A/N: Very sorry for the delay with this final chapter, and thank you so much for sticking with this all the way through and for all your lovely feedback. Just to clear up a quick note from a couple reviews: the idea of spousal privilege would never have entered Sam's head as a way to protect himself. He knows (as well as we all do) that Andy would absolutely lie for him if it ever came down to it, and so in his mind (or my interpretation thereof), it would be Sam's way of protecting her.
I hope this wraps everything up thoroughly; it's been really fun and challenging writing this story, and it's great as always to know you're reading and enjoying. Hopefully you enjoy this last part as well; thanks again!
Disclaimer (which holds for this and every chapter in this story): I don't own Rookie Blue. This is for fun and entertainment.
Oliver could kick himself for misreading Sebastian Cho. (Instead, he's chosen to punch things – which has resulted in several strange looks, a couple of bruises on the outer edge of his right hand, and one well-meaning but utterly unhelpful suggestion from Celery that he look into anger management.) For two days, he's been trying – and failing – to put it behind him, as he knows plenty well that ruminating won't move things forward.
Albatross or not, though, he's made some progress; he's put Cho on a special assignment from his own personal version of vindictive hell, decrypting files from identity-theft cold cases in what's left of the evidence room. Ironically, he cites the commissioner's own 'leave no stone unturned' crusade in rationalizing the task. Cho's got eyes on him all day now, and Oliver casually ensured that the computer he's using is in full view of a surveillance camera – so he's reasonably confident that Cho won't be mired in any underhanded agenda, at least on work time. Maybe he'll have Epstein take over Cho's usual responsibilities, he muses; the kid's been a clandestine computer genius all this time.
(Of course, Epstein's not really a kid anymore. For better or worse, none of his rookies are.)
He's interrupted by a knock at his office door, where – lo and behold – Dov is standing, an intent look on his face. Oliver motions him in. "Your ears must be burning."
"What?" Epstein asks, somewhat perplexed as he shuts the door behind him.
"I was just thinking about you. What's up?"
Epstein walks around to Oliver's side of the desk and motions to the computer. "You mind if I…?"
Oliver holds his hands up. "Knock yourself out."
Within a minute, he's got a webcam window up, through which a woman with tangled auburn curls is looking intently at him. "Which one of you is which?" she inquires, pushing her plastic-framed glasses up on her narrow nose.
"I'm Dov," Epstein says, pointing to himself, "and this is Oliver."
"Hana Keyworth," she says briskly. "Nice to see you. Good news – I've got them."
"Got what?" Oliver asks, looking between the screen and Epstein whiplash-fast.
"Ted McDonald's files," she clarifies. "I figured out the password to his backup after reading over some weird conversation we had a few months ago. I'm saving my own copy someplace safe and sending everything to you right now. Hope you guys are ready for a little turmoil over there."
"It's all true," Oliver murmurs. Not that he had doubted his friends' instincts (and at the end of the day, whatever color his shirt is, that's what they are; his friends), but the part of him that has never lost faith in the good of others really didn't want to believe that this was possible.
He suspects it's going to be a hard pill for a lot of people around here to swallow.
"Everything he said and more," Hana confirms. "There are emails, records of cash transactions – basically, the NAC gang is running Armour North, and they're trafficking drugs out of a bunch of places they're supposed to be running security for. Santana, the Crown Attorney, and all the city council members who are on the board with them are fully aware, and getting paid off to look the other way. And from what you guys have told me and what I have, I can identify at least two people working for TPS who are involved with the gang."
"Cho?" Oliver asks.
Hana nods. "Yeah, his name started showing up in files about two years back. And also…" She looks down and wrinkles her nose. "You guys know a Bradley?"
"Barry Bradley," Epstein responds automatically. "The union rep Andy and Swarek both had. I can't see him working for the mob, though; he probably can't count past ten with his shoes on."
"Unless it's an act," Oliver points out.
