I was recently told that I have tiny eyelashes. … So, my first response to that was, “What? Okay, then … Weirdo.” My second response, shortly following that was, “So what? They’re my eyelashes. Why does size matter with EYELASHES!!?”
After some consideration, I realized that the point the was trying to make was that I didn’t do anything to try and extend my eyelashes. No mascara to make them stand out, no creepy stick-on things to make them look abnormally long. They just kind of sit there on my face, minding their own business.
And really, that’s me in a nutshell. I don’t put a whole lot of effort into making myself look different. I am not a beautiful person, I know this, I accept this. I don’t lament this fact, this is just who I am. There are many other ways to describe a person than how they look. I am loud, I am outspoken, I can be angry and hostile, I can be completely and utterly ridiculous. I can flare my nostrils, and I snort when I laugh. I very rarely paint my fingernails, and when I do, I usually end up with wearing off polish that stays like that for about a month. I don’t care a whole lot about my appearance. Not to say that I’m filthy … I am clean. I bathe myself on a regular basis, and contrary to some people’s opinions, I do wash my face. But I don’t spend hundreds upon hundreds of dollars trying to rid myself of my acne. It’s just there. I’m used to it. I don’t slap on perfume - ‘cause I’m allergic to it - and I only wear body spray if I like the smell. I only put on things that I like, because I don’t care about what other people like.
Such as mascara. I don’t like mascara. It makes my eyelashes feel wet, and then I get black marks on my eyelids when I open my eyes too wide. It’s far too much of a hassle.
So, yes … I have tiny eyelashes. If that bothers you, then I guess stop looking at my eyes.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Angel's Watching Over You
Another Supernatural fic. This one takes place after the "My Bloody Valentine" episode of Season 5. Just a small moment that I would have liked to have seen in the episode.
Sam had been detoxing from the demon blood in Bobby's panic room for just over two days, and it had taken its toll on all of them. Bobby was passed out in his room, a trail of beer cans around his bed. Dean had yet to let himself sleep, not wanting anything to happen while he was recharging his batteries. All the times that Sam had snuck out while he was sleeping had made him wary ... or was it paranoid?
Dean splashed water on his face at the kitchen sink, trying to blink the tired out of his eyes.
"You need to rest," Castiel commented, standing behind him.
Resting his weight on his splayed-out hands on the counter, Dean hung his head, sighing deeply. "I'm fine."
He felt the angel sidle up beside him before he heard him speak. "You are of no use to your brother if you are so exhausted that you're unable to even lie convincingly."
Dean rolled his yes, turning his lolling head towards the angel. "Name one lie that I've ever told you, that you actually believed."
Castiel regarded him before speaking evenly, "When you told me that you swore your allegiance to god, and his angels. By refusing Michael and evading Zachariah, you proved the statement to be a lie."
Dean turned, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his hips against the counter. "Actually, that part wasn't the lie."
Castiel frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
Dean sighed, looking down at the floor before answering in a deep voice. "I meant what I said in the moment, but I wasn't swearing to "god", or any of the angels ... I was only making that promise to one angel. I swore to follow you, Cas."
The angel stared into the green eyes darkened by sadness and grief … and the poor kitchen lighting. "I understand."
Dean chuckled. "Well, it'd be great if you could let me in on that little epiphany, 'cause I'm so exhausted, not a word out of my mouth is making sense to me."
Castiel stepped forward, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Another time. For now, your body requires sleep."
Dean broke his gaze from Castiel's, looking down in near-shame. "I'm ..." He couldn't get the words past his chapped lips.
Castiel nodded. "Afraid," he finished, as though it were the most simplistic thing in the world.
Dean nodded his heavy head. "I just don't want anything to happen while I'm out. I need to be here - and aware - in case something happens with Sam, or -"
Castiel tightened his grip tenderly, stopping Dean before his rant could begin. "I will be here, Dean. I will ensure that nothing happens to Sam, Bobby, or you."
Dean lifted his head back up, gazing into the crystal-blue eyes looking steadily back at him. "Promise?"
Castiel nodded, not a trace of doubt in his eyes. "I will watch over you."
Dean let his sleep-deprived body give in, making his way to the living-room couch. It wasn't until his head had hit the cushion and he'd succumbed to unconsciousness that he thought of his mother's soft, bedtime words: “Angels are watching over you …” . At that particular moment in time, they were true ... except there was only one angel watching over Dean that night.
In his dream, Dean could feel calm fingers burning a soothing path across his scalp ... almost as though the angel were running a comforting hand through his short, soft hair.
Twelve hours later and well-rested, Dean imagined he could still feel that graceful pressure in every part of his body, whenever the angel glanced his way.
Sam had been detoxing from the demon blood in Bobby's panic room for just over two days, and it had taken its toll on all of them. Bobby was passed out in his room, a trail of beer cans around his bed. Dean had yet to let himself sleep, not wanting anything to happen while he was recharging his batteries. All the times that Sam had snuck out while he was sleeping had made him wary ... or was it paranoid?
Dean splashed water on his face at the kitchen sink, trying to blink the tired out of his eyes.
"You need to rest," Castiel commented, standing behind him.
Resting his weight on his splayed-out hands on the counter, Dean hung his head, sighing deeply. "I'm fine."
He felt the angel sidle up beside him before he heard him speak. "You are of no use to your brother if you are so exhausted that you're unable to even lie convincingly."
Dean rolled his yes, turning his lolling head towards the angel. "Name one lie that I've ever told you, that you actually believed."
Castiel regarded him before speaking evenly, "When you told me that you swore your allegiance to god, and his angels. By refusing Michael and evading Zachariah, you proved the statement to be a lie."
Dean turned, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his hips against the counter. "Actually, that part wasn't the lie."
Castiel frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
Dean sighed, looking down at the floor before answering in a deep voice. "I meant what I said in the moment, but I wasn't swearing to "god", or any of the angels ... I was only making that promise to one angel. I swore to follow you, Cas."
The angel stared into the green eyes darkened by sadness and grief … and the poor kitchen lighting. "I understand."
Dean chuckled. "Well, it'd be great if you could let me in on that little epiphany, 'cause I'm so exhausted, not a word out of my mouth is making sense to me."
Castiel stepped forward, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Another time. For now, your body requires sleep."
Dean broke his gaze from Castiel's, looking down in near-shame. "I'm ..." He couldn't get the words past his chapped lips.
Castiel nodded. "Afraid," he finished, as though it were the most simplistic thing in the world.
