all on him and that he was going to feel like the biggest jackass in the world if he'd hurt her, but she was looking at him with that stubborn gleam in her eye that he'd learned pretty quickly not to mess with.
He pushed her hair back behind her ear and then let his fingers run through the strands down to the ends, tugging gently. "Okay."
Andy nodded once and then, with one hand still on his chest to keep herself steady, reached across him for her coffee.
"Lindsey was in the kitchen, by the way," he told her, propping her pillow up so she could lean against the headboard. "She uh, she kind of figured out that you were still here."
Andy didn't respond at first – she settled back, yanking the sheet up with her to cover her chest and took a long sip of her coffee. Then, she cut her eyes over to him accusatorily. "Oh yeah? How'd she do that?"
Sam scooted down so he could rest his head on her stomach and stroked his thumb over her hipbone. "She's twelve, not stupid."
It was something they'd repeated to each other like an inside joke ever since that first time when she'd thrown a shoe at him and said it – whenever she picked up on a line of conversation that they didn't think she'd understand or if she started talking about something with maturity that far exceeded her twelve years. Twelve, not stupid.
"Also apparently she knows how I take my coffee," he admitted.
Andy snorted lightly. "Uh huh," she said, working her fingers through his hair and scratching her nails against his scalp. "How'd she take it?"
"She's fine," Sam replied easily. "I don't think she's scarred or anything by the idea."
"Mmm," Andy hummed. "Okay." He knew they'd probably have a more serious conversation about it when she was fully-caffeinated.
They were quiet for another couple of minutes – Andy drinking her coffee, Sam trying to convince himself to sit up and get his own but just being way too comfortable to actually find the strength. It was the kind of scene Sam could imagine happening every morning. Quiet and calm, just a few minutes together before getting ready to face the world.
They hadn't been together very long, and probably with everything that had happened that year he should have been a little more cautious, a little slower maybe, but already Sam found himself wanting her and wanting them more than he'd wanted anything in his life.
He turned his neck at an awkward angle so he could look up at her.
She didn't notice at first because her eyes had drifted shut again, but when she brought her hand down expecting to feel hair and felt the stubbly skin of his jaw instead, her eyes popped open. "What?" she said after a moment, self-conscious. Her free hand went up and checked her hair.
"Nothing." Sam just shook his head and then pushed himself up, pressing a quick kiss against her lips before rolling out of the bed. "I'm gonna hop in the shower."
"'Kay," Andy said slowly, watching him curiously. "Don't take all the hot water."
She didn't join him in the shower – she didn't always and he wasn't necessarily expecting her to, he just kind of thought that she might. He tried not to read too much into it.
He was shaving when she finally made her way into the bathroom and jumped up onto the counter, wedging herself between the wall and the sink. She liked to watch him, he'd noticed- ever so often she'd sit and talk to him while he carefully smoothed the razor over his face, getting rid of the previous day's growth.
She was wearing one of his clean white undershirts that she'd nabbed from the top drawer of his dresser. It just barely grazed the tops of her thighs and her long, bare legs stuck out from the bottom. "Can I try?" she asked quietly, eyes flicking up to meet his. She looked almost sheepish, like it had been a thought that had popped into her mind that she'd said without thinking it over.
Sam raised an eyebrow, staring at her and trying to decide whether or not she was serious. After a moment he held the razor out and she took it with a pleased grin. "Be careful," he warned, settling his hands on her hips when she scooted over in front of him, sitting right on the edge of the sink.
Andy scoffed, twisting around so she could turn the faucet on and run the razor underneath the warm water. "I do regularly shave you know," she insisted, facing him again.
Sam let out a soft snort and ran his hands down her legs, rubbing circles over her knees. "Could've fooled me," he said, grinning as the short stubble prickled his palms.
Silky smooth legs were one of the first things to go when they really started getting serious; they never got like, unruly or anything like that, but she had definitely starting stretching out the number of days she would go between. He always knew when she had shaved because she would throw her legs into his lap so he'd recognize and comment upon the effort she'd made.
Andy smirked up at him. "I said regularly," she protested, the ends of her lips curling upwards despite how much she was trying to fight it. "I didn't say often."
"Oh, okay," Sam muttered, winking down at her.
