A/N
A second part to my continuing saga of random oneshots re: 2x07. This one involves a bit of 7 and some of 8, particularly the great scene at the end, with Sam and Andy in the training room. Sam POV, enjoy and review!
-Iri
When he'd first figured it out, had that damning revelation… when he'd seen her near-on verbally assault McNally in the parade room… Sam was sure he'd never wanted to deck someone quite so badly. Callaghan would have taken preference- barely- but seeing as he'd slunk away home to lick his wounds, Rosati would have to suffice. Not such a bad trade, really, considering the way she'd been just about throwing herself at the asshole of a detective since she arrived back at 15.
Needless to say, Sam was suddenly very grateful for Shaw's presence at his shoulder, because he didn't think he'd have been able to restrain himself from ripping the woman a new one if they'd been alone. He had yet to hit a woman, and he might have been able to keep it to a verbal barrage, just maybe, but a sharp look from Oliver reminded him of his position.
So he kept his mouth shut, leaned back against the desk, crossed his arms, and fumed silently, unable to resist sending Jo the most mocking look possible when she glanced his way.
The anger had in no way diminished by the end of shift, nor by the next morning, or even the day after that. He doubted he'd ever let go of it completely. Sam Swarek might have been a ladies' man through and through, but he'd never been a cheater. Callaghan, he thought venomously as he stripped down after shift, deserved to be shot, and here he was, moping around and throwing McNally wounded looks like she'd been the one in the wrong.
Nevertheless, he knew it wasn't his place to get involved. He'd said enough, revealed enough, standing in the rain with the cruiser door pressing sharply into his spine and a sick sense of realization in his stomach. The time for grand declarations and calling-outs was over. McNally was a big girl, and Sam knew without a doubt that she could more than handle herself.
So he took a step back, kept his mouth shut, and did his best to remain firmly in his detached, slightly smart-alecky role as partner and general pain in the ass. He put up with nearly three weeks of stiff silences, snappy retorts, and forced smiles whenever Diaz and Epstein did something stupid. He was just glad to see she had enough attitude left to handle him, because without her trademark sass, he'd have been seriously concerned.
Still, enough was enough. At some point, it was time to step in. He wasn't going to deny that her biting wit was helpful in her work, but it was going to get her in trouble, and that was where he drew the line. He was her partner, after all. It was practically in his job description to keep her from doing anything stupid. This was just a slight stretching of the rules. Necessary.
"You need an axe," he suggested, half-seriously, and while Sam knew she'd never actually go at it with Rosati's desk- although who ever really knew, with McNally?- he figured the sooner he found her an outlet, the better. So he tossed her the gloves and did the one thing he knew he was good at: getting under her skin. Taunted her, until she took up the challenge and socked him a good one.
He played hurt for a few seconds, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face. There was his rookie. Within minutes, he had her laughing and making jokes and looking less like the bitter, dried-out version of herself she'd been lately. Hand cream or not.
And no lethal weapons had been required. A good day.
See that button down there? You should press it!
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