Dean nodded his heavy head. "I just don't want anything to happen while I'm out. I need to be here - and aware - in case something happens with Sam, or -"
Castiel tightened his grip tenderly, stopping Dean before his rant could begin. "I will be here, Dean. I will ensure that nothing happens to Sam, Bobby, or you."
Dean lifted his head back up, gazing into the crystal-blue eyes looking steadily back at him. "Promise?"
Castiel nodded, not a trace of doubt in his eyes. "I will watch over you."
Dean let his sleep-deprived body give in, making his way to the living-room couch. It wasn't until his head had hit the cushion and he'd succumbed to unconsciousness that he thought of his mother's soft, bedtime words: “Angels are watching over you …” . At that particular moment in time, they were true ... except there was only one angel watching over Dean that night.
In his dream, Dean could feel calm fingers burning a soothing path across his scalp ... almost as though the angel were running a comforting hand through his short, soft hair.
Twelve hours later and well-rested, Dean imagined he could still feel that graceful pressure in every part of his body, whenever the angel glanced his way.
Come What May
Another one of my Supernatural fics. This one takes place in the first season, and is one of my few Supernatural fics that isn't a romance fic. Just brotherly angst.
Sam's voice rang through his ears, and he had to remind himself that it wasn't really Sam speaking; that Ellicott had done some creepy mojo on him.
"Why are we even here? Because you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? 'Cause you always do what he says without question?" the voice of his brother questioned. "Are you that desperate for his approval?"
Dean fought against the pain in his upper body. Lying on the hard floor wasn’t helping matters, either. "This isn't you talking, Sam."
"That's the difference between you and me," Sam stated. "I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic like you."
Dean was growing more and more annoyed at the situation. "So what are you gonna do, huh? You gonna kill me?" He figured it was his turn to get under Sam's skin; his turn to push his buttons.
His brother's rage-filled voice replied, "You know what? I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago."
And suddenly the conversation was getting more and more familiar. Maybe it wasn't all Sam behind these words, but there was no denying that Sam had these thoughts most of the time. He was desperate to find Dad ... even more than Dean, because of what had happened to Jessica. And now, it seemed as though he was blaming Dean for them not being able to find the old man.
"Well then, here. Let me make it easier for you." He fished the gun out of his pocket, holding it out for Sam to take. His hand wanted to shake, but he remained as still as he could, glaring up into his brother's cold eyes. "Go on, take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock-salt." He waited for his brother to take the gun, and for his part, the younger Winchester looked surprised at what Dean was telling him to do. "Take it!" Dean commanded.
Sam took the smaller gun from Dean's hand, dropping his own shotgun on the floor. After a moment, he pointed the gun at Dean, moving closer.
Dean sighed, his heart fluttering. "You hate me that much?" he asked, not sure if he even wanted an answer. He knew that he shouldn't take anything that Sam said right now for the truth, but a part of him knew that deep inside, Sam had some of these feelings, these thoughts. "You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead," he dared. "Pull the trigger."
There was a long pause, and for a moment he thought maybe he'd gotten through to him. Maybe he'd shocked the rage out of him.
"Do it!" Dean yelled, continuing with his plan, as it seemed to be working.
Then Sam pulled the trigger. He actually wanted to shoot him. Nothing happened. Sam pulled the trigger again and again, but the gun didn't fire. It wouldn't.
While he was distracted by the misfire, Dean grabbed the gun and back-handed his little brother across the face, knocking him to the ground. Rolling over and grunting at the pain in his chest, he slowly stood, looking at the younger man.
"Man, I'm not gonna give you a loaded pistol," he informed him, giving his brother one last looking before knocking him out. It was for his own good. Dean sighed again. "Sorry, Sammy." He continued through the asylum, needing to find Ellicott’s body.
………………………………................................................................................................
He hadn't wanted to talk to his brother about what had happened in the nut-house, but it was all he could think about while they drove back to their motel. He loved his brother ... there was nothing he wouldn't do for him. He would kill for him, he would die for him. But, the guy had issues. Dean knew that for a fact. Whether it was because of their messed up childhood, or because of what had happened to his girlfriend ... Sam had a lot of stuff that he needed to work out.
They got back to the motel late, and by the time Dean got out of the shower, Sam was already asleep on his bed. He glanced at his unconscious brother, wondering what was in store for them.
He hoped they would find their father soon ... if nothing else, for Sam's well-being. He still had nightmares almost every night, and now with the weird, ESP-thing he had going on, Dean didn't know what to do. He hoped their Dad would ... he usually had all the answers. They just had to find him.
After a slight pause, Dean pulled the blanket over Sammy's sleeping body, stepping back before his younger brother could wake up and witness Dean tucking him in.
Changing into a fresh set of clothes, he lay back on his own bed, crossing his hands behind his head and sighing deeply.
If that gun had been loaded ... Sam would have shot me.
He tried to push the thought out of his mind, reminding himself that they were brothers, and nothing could come between that.
Letting his eyes drift close, Dean decided to push away his worries and let the new day bring what it may. Even if that meant getting another round of rock-salt to his chest.
Sam's voice rang through his ears, and he had to remind himself that it wasn't really Sam speaking; that Ellicott had done some creepy mojo on him.
"Why are we even here? Because you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? 'Cause you always do what he says without question?" the voice of his brother questioned. "Are you that desperate for his approval?"
Dean fought against the pain in his upper body. Lying on the hard floor wasn’t helping matters, either. "This isn't you talking, Sam."
"That's the difference between you and me," Sam stated. "I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic like you."
Dean was growing more and more annoyed at the situation. "So what are you gonna do, huh? You gonna kill me?" He figured it was his turn to get under Sam's skin; his turn to push his buttons.
His brother's rage-filled voice replied, "You know what? I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago."
And suddenly the conversation was getting more and more familiar. Maybe it wasn't all Sam behind these words, but there was no denying that Sam had these thoughts most of the time. He was desperate to find Dad ... even more than Dean, because of what had happened to Jessica. And now, it seemed as though he was blaming Dean for them not being able to find the old man.
"Well then, here. Let me make it easier for you." He fished the gun out of his pocket, holding it out for Sam to take. His hand wanted to shake, but he remained as still as he could, glaring up into his brother's cold eyes. "Go on, take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock-salt." He waited for his brother to take the gun, and for his part, the younger Winchester looked surprised at what Dean was telling him to do. "Take it!" Dean commanded.
Sam took the smaller gun from Dean's hand, dropping his own shotgun on the floor. After a moment, he pointed the gun at Dean, moving closer.