On the screen, Hana shakes her head. "It's not. But his father has a bit of a gambling problem, and around a year ago, he lost big on a bet and didn't pay up. So Barry stepped in, or was possibly recruited, to keep his father's kneecaps intact. Every time he's represented somebody, they've done something to piss off the powers that be."
Oliver sighs. "Well, I don't think the powers will be. Not for much longer, anyway."
"There's one more thing you both need to see before we go any further," Epstein says, clicking around a few more times. "When they rebooted the security cameras in the interrogation room, our double-agent buddy Cho forgot, or never knew, that the auxiliary cameras' clocks are two minutes behind. You know, in case there are any discrepancies during backups. They go to a different server, which is why it took me a while to find."
Oliver's eyes widen. "Are you serious?" He wonders if two minutes is enough to prove what they need to.
"Take a look," Epstein suggests, pressing 'play' and walking back around to the front of Oliver's desk. "If you don't mind, though, I'd rather not watch this again."
It turns out that two minutes is exactly enough; the auxiliary camera is in the back, but they have a front-row seat to the horror show nonetheless. Oliver is unnerved by Santana's brutality, saddened that the cuffed and relatively defenseless McDonald never stood a chance – and thoroughly enraged that for years, this charlatan has been the face of the organization to which he's dedicated his life.
"Well, if we didn't have him before, we sure as hell do now," Hana remarks, looking more than a bit nauseated herself. Epstein's begun walking back around the desk to rejoin the conversation.
"Yep," Oliver agrees bleakly. "So, uh…" He forcefully blows out a puff of air. "What do we do now? What's the next step?"
"I've got everything together here," Hana says, flipping through a file. "I'm going to organize it and leak it to some friends in the media. Not to drop names, but come tomorrow morning, this is going to hit the fan in a big way. You might want to get Sam and Andy back here. Where are they, anyway?"
"I don't know," Oliver admits. "Which is probably for the best."
"I ran a search on them last night," Dov adds. "No credit cards used and no license-plate sightings in two days. They could be anywhere."
"As long as one of them picks up the phone sometime today, we'll be okay," Hana comments. "I've gotta go. Call me if you guys need anything."
"Yeah, thanks, Hana," Oliver says. "And be careful – not like you didn't know, but you're playing with fire here."
"Don't worry about me," she says with a wry grin. "I'm dating an Army lieutenant. I'll have my own personal henchmen until all this is done."
Oliver raises an eyebrow. "Interesting match there."
Hana shrugs. "Opposites attract. We'll talk later."
After they close the connection, Oliver turns to the younger man. "So now we wait."
"Now we wait," Epstein concurs. He's looking as green as Hana was a minute ago.
"You okay? Too late to back out now."
"No, I know it is. I'm fine," Epstein assures him. "I'm going to get back to the desk, but first I think I'm gonna go throw up. Just… just this one time."
"Pull it together," Oliver says in what he hopes is a firm but supportive tone. "This'll be over soon."
After Epstein leaves, Oliver realizes he doesn't know which one of them he was addressing.
"We need to do this more often," Andy says with a contented sigh, flopping into one of the overstuffed chairs in the sitting area.
"Have our careers and lives threatened by someone with colossal power?" Sam replies sarcastically, raising the elegant stemware in his hand. "Cheers to that."
Andy laughs. "That part, no. But this part… yeah. The fireplace is growing on me."
"I think you're drunk, McNally," he observes, feeling more than a little silly himself.
She looks critically at her own glass, which she's just topped off with more Riesling. "You bring me to a place in the middle of nowhere that calls itself wine country, what else am I supposed to do?"
"I don't know," he muses. "Lose that stupid robe, for one."
"No!" she protests. "Sam, it's fluffy."
"You look like a polar bear."
"You should put yours on!"
"A drunk polar bear. And no." He stands up, setting his glass down on the coffee table, and approaching her chair. "I think if you lose the robe, I can make it worth your while."
"Hmm," she pretends to deliberate. "You're going to have to try really hard. Because this thing is soft. Would they bill us if I stole it?"
