A/N: I'm sorry but I lied. This isn't the completed final chapter. I started writing and the words just started running away and I realized that I'd written enough for another chapter entirely when I was barely halfway done. So instead of keeping you waiting until I do finish it completely, I'm once again posting what I've written. I hope you all enjoy it! :)

Disclaimer: My birthday came and went and I still don't own Rookie Blue. So I write fanfiction instead.

Chapter 3

The tenth time he's at the waterfront, he's a call away from going under on his biggest operation yet.

"I got no idea when Ramirez'll get Hill to bite so just be ready to bounce when I get the call," Boyd had said as they exited the station on Sunday, referring to one of his other UC guys who was getting Sam the job.

Sam nodded his understanding.

"This is the one, Sammy, I can feel it. That bastard's going down for sure." Boyd went on gleefully, clapping his hands on Sam's shoulders.

He fought the urge to shove the other man's hands away. Boyd might be a copper and one of the handlers of Guns and Gangs but there was just something about the vice detective that didn't quite sit well with Sam.

The call could've come at any moment so when he shows up at the waterfront that Wednesday afternoon, he's utterly grateful for his stroke of luck. He whiles away the hour as he does every year, freezing his nose off and wondering if today was going to be the day but of course, he's disappointed once again. He scrubs a hand through his hair just as the last rays of sunlight slip beneath the lake's glassy surface then turns around to prop his elbows on the railings behind him. His eyes scan the waterfront slow and steady but nothing moves in the distance.

His phone vibrates against his leg, alerts him to a text.

It's on. Hill wants to meet you tonight. Be at the station in 15.

He makes another pass around the deserted waterfront. Nothing. Another year, another class and it still wasn't hers. Kicking off the railing, he pockets his phone and goes to hand his life over to Anton Hill.

...

It's eight months later when she literally comes barging into his life.

Not the teenage skateboarder from the waterfront (although by this point she definitely shouldn't be a teenager) but McNally. Andy McNally.

After months of living like a rat and gathering as much dirt on Hill as he can, he's so close to getting out of this hell hole he can taste it. All he had to do was sit tight for another two weeks when the largest shipment of heroin to ever come into the city would dock at the harbor, accompany Hill to the pier, and let Boyd's team do the rest.

So naturally, he isn't the least bit thrilled when 15's very own rising star Officer Andy McNally decides to pad her wall of gold stars and earn herself a cookie by arresting him and his narc.

Sure, there's a moment after she bursts through that door when he allows himself the brief thought that even with that gun shaking in her hand and that panicked, slightly crazed look in her eyes, she is the most beautiful creature he's ever seen but damn it if he was going to go down because he couldn't get a hold of himself.

Not that it does him any good and 15 minutes later, he finds himself sitting in a squad car throwing a meaningful look at Oliver as he gets settled in his seat. His buddy tries though, he has to hand it to him, and he would have succeeded too if that other damn rookie hadn't wanted to be the booking hero of the day, stalling them long enough for them to catch Jerry's eye.

And then there he is, two steps away from smashing the windows out of Boyko's office while he gives Bambi a piece of his mind. Because really, how much air does your head have to be filled with for you to arrest an officer from your own division? He's had enough of this though, doesn't care if Boyko has something else to say. So he storms out of the office, feeling the need to lash out at some helpless inanimate object that won't fight back.

He finds it in the form of his locker and is beating it to hell and back when she has the nerve to come in.

"Is that working for you, huh?" she asks like he's the one who needs to explain himself. "All the slamming and banging. I mean, I get your point."

He stops his assault only because he gets the idea that maybe she'll leave him alone if he gets his locker open and starts stripping to take a shower. "What're you doing here?"

"Being persistent. You know, I have nothing else going for me today so you know, 'when in doubt…'"

"I don't like girl guides." He's also not looking at her because while she may have shot eight months of his life to hell, he's still a guy and his initial impression of her still stands.

"And I don't like being raked over coals for not knowing the secret handshake. You know, console yourself. I'll probably be fired."

He starts working at the lock, barely listening as she continues her ranting monologue. But he catches the end of it and sneers, "I've only been a cop for five minutes," as he wrenches his locker open and shoots her a look. And shit, yeah, he shouldn't have done that because she's even more beautiful when she's not looking like a damn deer in headlights and he almost feels a bubble of…pride? well up inside him when he sees her staring him down like she's been doing it her whole life. It's nothing to get excited over but it's enough to bring the fire in his veins down a couple degrees and grudgingly offer her his assistance.

So he tells her what he knows and fights hard to keep his eye-rolling to a minimum every time she reminds him of just how painfully green she is. He also starts to strip because a) he's in desperate need of a shower and b) he wants to see if he can ruffle her feathers. But she doesn't blush, doesn't even bat an eye even when he's shirtless and pulling off his pants. Well, good. She may be a rookie but at least she's not a bimbo.

Then he's standing in nothing but his underwear and she's still leaning against the wall like this is her damn locker room.

"Do you mind?" He doesn't really but the gentleman that's been buried under his drug addict persona for the last several months is kicking him sharply in the shins.

She rolls her eyes but pushes off the wall and walks away.

