AN: WOW! Thanks everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I know a lot of you aren't too happy with me right now, but I appreciate all of your feedback. I hope you'll keep reading and reviewing :)

Chapter 8: Leave Out All the Rest

Andy turned sideways in the chair so she could face Sam where he stood in the doorway. She folded and unfolded her hands, waiting, though for what she couldn't have said. The air between them felt charged with all the things unsaid and yet she couldn't seem to find the words to start. Sam seemed to be in the same state, though his slouched posture projected an air of relaxation, there was a tension in his jaw and his eyes seemed to bore into her. Not for the first, or last, time she thought how easy it would be to just skip this awkwardness and fly into his arms, but then she remembered the unasked question that had dangled on her lips the night before, saved from being said aloud only by the arrival of Jo on the doorstep, and she knew she couldn't avoid it any longer.

"Did you...? Are you... seeing anyone?" She asked in a strangled voice she didn't quite recognize. The minute she said it, she wished she had found a way to ease into the conversation, but for all Sam told her talking was her gift, she'd never been particularly good at awkward conversations.

A flicker of something crossed Sam's face and the pause before he answered stretched several seconds too long. Andy's heart thudded unpleasantly against her ribs. He is, her traitorous brain announced, and unbidden she saw Jo Rosati's face.

"No," Sam said at last. "I'm not seeing anyone."

Andy could have collapsed back against her chair in relief, but Sam wasn't finished.

"There was one night..." He took a few steps towards her, his eyes were pained and he seemed to be fighting against himself to get the words out. "We were drinking..."

Tears burned against the back of Andy's eyes, but she clenched her hands tightly together and managed to keep her voice from shaking. "Who?"

For a minute she thought Sam was going to refuse to answer. He crossed his arms over his chest and then said in a quiet voice, "Gail Peck."

Andy blinked twice, her brain refusing at first to process the information. Gail? It was not what she expected, and yet it hurt just as much as if he'd said 'Jo Rosati.'

"It didn't mean anything." He continued, closing the distance between them until he was standing so close she could have reached out and touched him. His dark eyes tried to capture hers, but she avoided them. "Andy-" His voice was pained.

Andy's eyes flicked up unconsciously and then were caught by the obvious anguish in his. "When?" She asked, dreading the answer.

"Five months ago."

Andy nodded. Five months ago you told me you loved me! her mind cried, but she said nothing. What could she say? Yes, he had said 'I love you' and that declaration had haunted her every night she was away, but she had gone away. Could she really blame him for sleeping with someone when she disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving him waiting at the Penny without even a phone call? Hadn't she done practically the same thing to Luke years ago? Only stone sober, and when she knew he was exactly where she told him to be. But then Luke had… She shrugged off the thought. No. Sam wasn't Luke. Luke had proposed to her and then tried to cover up his affair with spa trips and flowers. Sam was standing in front of her, looking as close to tears as she had ever seen him, telling her even though they hadn't been together and, knowing how tight lipped Gail could be, he could have kept it from her forever if he'd wanted to.

"Andy?" Sam stood just a few feet away from her, his hands tensed into fists at his sides as he waited for her reaction.

Andy stared at him silently for several moments, her mind and heart warring over this new information. She was hurt, yes, but she was also acutely aware that she didn't really have any grounds to be angry with him for it. She'd disappeared in the middle of the night while he waited for her at the Penny. She had known as she climbed into the car that night that Sam might move on while she and Nick worked the task force, it was a risk she had willingly taken. So how could she be mad at him when she was the one who walked away? She couldn't, and she realized that she wasn't mad, not really. She was confused, and so very, very jealous. She couldn't quite wrap her brain around it. Sure, she knew Gail had fancied Sam back when they were rookies, but they had all come a long way in the past few years and she was nearly as surprised at Gail sleeping with Sam as she was hurt by the thought of Sam sleeping with Gail. She had to fight the temptation to deny any of it had happened at all. "I need to.. process this." She said, rising to her feet.

