The remainder of the drive to 15 is spent in stilted silence; Oliver trying to fill the dead air with a handful of half-hearted attempts at small talk and Sam ruminating on the implications of Andy being back in Toronto.
(Not only Toronto, but working out of the same division as him. As an officer.)
A part of him, the small, almost forgotten part of him that had been sullen and damaged since she had walked out, is rejoicing. Loudly. Maybe now he would finally be able to get closure with Andy McNally, talk to her the way he should have that night all those years ago. Even though he wouldn't admit it to himself, Sam still held a torch for her. Sure, he had had relationships of varying seriousness over the years, but the way he and McNally had left things had burned his hide ever since.
But the rest of him, the level headed and analytical part, is wary. Five years is a long time and he wasn't the same person or cop he had been.
The resulting mixture is a deep feeling of dread and anticipation swirling unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It's unsettling.
Sam is jerked from his thoughts when Oliver pulls into the parking lot and stops the minivan with an ominous sounding grind.
"Ollie, that beast isn't sounding that good!" one of the beat officers calls out he and his partner pull out of one of the cruisers spaces. "I think it's time to put the girl down; do the merciful thing!" Before Oliver has a chance to respond, the officers have driven by, cackling in amusement at their own hilarity.
Sam can't help the grin from spreading when Oliver starts grumbling angrily under his breath.
"I think he's right Ollie, be kind to the old girl," Sam can't resist quipping and snorts at the look of betrayal he gets from his friend.
"Don't you dare bring this up around Zoe. She'll get ideas and before you know it, I'll be driving a dinky little blue car. No joke!"
Sam ponders this for a second as he retrieves his duffle from the back. "I don't know what's worse Ollie. That you're driving this thing in the first place or the fact you think a 'dinky' car wouldn't be an improvement."
Ducking easily out of range as Oliver takes a swipe at him, Sam laughs his way into the station, all thoughts of Andy forgotten.
As he makes his way down the hallway to the locker room, Sam is stopped several times by officers and detectives alike for the requisite 'congratulations' that follow every successful op. Smiling and nodding his appreciation, Sam quickly falls back into the boots of Detective Swarek as he speaks to his colleagues on autopilot.
Sam knows he will face more of the celebratory claps on the back during Parade, throughout the day and will likely be invited for several rounds at the Penny tonight. The tradition and camaraderie of his fellow cops usually fills Sam with an immense amount of pride of being part of the law, but today, with the prickles of unease at his neck, it just feels a little much.
Then again, today is a little different than the other times he had successfully completed a UC op.
(If he were being honest, he knows exactly why this return is different. However, Sam isn't quite sure he is ready for honest).
Finally managing to find the escape into the locker room, Sam lets out a sigh, the amusement from his banter with Oliver already fading. Dropping his duffle onto the bench in front of his locker, Sam stares at the blue metal for a long moment without moving.
Then he spins the lock and pulls it open.
Taking in the familiar photos that line the inside door, Sam feels something inside of him relax for the first time since he had gone under. Sure, he knows he is built for undercover work, able to be the chameleon with ease, but Sam always feels a little bit of relief when he can finally return to 15 after long periods away.
It is very much like coming home to visit family after being away from them.
The pictures of him and Oliver and Jerry, sometimes with Noelle and Frank, serve as a safety rod, a visual way to ground him after floating free for so long. Along with them are two pictures of Sarah, one with him and one with her husband and two little girls.
With a half-smile, Sam remembers the few days he had spent with his sister after the debrief and before he returned to work. It had been nice to catch up with Sarah, seeing how big the girls had grown and just spending time with family.
With a weary sigh, Sam quickly sheds his leather jacket and sets it on the bench, knowing that he will be stuck on the desk all day catching up with paperwork. Unzipping his duffle, he hauls out the lock box with his service weapon in it, setting it aside to take to the arming room, and digs out his badge. For a long moment, he stares at it nestled in the palm of his hand, running his gaze over the gleam of burnished metal. It becomes a solid weight in his hands, grounding him back to the presence. Clipping it to his belt, he tosses the mostly empty duffle into the maw of his locker and hangs up his jacket, before grabbing the lockbox and heading down the hallway.
Stopping off at the weapons room, he quickly arms up, putting away the lock box in his designated locker and glancing at his watch.
With about five minutes to spare before Parade starts, Sam sets out to hunt down Jerry.
As he leaves the gun room, he accidentally bumps shoulders with a tall and unfamiliar officer who hurries in from the direction of the locker room, busy hooking his radio to his belt.
"Sorry, sir," the man mumbles, reaching out a quick hand as if to steady Sam. By then, Sam has already stepped away and looks up to meet the stranger's eyes.
"No problem," he says mildly, seeing the panic in the young man's eyes. "What's your name?"
"Diaz, sir. Chris Diaz. I'm really sorry sir," Diaz stutters, his hands flapping uselessly before him and Sam has to fight a laugh. Oliver had been spot on about this one.
