Here's something I ask for right now: PLEASE let me know what you think of this reality/flashback style. I can't think of another way to write Season 3 McSwarek and have it still be mushy (with their fighting and all), and God knows I like mushy. If you're starting to get tired of it, tell me! I plan to drop it after the finale, unless you want it gone sooner. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue.

"Swarek, Shaw!" Startled, Oliver looked up from his coffee to see Frank's face behind him.

"Frank! Hey brother. Yeah we were just… uhh… finishing up some paperwork." He nodded unconvincingly, subtly minimizing the video of a cat riding a vacuum cleaner that was playing on his computer. Sam watched in amusement as Frank rolled his eyes, ignoring his fib.

"I'm going to go ahead and add some booking paperwork to this," he patted the pile of neglected work on Oliver's desk, "unless you two are busy, that is."

"No, no, no… yeah. We're not exactly busy." Olive sheepishly admitted.

"Thanks you two. We had a situation in booking today. The rookies are indefinitely being interviewed by Mills, so someone's gotta handle this while I deal with that." He looked annoyed.

"Mills?" Sam looked up, alarmed, hoping it had nothing to do with Andy.

"There was an... incident. Two shot. One dead." Frank nodded at the look of shock on Sam's face.

"Wha-" Sam began, trying to unravel the tornado that was wreaking havoc in his brain.

"It's Mills. I gotta take this." Frank opened his phone. "Finish this!" He mouthed, pointing to Olvier's new paperwork and shooting him a glare. Oliver sat up straight and puffed out his chest, saluting Frank.

"Aye aye." He barked as Frank walked away, rolling his eyes.

Sam looked like he was about to be sick.

"Ollie, I gotta…" he started.

"You go." Oliver finished. "Find out what happened." He didn't mention the mountain of paperwork that lay in front of them.

"Thank you. I… Thank you." His gratitude was apparent, but so was his fear. He jumped from his desk, in search of the nearest administrator.

"Excuse me…"

"Just… just one minute." The distracted secretary held up a finger.

"What happened in booking?" He paused, watching as she flipped to the next page of the document she was reading.

"Can someone tell me what's going on in booking?" He raised his arms above his head, yelling to the rest of the room. He was getting worked up. An officer looked up from his desk long enough to give him an answer.

"Someone didn't do a pat down… I don't know. Somehow a gun ended up in booking. Dude shot his cellmate in the arm before SRU took him down. And now someone's badge is on the line. Mills is here." Sam nodded in thanks, returning to his desk with a ghastly look on his face. Oliver put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sammy… everything good?"

"Yeah." Sam gulped, "everything's fine. Someone's losing their badge." He said gravely.

"Do you want to go… you know, see what's up with… everyone?" Oliver danced around the name; unsure of what Sam was thinking.

"I should just stay away from… all that." He responded, wishing he could help.

"Yeah." Oliver nodded, "you're right. Probably a good idea." Oliver grabbed them both coffee, returning to find Sam doing paperwork faster than he'd ever seen.

"Done." Oliver looked at his watch. "How did you…" he flipped through the paperwork. Every date, every signature.

"Wow. Alright, you go. Go. I'll get this back to Frank."

He nearly jogged to the locker room, eyes locked on the door in front of him.

It couldn't be her. He was his training officer, he'd taught her better than that. But more importantly, this couldn't be him. For the split second that he didn't know if she was okay, if she was alive, he nearly lost it. His last words- their last words- couldn't be him asking for his keys back. Their job was dangerous, but a job that they both loved. If something were to happen to either of them, the other had to know. That he loved her. That she loved him. As much as he hated thinking about it, those had to be their last words. Not that he needed his keys back because it was his only other set.

He took a deep breath and unbuttoned his uniform, putting it in his locker slowly. He needed to find her. He needed to tell her. With Mills in the picture, he knew she'd had a stressful day. He needed to give her his keys and sit in the passenger seat of his car watching her breathe, taking her in, assuring himself that she was there. They would go home, they'd talk. They talk about everything. He'd apologize. He'd explain himself. He'd give her a hug that she'd never forget. He'd tell her how he felt. She'd understand. But first- he needed to talk to her.

He saw her go into Callaghan's office. Wonderful- he'd wait outside. He got her attention when she came out.

"Hey." Great start, Sam. Real smooth.

"Hey. What are you still doing here?" She asked, feigning interest.

He gulped. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he answered honestly. She pursed her lips and walked out ahead of him.

"That's not your job anymore." She replied curtly.

He took her hint and stopped walking, nearly smiling. He was such an idiot. He watched her leave, increasing purpose in each step. What had he done? Was she gone? Had she moved on? Had he driven her away past the point of no return? A month ago he woke up with her curled in his arms. A month ago he kissed her in an interview room. A month ago, they held hands as they left together.

A month ago…

"Hey…" she paused, awaiting his reaction. Knowing full well he'd had a horrible day, she didn't want to smother him. He stared hard at her and, she began to worry that he wanted to be left alone. He quickly glanced around, checking that the hallway was empty.

"Sam, I'm sorry, I can just-"Her words were cut off by a bear hug, something that had never happened to her before. Especially with him. Or at work. After a second of shock, she reciprocated, holding him tight against her. After what felt like an eternity, he finally let go.

"Thank you." He smiled at her, "I needed that." He took a deep breath, exhaling hard. The bags under his eyes were deep; she could tell he was stressed.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault." She didn't want to say it, to talk about the girl who they didn't find until it was too late. She noticed that the girls were especially tough on him. She guessed it was because of his sister.