His gaze follows her out and he swears she puts a little sway in her hips that wasn't there before. Touché.

He showers, takes his time too because this is the first time in eight months that he's not dodging various insects in the stall and cursing faulty water heating systems. Also, a briefing with Boyd is next and even though he knows that he needs to talk to the detective while the facts are still fresh in his head, his mood could probably improve some if he could delay seeing Boyd again for a little while longer.

But he can't put it off forever so he finds himself in one of the conference rooms where the detective is pacing a hole into the floor, no doubt alerted by Boyko of the situation. He's barely two steps in the door when the other man explodes into a fit, expletives coloring his words. Somehow, between Boyd cursing every other person he could think of and shoving the various office chairs into the wall, Sam gets the story out and both men concede that they might have enough to possibly put the heroin kingpin away if they play their cards right.

He has another unwanted date with paperwork, legalities and releases that stand between him and active duty back at the division, but he pushes through and gets his service piece back from Boyko, the weight of the familiar Glock in his hands marginally lifting his spirits. By then it's the end of shift and Jerry takes pity on him and steers him away to the Penny, informing him on the way there that Oliver's rookie had gotten the shooter. Good for you, Bambi.

He's nursing his second scotch when she comes up next to him, offers to buy him a drink to say thanks or sorry or something. He'd let her too, he would. But he's still coming to terms with eight months of his life blowing up in his face and the fact that wide-eyed rookie or not, she all but takes his breath away and he really doesn't need those two things mixing in his head. So he turns her down and watches the sheepishness flash across her face before she heads back to her circle of friends.

Jerry sticks around for a while longer then abruptly heads out, leaving him slightly baffled at his bar stool as he stares after his friend all but chasing one of the rookies out the door.

Then a hand claps him on the back.

"Great to have you back, Sammy."

He turns and sees Oliver sliding onto the stool next to him.

"Wish I could say the same." he grumbles, spinning his glass on the counter.

Oliver gets it, knows it isn't personal. "Look, man. We'll get that son of a bitch. You still got your CI, don't you?"

He grunts into his drink.

"Just give it some time."

He hopes to God he's right because to come that close to putting away that Russian bastard for life only to have it backfire horrifically is eating up his insides.

"So, what's the deal with that new rookie?" he ventures after a moment.

Oliver signals the bartender for a beer. "Which one?"

Right. She does have a name, one that escapes him at the moment. "The…one with the damn bambi eyes."

"Ah," Oliver nods and sips his foaming beer. "McNally."

"Yeah, her."

There's a brief pause in which Oliver seems to debate whether or not to give him this answer. "She's Tommy's kid."

His eyes shoot over to his friend, a silent, Are you kidding me?, plastered all over his face. Both he and Ollie had trained with Tommy McNally years ago and the gruff Uni-turned-homicide detective was one of the few cops he'd come to admire over the years despite the troubles that had come Tommy's way. And now that this Andy was his kid…well, she could've fooled Sam. He could only hope that she had picked up on some of Tommy's more favorable traits.

Oliver reads his look. "Yeah, I know, brother. She's as green as they come. You should've seen her face when she told me she arrested you." He broke off with a short laugh but sobered and cleared his throat under Sam's death glare. "But uh, she's got a good heart. So…I don't know, maybe try not to murder her the next time you see her."

He scoffs and shakes his head. Well, he's done pretty good so far. But if Andy McNally was going to get his respect, then she would have to earn it first. And he wasn't going to make it easy for her even if she was his old T.O.'s daughter.

Especially if she was his old T.O.'s daughter.

He's back on the beat the next day and it's just his luck that Boyko pairs him up with McNally for the ride. The Bambi eyes are gone, for the moment at least, but he can still read her like an open book and she keeps doing this thing where she just starts talking and doesn't stop and jeez, he can't even hear the voice in his own head anymore. So he decides to have his fun with her, sends her up to see Emily with fake charges and a take-out menu warrant. Because hey, he's already on the streets so he might as well tie up some loose ends while he's at it. She's none too happy of course, says something about trying to follow his rules but he just grins. Never been one for rules anyway.

But the hazing is cut short and it all gets too real too fast. He's got a mess to clean and no time to be babysitting a two-day old rookie. There's enough on his mind without her having to get mucked up in it too. But when he hears that gun cock right behind his head, feels the cool metal against his scalp, he knows he screwed up in ways that makes McNally's pale in comparison. So he keeps his cool, plays his cards even if he doesn't have any, and when he sees her coming down the steps, he doesn't know if he should be relieved or furious that she just disobeyed his order. But she's different this time. Her gun is steady, her voice, confident, and for that moment, he doesn't see a rookie who doesn't know the on button from the off on her radio; he sees a copper every bit deserving of that title, and his partner. Of course, he's not quite ready to completely let bygones by bygones—she burned him, for Christ's sake—but he does give her an inch of slack on the ropes, lets her catch herself on the ledge instead of sending her careening over the side and tells himself it's only because she took a page out his own book and not because he's finding it increasingly difficult to take his eyes off her.