"Yes, they –" Sam is cut off by the sound of his mobile ringing. It takes him a minute to find it – he hasn't really used it since their arrival – and a glance at the screen tells him it's Oliver.
By the time he looks up to tell Andy, she's already at his side, the wine seemingly having evaporated from her system. "Let it go," she instructs. "Call his office from the burner phone."
She digs out the prepaid cell they purchased at a big-box store on their way out here; dials Oliver's office number and puts it on speaker.
His voice fills the room a ring and a half later. "Oliver Shaw."
"It's us," Andy says.
"You need to head back," Oliver replies, clearly not wasting any time. "It's gonna break tomorrow."
"We were right?" Sam asks.
"You already know that. Call me when you're nearby."
Andy hangs up and puts the phone down; she and Sam look at each other for a long moment. "It's almost one now," she says. "With traffic, it'll take four hours. Maybe a little bit longer."
Sam nods. "We shouldn't drive yet, though. The wine and everything, in all seriousness. We should wait an hour."
"Maybe two," Andy agrees. Her face looks somber enough, but Sam can't help noticing she's absently loosening the belt on her robe.
"You think Oliver's still at the barn?" Sam asks a few minutes after they drive back into the city limits. It's nearly eight; they underestimated traffic, not to mention each other.
Andy shrugs. "Should I call him and see?" She reaches for her phone.
"Nah, wait a little bit." Sam waves her off. "I wouldn't mind stopping by the house, grabbing something to eat."
"Do you have anything, even?" Andy wonders.
"There's probably something in the freezer," he thinks aloud. "You know, there's that lasagna I made last –"
"Sam," Andy says urgently, putting a hand on his knee. They're still a block away, but he can see it.
There's a car parked in front of his house.
"Probably just the neighbors having people over," he says, aware that his voice is shaking a little.
"There are no other cars parked on the street," Andy points out, and that's all it takes for Sam to continue past the house at full speed. Sure enough, they barely make it a block before the parked car's lights come on, and it pulls out behind them.
Andy pulls out her phone with trembling hands. "Oliver," she says after a moment. "Thank God you're still there. We were just about to stop at Sam's, and we're being followed."
There's a pause, during which Sam thanks his own deities of choice for the newly filled gas tank.
"Okay. Thanks, Oliver. We'll be right there." Andy hangs up and turns to him. "He said to go straight to 15. The sally port will be open and guarded, we can drive right in."
Sam nods, eyes firmly on the road. He spots a yellow traffic light ahead, with the 'don't walk' symbol flashing; he speeds up, deftly changes lanes around a minivan, and passes through the intersection. He's too focused to check the rearview, or to think too much about the squeal of tires coming from behind them. "They still there, McNally?"
She glances back and inhales sharply. "No. They must've run the red light."
"No? How are they not there if they ran the light?" Sam retorts, louder than he'd like.
"Because they got T-boned in the intersection," she says quickly. "Just go!"
True to his word, Oliver has the sally port open and available, with Diaz and Epstein visible just inside. They pull in and exit the cab.
"You guys all right?" Diaz calls as he and Epstein double back behind them, trailing them inside.
"Yeah, we lost them," Sam confirms. "Didn't go so well for them, though. 27's about to get a call for an MVA."
Once they're safely inside, the four of them congregate in the hallway. "Hana sent everything to the media, but we don't think Santana knows anything yet," Epstein begins.
"Well, obviously he knows something," Andy responds, her voice unsteady. "I don't know who was following us, but I doubt they got the idea on their own."'
"You know?" Sam asks Diaz, letting his hand briefly rest on the small of Andy's back.
Diaz nods, a look of utter disdain on his face. "Traci, too. I knew McDonald was clean when I searched him, I just didn't think it could be that bad."
"Come in here," Epstein suggests, motioning to the empty office behind him. "You need to see this."
Fifteen minutes later, Andy's white as a sheet and Sam's certain he doesn't look much better. "As if the bribery, corruption, and threatening we knew about weren't enough," he says slowly, eyes on the desk, "let's go ahead and tack on murder."