The very tip of her pink tongue stuck out from between her teeth as she concentrated on the task at hand and her heels pressed firmly into the backs of his towel-clad thighs to keep herself balanced. She went in the same order he always did – he wasn't sure why, but it surprised him to know that she'd paid that much attention to him and his routines. It um… well, if he wasn't already in love with her it probably would have pushed him right over.
Sam let his fingers brush right under the hemline of her shirt, pushing it up a little so he could run his thumbs along the crease of her thigh and the edge of her panties. He did that a couple of times, curling his fingers lower each pass, until she squirmed and told him to cut it out. "Do you want me to cut you?" she asked, giggling and yanking her shirt back down. "Stop trying to distract me."
He wasn't really trying to distract her; mostly he just needed to do something with his hands and wanted to feel her again. "You told me I could look if I brought you coffee," he reminded her.
"So look," she said, moving the razor in short little strokes to clean up the edges of his sideburns. "You don't have to feel me up to do that."
Sam huffed but then pushed the shirt back up, raking his eyes over all the skin that he could see. He glanced in the mirror to get a look at her back and pulled down at the neckline to look at her throat and shoulders.
"Well?" Andy asked eventually, working down the right side of his face.
Truth be told, Sam wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but aside from a couple of thumbprint bruises that marred the flesh of her hips and a mark at her collarbone, there wasn't much evidence from the previous night. "It's not that bad."
"I told you that you weren't gonna hurt me," she said, almost smug.
"Yeah, well," Sam ran his hands down to the backs of her knees and hitched her legs tighter around him. "Just wanted to check."
"Mmmhmm," she murmured, raising a wet, warm washcloth to his cheek to wipe off the film of shaving cream. She was gentle and careful, getting every last speck.
There was a lot more that he wanted to ask her, how she was feeling and if she really wasn't going to leave him, but he stopped himself. There was a fine line between needing reassurance and just being needy and he was pretty sure he was bumping right up against it.
She rinsed the washcloth out and when she turned back around her mouth opened the slightest bit, like she had something to say, but after stuttering around for a little bit she clamped it shut, frowning.
"What?"
"I just…" her forehead wrinkled as she chose her words. Finally, she settled on, "Thank you. For letting me in a little last night. I mean, I know it wasn't easy for you and you probably didn't want to, but I appreciated..."
"I wanted to," Sam admitted, interrupting her and probably surprising her. Surprising himself.
Andy's face brightened. "You did?"
Sam shrugged and then nodded, honestly not trusting himself with words at that moment.
"Oh," Andy said, looking like a weight had been lifted off of her. "You're not mad?"
Sam almost laughed. "No," he said. "Why would I be mad?"
"Just, you know," she raised her shoulders and then let them drop with a sigh, "You're a private person and you were pretty set against talking earlier, I just didn't know if maybe you thought I like, coerced you into talking or something…"
"Coerced me?" Sam repeated dubiously.
She fixed him with a look. "You know what I mean."
"You didn't coerce me," he assured her. "And I'm not mad."
"Well," Andy said, squirting some shaving cream into her hand. "Good, I'm glad."
As she wiggled around on the countertop to get comfortable again, Sam honestly wasn't sure which he'd rather do more – laugh at how ridiculous she could be or kiss her and tell her a whole bunch of other stuff he'd never told anyone. Or, hadn't told anyone recently.
He did neither. Instead, he watched her as she lathered up his chin, spitting a little when she got some of the cream in his mouth.
"Sorry," she muttered, wiping it away with her thumb.
Sam shook his head. "S'okay."
His hands found their way to the gentle curve of her hips again and he looked, really looked, down at her - taking in her thick, lowered lashes, the ridges of her cheekbones, her delicate, pointed nose and her full, soft lips. God, Andy McNally was a beautiful girl, sometimes it kind of made him dizzy just to be around her.
"What?" she asked, eyes wide and smiling shyly up at him. "Why do keep looking at me like that?"
Sam pursed his lips and shook his head. "Nothing," he said, tweaking her hair and feeling a tugging in his chest. She was warm and close and his towel wasn't doing much to hide his body's reaction to her. "You're pretty."
Andy snorted and rolled her eyes, like he'd embarrassed her. "Yeah, okay."
"McNally," he said, raising an eyebrow and using his training officer voice, low and in control, "Accept the compliment."
She flicked her eyes up at him, smiling a little, and then went back to work.
Sam was quiet for another minute, gathering his nerve, and then he cleared his throat. "I love you."