Dean sighed, his heart fluttering. "You hate me that much?" he asked, not sure if he even wanted an answer. He knew that he shouldn't take anything that Sam said right now for the truth, but a part of him knew that deep inside, Sam had some of these feelings, these thoughts. "You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead," he dared. "Pull the trigger."
There was a long pause, and for a moment he thought maybe he'd gotten through to him. Maybe he'd shocked the rage out of him.
"Do it!" Dean yelled, continuing with his plan, as it seemed to be working.
Then Sam pulled the trigger. He actually wanted to shoot him. Nothing happened. Sam pulled the trigger again and again, but the gun didn't fire. It wouldn't.
While he was distracted by the misfire, Dean grabbed the gun and back-handed his little brother across the face, knocking him to the ground. Rolling over and grunting at the pain in his chest, he slowly stood, looking at the younger man.
"Man, I'm not gonna give you a loaded pistol," he informed him, giving his brother one last looking before knocking him out. It was for his own good. Dean sighed again. "Sorry, Sammy." He continued through the asylum, needing to find Ellicott’s body.
………………………………................................................................................................
He hadn't wanted to talk to his brother about what had happened in the nut-house, but it was all he could think about while they drove back to their motel. He loved his brother ... there was nothing he wouldn't do for him. He would kill for him, he would die for him. But, the guy had issues. Dean knew that for a fact. Whether it was because of their messed up childhood, or because of what had happened to his girlfriend ... Sam had a lot of stuff that he needed to work out.
They got back to the motel late, and by the time Dean got out of the shower, Sam was already asleep on his bed. He glanced at his unconscious brother, wondering what was in store for them.
He hoped they would find their father soon ... if nothing else, for Sam's well-being. He still had nightmares almost every night, and now with the weird, ESP-thing he had going on, Dean didn't know what to do. He hoped their Dad would ... he usually had all the answers. They just had to find him.
After a slight pause, Dean pulled the blanket over Sammy's sleeping body, stepping back before his younger brother could wake up and witness Dean tucking him in.
Changing into a fresh set of clothes, he lay back on his own bed, crossing his hands behind his head and sighing deeply.
If that gun had been loaded ... Sam would have shot me.
He tried to push the thought out of his mind, reminding himself that they were brothers, and nothing could come between that.
Letting his eyes drift close, Dean decided to push away his worries and let the new day bring what it may. Even if that meant getting another round of rock-salt to his chest.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Officer Down
One of my longer Rookie Blue fics. This one was actually requested of me by another author on the fanfic site. The blocks of italics are flashbacks.
She couldn't believe this was happening. Realistically, she shouldn't be so surprised ... it's a hazard of the job, something that you anticipate every time you slide on that flak jacket. Bad guys like to shoot cops, that's just how it is. They also loved using armor piercing rounds … ‘cop-killers’, as the bullets had been named on the street.
Even though she should have been completely prepared for this, she wasn't. She was prepared for being in that situation herself. She was prepared to be staring down the barrel of someone else's gun, and she was prepared to either talk her way out of it, or shoot before she got shot. She was ready for that. But how could she be prepared for having to sit idly by, while the man she loved was so close to death? His fate was completely out of her hands, all she could do was hope and pray that he made it through.
~ "We move in on my mark," he told everyone through the COMMs. "Three, two, one, MARK," he announced, and then the door was forced open by the battering ram.
They had finally done it. Emily had - in fact - made two copies of the information she'd stolen from Anton Hill, and once she was sure she was safe, she'd sent it back to Sam. It held everything that they needed to take down Anton Hill, now all they had to do was apprehend him.
Everything was falling into place. ~
Andy buried her head in her hands, wondering how they could have been so naive. Well, maybe it wasn't naivety. They were decked out in protective gear because they knew that Anton would have armed guards, and wouldn't go down without a fight. Maybe she'd been the naive one, to think that they would emerge victorious, without any casualties.
"He's not a casualty," she told herself quietly, but forcefully. It became her inner mantra, all that she could hold onto. That, and the watch that the paramedics had pulled off of his arm while working on him in the ambulance. She gripped it tight in her hands while she hoped and prayed, feeling Traci's hand rubbing her back, trying to comfort her.
~ “Sam, he's heading down to the basement!" Andy relayed, spotting Anton Hill trying to escape in the mayhem. Perhaps he had an exit down there that they didn't know about. "I'm going after him!"
"Not by yourself!" Sam shouted back, laying some cover fire as he crossed the room to the basement door.
They made their way down the stairs, slow and sure, their guns pointed ahead of them. Andy had descended before him, and so she was the first to get a clear view of the basement. She scanned the area as she made her way down the steps.
"I don't see him," she told Sam, her gun following the movement of her eyes.
"He couldn't have just vanished," Sam told her, following behind her.
Andy opened her mouth to respond, when she felt a hand grab her ankle, jarring her from the steps. ~
"He's gonna be fine," Traci told her, her hand continuing with soothing circles on her back. "Just breathe."
Andy shook her head, trying to hold back her tears. Unsuccessfully. "I can't lose him, Trace ... I just can't."
Traci grabbed one of Andy's hands with her free one, holding it tightly. "It's gonna be okay."
Andy wanted to believe her. She really wanted to.
...
The doctors managed to stabilize him but he was still in the ICU. They wouldn't let anyone see him, as he still wasn‘t out of the woods. She had almost been comforted when they told them that he had pulled through the surgery, but once Andy found out that he was still in danger of more internal bleeding, as well as an infection that could make the injury worse, the tears returned.
She wanted to be with him, to tell him that she was there for him, and that she wasn't going anywhere. She just wanted him to know that someone was there, even if he wasn't awake, and couldn't talk to her.
Andy paced around the waiting room, the other officers giving her a wide berth.
~ When she felt her body begin to fall through the air, she wanted to scream, but the impact of her body against the floor drew it from her.
"Andy!" Sam shouted, rushing down the stairs to make sure she was okay. "Andy, are you alright?"
"Not so fast, Swarek," a man said from behind him, and he turned to see Anton Hill emerge from below the staircase.
Anton pointed his gun straight at Sam's chest, walking forwards.
Sam's right hand twitched, about to raise his own gun back up.
"Uh-uh," Anton told him. "Drop it."
Andy struggled to regain her breath, the wind knocked out of her from the fall. "Sam ..." she began, but couldn't find any other words. It was too hard to speak.
"It's okay," Sam told her, purposefully placing himself between her and Anton Hill.
Anton shook his head. "You ruined me, Swarek. Say goodbye."