"Given everyone who's involved in all of this, they'll have to find someone new to prosecute him," Epstein points out.
The doorknob turns, leading a collective bristle from the four of them; Andy, standing closest to the laptop on the desk, slams it shut. The atmosphere in the small room relaxes just as quickly as Nash comes through the door.
"Are you guys okay?" she asks Sam and Andy, clasping her friend's shoulder. "How long have you been working on this? I had no idea. No one did – or does."
"A few weeks," Andy tells her. "Things were starting to get crazy, so we took a couple of days away from all of this. Oliver's orders. It was a good call."
Nash nods. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because we didn't want anyone else getting followed by God knows who," Sam says. "Or worse."
"Let's go see Oliver," Andy suggests. "He doesn't know we're here yet, right? I hope he's not worried."
"We told him we were planning on showing you everything once you got here," Diaz explains as they file out of the office. Upon reaching the sparsely populated bullpen, they can see Jarvis and two other suit-clad men in Oliver's office, and come to a stop.
"We don't know anything about Jarvis," Andy points out in a low voice. "He could be just as corrupt as the rest of them."
"Then he'll go down with the rest of them," Sam mutters. "Come on."
"You two go ahead," Epstein suggests tightly, craning his neck as he attempts to see down the hallway to their left. "Looks like someone just called Duncan over there, and if I had to guess…"
"Oh, shit," Andy whispers. "Just go, guys, okay? Dov, call Hana. See if she can get over here."
"We should go upstairs," Sam says, nudging her side gently.
"No," Andy rejoins, shaking her head. "We should hear what he's saying."
"Andy…"
"What's he gonna do, Sam? Shoot us in the middle of the station?"
He sighs. "Then I'll go eavesdrop. You go upstairs, or go with Nash to…" The look she shoots him is so incredulous and intimidating, Sam actually takes half a step back. "Okay. Let's go."
They can hear the vitriol in Santana's hushed voice before his words are clear. "You've always been lazy. Sloppy. Useless. Every time I've done something to keep you from embarrassing your mother and me, you screw it up."
"Don't bring her into this…" Duncan protests somewhat weakly.
"Or what? You're on thin ice here, and I'm the only reason you got your first shot at it, let alone your second. And instead of being grateful for the opportunity, keeping your head down and learning the job, you continue to require someone to bail you out. And I'm more than tired of compromising my reputation for you."
There's a pause before Duncan speaks – in the same rather timid voice they've never heard him use outside a conversation with Santana. "I… I've been doing good the last couple weeks. That's what my TO said, and Sergeant Shaw…"
"Then why," Santana snaps, am I getting a call from a reporter about a video of me in my home office?"
"I don't… I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, really?" Santana responds archly. "Let's take a look at who it possibly could have been, shall we? The only people with that kind of access are you, your mother, and the housekeeper. Your mother was out of town the week this video was allegedly shot, and Nelly can barely work a landline phone – which leaves you, and your obsession with taking photos and videos on the smartphone that I paid for. So I'm only going to say this once: if I choose to use my space within the house to entertain a friend, Duncan, it's really nobody's business but mine. Certainly not the media. And it's been ingrained into you for years that the media would love nothing more than a scandal involving higher-ups in the police department. They'll create something out of nothing to sell a story. If I have to contend with any of that, you'll regret it, I assure you."
Sam feels Andy tense beside him as one of the pair begins walking away, footsteps growing heavier in their direction – but then Duncan's voice rings out from behind the corner. "But it's not nothing."
A tiny screeching noise follows – presumably Santana's shoes doing a quick about-face on the linoleum. "What did you say to me?"
"It's not nothing," Duncan repeats, calm and composed now. "And they weren't friends. All those guys in there, they run with the NAC gang. I looked at the profiles we have here, and every one of them is associated with the mob. So if they were your friends, then you got bigger problems than the media."
"You listen to me…" Santana warns.