It took a moment for his words to sink in but when they finally did Andy's whole body tensed and when she dropped the razor it sliced right into the meat of his chin. Sam tried not to flinch at the pain, sharp and stinging like a paper cut. "Shit," Andy hissed, springing into action and quickly leaning over to tear off a piece of toilet paper. She dabbed it against his chin to stop the bleeding. "Shit, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"No, you didn't hurt me," Sam assured her, chuckling as he took the tissue from her and held it against his face. She looked positively stricken and he wasn't sure if it was from what he'd said or what she'd done. "It's fine, Andy, promise."
Her eyes were wide and she blinked a couple of times before asking, "Seriously?"
"Seriously you didn't hurt me or seriously I love you?" Sam asked, honestly not sure which it was.
She swallowed, hard. "Both, I guess," she said, her brow furrowing.
He pushed her bangs back off her forehead and waited for her to meet his gaze. "Well then yes, seriously, to both," he clarified.
She nodded slowly and then, before Sam really knew what was happening, pressed her lips firmly to his, twining her arms around his neck. "Yeah?" she mumbled against him, her teeth tugging at his bottom lip.
"Yeah."
She kissed him harder then, wrapping herself flush against him. Sam wanted to slow her down, make her tell him what she was thinking, but instead he just tightened his arms around her and let her work it out on her own.
"I just…" she said finally, kissing him again before looking up at him. Her eyes were a little bit red and her lips were pink and swollen. She blinked to focus and then she brought her hands to frame his face, telling him seriously, "Me too."
He knew what she meant, he did, but that didn't stop him from asking, "You love yourself?" It was childish as soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to cringe at how lame it sounded, but he also just really, really wanted to hear her say it.
Andy let out and burst of laughter and then shook her head. "No," she said. "I mean, I love you, too."
He felt like he was on a rollercoaster being slung from one emotional extreme to the other. "Oh," he said, fairly certain he was grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "Well, that's good, McNally, since you just sliced up my face and all. Who's gonna want me now?"
Andy was still shaking her head, her goofy grin stretching back to her ears. "No one, it was all part of my master plan."
He leaned in, forehead to forehead. "Smart woman," he mumbled, just barely brushing his lips against hers.
"Don't you forget it," she replied, closing the distance between them.
They kissed, lazy and giggly, repeating the sentiment an embarrassing number of times, until Sam remembered what time it was. "McNally," he said in between kisses, "We're gonna be late."
She nodded but kept right on kissing him, running her hand down his chest and tugging on the knot that was keeping his towel up. "Yeah okay, work, got it."
Sam laughed against her, grabbing hold of her wrist to keep her from going any lower. "McNally, come on," he said, jostling one of her legs, "We've got to get it together." She whined a little and Sam understood, he really did, he wanted to push her shirt up and get his hands on her and take her back to bed and make her tell him over and over again, but… they had to work and they were going to be very very late if she didn't unwrap her long legs from around his waist and get in the shower. "Andy…"
"Fine, fine," she said, hopping down off the counter. She brushed her thumb over the cut on his chin and then kissed him once more before shimmying out of her clothes and climbing into the shower.
For the rest of the day Sam kept touching his chin and grinning to himself. Or, at least, he thought it was to himself until Oliver quirked an eyebrow during parade and asked who'd slipped him some happy pills. Andy had been sitting in front of them and Sam watched as her shoulders started shaking in silent laughter.
"What?" Sam asked, trying to glare at his friend. It didn't work very well.
"You're like… you're smiling," Oliver told him, eyeing him warily, "It's gonna freak people out."
Sam narrowed his eyes and then carefully schooled his expression, turning his attention back to Best. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Oliver break into a wide grin and then a second later felt a hearty slap on his back.
Christmas came and went. It was bittersweet, which Sam had pretty much been expecting. There were moments that he forgot all about Sarah and then moments when the reality of it all was like a crushing weight on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. It was the strangest things that brought it on – a song on the radio, a look on Lindsey's face, the way Andy was meticulous with her wrapping paper and ribbon selection, just like Sarah had been. He wondered when it was all going to even out; when he wouldn't need to spend a couple of seconds collecting himself because Lindsey could recite lines from Elf by heart.
Andy spent the day with them; when she'd first asked about what their plans were she seemed like she thought he might actually tell her she wasn't invited.
