AN: I just really needed to get some Sam stuff off my chest. 3.13 left me as heartbroken as I'm sure it did Sam. So…I think he deserves to know that lots of people have his back. If Andy gets a break-up buddy, so should he! That said, I am of the theory that the Sam/Andy heart will be repaired in Season 4 – and then there truly will be…no turning back!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue.

It's on the 7th day post-McNally-riding-off-into-taskforce-sunset that Sam came anywhere near to being out of a funk.

Things he'd punished himself about a whole lot of minutes before the 7th day:

Not telling her before.

Not saying it the exact-fucking-way he wanted to...

Not handling…

his shit….

Not handling any or all of his shit.

None of it.

Not before her.

Not for her.

Not with her.

Yep. From Day 1: he declared himself a true idiot and fool.


When Nash rocked up to the bar the first night - all wide-eyed at the sight of all the loneliness making a dent at the bar – she'd approached them with the familiar quiet, gentle, cautious, firm - that he respected - and knew Jerry loved so much.

Her lips had hardly moved when she ordered them all a shot. She let them take it (took herself one too), before she chanced a glance from him, to Peck, and back again:

"I turned down the taskforce."

Sam remembers swinging his whole body to watch her closely, silently checking for tells. She avoided eye contact with him -

- ordered a few more shots instead.

Sam could bring himself to do not much but slowly nod his dumb-ass head.


It was Nash that got him home that night. Both of them silent all the way, (save her parting sentiment):

"I'm really gonna miss her, Sam"

Sam, for his useless part, just kept nodding his head.

He'd had the car door almost closed – before finding himself somehow sitting beside her again.

They'd stared out the windscreen - front and centre - for a really long time… some waifish pop tune reminding Sam of his current pre-sets playing low on the radio.

Sam cleared his throat finally, forming the words that should have come some months ago, "I'm sorry. I dropped the ball in more ways than one… You and Leo ever need anything…you let me know."

He got himself off to sleep with a bottle of scotch at the side of his bed – scrolling through old messages from Andy, and looking at the photos he'd taken that one time way back...when he'd caught her washing his truck.


The next day swung between numbness and pain. Outside of the occasional lunatic thought - track her down, show her, hate her, never throw caution to the wind and trust anything or anyone – especially himself - ever, ever again – he simply laid on his couch mourning – regretting the loss of what could (or should) have been.


The third day was spent devoted to punishing himself.

Sam told Frank to let him ride with Epstein - then proceeded to ask the kid to talk him through all of his own break-up stories…

(of which there were 3).


Night four he found himself waiting for Ollie on the Shaw's couch. Zoe was shooting some inane BS quietly in the background to anyone that would listen, while Izzy stayed tuned into the tail end of her marathon session of last season Grey's.

"Shonda Rhimes seriously needs to re-think her life choices," Izzy sobbed – hurling a cushion Sam's way. "She was his person. His person, Sam."

Sam stared at the screen and blinked once or twice. He put his hand on Izzy's shoulder and gripped his Goddaughter firmly - as together they watched Lexie die.

"Ready to go, brother?" he heard Ollie cut in. "I heard some hot dogs with extra mustard are calling my name."


The fifth night was garbage night.

Sam spent a good hour or two cleaning out the truck and house before he took all his trash to the kerb.

He went for a run straight after - found himself at McNally's and took her bin out before he ran the extra 15 minutes to Nash's to fix hers too.

His shower that night finally left him feeling just a little more clean.


Day six, he'd done some intel. Got pointed in the direction of another ex-rookie of Callaghan's from 15. (Sam, for all it counts, remembered her as soon as he heard her name – Alana Jones).

He met her halfway for coffee, told her enough to let her fill in the gaps before handing over the tattered book he'd pulled off his shelf that morning.

He watched her smile, before passing across the envelope that contained some keys.

"Anything else, Swarek?"

Sam shook his head.

Turning as she walked away, Jones caught him by surprise "Confession: I had a crush on you when I was with Callaghan. But. You know. Well – you and Lucy were together back then". Throwing him a smile, she sighed - "she's a lucky girl – just stop being so God-damn hard on yourself".


He opened his work email late afternoon on the 7th day – skimming over the departmental-propaganda and crap.

The message from Jones sat somewhere in the middle, marked high priority:


DJ smiled… and said "thanks".

All the best,


Deleting the email, he waved to catch attention of Diaz walking past. "Hey, in the mood to shoot some hoops?"


The next morning Sam rocked up to work with a clear head. He invited himself to a one-on-one with Frank, telling the new father he owed him a cigar.

Frank gave him all the time in the world; they chewed the fat outside the imposition of the divisional doors.

Frank flashed a huge grin and gave a pat on the back when Sam spoke at length of his profession by way of a future plan.

"Boss," Sam paused as they walked back in the door. "You mind if I have tomorrow morning off?"

"Not at all, somewhere you have to be?" Frank studied him closely, but without too much concern.

"Yep. Gotta go see a man about a dog," Sam said with his first real grin in days as he strode further along.

He spied Nash at the coffee station cursing a piping hot cup. "Nash," he said, plucking the cup from her hands and taking a careful sip. "Thanks," he smirked as she looked on with her own open mouth grin. "Hey. What do you know about mutts?"