"No, I'm done listening to you!" Duncan exclaims, gaining both volume and anger. "You cheated on my mother, got an officer pregnant, and gave her a promotion for keeping her mouth shut! You paid a criminal to lie about Detective Swarek so he would stop looking into all the shit you did, and then you made up something about reopening his father's case when you knew it would never happen."
At this, Sam and Andy look at one another with consternation.
"It's all on video, Alonso, and it's never going away," Duncan continues in a biting tone. "That's the thing with social media they're always talking about, right? Once it's out there, you can't take it back. Just a matter of time until everyone knows what you did."
"I don't know who you think you are," Santana begins viciously, "but I…"
"You, Commissioner, are going to need to take a walk with us." Sam startles, and he and Andy turn to see Oliver, Inspector Jarvis, and his associates standing behind them. The look with which Jarvis is fixing Santana is teeming with disdain.
Santana blanches, but quickly draws himself up. "Inspector, you know as well as most that being in a prominent position puts one at risk for this kind of action…"
"I just got a call from a detective at 27," Jarvis interrupts. "There was an accident about an hour ago. The driver was pronounced at the scene, but amazingly, the passenger was conscious – and told our guys that you had asked them to park in front of a specific house, wait until a specific vehicle pulled up, and take care of whoever was inside." At this, he turns to Sam and Andy. "I see you two are all right?"
"Yes, sir," Andy answers too quickly, all sharp nod and clenched jaw. Sam offers his own nonverbal affirmation, trying and failing to unhear what Jarvis has just said.
"We've read some interesting things tonight, Commissioner," Jarvis continues, his attention refocused on Santana. "And seen some interesting footage too. Particularly from the interrogation rooms."
Time seems to stand still for an agonizingly slow moment – and then Sam sees it settle. Oliver's expression shifts into one of grave disappointment with a healthy side of fury; Andy's fixing a laser-beam glare that's likely to incinerate from the inside out; Duncan is looking from one face to the next with uncertainty; and Santana himself has finally been rendered silent.
"We've got a busy night ahead of us," Jarvis announces. "Get some rest, 15, if you can. Shaw, Swarek, McNally – I'll need you all first thing in the morning."
His associates walk Santana out of the station – they don't cuff him, which Sam considers anticlimactic on some base level, but he recognizes that until the story officially breaks and whoever's left at the top has a chance to gain some control over things, it's asking for chaos to lead the commissioner through a division with his hands fixed behind his back.
"He didn't look happy," comes a sharp voice from behind them. Sam turns to see Hana, her diminutive figure somewhat dwarfed by a stoic-looking guy in camouflage who can only be described as hulking. It's entirely possible Epstein is behind them.
Sam snorts. "You do."
"Yeah, justice being served always makes me a little bit smug." Hana grins briefly before sobering. "You guys okay? Dov told us what happened."
Andy offers the same kneejerk response she provided to Jarvis; Sam nods.
"Tom and his roommates rent a house in Leaside," she says, motioning to the living mountain beside her. "There's an upstairs room, vacant and furnished. You'd be safe there for as long as you need."
"Thanks," Sam replies doubtfully with a glance at Andy, "but…"
"Just want to go home," she finishes.
Oliver steps forward. "Leave the truck tonight. Someone working overnight can drive you, we can give you a protective detail until the morning."
"I don't think anything else is going to happen, though," Epstein adds, "for whatever it's worth."
Sam nods, the cumulative exhaustion of the past few weeks smacking into him all at once. "Not much left to happen that hasn't already."
It's a bit surreal, riding in the back of a cruiser. (Not like he hasn't done it before, but to say the circumstances were different would be a tremendous understatement.) While searching through the duffle for his toothbrush, Sam notes with mild amusement that beneath their belongings lies a tight roll of plush white terrycloth. He turns to Andy, garment in hand. "You know they already charged the credit card for this."
Andy, already in pajamas, is sitting stock still on the bed. She doesn't turn around or respond.