She needed to get away from him, and the voice in her head loudly suggesting sex as the answer to all her problems. The temptation to tell him she was fine, even with the turmoil in her brain in order to spare his feelings and avoid dealing with the maelstrom in her own breast was great, but she resisted. Or rather, she did what she did best: fled.

Sam let out the breath he wasn't aware he was holding when she disappeared into the guest room. There was still a lot to say, but at least she wasn't picking up and running away. As long as she was here he had hope that they could get past his stupid mistakes. He was done pretending he could get by without her.

He wasn't good at relationships. That much he had known, or at least suspected, for years. But he didn't think he'd ever screwed one up quite like this before. There was something about Andy that seemed to bring out every idiotic, self-defeating impulse inside him. It was like he was so afraid he would screw it up and scare her away that he had begun deliberately trying to. If he had been trying to, he didn't know if he could have done it half so well. Fist he'd blamed her for Jerry, and then ignored her, too angry at himself to let her near him, and then, as if the rest wasn't bad enough, he'd gone and slept with her friend in a night of drunken self-loathing.

When he set it all out he didn't know why she was still there. He'd given her every reason to slap him across the face and walk out of his life. But she was still here. The thought gave him hope, though a tiny voice in his head reminded him that she didn't really have anywhere else to go.

Andy did not sleep well. Her restless dreams were plagued by blonde women, licking flames, and billowing black smoke. She woke with a dry mouth and a pounding headache, wanting nothing so much as to be able to burrow back under the covers and sleep until she forgot that the last two days had even happened. Sam and Gail? The thought made her groan even as she dutifully swung her legs over the side of the bed, setting both feet on the icy floor and reaching for her last clean pair of jeans. She'd never kept much at Sam's, a change of clothes, a spare toothbrush, she hadn't needed to. Most of the time they stayed at her place. She didn't mind. Her place… She groaned again and rose irritably to her feet.

Her place was gone.

The remembrance hurt, but not in the way she might have anticipated. Yes, she would miss her first ever home, the trendy exposed brick, the polished hardwood floors, the memories of having Sam in every room and on every piece of furniture. But in this moment, as she tied her long hair back into a simple braid and staggered towards the bathroom, what hurt more was that she was finally living here, something she'd wanted for what felt like forever, not because Sam wanted her there, but because she had nowhere else to go.

For a moment she clung to the tattered remnants of her anger from the night before, but they slipped through her grasp. She forgave him. Of course she forgive him. It was a foregone conclusion before he'd said a word. This was Sam. No matter how angry she got, or what he did, she would always forgive him. It was almost enough to make her hate him. But no, she most emphatically did not hate Sam Swarek. She loved him, was in love with him, but she was also pretty sure he didn't love her anymore, if he ever had.

She turned the shower to scalding hot and stepped under the spray, and tried to tell herself the only water running down her face came from the faucets. She was a McNally, and McNallys didn't cry over missed opportunities and lonely nights. She wasn't even sure McNallys were allowed to cry at all.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, her skin hot pink from the heat, she felt better. Not quite herself, but calmer, collected, and almost ready to face the day. She gave her misty reflection a smile. You can do this.

She half expected Sam to be gone already, a note left in his place. But he wasn't gone, he was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and frowning at something on the screen of his computer. When he saw Andy he made a move as if to close the laptop but she gave him a look and instead of closing the lid he turned it towards her.

Suspicious Toronto Fire Leaves Family Homeless

Andy paled. Beneath the title was a picture of her building yesterday. The fire damage was visible from the outside in the form of ugly black lines of smoke damaged brick and melted windows in the unit below hers. Her heart clenched as she realized for the first time the impact of the fire on her neighbours; people she had never managed to find time to meet who were now homeless because she hadn't remembered to refill her fire extinguisher or set a timer before leaving the kitchen. For the second time that morning she felt tears well up in her eyes. She blinked them away furiously, skimming the rest of the article.

It didn't say much about the fire itself. It was a human interest piece ranting about how Torontonians didn't know their neighbours and the excessively virtuous family that was now without a home. The writer hinted that the fire inspector had ruled the fire arson and that police had a suspect but wrote that they were not revealing anything until the investigation was further underway.

When she looked up, Sam was watching her with guarded eyes.

