A Sam/Andy fic.


Disclaimer: As always, I don't own Rookie Blue.


A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews on my stories so far! You guys rock!

Well, this is just a little fic I came up with after watching the promo for episode 5, but relates to the end of episode 4, when Sam tells her that he doesn't want anything to happen to her.

I hope you guys like this, I know I'll love writing it.

As always, please read and review, I live for feedback!


Many of the police officers in the hospital were either crowded in the waiting room, swarming the hospital in search of vending machine, or accosting the nursing staff relentless for any information about their fallen comrade. One man had managed to sneak into the OR wing, and was currently watching the surgery from the upper viewing room. An younger doctor had spotted him, and tried to tell him that he needed to leave - that he wasn't allowed to be in there - but a heavy glare and a flexing of muscles had made the smaller man tell him that perhaps he was fine where he was.

He needed to be there, he needed to witness each and every moment that passed until the officer lying on that table was healthy again. If he allowed himself a moment of rest, he knew that he would miss something, and then the world would come crashing down around him. It was unthinkable. He wouldn't let it happen ... he'd already let enough happen.

It had been a moronic decision to leave them alone ... Nash had broken protocol by leaving, and he knew she'd be reprimanded, but as her training officer, he should have stayed. He should have ignored the call to return to the division, he should have requested back-up join the two rookies inside before he'd left. Woulda, coulda, shoulda ... in the end, none of that mattered. He couldn't change what happened ... but he could do something now. He could be vigilant, he could stay right where he was, watching over his rookie.

He wouldn't let Andy McNally die ... not while he was there.

Sam barely moved an inch as the surgery progressed. Not even when the sight of blood became too much, not even when another bag was hunt, not even when they began suctioning out the overflowing blood from within her wound. It wasn't until the little blip - blip - blip - of her heart monitor went flat, turning into one long, straight line, that he moved. He practically flew at the glass, his palms pressing against the cool barrier. His heart pounded in his chest, struggling to burst free from his body and give life back to her. He wanted to do something, anything ... he prayed for her to survive, for her heart to start pumping again.

He watched one doctor administer CPR, while a nursing team prepared the crash cart. He saw one doctor say something through his mask, and then everyone removed their hands from her body. The paddles attached to her body, strategically placed for maximum effect, and then her body convulsed upwards with the shock that coursed through her body.

The first try proved futile, and Sam's hands began to clench against the glass. He willed himself to be closer to her, to be holding her hand - anything other than standing helplessly in the viewing room. The memory of her telling him that she could take care of herself was of no comfort to him right then.

Another jolt of electricity was sent through her, and finally the monitor began beeping again, the line breaking up into sharp peaks.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, his forehead pressing against the cool glass. He didn't know how much more of that she would be able to take ... nor he.

"Come on, McNally," he whispered. "Pull through this."


He sat in the less-than-comfortable hospital chair, his eyes alternating from the many wires, needles, and tubes coming out of her, to the heart monitor that beeped a consistent heartbeat, to her closed eyes. If all he could see was her face, he might think she were just sleeping. An unbidden image of her waking up next to him entered his mind, but he pushed the thought away for the moment. Now wasn't the time for such thoughts, as fantastical as they might be.

She had come through the surgery alright, but they were still waiting for her to wake up. They wouldn't know how long it would take for her to recover unless she woke up. He needed her to wake up.

The doctors were only letting her have one visitor at a time, and a fair number of the officers who'd been in the waiting room had to work their shifts. Boyko had made a half-assed attempt to tell him to return to duty, but he'd told him that he wasn't leaving the hospital until he knew that his partner was okay.

So, he waited. He swiped another chair from the hall, using it to prop his feet up, and used the two chairs as a makeshift bed. It wasn't at all comfortable, but he wasn't going home to sleep, either. He would suffer through it.

Around eleven o'clock, a nurse came in to tell him that visiting hours were long since passed, but he informed her in no uncertain terms that she would have to remove him by force. She only relented because of her respect for his badge, and sympathy for the woman lying in the bed beside him.

After a while, the only sounds that could be heard were the beeping of monitors in the recovery room, and the occasional footsteps outside in the hallway. His eyelids were getting heavy, but he refused to fall asleep. Instead, he found himself sitting up a bit more in the chair so that he could watch her more carefully.

Somehow, his hand found its way to hers, his thumb brushing over the top of her hand, back and forth. "McNally," Sam whispered, but after a second, he spoke, "Andy?"

There was no reply. He wasn't sure he'd been expecting one, but maybe he just wanted her to hear his voice. He wanted her to know that she had someone there with her, something that was going to watch over her and make sure nothing else happened.