"Okay," he mutters, heading to the bathroom. By the time he returns, she's under the covers, lights out. He slips in beneath the duvet and waits.
It doesn't take long before she turns from her side onto her back. "Sam." Her voice breaks; she's not going to say anything else and she doesn't have to.
"I know," he murmurs, reaching for her and narrowly avoiding a blow across the face from an errant and desperate arm. "I know."
(It occurs to him strangely as he pulls her against his chest that she probably doesn't even realize how much this is helping him. It's not his style, this kind of vulnerability, and this situation is difficult enough without stepping well beyond the bounds of his normal coping mechanisms.
So he'll be unflappable for the both of them until she can wrap her head around all of this, and she'll let herself feel what he can't, or maybe won't, just yet. It's a peculiar divide-and-conquer, and perhaps not the standard definition of teamwork – but if he's honest with himself, things started to look up for them as a pair the moment they stopped trying to define themselves and each other.)
He's not sure how much time elapses before she stops shuddering, but eventually she raises her head to meet his eyes. "We shouldn't have come back until it was done. Completely done."
"Internal Affairs was going to want to talk to us as soon as possible," he points out. "And there's no way anyone thought Santana would have taken things that far, or we would've just kept hiding out."
"You know what's awful?" She scoffs, the sound truncated by a harsh sob. "I'm actually thinking that he helped us by doing that, because now the mob ties really couldn't be clearer. Who thinks that? God, what is wrong with…"
"Shh." He presses his lips to her forehead. "I thought the same thing, to be honest. Doesn't mean I'm happy about it, but… let's just be glad it backfired."
She lets out a shaky laugh. "Let's be glad you're an excellent driver."
"Told you so." He shrugs, looking at her steadily with a growing smirk until she laughs for real.
"Is this going to be your excuse every time I ask to drive again?"
"That's a pretty good suggestion, thanks." He grins as she swats lightly at him. "I love you. You know that?"
"I'd be pretty pissed if after this, you suddenly decided you didn't." She raises a teasing eyebrow before nestling against him once more. "I love you too."
"That's good." He absently strokes her bicep. "I mean, more for you, really, since you're stuck with me."
"Only in the state of New York." She's beginning to sound drowsy now.
"Pretty sure it doesn't work that way," he says, stifling a yawn himself. As he drifts off, he thinks that whatever future challenges await them, they're more or less experts in 'for better or worse'.
By sunrise, their discoveries are ubiquitous: all over the early news shows, Internet sites, and dominating several sections of Andy's morning paper. Sam isn't entirely certain how he feels about the videos being released – particularly the one plastered with warnings of graphic content – but it's pretty clear from civilian interviews and comments that even if Santana managed to escape prosecution, the court of public opinion would be waiting with grim anticipation and countless heavy objects to throw at him.
Oliver picks them up a little after seven. "Santana's in custody," he says by way of greeting. "So are Cho and Bradley, and all the NAC gang members they named. The two of them will probably get some kind of deal, but I doubt they'll avoid jail time altogether – and they'll never serve again, that's for sure."
"And Santana?" Sam asks.
"Remanded without bail," Oliver responds. "I'd be surprised if he leaves prison in his lifetime. The acting Crown Attorney on this is going to be merciless."
"Yeah, well, can't say he doesn't deserve it," Andy says with a nonchalant shrug.
Oliver glances at her in the rearview and smirks. "I'll channel my eldest daughter and say sorry I'm not sorry."
Jarvis is already waiting in the staff sergeant's office when they arrive. It's early enough that the bullpen is mostly empty – the overnight shift is still straggling back, while the day team has yet to arrive in great numbers – but the few who are present offer them glances of respect and admiration as they pass through.
"Word spreads fast," Oliver remarks quietly, holding his office door open for the two of them. As he prepares to walk in himself, Epstein, then Hana dart in past him. Jarvis is standing along the far wall of the room, and the five of them arrange themselves in what chairs are available, with Sam standing beside a seated Andy and Oliver awkwardly perched on the edge of his desk.