Sam began to lift his gun, but he was too late. The first shot hit him in the right shoulder, the second straight in the chest.
"NO!" Andy screamed, seeing him begin to fall. Before Anton could turn his gun on him, Andy raised her gun, shooting until Anton hit down ground. she pushed herself off of the ground, crawling over to Sam. ~
Chris and Gail had just come back from a coffee run, passing out the cups to room full of officers. Andy downed hers quickly, needing something to focus on. She needed something to keep her mind alert, so that she wouldn’t fall asleep … she couldn’t let herself be sleeping if Sam’s condition proved fatal.
She brought her hand up to her face, chewing nervously on her nails. "It's all my fault," she breathed out in a near-silent whisper. If Sam hadn't been worried about her, then he wouldn't have been distracted. He wouldn't have fallen for Anton's trap.
She shook her head, staring down at her feet, her eyes red and puffy.
Boyko made his way back to the waiting room, having gone to talk to the doctor about Sam's condition. "Alright, guys, it looks like they're going to keep him sedated overnight. They'll inform us if his condition changes, so until then, I want you all to go home and get some rest. You're all expected to show up for your shifts tomorrow."
Some of the cops left right away, a few needed more convincing, until finally it was just Andy, Traci, Jerry and Boyko. Traci stayed long enough to tell Andy to call her if she needed anything, and ask Jerry to drive her home. Her mom was watching Leo, and she wanted to get home so her mother could get back to her own place.
Jerry patted Andy's back before he left, telling her to call him if anything happened.
Andy nodded, promising that she would.
Boyko and Andy stood together in the waiting room, staring straight at one another. "McNally, he's not going to be able to see anyone at least until tomorrow. Go home, get some sleep."
Andy shook her head. "Sorry, sir, but I'm not going anywhere."
Boyko waited, staring her down, until he finally relented. "Okay ... I'll rearrange some things on the schedule, give you tomorrow off." He moved to retrieve his own coffee, but stopped before he passed her, regarding her thoughtfully. "This wasn't your fault."
Andy looked away, continuing her pacing.
~ Sam, stay still, okay? Don't move," she urged, pressing down on the more severe wound of the two, trying to stop the bleeding. "Officer down!" she shouted up the stairs to the basement. She grabbed her radio, pressing the talk button. "Officer down! Send a bus to the location of the takedown!" she relayed to the officers upstairs, as well as the dispatcher.
The gunfire had finally ceased upstairs, and a couple more officers made their way down the steps.
"Get help!" she pleaded, not taking her hands off his wound. Chris ran back up the steps to make sure that the paramedics were on the way, while Oliver stayed with Andy and Sam.
"Come on, Sam," Andy spoke in a shaky voice, feeling a few tears leak down her face as she maintained eye contact with him. "Stay with me." ~
...
Andy moved from spot to spot in the waiting room, downing cup after cup of coffee. She ran over the events of the night in her mind, over and over, trying to understand it all. She told herself that she could have done something - anything - to stop him from being shot. She should have cleared under the stairs ... they were open at the back, she should have expected that he'd hide there.
Sam had gotten shot because of her - for her. She didn't think she could live with that, if anything happened to him.
~ The paramedics brought him up out of the basement, wheeling him towards the ambulance.
"I'm coming with him," Andy stated, moving with the gurney.
"Only family comes in the bus, Ma'am," the paramedic told her, as he and the other collapsed the wheels and lifted Sam into the ambulance.
Andy scoffed, jumping up into the ambulance. "I'm his fiancée."
They accepted her into the van, closing the doors and heading for the nearest hospital. They cleared away the rest of his clothing to get at his wounds, removing his watch when they attached an IV.
Andy took it from them, her hands shaking as she stared down at Sam. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, his eyes trying to focus on her whenever he could. "It's ok, Sam. You're gonna be fine, okay? You're gonna be fine. Just stay with me, Sam."
When his eyes closed after that, they didn't open again. ~
Boyko had to leave around 6 in the morning to get home, shower, and take his kids to school, telling Andy to call him if she got any news about his condition.
Andy assured him that she would, standing up from her chair to get an update and refill her coffee cup.
She didn't hear anything until after 9 o'clock in the morning. A nurse made her way to the waiting room, singling Andy out. "You're Mr. Swarek's fiancée?"
Andy nodded, standing up. She fought the head rush that hit her when she stood up, blinking her eyes to fight the weariness that she felt. "What is it?"
"The doctor says you can go in and visit Mr. Swarek," she told Andy. "He's still unconscious, but the risk of infection is gone. You can stay in there with him as long as he's stable."
Andy nodded her thanks, following the nurse to his room. She clutched his watch in her hand, using it like an anchor. It was all that was keeping her grounded, all that was keeping her steady. Keeping her from drifting away and letting herself fall into the shell of emptiness that threatened to overtake her. She needed Sam to be okay.
Once the nurse brought her to the room, she gave her some privacy, telling her to let him get as much rest as possible.
Andy shifted in the middle of the room for a few moments, before she unsteadily took the seat next to his bed. She stared down at his face, taking in his closed eyes, and completely expressionless face. She took comfort in the fact that he didn't have a tube down his throat - he was breathing on his own.
She wanted to touch him - his hand, his forehead, his lips - but she didn't want to do something that might worsen his condition. She needed to be close to him, so she slid his watch onto her thin wrist, and then dug around in one of her pockets. With a shaky hand, she pulled out her engagement ring, holding back a whimper. She slid it onto its proper finger, feeling a momentary shiver rush through her body, before she lost the ability to compose herself. Andy dropped her head into her hands once more, the tears flowing freely from her eyes. Her body wracked with sobs, trying not to think about how she would go on without him.
"It's all my fault," she moaned out, crying into her hands. "All my fault."
After almost an hour, her exhausted body finally gave way to the pull of sleep, letting her drift into a deep state of unconsciousness, the pain in her heart filling her subconscious mind with dreadful imaginings.
...
Andy awoke to the sounds of a nurse shuffling around the room, checking his monitor and adjusting his IV. She sat up quickly in her seat, wiping her cheeks absently. "What's wrong?" she wondered, blinking her eyes quickly.
"Nothing's wrong, Ma'am," the nurse told her. "I'm just running a routine check."
"Has there been any change?" Andy wondered, hating herself for falling asleep.
The nurse shook her head. "Not really. His stats have remained mostly stable, so things are looking okay for now. But if you have any other questions, I can call his doctor for you."