"Are you joking?" he asked when she suggested late one night that maybe she should just come over for dinner or something. He rolled to his side and threaded his fingers through her hair, making her look at him. "No, Andy, you have to be there, you're…" he stopped himself from saying family, but that was exactly what he had been thinking. "You have to be there. I don't think I can do it without you."
Even in the dark he could see the pleased smile she got whenever he said something unexpectedly sweet spread across her face. "Okay. But my dad…"
"Invite him over, too," Sam told her. "I don't care."
That was how Tommy McNally ended up in his kitchen on Christmas morning, flipping pancakes on the griddle. "Swarek," he said gruffly when the two of them were alone. "You know that I like you son, you're a good cop and a good man."
The bout of nerves that suddenly took over Sam's body was unexpected.
Until that point, Sam hadn't been too worried about what Tommy would say about his relationship with Andy. For one thing, while Andy obviously respected and loved her dad, Sam didn't get the impression that his blessing was needed for the relationship to continue and, another thing, Sam had worked with him long enough to know that, aside from a couple of drunken scuffles at the Penny, Tommy was a level-headed, reasonable man.
Of course, when they worked together Sam hadn't been sleeping with his daughter.
He nodded, knowing the compliments weren't going to last. "Yes sir."
Tommy turned and leveled a glare at him that would have made the most hardened of criminals cry. "If you hurt my daughter, I will kill you. We clear?" No beating around the bush – clear, simple and direct like the experienced officer he was.
Even though Andy was a fully-grown adult, a copper no less, and could definitely take care of herself, Sam understood and respected the innate desire a father had to protect his daughter.
He nodded again. "Yes sir."
"Good," Tommy said, clapping his shoulder and grinning like he hadn't just threatened a life. "Let's go have some breakfast, eh?"
He didn't stay for very long – just long enough to eat breakfast and open a couple of presents – but it was enough for Andy to be happy and feel like he had been included. After he left she scrunched her nose and asked, "Did he say anything embarrassing?"
Sam just shook his head and winked. "No," he promised. "He was fine."
Lindsey seemed to handle the day well – once she finally came downstairs that was. Sam and Andy had been up for over an hour and were drinking coffee in the living room when he worriedly glanced towards the stairs.
"This isn't like her," he told Andy. "She's normally awake and opening presents before the sun comes up."
"Well, she's older now," Andy said, shrugging and rubbing his back. "Maybe she slept in. Give her a few more minutes."
A few minutes passed and Sam grew restless again, standing up to pace around the room. After the fourth or fifth time he stopped and looked down the hallway, Andy sighed and said, "Let me go see if she's awake."
Sam nodded and continued pacing while he waited. It wasn't long before Andy and Lindsey descended the stairs, both smiling and Andy's arm wrapped loosely around Lindsey's shoulders.
Later, Andy told Sam what had happened.
"Hey Linds," Andy said, tapping lightly on the girl's door. "You awake?"
"Yeah," was the small reply. "You can come in."
Andy pushed the door open to find the girl wide-awake but still curled up beneath her comforter. She tilted her head to the side. "You coming downstairs?"
"Yeah," Lindsey said, making no attempt to move.
Andy exhaled softly and moved into the bedroom. "Can I join you?" she asked, nodding towards the bed.
Lindsey nodded.
Andy pushed back the comforter and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for a couple of moments to see if Lindsey was going to say anything. Unsurprisingly, she didn't. Lindsey, like her uncle, wasn't one to open up unless prodded.
"You okay?" Andy asked eventually, stroking her fingers through the girl's dark, curly hair. Lindsey just nodded under her hand. After another minute Andy tried again. "You sad?"
She heard Lindsey let out sharp breath. "No," she said, her voice shaky. "I'm just…" she broke off, not finishing her thought.
"Scared that you're going to be?" Andy asked, filling in the gaps.
"Yeah," Lindsey answered quietly.
"I know," Andy told her. Andy remembered what that was like; it wasn't always the sadness that could be paralyzing, sometimes it was just the fear of being sad. She still felt it on occasion – some birthdays, holidays, the anniversary of the day her mom left –that fear of hurting again. "How about this," she suggested, "How about you come downstairs and we just… we just try for a little while, okay? And if it makes you too sad or if it's too much, we can stop and you can come back up here and hang out for the rest of the day, watch movies or whatever. But, let's just try. Do you think you can do that?"
Lindsey was silent for a moment, thinking it over, and then she nodded and pushed herself up, letting Andy lead her downstairs.