Sam leans across Andy to address Hana as the room settles. "Nice op-ed this morning."
Hana grins. "My first real byline. Not too shabby, huh?" They turn their attention to the inspector as he clears his throat.
"I'm still trying to process this," Jarvis opens; his suit is neatly pressed, but it's doubtful he's slept a wink. "This division has, quite frankly, been a thorn in my side. And yet, one of your detectives manages to bring down a corrupt commissioner, two dirty cops, four city councilors, the Crown Attorney, and a handful of high-level members of the Irish mob, who are all singing like birds and pointing fingers at one another – with help from two officers, a staff sergeant who'd rather be walking a beat, and a private human rights lawyer."
The five in question collectively seem to hold their breath.
"I have to tell you, Shaw. The leadership in this place is…" He turns to Oliver, who appears to be bracing himself. "Outstanding."
Oliver actually laughs. "Not what I was expecting to hear."
"Well, this city is in your debt," Jarvis assures him. "And I'm sorry if this disappoints you, but yes, it means you'll be keeping the white shirt."
Oliver glances down at his ironed collar. "That's okay. I think it's growing on me."
Jarvis smirks. "Well, I'm more than happy to say I told you so. It's been a very long night, as I'm sure you can imagine. Officers, we'll be taking your official statements this afternoon, but in the meantime, do you have any questions for me?"
"Do we have to worry about retaliation?" Andy asks, leaning forward. "From the NAC gang or anyone else?"
Jarvis shakes his head. "The acting Crown Attorney struck a deal with Nathaniel Gallant late last night – no additional charges in exchange for testimony against Santana. Steve Peck has spoken to two confidential informants, who confirmed independent of one another that the arrests have left the NAC gang fractured. They're more concerned with fighting each other for power than going after any of you."
"Yeah, but what if the arrests don't stick?" Dov queries.
"They will," Jarvis says firmly. "Santana, the Crown Attorney, and the city councilors are all desperate to get their sentences reduced. They've already implicated each and every one of them."
Silence fills the room, until Sam closes his eyes, placing a hand on the back of Andy's chair. "My father is serving a sentence in Millburn. At one point, Santana said something…"
"About looking into his case to have him released?" Jarvis finishes. "Yeah. Visitor log at Millburn has Bradley going down there to talk to him five days ago."
Now or never. "Is there anything to that?"
"He's got nothing," Jarvis tells him. "Whatever you said or didn't say as a minor is irrelevant to why he's still incarcerated, and no one would touch it even if it were. Santana was trying to scare you. He went digging, saw all the domestic violence charges, and put it together."
Sam sighs. "He was bluffing."
"Yes." Jarvis nods once. "And so you're aware, Detective, when your father does get released, if he's stupid and lucky enough to find someone with a megaphone who will listen to him… he can try all he wants to drag your name through the mud. But he'll fail."
"We've got your back, Sam," Oliver adds.
Sam smiles tightly as he looks around the room, wondering if it's always been this easy to breathe, or if the last two decades actually made him forget how.
"If that's all," Jarvis says, "I've got some things to take care of downtown. Superintendent Brooks and I will be back at three to speak with each of you about this formally."
"I'll walk out with you," Hana says, getting to her feet. "I'm doing a couple interviews for news stations this week, and was hoping we could find a time to sit down and talk about TPS's plan for dealing with corruption and transparency moving forward."
"We'll have to schedule that later on," Jarvis is saying as they exit; their polite negotiations are audible as they continue out past the office.
"I guess Jarvis has a new thorn in his side," Andy says with a smirk.
Oliver smiles, looking at the clock. "It's eight o'clock. McNally, Epstein, go get changed; parade waits for no man. Except me."
Sam isn't sure why, but he finds himself waiting outside the women's locker room until Andy emerges. Once they walk into the parade room, though, he realizes it was to trust his gut; upon seeing them, the staff breaks into raucous applause.
"Thanks, thanks," he says, waving both hands in a motion to quiet them down. "Come on, enough."