"Don't worry about it," Sam answers, taking pity on the young man, who happens to be sporting the look of a kicked puppy. The instantaneous rush of relief that covers the young officer's face nearly makes Sam snort audibly, and he shakes his head as he walks away.
Skirting the edges of the officers' bullpen, Sam makes his way to the D's office and taps on the doorframe, leaning against it and crossing his arms.
The figure hunched over the nearest desk grumbles something unintelligible that sounds vaguely like 'just a minute.'
"Is it just me, or have you forgotten how to say actual words while I was gone? Have you and Callaghan reverted to communicating in caveman speak?" Sam questions sarcastically, flashing dimples when Jerry lifts his head and spins around in his seat.
Jerry just growls in response, though Sam detects a gleam of amusement in Jerry's eyes. Rising from his chair, Jerry strides to the doorway and pulls Sam into a quick, one armed hug before stepping back and giving him the once over.
"You look like shit," Jerry concludes cheerfully.
"Oliver said the same thing, but I bet I look better than both your ugly faces put together," Sam fires back, striding to his desk and flopping heavily into his chair. He groans once, loudly, when he sees the stacks of case files already waiting for him.
"You did this, didn't you?" Sam accuses, rounding on Jerry, who looks on with a shit-eating grin.
"I don't know what you are insinuating Detective Swarek, as I am Homicide, not Guns and Gangs," Jerry says, all too amused by the situation. "Welcome back!" he crowed.
"Thanks Jerry," Sam sighs, eyeing the files with trepidation. He knows exactly who to blame to pile of paperwork on, his partner (who had been none too pleased when Sam had told her he was going under. He had to bet it had something to do with the amount of paperwork she could no longer find a way to fork off on him), Detective Jo Rosati, who just happened to be married to Jerry's partner, Detective Luke Callaghan. There were times when Sam and Jerry would have to vacate the D's office when the looks between the two blond haired detectives got to the point of sickening. "Say thanks to Rosati if you see her first for me, will you?"
"Of course my friend," Jerry all but sings, still snickering away under his breath.
"Oliver was right," Sam mutters as they make their way to Parade. "You really do get whiny when I'm gone."
"Hey! I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about," Jerry snipes, lifting a hand to his heart in fake offense as they slide into the back of the already full Parade.
Just in time too, as Frank steps up to the podium just as Jerry finishes speaking.
"Settle down everyone, settle down," Frank calls, his voice rising easily over the mumblings from the crowd. The room falls quiet with a snap.
Frank smiles slightly and looked around. Catching Sam's eye, the staff sergeant gives a tiny nod of approval before continuing.
"I'd like to say welcome back and congratulations to Detective Sam Swarek for his successful work on the undercover operation that took down Jamie Brennan and nearly all of his drug related affiliates."
A loud round of cheering and clapping rises as all faces turned to seek him out. Ducking his head as the wave of approval washes over him, Sam's eyes dance around the room as he takes in the approving gazes levelled his way.
He almost makes the complete circuit of the room with his gaze when he sees her.
Shock smashes into his chest like a steel rod.
She stands in the opposite doorway from him, arms folded across her chest and standing straight and tall. At ease, like the soldier she used to be. Not the easy slouch and relaxed posture of the girl he knew.
But what is most shocking is her face.
The right corner of her lip is quirked downwards drastically, marred by the centimeter long scar cut into flesh. He wonders what had caused it. Her expression is impassive, blank even. And her eyes, what Sam recalled to be the most expressive and sparkling feature, are carefully cold and watchful.
She meets his gaze levelly and dispassionately. Tension hums in his ears.
After several long seconds, as the clapping peters off, she eventually inclines her head in a small nod of respect and acknowledgement.
At her side is a man not much taller than her, standing just as straight and stiff as her, the only difference being that he keeps his hands in the pockets of his uniform pants. If Sam wasn't so busy staring at Andy, he would've noticed the way the man looked back and forth between the two of them, his gaze searching and after a few long seconds, understanding.
When someone claps him on the back, Sam startles slightly and looks away to see who it is, and when he looks back, Andy is watching the front of the room again, the dismissal clear in her body language.
"Good work Detective," Frank speaks softly, but his voice carries across the room.
Still rattled by what had just passed with Andy, Sam can only nod his thanks.
Registering little of what Frank said as the staff sergeant continues with Parade, Sam leans back against the wall. Letting the dull updates of the day wash over him, he fights off a shudder of cold that had little to do with temperature.
He no longer recognized her and it was chilling.
It is only when several chairs scrape back and the room echoes with the sounds of movements does Sam jerk from his daze. Blinking, he moves on automatic from the Parade room, missing the sympathetic looks from Jerry and Oliver as they huddle in conversation entirely, and allows the flow of bodies to push him into the hallway.
A/N: Again, thanks goes to MD14 for looking this over.
I'm a little nervous about the end of this; honest opinions would make my day.
A/N 2: Updated 07/06/17, once again, because me writing past tense has become a no no.