"I don't know if you can hear this, but ... well, I'm actually hoping you can't hear this," he confessed. "I probably won't admit this when you're awake, but I can't ... I can't stand to see you like this, Andy. I should have been this. This was my fault, I let you down." He didn't have a speech planned, he didn't know what exactly he was going to say, but he knew he had to get it all out now. "You see, I'm supposed to be detached. I'm supposed to teach you, but I'm not supposed to get emotional about it. Things happen ... everyday, usually to the newer cops. You're not supposed to get attached to rookies, 'cause not every rookie makes it. Usually, it's 'cause they quit, or they transfer out ... but sometimes it's because of something like this. We're supposed to be prepared for this kind of thing ... but how could I be prepared for this? For you ...? Dammit, Andy ... I don't know what you've done to me, but things have changed. I can't be detached, not with you. The thought of something happening to you ... the thought of this ... it's tearing me up, Andy. You're not just a rookie to me." He was almost grateful that she hadn't woken up yet, because he knew that he wouldn't be able to talk like this if there was someone else to witness it. He hid behind his sarcasm, his temper, and his cockiness. He used it like a shield. But she'd broken through, and gotten to him. There was no turning back now.

"You have to wake up, Andy. Not right now, 'cause this would be really awkward," he added. "But, maybe in a couple hours," Sam suggested to her. "I never wanted this to happen to you ... I told you that I didn't want anything to happen to you. This is why ... you've turned me into a complete wreck, McNally. I can't focus, I can't think ... I can't be me without you, not anymore." God, this sounds so cheesy, he thought, staring down at her unmoving face. Thank god she's not awake to hear this, she'd probably be laughing her ass off at me.

"I'm gonna shut up now," he promised, leaning back in his chair. He forgot to take his hand away from hers, and after a few minutes, he started drifting into a deep slumber, despite his awkward position.


Andy woke slowly, feeling stiff and sore. She didn't feel like she was in her bed, and there was a strange beeping noise that was pulsating into her unconsciousness. It was really quite irritating.

She blinked her eyes open, her eyes immediately protesting against the bright light. Definitely not my bedroom, she realized, trying to remember what had happened. She could remember being in the house, and the guy pointing the gun at her. She'd tried to talk him down, but then ... Andy realized that she was in a hospital bed ... he must have shot her.

Her eyes closed once more, trying to pull up more memories. She'd had a surprisingly pleasant dream after the ordeal of being shot. She'd dreamt that she'd been lying in the hospital bed, and Sam had been there. He'd told her things that she wanted to hear so badly, he'd told her in his own way how much he cared for her. Andy almost smiled, wishing that it had been real.

Her fingers twitched as she resisted the urge of her morning stretch, and that was when she felt a weight on her right hand. With effort, she blinked her eyes open once more, glancing down at her hand.

Another on lay atop it, and she carefully followed the arm up to where it attached to a body ... to Sam. He was perched on two chairs beside her, having fallen asleep some time ago. For a moment, she wondered if what's she'd dreamt had really happened. Could she have heard him while she was unconscious? Andy didn't know, but she hoped it were true. Why else would he be holding her hand?

A nurse walked into the room then, checking up on her. "Oh, Miss McNally, you're awake," she noted, causing the person beside her to jolt awake.

Sam's hand tightened on Andy's when he woke, not registering the nurse's words until he turned his head to look at his rookie. "Hey," he greeted, the last traces of sleep dulling his mind slightly.

"Hey," Andy replied, keeping her hand still so as not to alarm him.

Eventually, though, he realized that he was holding her hand, and quickly let go. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

Andy shrugged, then winced at the pain.

"I'll call in the doctor," the nurse told her. "I'll let him know that you're awake."

Andy nodded her thanks, trying to sit up in the bed.

"Hey, take it easy," Sam told her, standing to help her. His stiff back tried to prevent him from doing so, but he pushed through the pain, finding the button to lift the bed a bit. He helped her angle her pillows better so that she would still be comfortable.

"Were you here all night?" she asked tentatively, once she was comfortable.

Sam only nodded in response, not trusting himself to speak.

Feeling a little brave, she sought out his hand, closers hers over it. "Thank you."

Sam paused at the movement, grasping her hand back reflexively. "Don't mention it," he told her.

Andy shook her head. "Not just for that," she told him. "For everything ... I uh, I heard you." She took a chance, hoping that what she thought he'd said had been real.

"You heard me?" he asked, feeling his pulse increasing.

She nodded her head. "Yeah."

"And you're ... okay with that?" he asked next.

Andy nodded again. "Yeah ... I mean, I know it's against the rules, but yeah. You're not the only one with ... feelings."

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but just then the doctor came in.

"Well, look who's back with us," he greeted, smiling as he walked over to Andy.

Sam let go of her hand, letting the doctor assess her condition. He was thrilled that she was okay. She had finally woken up, and the doctor had said that that was the most important thing. She would be on the mend now, she was going to pull through. Sam stood in the background while Andy and the doctor talked, his eyes never leaving her face. He didn't know what he would do without her, and it hadn't even been a couple weeks yet since she'd arrested him.

He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, if they would work out in the end ... but he was sure as hell going to try. She was alive, and for some reason, she felt the same about him. He wasn't letting that go easy.


The end.

So, what did you guys think? Like it, hate it?

Again, I might do a second chapter from Andy's POV, but for now, this is complete.

Reviews are appreciated, flame if you must, but constructive criticism is much more useful.

Until next time ...!