Andy nodded her head, letting her know that she would find her if she needed anything. Her own head was throbbing, and after checking on Sam herself, she went to find a bathroom. Andy was still decked out in her gear from the previous night, having refused to go home and change.
After relieving her aching bladder, Andy moved to the sink to wash up. She took in her appearance with a wince, noticing her puffy eyes and disheveled hair. Sighing, she splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would wake her up a bit.
The ring on her finger caught her eye, and Andy was brought back to the night he'd proposed.
~ "What are we doing here?" Andy wondered as they made their way down an alleyway.
"You don't recognize this place?" Sam asked her. "But it holds such fond memories."
Andy glanced around, her mind searching for something familiar. "Wait, is this ...?"
"The very same alley where you tackled me, tried to kiss me?" he asked her with a grin. "Yep."
Andy rolled her eyes, grinning back. "Oh, please, I did not try to kiss you,” she reminded him through her grin. She couldn’t help but think back to that day with a smile on her face. “Wow ... that feels like ages ago." She glanced around, noticing that they were standing in about the same place where she'd knocked him to the ground. She fondly remembered searching him for weapons and drugs, her hands sliding over his buttocks as she checked his back pockets. Her smile widened at the memory. "So, why did you bring me back here?" She was almost dying with curiosity.
"Well ... I had a question I wanted to ask you," he told her, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he moved in a circle around her. "I tried thinking of the perfect place, and after a while, I realized that the place where we first met ... that would be pretty fitting. Shamelessly romantic, in a way," he added.
Andy narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out where he was going with this.
"So, here we are ... back where it all started. A lot has changed since then, yeah?" he asked her.
Andy nodded her head. "I'll say."
"I wouldn't change any of it," he told her. "Not a thing. I think everything worked out pretty damn perfectly."
Andy tilted her head at him, smiling and frowning at the same time. "What are you getting at here, Sam?"
He seemed to take a deep breath, and then pulled something out of his pocket. His hand hid most of it from her, and he kept it pressed against his pant leg. "I love you, Andy McNally. You know that, right?"
Andy smiled as she nodded her head. "Yeah, Sam. I love you, too."
A wide smile graced his features, and then he slowly slid to the ground, balancing on one knee.
"Oh, my god," Andy whispered, understanding the significance of the movement.
Sam took another deep breath, and then opened his mouth to speak. "I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you, McNally," he told her, smiling fondly. "I love you. Will you marry me?" Sam lifted the top of the box open, revealing a beautiful diamond ring.
Andy couldn't speak for a moment, her breath was completely taken away. Once she regained herself, she nodded her head swiftly, tears brimming in her eyes. "Yes! Of course I'll marry you!"
He stood quickly from the ground, pulling her into his arms and kissing her thoroughly. Once he pulled away, he took the ring out of the box, sliding in onto her waiting hand.
Andy closed her eyes for a moment, basking in the sensations filling and surrounding her. When she opened them again, he was smiling down at her. She couldn't imagine ever being happier than she was at that very moment. ~
Andy opened her eyes once more, staring into her reflection in the mirror. She would give anything to feel that way again. She dried her hands and face, exiting the bathroom and then heading to the nearest vending machine. She got a bottle of water this time, trying to get some of the caffeine out of her system. She was shaky enough as it was.
...
Andy was vigilant at Sam's side, waiting patiently for him to wake up. Doctors and nurses came and went, checking his stats, changing his IV, and sometimes making small-talk with Andy. Sometimes they tried to tell her that she should go home, take a shower, try and get some rest, but she told them no every time. She wasn't leaving him ... she didn't want him to wake up, and not see her there beside him.
Around four o'clock that afternoon, she witnessed his eyelids move around a bit.
Andy sat up straight in her seat, her hand reaching out to grip the bed. "Sam?" she spoke, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
After almost another minute, the movement happened again, and this time she noticed the numbers on the monitor going up. She thought that meant his pulse and blood pressure were rising, but she wasn't entirely sure.
"Sam?" she asked again, this time a bit louder.
His eyes blinked a couple times, but then shut against the bright lights. His tongue poked out to wet his lips. "Andy?" he rasped, his throat dry and sore.
She let out a choked-off breath of relief, leaning forward in her seat, her hand coming up to rest on his arm. "I'm here," she told him.
Sam tried to speak again, but his throat was sore. "Water?" he asked in a gravelly voice.
Andy nodded her head, walking around the bed to fill up a cup with a pitcher of water the nurses had left there. She angled the straw so that he could drink it easier, her hand coming out to brush against his forehead while he drank.
After he finished half the cup, Sam pulled away from the straw. "Thanks," he told her in a slightly healthier-sounding voice.
Andy nodded, standing beside him. Her hand continued to caress his hairline, thanking her lucky stars that he'd finally woken up.
Sam worked harder to open his eyes, seeing her standing above him. He took in her outfit, his eyebrows furrowing. "What time is it?"
Andy glanced at his watch on her hand. "Quarter after four," she told him. "You've been unconscious for over a day."
"You haven't been home yet?" he asked.
Andy shook her head, her fingers moving through his hair. "Couldn't."
Sam sighed, enjoying the feeling of her hand in his hair. Really, he was happy to be feeling anything at that moment. "Well, I'm glad you're okay," he told her.
Andy pursed her lips at that, trying not to start crying again.
"What?" he asked her. "What's wrong."
She shook her head, pulling her hand away from his hair. "It's my fault you're in here," she told him. "If I'd checked the stairs first, he never would have ... I'm so sorry, Sam."
Sam clenched his jaw, staring up at her. When she tried to move away from the bed, his left arm came up to grab her wrist. "Don't," he told her forcefully. "This was not your fault. This was Anton Hill's fault. He's the one who shot me, not you. If I'd gone down first, I wouldn't have checked the stairs either."
Andy looked down at his hand on her wrist, not believing him at first.
"Don't blame yourself for what you can't control," he said. "What happened, happened. What matters is, we're here now. And I don't like it when you cry."
She looked up, meeting his eyes. She was shocked to find a tear falling onto his own cheek. Andy walked back to him, leaning down and kissing his lips.
He responded quickly, feeling both sorrow and elation in her kiss.
They pulled apart when a nurse came into the room. She paged the doctor when she saw that Sam was awake, and Andy stood back to let them do their jobs, checking on her husband-to-be.
Andy ran a hand through her hair, ever-thankful that he was going to be okay. She hoped that one day she would be able to stop thinking that she was to blame for him being shot. Even if she couldn't, she would spend every day loving him, and making sure that it didn't happen again.
...