There were still a few heavy moments, like when Lindsey opened her present from Sam and met his eye across the room, her chin quivering before she even finished unwrapping it. "You're in charge of photo albums now," he told her, smiling softly.
They shared a knowing look and then Lindsey blinked a couple times and wiped away the tears that had pooled in her eyes. She quickly held the camera up, told Andy and Sam to lean together, and snapped her inaugural picture.
He'd ended up shelling out a small fortune for the camera. Epstein had gladly accompanied him to Best Buy to pick one out, blathering on and on about digital versus film and aperture and shutter speed and a whole bunch of other stuff Sam didn't really understand. He finally just asked Epstein which one he would want to have and bought that one. As a thank you for helping him out, Sam bought Epstein a drink at the Penny.
"I'm pretty sure I could have had my way with him if I'd wanted," Sam told Andy later.
She smirked. "Pretty sure you wouldn't have had to buy him a drink for that."
It was Andy's gift that he'd had the hardest time with. Every time he'd asked her what she wanted she would answer with a completely unhelpful, "Ummm, I don't really know" or, equally unhelpfully, "You. Naked, preferably. With a bow."
His go-to present was usually jewelry but he'd done his homework and aside from a couple of pairs of stud earrings and a really crappy, plastic watch that she never took off, Andy didn't wear much jewelry.
He was pretty much as a loss until she'd mentioned a camping trip she and her dad had taken when she was in high school. Camping was obviously out – aside from the fact that he hated it, it was the dead middle of winter – but he'd done a little research (on the internet, a fact he pointed out to her later) and found a bed and breakfast on Lake Huron with openings in January. After checking their schedules, pulling a couple of strings and making sure Lindsey could stay with the Shaw's, he'd booked them for the weekend after New Year's.
Andy's face lit up brighter than the Christmas tree when she'd opened the small box to find an itinerary that he had no intention of following, it was just the only thing he could think of to wrap. "You know this place is like, in the middle of the woods, right?"
When Sam nodded she squealed and wrapped her arms tight around his neck, so he was pretty sure he'd done a good job.
His gifts hadn't been to shabby either; clothing and a new coffeemaker, which he'd halfway been expecting due to Andy's less than subtle disdain for his current one and – and this was a complete and total surprise – two tickets to drive the Zamboni during a local minor league game from Lindsey.
Both of them had been wearing these excited, expectant expressions on their faces when he slowly pulled the ribbon off the flat box, looking like one or both of them were going to tackle him and open it for him. It had taken him a second to realize what the tickets were for but when he looked back over at them they were grinning bright and wide and nodding furiously.
"We tried to get it for a Leafs game, but apparently they don't do that," Lindsey told him.
"Seriously?" He asked, slowly pulling the tickets out of the box and looking them over. "Lindsey, these are… these were expensive."
"Andy helped me out," she said, shrugging.
"We pooled our resources," Andy admitted, "But it was totally Lindsey's idea."
"Yeah, we figured you and Mr. Oliver could go." She looked up at him. "You like it?"
"Lindsey… yes, I love it," he said, nodding and pulling his niece into his arms. "Thank you."
When he'd called Oliver to tell him about it, Oliver, after letting out a whoop that had Sam pulling the phone away from his ear, said, "Wow, that's way better than a book on tape."
They spent the rest of the day hanging out and watching movies in the new Christmas pajamas Andy had gotten everyone and insisted they wear. Sam had grumbled about it because he figured she expected him to, but the idea of starting a new Christmas tradition with Andy and Lindsey, even one as dumb as Christmas pajamas, wasn't something he was opposed to.
At least she didn't force them to wear matching pajamas.
He probably would have done that, too.
It took Sam all day to work up the courage to ask Lindsey if she wanted to go to St. Catherine's and visit her mother's grave the next day. Andy had to work but he thought they could drive down, spend a little bit of time there and then come back.
Lindsey had gotten very quiet before shaking her head and telling him she wasn't ready. "I just… I don't think I want to, not yet," she said, chewing anxiously on her bottom lip.
"That's fine Lindsey," he told her, patting her leg. "Whenever you're ready."
Part of him wondered if it wasn't something that he should push, steps of grieving and all that, but the larger part of him was honestly relieved. He wasn't quite sure it was something he was ready for yet, either.
Still, he was very conscious to try and spend quality time with Lindsey – as new as everything was with Andy, and despite how much Lindsey liked her, Sam worried that Lindsey might feel overlooked or left out. "Maybe you and I can go ice skating or something," he suggested.
