What I Own: Random seasons of Once Upon A Time, Castle and House on DVD, a bunch of sour grapes (literally), and some new, bottle brunette(ish) hair.
What I Don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, STILL not mine. I know. I KNOW. Tassie Cameron, et al., own this delightful show, I just play in their sandboxes. I promise, I'll clean them up when I am done. Mostly.
Author's Note: Well, here we are again. More of this little tale. I don't know, I can't explain, it just happened. I blame Peter Mooney. That face though, who gave him the right? There was music, and I was gonna do words and Luke was involved and then, somehow, this just… poofed itself into existence. You all know my usual disclaimers: Not betaed, all mistakes are mine, if you can't buy porn or cigs, head on away. That being said, this is STILL not a McSwarek story and it won't be. HOWEVER I refuse to just pretend Sam doesn't exist, and kind of attempted to explore that dynamic here. Reviews make me grin like Missy in Maui, I love them. HOWEVER, lectures about what the actual writers did wrong or why I am a disgrace to McSwarek shippers and Nick is horrible can be saved. I still ship McSwarek, just not in this story. And no, to get it out of the way, Sam is NOT a bad guy here. Read between the lines. ANYWAY, as always for this story, this is for Janeycakes because reasons. The song for this chapter is 'Early Winter' by Keane. Turn it up loud and let me know what you think. Reviews are love and I'll be happy to answer any and all questions, comments or suggestions in PMs or on twitter. Much love y'all, and thank you.
It was cold. Not freezing, but cold. Barely mid-September and there was a noticeable chill in the air. Then again, the fact that I'd been wearing an outfit that Miley Cyrus would have deemed trashy may have had something to do with my hands shaking.
A medic draped a scratchy blanket over my shoulders bare shoulders, the remnants of a tacky leopard print top barely staying up, and I gave her a meek smile, wincing at the pain that shot through my head at the slight movement. My palms were freshly wrapped in bright white gauze, the shards of glass having been meticulously removed.
Apparently, being hit in the head was becoming something of an area of expertise with me. I'd learned after the first few times the subtle differences between just a fuck ton of pain and a concussion. It seemed like I had lucked out today.
"McNally!" The voice was worried and familiar, though not at all the one I had expected, and strangely not the one I'd hoped. Brushing the protesting medic aside, I clutched my itchy cotton shroud around me, the heels of my ridiculous hooker boots clicking on the crack pavement.
"Did you get him Detective?" My voice was flat, devoid of any emotion whatsoever. I was tired and I hurt, physically, emotionally, whatever. The LAST thing I wanted to do was to stand in-front of my ex-boyfriend and answer questions.
"We did. We need you to come down to the station, answer some questions, if you're up for it." His hands were shoved in his pockets and he was all brusque and business but I could hear something, just the slightest catch in his voice. I'd known Sam Swarek long enough to pick up on his tells.
"Yeah, sure, I'm fine." My voice sounded hollow and false, even to me, although Sam didn't seem to recognize it, and if he did, he didn't say anything.
"Okay, let's go. I'll give you-" He was cut off, mid-sentence, bye the last person I think either of us expected to hear.
"She's not fine, and she's not going to the station." I hadn't even heard Collins approach, although the slight ringing in my ears may have had more than a little to do with that.
"I'm sorry?" Swarek sounded incredulous and offended at the same time and I just stared at Nick. It wasn't like him to blatantly stand up to someone who outranked him but I'd learned more than I had imagined about my fellow officer over the last few months. Stolen moments, solace and a surprising, if welcome quiet that, for some reason, I could only find when he was around.
"She isn't in any shape to answer questions right now, Detective, you of all people should know that." The emphasis was subtle but there, and my eyes darted between the two men. If I'd been in some kind of twisted Lifetime movie, this was where the piano heavy, plaintive theme song would kick in.
"I'm sorry Officer Collins, I think perhaps McNally knows herself a little better than you do." Again, the emphasis on rank was blatant. He was worried, I could tell, but he was also defensive, very, and that never ended well.
"Stop." My voice was weak, and wavering. I was cold, I ached down to the bone and whatever painkiller my friend the medic had given me was starting to make me feel nauseous and lightheaded. "I need to go home." Taking a deep breath, I raised my head to meet Swarek's gaze. "Tomorrow. I'll call you and we can talk about the questions."
I waited for the small nod, knowing from experience I wasn't going to get more than that, and offered a small smile in thanks. I turned slowly, my steps slightly unsteady, knees wobbling in the absurd hooker boots.
"Take me home?" It was barely a whisper and I received a smile in response and an arm around my shoulders, supporting a surprising amount of my weight, but still letting me stand on my own.