Sam was released from the hospital almost two weeks later. He spent a couple months in rehab, getting his strength back and building his endurance back up. He went back to work two months before the wedding.
Andy smiled brightly as her father walked her down the aisle, barely believing that the day had finally come. They'd made it through everything so far, and they were still together. She saw him up at the altar, waiting for her with a broad smile on his own face. You wouldn't know by looking at him that only a few months ago, he'd been lying in a hospital bed, very near death. To see him so full of life now made Andy's heart skip a beat, feeling a rush of excitement.
She used to think that they had to live moment-to-moment ... just get through the night, get through the recovery, get through the rehab, get through the day without something bad happening. She didn't think that anymore. She would take whatever life gave her ... because at that moment, it gave her the most beautiful wedding ceremony, surrounded by her friends and family, about to marry the love of her life. She didn't want to get through life; she wanted to enjoy it.
Andy knew that with Sam by her side, she would.
She couldn't believe this was happening. Realistically, she shouldn't be so surprised ... it's a hazard of the job, something that you anticipate every time you slide on that flak jacket. Bad guys like to shoot cops, that's just how it is. They also loved using armor piercing rounds … ‘cop-killers’, as the bullets had been named on the street.
Even though she should have been completely prepared for this, she wasn't. She was prepared for being in that situation herself. She was prepared to be staring down the barrel of someone else's gun, and she was prepared to either talk her way out of it, or shoot before she got shot. She was ready for that. But how could she be prepared for having to sit idly by, while the man she loved was so close to death? His fate was completely out of her hands, all she could do was hope and pray that he made it through.
~ "We move in on my mark," he told everyone through the COMMs. "Three, two, one, MARK," he announced, and then the door was forced open by the battering ram.
They had finally done it. Emily had - in fact - made two copies of the information she'd stolen from Anton Hill, and once she was sure she was safe, she'd sent it back to Sam. It held everything that they needed to take down Anton Hill, now all they had to do was apprehend him.
Everything was falling into place. ~
Andy buried her head in her hands, wondering how they could have been so naive. Well, maybe it wasn't naivety. They were decked out in protective gear because they knew that Anton would have armed guards, and wouldn't go down without a fight. Maybe she'd been the naive one, to think that they would emerge victorious, without any casualties.
"He's not a casualty," she told herself quietly, but forcefully. It became her inner mantra, all that she could hold onto. That, and the watch that the paramedics had pulled off of his arm while working on him in the ambulance. She gripped it tight in her hands while she hoped and prayed, feeling Traci's hand rubbing her back, trying to comfort her.
~ “Sam, he's heading down to the basement!" Andy relayed, spotting Anton Hill trying to escape in the mayhem. Perhaps he had an exit down there that they didn't know about. "I'm going after him!"
"Not by yourself!" Sam shouted back, laying some cover fire as he crossed the room to the basement door.
They made their way down the stairs, slow and sure, their guns pointed ahead of them. Andy had descended before him, and so she was the first to get a clear view of the basement. She scanned the area as she made her way down the steps.
"I don't see him," she told Sam, her gun following the movement of her eyes.
"He couldn't have just vanished," Sam told her, following behind her.
Andy opened her mouth to respond, when she felt a hand grab her ankle, jarring her from the steps. ~
"He's gonna be fine," Traci told her, her hand continuing with soothing circles on her back. "Just breathe."
Andy shook her head, trying to hold back her tears. Unsuccessfully. "I can't lose him, Trace ... I just can't."
Traci grabbed one of Andy's hands with her free one, holding it tightly. "It's gonna be okay."
Andy wanted to believe her. She really wanted to.
...
The doctors managed to stabilize him but he was still in the ICU. They wouldn't let anyone see him, as he still wasn‘t out of the woods. She had almost been comforted when they told them that he had pulled through the surgery, but once Andy found out that he was still in danger of more internal bleeding, as well as an infection that could make the injury worse, the tears returned.
She wanted to be with him, to tell him that she was there for him, and that she wasn't going anywhere. She just wanted him to know that someone was there, even if he wasn't awake, and couldn't talk to her.
Andy paced around the waiting room, the other officers giving her a wide berth.
~ When she felt her body begin to fall through the air, she wanted to scream, but the impact of her body against the floor drew it from her.
"Andy!" Sam shouted, rushing down the stairs to make sure she was okay. "Andy, are you alright?"
"Not so fast, Swarek," a man said from behind him, and he turned to see Anton Hill emerge from below the staircase.
Anton pointed his gun straight at Sam's chest, walking forwards.
Sam's right hand twitched, about to raise his own gun back up.
"Uh-uh," Anton told him. "Drop it."
Andy struggled to regain her breath, the wind knocked out of her from the fall. "Sam ..." she began, but couldn't find any other words. It was too hard to speak.
"It's okay," Sam told her, purposefully placing himself between her and Anton Hill.
Anton shook his head. "You ruined me, Swarek. Say goodbye."
Sam began to lift his gun, but he was too late. The first shot hit him in the right shoulder, the second straight in the chest.
"NO!" Andy screamed, seeing him begin to fall. Before Anton could turn his gun on him, Andy raised her gun, shooting until Anton hit down ground. she pushed herself off of the ground, crawling over to Sam. ~
Chris and Gail had just come back from a coffee run, passing out the cups to room full of officers. Andy downed hers quickly, needing something to focus on. She needed something to keep her mind alert, so that she wouldn’t fall asleep … she couldn’t let herself be sleeping if Sam’s condition proved fatal.
She brought her hand up to her face, chewing nervously on her nails. "It's all my fault," she breathed out in a near-silent whisper. If Sam hadn't been worried about her, then he wouldn't have been distracted. He wouldn't have fallen for Anton's trap.
She shook her head, staring down at her feet, her eyes red and puffy.
Boyko made his way back to the waiting room, having gone to talk to the doctor about Sam's condition. "Alright, guys, it looks like they're going to keep him sedated overnight. They'll inform us if his condition changes, so until then, I want you all to go home and get some rest. You're all expected to show up for your shifts tomorrow."
Some of the cops left right away, a few needed more convincing, until finally it was just Andy, Traci, Jerry and Boyko. Traci stayed long enough to tell Andy to call her if she needed anything, and ask Jerry to drive her home. Her mom was watching Leo, and she wanted to get home so her mother could get back to her own place.
Jerry patted Andy's back before he left, telling her to call him if anything happened.
Andy nodded, promising that she would.
Boyko and Andy stood together in the waiting room, staring straight at one another. "McNally, he's not going to be able to see anyone at least until tomorrow. Go home, get some sleep."