Once everyone settles down and focuses, Oliver begins to speak. "All right, 15. It's possible you're living under a rock and you haven't noticed, but thanks to the fine work of a few of our own, Toronto Police Services is currently undergoing some changes at the top. A little bit of a facelift. I'm not sure yet if that means anything will change for us, but when I know, you'll know. In the meantime, this is what we've got going on."
As he reviews the day's agenda, Sam feels warm breath against his ear. "So you're a hero, a crusader for truth, and a plastic surgeon? I just keep getting luckier."
Sam looks at Andy quizzically. "Plastic surgeon, what are you…"
She shrugs, a mischievous grin on her face. "Well, Oliver said you gave the place a facelift, so…"
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "That's my kind of joke, McNally."
"What's yours is mine now, right?" She bats her eyes at him exaggeratedly.
"Swarek and McNally, if you're done having your own private conversation back there, could you come up front for our last matter of business today?" Oliver's voice leads them to jump slightly apart.
"You got it boss," Sam manages to say, following Andy past the tables to where Oliver is standing.
"We got a little problem here," Oliver announces.
Andy wrinkles her nose. "Problem? What problem?"
"Well…" Oliver begins slowly, "what else do you call it when you sneak off and get married without telling anyone? Nash? Price?"
As the room again fills with cheers and wolf-whistles, the two in question come forward with smiles that make Sam more than a little nervous and open their hands, casting what appears to be glitter all over the two of them.
"Oh, come on," Sam protests as Andy futilely brushes at the front of her uniform. "This stuff stays in your hair for weeks."
"Yes, yes," Oliver says with a grin. "May your happiness outlast this glitter, which they'll still be finding in the rug after the next Ice Age. Assignments are on the board, everyone."
As officers begin to disperse, Nash approaches them, squeezing their arms. "I can't believe you didn't tell me," she hisses to Andy. "I owe you a bachelorette party, at least."
"Get some wine and junk food, and we'll call it even," Andy tells her with a grin as Sam turns to Oliver.
"How did you know?"
Oliver motions to Sam's left hand. "Saw you taking the ring off before you got in the car this morning. I've never known you to be a big jewelry guy, plus McNally didn't bother hiding hers."
Sam cocks his head, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the gold band. "And the glitter?"
"Ah, yes," Oliver says with a sage nod. "That is the result of Zoe leaving the younger of our precious children here with no notice and little entertainment other than arts and crafts projects. But really, if you and McNally want to take some more time off after your depositions, it's fine. I'd hate to cut the honeymoon short."
"I'll talk to her about it tonight." Sam claps his friend on the back. "Thanks, man. For everything with this."
"Anytime, brother." Oliver grins before turning his attention to a rookie with a question.
The room empties, and Sam and Andy turn toward one another. "How does your morning look?" Andy asks.
Sam shrugs. "Wasn't really paying attention to anything Oliver said before he called us up. I'll probably spend the next two hours getting glitter off of me, and then Nash can fill me in on whatever's been going on. You?"
"Riding with Chloe. Don't worry, I'll pay her back; I think she's scared of snakes." Andy laughs.
"So I'll see you back here this afternoon?" Sam asks, holding the door for her.
Andy nods. "Yep. And tonight?"
"I'm sure we'll figure it out. Although, you know, at some point we're gonna have to figure out a permanent solution to 'your place or mine.'"
"At some point," Andy agrees. "But I think there are more important things we need to take care of first."
"Oh, really." He raises an eyebrow.
She nods, stopping in the hallway. "I'll see you later. If it's slow, maybe I'll even bring you lunch." When she doesn't move, he looks at her curiously. "Go!" she urges him, motioning toward the D's office.
He starts toward the bullpen, but turns back after about ten paces. She's still there, a satisfied smirk on her face, and she is… yep, she's unabashedly checking out his posterior.
Sam chuckles to himself as he continues on. Whether or not the honeymoon's over, he has a feeling the adventure has yet to begin.