That mantra lasts him until that night when it's all but shot to hell outside the Penny while they're standing toe-to-toe and he's staring straight into her hazel eyes like he's never seen anything like them. Only he has; he just can't quite figure out where. Actually, he can't figure out much of anything, not with her slowly closing the distance between them and the overwhelming desire to kiss that smile off her lips building inside him.

What?

Thankfully—or unfortunately, he can't really decide—she gathers her senses enough for both of them and breaks the moment before they end up in something they can't even figure out. It's a second too late for him though and as he's pulling out of the parking lot watching her out of the corner of his eye, he knows this isn't headed for anywhere but trouble.

...

Boyko seems to think they work well together because more often than not he's out on the streets with her riding shotgun. He hasn't been a T.O. for a while since the division hasn't had any rookies for a few years now so it takes a few days for him to settle into riding with the new rooks and get it in his head that whenever they can't tell left from right, it's not because they're brainless morons but because they really don't know any better and it's up to him to teach them.

He gets it though. After all, it's only been ten years since he was in their shoes. But that doesn't mean he has to enjoy the whole training process especially when he'd much rather be busting Anton Hill for trafficking and pimping. Still, it's his job and if he doesn't do it then who will?

So he rides with McNally, lets her get a feel of the streets she'll be protecting for as long as she's in blue. It's not always smooth sailing—his wounded pride makes sure of that—but eventually, they fall into a rhythm and he spends his days showing her exactly what it means to serve and protect.

They're cruising near the northern division boundary one night, having pulled the short straw and gotten stuck with the graveyard shift that week. It's a little after 2 AM and from the quiet lull that fills the cruiser, he can tell that she's slowly losing her battle with five straight nights of working the streets. But the streets don't sleep, not really, so when the call of a three-alarm fire comes over the radio, he's not all that surprised. She's pulled out of her stupor at that, her eyes now alert and darting nervously. It's her first fire call so he gives her a few pointers as they head for the scene.

They come to a stop just as Noelle and Nash are pulling up, the other rookie just as wide-eyed and slightly panicky as McNally as they gape at the blazing apartment building in front of them. The fire department's already there so he sends McNally to tape up the perimeter and start taking statements from the neighbors. She doesn't move at first, just keeps staring, transfixed, at the building engulfed in flames and he has to give her shoulder a squeeze, her first name rolling quietly off his tongue before he can help himself, before she's spurred into action.

One by one, the apartment's inhabitants are brought out and evaluated by the EMTs on scene and those that aren't bad enough to be taken to the hospital are questioned by him and Noelle. He's been to dozens of fires over the years but the looks on the faces of the survivors, of the people who have just lost everything and in some screwed up cases, everyone in their lives, are ones he'll never get used to.

He's finishing his talk with a single mother and her five year old son when Noelle discreetly calls his attention to a young man hovering in the shadows. He nods and the two of them slowly make their way over to the man but he catches on and bolts off, forcing them into pursuit. They corner him in an alley and it's Sam that takes him down, pats his pockets, and finds a lighter in his jeans. He smokes, the man tells them but Sam finds no cigarettes or blunts, smells no tobacco or weed. Instead, he smells gasoline and it's all he and Noelle need to haul the young man to the cruisers to run his ID through the system.

A half a dozen misdemeanors and another handful of felonies with no mention of arson is what they find but it's enough to be suspicious so they get the guy in Noelle's car for her to take back to the barn while he and McNally head out to check the address listed on the license.

They pull away from the scene, the fire behind them considerably smaller than when they first arrived, and he sees the relief playing across his rookie's face when she takes a final look back. He gives her a rundown of the suspect as he drives, fields her questions about the fire and fire procedure in general. Eventually, the discussion circles back to the young man in custody. In true McNally form, she was giving him the benefit of the doubt in spite of his history and suspicious activity.

"Oh, c'mon. You don't actually know that he did it."

He shrugs. "I don't, but I believe it."

And he did, the lighter, smell of gasoline, and loitering at the scene basically implicating the young man. Of course, as a rookie barely three weeks into the job and as McNally, he knows she's going to need more of a reason than that.

"You work the streets long enough, you start getting a nose for these things," he goes on, calling on his years of experience dealing with every type of criminal under the sun. "Arsonists love going back to the scene. See the work they've done. The literal moth to a flame."

He waits for her retort but gets nothing. That's a first. Sliding his gaze over to her, he catches her staring at him, a vaguely mystified expression fixed on her face.

Okay…

"What?"

She blinks at that, rapidly, then looks away like she's just been caught doing something she shouldn't have.

"Nothing." she replies, shaking her head, sounding a little too offhand.

Right. He doesn't buy it but hell, it's McNally and as hard as he tries—and ever since the Anton Hill case he's made it his personal mission to try—he can never figure out what's going on in her head half the time anyway. So he puts it behind him and focuses instead on getting to the suspect's apartment, even as he feels her gaze sneaking his way every so often when she thinks he isn't paying attention.

When it comes to you, McNally, I'm always paying attention.

A/N: Did you get what I did there? ;) I'm pretty sure the next chapter will be the completed final chapter but we'll see how well I stick to that haha. So please leave a line if you'd be so kind and share your thoughts. As always, thank you again for sticking with this. I appreciate your support immensely. :)