Andy shook her head. "Sorry, sir, but I'm not going anywhere."
Boyko waited, staring her down, until he finally relented. "Okay ... I'll rearrange some things on the schedule, give you tomorrow off." He moved to retrieve his own coffee, but stopped before he passed her, regarding her thoughtfully. "This wasn't your fault."
Andy looked away, continuing her pacing.
~ Sam, stay still, okay? Don't move," she urged, pressing down on the more severe wound of the two, trying to stop the bleeding. "Officer down!" she shouted up the stairs to the basement. She grabbed her radio, pressing the talk button. "Officer down! Send a bus to the location of the takedown!" she relayed to the officers upstairs, as well as the dispatcher.
The gunfire had finally ceased upstairs, and a couple more officers made their way down the steps.
"Get help!" she pleaded, not taking her hands off his wound. Chris ran back up the steps to make sure that the paramedics were on the way, while Oliver stayed with Andy and Sam.
"Come on, Sam," Andy spoke in a shaky voice, feeling a few tears leak down her face as she maintained eye contact with him. "Stay with me." ~
...
Andy moved from spot to spot in the waiting room, downing cup after cup of coffee. She ran over the events of the night in her mind, over and over, trying to understand it all. She told herself that she could have done something - anything - to stop him from being shot. She should have cleared under the stairs ... they were open at the back, she should have expected that he'd hide there.
Sam had gotten shot because of her - for her. She didn't think she could live with that, if anything happened to him.
~ The paramedics brought him up out of the basement, wheeling him towards the ambulance.
"I'm coming with him," Andy stated, moving with the gurney.
"Only family comes in the bus, Ma'am," the paramedic told her, as he and the other collapsed the wheels and lifted Sam into the ambulance.
Andy scoffed, jumping up into the ambulance. "I'm his fiancée."
They accepted her into the van, closing the doors and heading for the nearest hospital. They cleared away the rest of his clothing to get at his wounds, removing his watch when they attached an IV.
Andy took it from them, her hands shaking as she stared down at Sam. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, his eyes trying to focus on her whenever he could. "It's ok, Sam. You're gonna be fine, okay? You're gonna be fine. Just stay with me, Sam."
When his eyes closed after that, they didn't open again. ~
Boyko had to leave around 6 in the morning to get home, shower, and take his kids to school, telling Andy to call him if she got any news about his condition.
Andy assured him that she would, standing up from her chair to get an update and refill her coffee cup.
She didn't hear anything until after 9 o'clock in the morning. A nurse made her way to the waiting room, singling Andy out. "You're Mr. Swarek's fiancée?"
Andy nodded, standing up. She fought the head rush that hit her when she stood up, blinking her eyes to fight the weariness that she felt. "What is it?"
"The doctor says you can go in and visit Mr. Swarek," she told Andy. "He's still unconscious, but the risk of infection is gone. You can stay in there with him as long as he's stable."
Andy nodded her thanks, following the nurse to his room. She clutched his watch in her hand, using it like an anchor. It was all that was keeping her grounded, all that was keeping her steady. Keeping her from drifting away and letting herself fall into the shell of emptiness that threatened to overtake her. She needed Sam to be okay.
Once the nurse brought her to the room, she gave her some privacy, telling her to let him get as much rest as possible.
Andy shifted in the middle of the room for a few moments, before she unsteadily took the seat next to his bed. She stared down at his face, taking in his closed eyes, and completely expressionless face. She took comfort in the fact that he didn't have a tube down his throat - he was breathing on his own.
She wanted to touch him - his hand, his forehead, his lips - but she didn't want to do something that might worsen his condition. She needed to be close to him, so she slid his watch onto her thin wrist, and then dug around in one of her pockets. With a shaky hand, she pulled out her engagement ring, holding back a whimper. She slid it onto its proper finger, feeling a momentary shiver rush through her body, before she lost the ability to compose herself. Andy dropped her head into her hands once more, the tears flowing freely from her eyes. Her body wracked with sobs, trying not to think about how she would go on without him.
"It's all my fault," she moaned out, crying into her hands. "All my fault."
After almost an hour, her exhausted body finally gave way to the pull of sleep, letting her drift into a deep state of unconsciousness, the pain in her heart filling her subconscious mind with dreadful imaginings.
...
Andy awoke to the sounds of a nurse shuffling around the room, checking his monitor and adjusting his IV. She sat up quickly in her seat, wiping her cheeks absently. "What's wrong?" she wondered, blinking her eyes quickly.
"Nothing's wrong, Ma'am," the nurse told her. "I'm just running a routine check."
"Has there been any change?" Andy wondered, hating herself for falling asleep.
The nurse shook her head. "Not really. His stats have remained mostly stable, so things are looking okay for now. But if you have any other questions, I can call his doctor for you."
Andy nodded her head, letting her know that she would find her if she needed anything. Her own head was throbbing, and after checking on Sam herself, she went to find a bathroom. Andy was still decked out in her gear from the previous night, having refused to go home and change.
After relieving her aching bladder, Andy moved to the sink to wash up. She took in her appearance with a wince, noticing her puffy eyes and disheveled hair. Sighing, she splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would wake her up a bit.
The ring on her finger caught her eye, and Andy was brought back to the night he'd proposed.
~ "What are we doing here?" Andy wondered as they made their way down an alleyway.
"You don't recognize this place?" Sam asked her. "But it holds such fond memories."
Andy glanced around, her mind searching for something familiar. "Wait, is this ...?"
"The very same alley where you tackled me, tried to kiss me?" he asked her with a grin. "Yep."
Andy rolled her eyes, grinning back. "Oh, please, I did not try to kiss you,” she reminded him through her grin. She couldn’t help but think back to that day with a smile on her face. “Wow ... that feels like ages ago." She glanced around, noticing that they were standing in about the same place where she'd knocked him to the ground. She fondly remembered searching him for weapons and drugs, her hands sliding over his buttocks as she checked his back pockets. Her smile widened at the memory. "So, why did you bring me back here?" She was almost dying with curiosity.
"Well ... I had a question I wanted to ask you," he told her, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he moved in a circle around her. "I tried thinking of the perfect place, and after a while, I realized that the place where we first met ... that would be pretty fitting. Shamelessly romantic, in a way," he added.
Andy narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out where he was going with this.
"So, here we are ... back where it all started. A lot has changed since then, yeah?" he asked her.
Andy nodded her head. "I'll say."
"I wouldn't change any of it," he told her. "Not a thing. I think everything worked out pretty damn perfectly."