"I know." He gulped.

He couldn't help but not believe himself. He reached down and grabbed her hand, not letting go until they had reached his truck. Something about holding her hand made it all better. He couldn't tell what, but he knew he needed it. Which was why once they were in his truck, he held it while she drove, and again, he felt instantly better. Once they'd gotten to his place, he had calmed down. He was laughing more. She could feel his demeanor soften. He was cracking bad jokes and smiling when she looked at him.

"You have any food?" She called out from his kitchen while he locked the door.

"Yeah, I have coffee, beer, and ice cubes." He shouted back, chuckling at his own predicament.

"Sam…" she whined, unhappy at the truth in his words as she opened the fridge. "This is not some cool cop bachelor pad anymore. I need to be fed!"

"Top drawer next to the stove!" He called back. Intrigued, she opened the drawer to discover takeout menus from every restaurant within a ten mile radius of his house.

"Okay," she laughed, "this will work. Pizza?" She yelled, realizing immediately after that he was standing behind her.

"Sounds great," he murmured in her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Sam!" She squealed playfully. "Stop! I'm hungry."

"Me too…" he continued, returning his arms to their perch above her hips.

"We are not doing… this! Not until I have been fed. Food. Fed food. Not until I have been fed food." She concluded, picking up his phone and calling the pizza place.

"Fine…" he sulked away, disappointed at his rejection. He opened two beers and sat down on the couch, feet heavily rested on the coffee table.

"Are we not doing this either?" he asked, pointing to the spot next to him on the couch.

"We can do this." She smiled, snuggling up under his eagerly awaiting arm and grabbing her beer.

"Thank you," she held up the beer.

"Thank you…" he paused. "For this." He smiled sincerely. She told him about her day riding with Dov, hoping to keep the mood light. The doorbell rang, and she sprung up to greet the much-needed sustenance that awaited her. They dug in, finishing the entire pizza in fifteen minutes flat.

"Wow. You weren't kidding!" he teased her, commenting on how much she'd eaten.

"Hey!" She objected, "You had more than me!"

"I know." He laughed, putting their plates in the dishwasher. "So…"

"So…" She repeated, raising one of her eyebrows. Before she could say anything else, his lips were crushing hers, the anticipation of the evening released in a stream of kisses smothering her neck and mouth. She tried to keep up, and before she knew it she was in the air, now a full head taller than him, legs wrapped around waist. He tilted his head up to her, mouth meeting once again.

"Sam…" she moaned, relishing his gentler, deeper kisses. He smiled against her mouth, knowing she was enjoying it as much as he was.

They both slept soundly that night.

He drove out of the lot, fast.

"That's not your job anymore." It wasn't his job anymore. He cared now, possibly more than ever before. He wanted to see her, to talk to her, to touch her, to tell her it was going to be okay, to hold her in his arms and protect her from the world. He wanted to hear about her interview with Mills. To comfort her. He couldn't even be there for her professionally anymore; the last thing she wanted was to ride with him. He wanted to be there for her, somehow.

But that wasn't his job anymore. Suddenly he felt warm liquid in his hand. He needed to cut his nails. Every time he thought of Andy, of how he let her down, he dug his nails a little deeper into his skin. Their conversation in the hallway had literally and figuratively been the breaking point. Tonight, he needed her, and there was absolutely no way she would talk to him. He felt lost.

And then it hit him- he was lost. No, really, he was lost. He looked around, trying to identify the wrong turn he took on the way to the Penny, a route he'd drive hundreds of times. Finding a street sign, he realized he'd never taken a wrong turn, he simply forgot to turn at all. He wondered if he'd stopped at stop signs. He pulled over, taking a deep breath. The knot in his chest tightened, and his throat felt like it was closing. He simply could not function without her. He couldn't even drive. Taking another deep breath to compose himself, he drove to the Penny and had a drink alone. He tried to keep his eyes away from the table where she sat with Dov, Traci, and Nick. He saw the somber looks on their faces, phones sitting on the table. Gail's entrance and the reaction it elicited from her friends told him everything. He felt bad for Peck, getting thrown under the bus the way he was sure she was, but she was a Peck. She'd get out of it. He was just glad it wasn't Andy. He couldn't stare, he reminded himself. No more stolen glances, no more secret winks.

"That's not your job anymore."

He finished his drink at put a five on the bar, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, alone. He turned to look at her one last time, and she looked up from her drink, locking eyes with him for a split second. She looked down at her drink, shaking her head. The sadness in her eyes absolutely broke his heart.

He got back in his truck, speeding home. Door open. Coat hung. Keys dropped. Shirt off. Beer open.

He sat down heavily on the couch, dropping his legs on the coffee table in front of him. He put his arm on the couch behind him. He looked at the void in the couch next to him. The space under his arm where her shoulders fit perfectly. The absence of her warmth pressed against his side. The silence usually filled with her laughter. The spot on his thigh where she liked to rest her hand. The absence of her weight leaned against her side. How he happily supported her tired frame. How he happily supported her.

"That's not your job anymore." Her words haunted him. What she didn't understand was that it wasn't a job, it was an honor. It was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

He wished he knew how to tell her that. He wished she could read his mind.

Beer finished. Shower. T-shirt on. Shorts. Bed. He went through the motions like a zombie, trying to keep his mind clear. Clear of her.

But she was infectious. He couldn't get her out of his head. He couldn't sleep that night.

I hate writing this sad McSwarek! Hopefully the finale gives us something good. Let me know what you think!