"You can ice skate?" she asked skeptically.
"Of course I can ice skate," he replied, scoffing and feigning offense. When Lindsey just raised an eyebrow he sighed and confessed, "Okay, I haven't been in the last twenty years or so."
"Yeah," Lindsey said, grinning. "That's what I thought."
Sam smirked. "Okay, maybe not ice skating. We could, um…" he paused to think of another option. "We could go out to the lake to try out your camera. Would you like that?"
Lindsey was nodding enthusiastically in reply when Andy returned from the kitchen with a tray of cookies and three mugs filled to the brim with hot chocolate.
"Fresh from the oven," Andy boasted, setting the tray down between them and sinking crossed-legged to the ground. "I actually made the cookies all by myself."
"Are they safe to eat?" Lindsey teased, reaching out to grab the biggest one.
Andy grinned mischievously and winked over at the girl, "Better let your uncle take the first bite."
The year before Sam had spent Christmas alone in his crappy undercover apartment, nursing a bottle of scotch and singing drunken renditions of carols to his plant. There was no way he could have predicted the events that occurred that year and, as they sat sipping their hot chocolate and eating their very edible cookies, Sam couldn't help but wonder what the next year might look like.
A few days later Andy nodded her head towards the Christmas tree and mused, "We're gonna have to take that down at some point you know."
It was late at night – they probably should have already been in bed but had yet to summon the energy to move. Lindsey had said goodnight about an hour before and after that Sam had tugged Andy down on top of him. They were stretched out on the sofa, Sam with one foot on the floor and Andy curled against his chest.
Her fingers traced over the waffle weave pattern of his shirt. "We can't leave it up forever."
"I think it's okay to wait until after New Year's," Sam said, slowly brushing his knuckles up and down the ridges of her backbone.
"Oh yeah?" Andy asked, grinning against the curve of his shoulder. "Is that proper Christmas tree etiquette?"
Sam cracked up, letting out a hearty laugh and Andy giggled in response. It was one of those times when everything seemed a hundred times funnier than it actually was because of how exhausted he was. "It is," he said when the laughter died down. "Plus it's gonna make a huge mess and I don't want to deal with that right now."
Andy yawned into his neck. "Okay."
There was a stretch of silence; one of those warm, comfortable moments that Sam was coming to realize he really enjoyed.
They never lasted very long, but that was okay, too. "Favorite Christmas memory," Andy said quietly, breaking the silence.
She liked to talk to him late at night, probably when she figured his defenses were down and he was more likely to open up. It was everything from how his day was to if he'd ever been married to what his favorite subject had been in school. Sometimes they'd be right in the middle of things and she'd stop, ask him a question and then refuse to move again until he answered it.
He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to resort to bribery to get answers out of him but he had to admit it was kind of an ingenious tactic.
Ingenious and sometimes incredibly frustrating.
"This one's ranking pretty high up there," Sam answered, knowing full-well he wasn't going to be able to get away with what she would see as a cop out answer.
Andy punched him lightly on the arm. "This one doesn't count," she told him. "A real one, from when you were little."
Sam sighed and thought it over. "Eight years old," he said, settling on a memory. "Back then I thought I wanted to be a mechanic when I grew up so for Christmas my mom got me this model engine thing. I probably put it together and took it apart twenty different times the first day I had it."
"Eight years old?" she said slowly, like she was mulling it over.
Sam answered the question he knew she was asking. "The last Christmas before everything with Sarah," he confirmed. "The last Christmas we were…" he hesitated, making a face, "I don't know, normal, I guess."
Andy gave him a sad half smile and pushed herself up so she could press a kiss against his lips. She went to pull back but he tangled his hand into her silky dark hair and held her there for a moment, kissing her gently and unhurriedly, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone.
He finally had to break away so that they could breathe and he couldn't help but grin as he watched her slowly blink and open her eyes, coming out of a daze. She smiled back at him and brushed her lips over his once more before resting her head against his chest again.
"I can't imagine you as anything other than cop," she said.
"No?"
She shook her head. "You're too good at it, like it just comes naturally or something."
"I've been doing it for a long time now," he replied modestly, running his hand down over the back of her head, smoothing out her hair.
Andy glanced up at him in a hard stare. "Accept the compliment, Swarek."
