It was one of those days. One of those days where Sam wished he'd shut off the alarm clock, pulled the covers over his head and simply refused to get up. If he hadn't gotten up Luke wouldn't have sent Andy and Sam to talk to Tommy, they never would have found the empty gun and Sam wouldn't have had to spend half an hour of watching Andy pace the beach, searching for shells that would prove nothing.

Even now with Mrs. Kalisiak's confession shifting the suspicion off Tommy, Andy looked like she was going to be sick. And so here he was, parked in front of a computer fast forwarding through hours of traffic footage and hoping against hope that he could pick Tommy's car out of the late night traffic.

When he found it at 12:17:48 he triple checked the license plate before printing off a still. At 2:34:08 he found the car again, this time heading back into the city. Breathing a sigh of relief he printed off two copies of everything, shoved it in a folder and went in search of Andy.

He found her exactly where he thought she would be, watching with baited breath as Callaghan interrogated Mrs. Kalisiak. He could tell by the tense set of her shoulders and the deep furrow in her forehead that she was still worried about Tommy. His grip on the folder that would clear all suspicion from her father tightened involuntarily.

"A traffic camera on Kingsway recorded your dad's car heading out to the West Beach around midnight," He handed off the folder to her, "then back again two hours later."

"So he wasn't anywhere near the park when Kalisiak was shot."

"No." Sam's heart contracted, "you were right."

Andy closed her eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"So, you ok to take him home now?"

When she turned to him it looked as though she might cry. She nodded. For a moment their eyes locked and no words were necessary.

"Thank you." Andy said, finding her voice at last.

He nodded and stepped back. He had to back away, before he gave in to the sadness in her eyes and the painful twist in his heart and pulled her against his chest. She wasn't his to hold. She didn't want him.

He left her in the room without another word.

… …

Andy stared around her empty apartment. It was no emptier than she'd left it that morning, and yet the space felt suddenly cavernous. She knew she'd done the right thing, cutting herself off from her father, but knowing that didn't ease the ache. Flawed though he was, he was all she had. And now he was gone.

She was alone.

In many ways she'd been alone since she was eleven years old. Since the morning she woke up and her mother was gone. Since the afternoon she raced home from school expecting to see that her mother had changed her mind and come home and found her father passed out in front of the TV, surrounded by empty cans. Since her twelfth birthday which no one remembered, not even her friends from school.

But somehow, even though she'd been alone for fourteen years, there was an emptiness today that she couldn't name, couldn't fill. It hurt when she breathed.

She tossed her bag onto her bed and headed to the kitchen. She needed a drink. Like father, like daughter. Behind the bottle of vodka and tray of ice cubes was a frozen jar of water she could still read the post in suspended in the ice, Sam Swarek. She set the vodka on the counter and pulled out the jar.

The ice hurt her fingers as she held the jar. She'd forgotten it was there.

Things with Sam had been good since the prison transport two weeks earlier. Somehow they'd managed to slide back into the comfortable camaraderie they'd had before she went and screwed it all up. Somehow putting all the complicated, forbidden feelings she'd had for Sam on ice had worked.

She should probably throw it out. She and Luke were good. There was no need for her to keep other men's names in jars. But she couldn't. Not today. Not on the day Sam had risked his badge to protect her.

She placed the jar back in the freezer, tucked behind the ice cubes and a bag of peas. Luke didn't need to see it, not now, probably not ever. She picked up the vodka to pour herself a glass and then changed her mind. Instead of pulling a glass from the cupboard she walked to the sink, twisted off the cap and dumped the liter of vodka down the drain.

How many times had she done this for her father? Dumped out bottles of alcohol in hopes he wouldn't get drunk that night. It had never worked, and yet she still did it. She'd done it today, taken the whiskey off his table and dumped it on the lawn in front of his building. It hadn't helped. Nothing she'd done for him had helped.

Tears of helplessness, loneliness and anger welled up in her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

There was a knock at the door. She left the nearly empty vodka bottle upended in the sink and walked slowly to the door. Taking a deep steadying breath she pulled it open.

"Dad." Her heart twisted painfully. She'd done the right thing, but it still hurt to see him, standing in her half, clutching the lock box she knew still held his gun because Sam hadn't given her back the key. She bit the inside of her lip and ordered herself to be strong.

It was for the best. For both of them.

A/N: Sorry this is both short and late. For anyone who is also reading Table for Four, chapter 2 is about halfway done, hoping to have it up by Monday There will be at least one more chapter to Drowning as a follow up for the Season Finale tonight. Hopefully I can get that up by next Thursday. Huge thank you to everyone who has read and especially those who took the time to leave a review. You guys are awesome!