ROOKIE BLUE (isn't mine)


I'm secretly hoping that TPTB won't impose us this charade about Andy's love life in season 2, so I decided to put an end to her relationship with Luke Callaghan right now.

Thanks again for your support, love you guys!


It had been four months, eight days, twelve hours and yet she felt she had had enough for a lifetime. Never had she been so miserable before. Even when she was a child with her mother gone and her father drowning in alcohol, even when she spent too many hours skipping high school to make out with the wrong guys, even when she worked for an entire summer at a gas station, her life had still some meaning. Now, everything that she was doing seemed random and pointless, the necessary step to get to another day still breathing. She did not feel sad or disappointed, she felt numb, like her whole life had been taken away from her.

Moving in with Luke had been a bad decision, she could see that clearly now. It felt right at the time, for the split moment when she actually agreed to do it. But the moment was gone way before she had time to think it over and now it seemed like she had just lost these five weeks of her life that she will never get back. Not to mention the eleven previous months she spent lost in the delusion that if she was putting her mind to it, she will make it work. She tried to follow Sam's advice; she tried like crazy not to over think it. She should have. There was nothing magical or exhilarating about living with the detective. Dating had been awkward at times, good most of the time, but good does not make the news. As soon as they settled in his big fancy house, he turned into this ageless man with no desire she had never met before. He began to spend endless hours working cases that were not even his, he stood her up a handful of times at a restaurant or kept her waiting at the theatre until it was too late for the last show. She had not a clue why it had turned out that way. She was like this prize he wanted for himself even though he was not really interested. She hoped that he loved her somehow, in his own way, but something was definitely off and he was not ready to talk about it. She was tired of waiting. Actually, she was tired all the time. They could have lived unhappily ever after, in this cosy absence of passion. If only she could.

She hastily threw into a suitcase a pile of whatever came in her hands first, underwear and sports sweats, a bag full of letters from her aunt Annie from Burnaby, her favourite dress, the one with the blue flowers, two pairs of sneakers and her expensive high heels shoes, the ones she bought with Traci that Saturday afternoon after she had learned that Sam Swarek was going back undercover, her sequin clutch and the content of her bathroom drawer. She threw in a few books for good measure. She would come back later with Dov or Chris or both or anyone to pick up the rest. There was nothing she needed really except to be away from Luke as soon as possible.

The whole time, he just stayed there, watching her roaming the room like a maniac, gulping glass after glass of his fancy 30 years old scotch. He would not speak to her. What was the point? They had barely acknowledged each other presence for the last fifteen days, achieving in a month what any average couple managed to achieve in a ten or twelve year span. That was pathetic. And that meant that they were actually in the house together, that is. Because most of the time, she was alone. She had had her full of the ravine view and the high tech kitchen.

Her eyes fanned the room. She swapped a photograph of her father from the console near the couch at the last minute and zipped her suitcase closed. That was it. That last hour packing summed up pretty well the extent of that was left of her Luke-warm relationship, as Trace would put it, with the 15 Division golden boy. And now she was happily walking back to the unknown. Yet, she was happy to move on. She stood there, pondering about what to say. But he put her out of her misery and simply left the room without another look before she had the chance to say anything. That was probably for the best. She rolled the suitcase to the door and strode to the taxi that was waiting in the driveway.