His lips twitched with a smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said, grinning and pleased with herself. She propped her chin up on her hand and asked, "What about me? See me as anything other than a cop?"
Sam pretended to consider it. "Insurance, maybe," he said finally, chuckling at the face she made and the way her nostrils flared. "In that little suit thing you wore to the bar that one time."
"Oh yeah," she said, remembering. She tapped her finger against his chest. "The first time you tried to pick me up."
Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I did not try to pick you up," he protested.
"Uh, you bought me a drink and you took me home," Andy reminded him.
"Completely innocent," Sam insisted. "Just trying to be a good neighbor."
"Uh huh, pretty sure you were starting to have a thing for me," Andy said, grinning. "It was the suit, wasn't it?"
She was teasing him, but he responded seriously. "Nah," he admitted, smiling slowly and cupping her face in his hand. "It wasn't the suit."
A bright smile broke out across Andy's face as she leaned in to kiss him once more, grinning hard against his lips.
"I'm kidding about the insurance thing," Sam told her a couple of minutes later. "Can't imagine you as anything but a copper."
Andy sighed and tucked her head under his chin, starting to yawn. "Yeah?"
"You're good," he said, and she was, too. Of course she still had her rookie moments and there were times when Sam wondered if she'd listened to a word he'd said, but she was tough. And smart. She could read people well and half the time didn't need to be told what to do, she just kind of intuitively knew how to get through to whoever they were talking to. She had the kind of good-hearted, wholesome nature that people just naturally gravitated to and trusted.
"And, you know, you're with me now," he told her. "So my incredible skill probably rubs off at night."
"Your skill, huh?" Andy asked. "Is that what that is?"
Sam just laughed, skimming his hand up and down her back. At first it was just light and then, when she stopped squirming around and got comfortable on him, with more intent. He slowly worked up one side of her backbone, paying attention to the knots at her shoulders and the noises that she made, and then back down, rubbing his fingers in tiny circles and concentrating on specific areas whenever she let out a pleased little moan.
Andy's breathing eventually evened out and for a few minutes he thought that she had fallen asleep. He kept going though, feeling the rise and fall of her chest and the way her ribs expanded under his hands with every breath.
Just when he was about to drift off as well he heard, "Were you scared in there, today?"
In there had been an escalating domestic dispute they'd been called to; a drunk, abusive husband wielding a shotgun and holding his kid on one side of the room and the wife crying and hysterical on the other, Sam and Andy in between. It had been loud and out of control and the fact that a kid was involved made it all the more terrifying.
He considered lying to her but wondered what the point would be. He swallowed hard, trying to wet his suddenly dry, sandpapery mouth, and then eventually admitted, "Yeah. You?"
She picked her head up and he expected her to be wearing a teasing grin, asking what kind of copper he thought he was. Instead, her eyes were dark and serious. "No," she said, her sharp chin digging into his chest as she shook her head. "I mean… you were there."
Sam immediately felt a hot bloom of pride spread throughout his chest. He was stunned for a second as he ran the words over again in his mind and tried to process the honesty and trust in her warm, brown eyes. Andy McNally said a lot of things during the day – she definitely hit her word quota and probably his too – and some of those things didn't mean anything and some of them did and that just, well…
You were there.
His presence was enough to keep her calm, keep her from being afraid.
That meant something. Probably more than she realized.
When he finally recovered enough to form a thought she was looking up at him with a small smile and flushed cheeks, like maybe she did understand how much it meant and liked knowing she had that affect on him. "Andy…" he tried to think of something to say, but his words got lost in the lump in his throat.
She bit her bottom lip and lifted her hand to his face, thumbing the almost healed over mark on his chin. "Love you," she said softly.
Try as he might, Sam couldn't keep the grin off his face. He grasped her skinny shoulders in both hands and slid her up to meet him, hesitating for just a moment as he bumped his nose against hers. "Love you, too," he repeated sincerely, dropping his chin down so he could kiss her, warm and friendly and a little bit more. "You ready to go to bed?"
Andy smirked but then arched her back and pushed herself off of him. "You gonna show me some of that incredible skill?" she asked, holding her hand out.
Sam stood and laced his fingers with hers. "Something like that," he said, tugging her to his side.
Her hand instinctively glided around his waist, cold fingers skimming beneath his shirt, and she sighed contentedly when he tucked her under his arm.
Sam pressed a kiss against her temple and pulled her a little closer.