"I didn't think it would.. "she trailed off, realizing what an idiot she had been. Of course the news would be all over this, a nice bit of intrigue that involved danger without death, perfect for a slow news day. If they ever learned she was a suspect… A shiver ran down her spine and for a moment she was deeply grateful that Jo had dragged her into fifteen the night before, when no one in the press seemed the wiser and her coworkers could have no idea.

Sam stood up, squeezing her shoulder briefly as he passed her on his way towards the coffee maker. "Coffee?" He offered in a too casual tone that told her he was waiting only for a sign from her to jump in a play protective partner. She was thankful he was letting her deal with this on her own for now. This was her mess, not his.

Andy leaned against the table, too shell-shocked to stand, and too weary to take the two steps to a chair. "Please." She said in a quiet voice. Her head was reeling. That poor family! The press…

A cup of coffee with lots of milk was pressed into her hands seconds before Sam's warm strong hands gripped her by the shoulders, forcing her to meet his earnest eyes. "It's going to be alright." He said in a voice that somehow managed to be both fierce and gentle. "It was an accident. They're just being cautious, and you know the news, they'd make a scandal out of every drunk driver we pull in on a Saturday night if they could." He tried to turn it into a joke but it fell flat.

Andy forced her lips to smile, he was trying so hard to cheer her up, and she so wanted to believe him. She took a gulp of coffee, it burned all the way down but she welcomed the heat, it helped thaw the icy chill that had set up residence in her belly the moment she read the headline. She looked up, meeting Sam's eyes. "I'm sorry," She whispered.

Sam's lips pressed together for a moment. "Andy you didn't do anything wrong." He reached up and cupped the side of her face with one hand, his thumb smoothing over her cheek in a gentle caress, his eyes warm on her face. "It was my fault. I'm so sorry."

Andy shook her head. Her resolve from earlier that day holding. She forgave him utterly. He had hurt her, but she had hurt him too. Five months away had given her a lot of time to think, and she knew that neither of them was entirely innocent in their breakup. What she wanted now more than anything was to move on, to move forward. Preferably to move forward with Sam, but she would find a way to move forward without him if she had to. "It's okay." She said, holding his gaze.

Sam's face looked wary, like he couldn't quite believe the words coming out of her mouth. "I—"

"No," she interrupted. "You said it meant nothing. I believe you." She took another sip of piping hot coffee to steady her nerves. "I want to move forward, Sam. Can you forgive me?"

He looked utterly baffled, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "For what?"

Andy shrugged helplessly, where to begin? "For leaving, for not calling you, for forgetting to refill my fire extinguisher and burning down my build—"

Her list was cut off as his lips claimed hers.

Andy's mug hit the floor with a loud thunk, spilling hot coffee across the tile, but she didn't care. She slid her hands up over his broad shoulders, pulling him to her.

His own hands came up to cup her cheeks, holding her head at the perfect angle as his lips teased her with sweet, hungry kisses.

Desire flared in her belly. Her hands slid lower, pulling his hips towards hers as she pressed against him. God how I missed this. Her fingers tugged at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin again.

As suddenly as he had started, Sam pulled back. "Andy!" He groaned, breathing in harsh, short pants. "Wait."

Her hands stilled, and then dropped back to support her against the table. She tried to look away, embarrassed heat rising in her face. Last night she'd walked out on him mid-conversation because five months ago he had a one night stand, now she was practically trying to fuck him over breakfast. What is wrong with you? She chastised herself.

Sam tilted her head up with gentle hands. "Not like this." He said in a strained voice that told her this restraint was killing him just as much as it was killing her.

She knew what he meant, 'not yet,' but still she could have cried from frustration. Didn't he know this was how she coped? That fucking him senseless would erase the darkness of the last seventy two hours, hell, of the last six months, if only for an hour. He didn't want to take advantage of her, and intellectually she knew that was part of why she loved him. But she wanted him to take advantage right now, wanted it so hard she thought she might come apart at the seams if he didn't.

He let go of her and took a step back, his foot landing in the puddle made by her spilled coffee. His mouth curled into a smirk, "I'll go get a mop."