Andy tilted her head at him, smiling and frowning at the same time. "What are you getting at here, Sam?"
He seemed to take a deep breath, and then pulled something out of his pocket. His hand hid most of it from her, and he kept it pressed against his pant leg. "I love you, Andy McNally. You know that, right?"
Andy smiled as she nodded her head. "Yeah, Sam. I love you, too."
A wide smile graced his features, and then he slowly slid to the ground, balancing on one knee.
"Oh, my god," Andy whispered, understanding the significance of the movement.
Sam took another deep breath, and then opened his mouth to speak. "I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you, McNally," he told her, smiling fondly. "I love you. Will you marry me?" Sam lifted the top of the box open, revealing a beautiful diamond ring.
Andy couldn't speak for a moment, her breath was completely taken away. Once she regained herself, she nodded her head swiftly, tears brimming in her eyes. "Yes! Of course I'll marry you!"
He stood quickly from the ground, pulling her into his arms and kissing her thoroughly. Once he pulled away, he took the ring out of the box, sliding in onto her waiting hand.
Andy closed her eyes for a moment, basking in the sensations filling and surrounding her. When she opened them again, he was smiling down at her. She couldn't imagine ever being happier than she was at that very moment. ~
Andy opened her eyes once more, staring into her reflection in the mirror. She would give anything to feel that way again. She dried her hands and face, exiting the bathroom and then heading to the nearest vending machine. She got a bottle of water this time, trying to get some of the caffeine out of her system. She was shaky enough as it was.
...
Andy was vigilant at Sam's side, waiting patiently for him to wake up. Doctors and nurses came and went, checking his stats, changing his IV, and sometimes making small-talk with Andy. Sometimes they tried to tell her that she should go home, take a shower, try and get some rest, but she told them no every time. She wasn't leaving him ... she didn't want him to wake up, and not see her there beside him.
Around four o'clock that afternoon, she witnessed his eyelids move around a bit.
Andy sat up straight in her seat, her hand reaching out to grip the bed. "Sam?" she spoke, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
After almost another minute, the movement happened again, and this time she noticed the numbers on the monitor going up. She thought that meant his pulse and blood pressure were rising, but she wasn't entirely sure.
"Sam?" she asked again, this time a bit louder.
His eyes blinked a couple times, but then shut against the bright lights. His tongue poked out to wet his lips. "Andy?" he rasped, his throat dry and sore.
She let out a choked-off breath of relief, leaning forward in her seat, her hand coming up to rest on his arm. "I'm here," she told him.
Sam tried to speak again, but his throat was sore. "Water?" he asked in a gravelly voice.
Andy nodded her head, walking around the bed to fill up a cup with a pitcher of water the nurses had left there. She angled the straw so that he could drink it easier, her hand coming out to brush against his forehead while he drank.
After he finished half the cup, Sam pulled away from the straw. "Thanks," he told her in a slightly healthier-sounding voice.
Andy nodded, standing beside him. Her hand continued to caress his hairline, thanking her lucky stars that he'd finally woken up.
Sam worked harder to open his eyes, seeing her standing above him. He took in her outfit, his eyebrows furrowing. "What time is it?"
Andy glanced at his watch on her hand. "Quarter after four," she told him. "You've been unconscious for over a day."
"You haven't been home yet?" he asked.
Andy shook her head, her fingers moving through his hair. "Couldn't."
Sam sighed, enjoying the feeling of her hand in his hair. Really, he was happy to be feeling anything at that moment. "Well, I'm glad you're okay," he told her.
Andy pursed her lips at that, trying not to start crying again.
"What?" he asked her. "What's wrong."
She shook her head, pulling her hand away from his hair. "It's my fault you're in here," she told him. "If I'd checked the stairs first, he never would have ... I'm so sorry, Sam."
Sam clenched his jaw, staring up at her. When she tried to move away from the bed, his left arm came up to grab her wrist. "Don't," he told her forcefully. "This was not your fault. This was Anton Hill's fault. He's the one who shot me, not you. If I'd gone down first, I wouldn't have checked the stairs either."
Andy looked down at his hand on her wrist, not believing him at first.
"Don't blame yourself for what you can't control," he said. "What happened, happened. What matters is, we're here now. And I don't like it when you cry."
She looked up, meeting his eyes. She was shocked to find a tear falling onto his own cheek. Andy walked back to him, leaning down and kissing his lips.
He responded quickly, feeling both sorrow and elation in her kiss.
They pulled apart when a nurse came into the room. She paged the doctor when she saw that Sam was awake, and Andy stood back to let them do their jobs, checking on her husband-to-be.
Andy ran a hand through her hair, ever-thankful that he was going to be okay. She hoped that one day she would be able to stop thinking that she was to blame for him being shot. Even if she couldn't, she would spend every day loving him, and making sure that it didn't happen again.
...
Sam was released from the hospital almost two weeks later. He spent a couple months in rehab, getting his strength back and building his endurance back up. He went back to work two months before the wedding.
Andy smiled brightly as her father walked her down the aisle, barely believing that the day had finally come. They'd made it through everything so far, and they were still together. She saw him up at the altar, waiting for her with a broad smile on his own face. You wouldn't know by looking at him that only a few months ago, he'd been lying in a hospital bed, very near death. To see him so full of life now made Andy's heart skip a beat, feeling a rush of excitement.
She used to think that they had to live moment-to-moment ... just get through the night, get through the recovery, get through the rehab, get through the day without something bad happening. She didn't think that anymore. She would take whatever life gave her ... because at that moment, it gave her the most beautiful wedding ceremony, surrounded by her friends and family, about to marry the love of her life. She didn't want to get through life; she wanted to enjoy it.
Andy knew that with Sam by her side, she would.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Growing Old
Growing old? Not really looking forward to it. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to be a little old lady, shuffling around with my walker, and whacking ‘those damn punks’ with my cane for walking around with their pants around their knees. There are certain things about growing old that I’m sure will be fun.
But there’s quite a few things that I enjoy about being young. To start with, there’s my eyesight: perfect vision in one eye, beyond perfect vision in the other eye. Not sure how that happens, but it’s pretty awesome. I’ve been told by family members that my eyes will probably get worse as I get older, as every member of my immediate family wears glasses. As it is right now, I stare at a computer and television screen virtually all day long, I read and write in the dark, and I don’t really exercise my eyes at all. So for now, I’m twenty years old, and I have perfect/beyond perfect eyesight. It would really suck to grow out of that.
Another thing that I love about being young, is my ability to stay up until 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning, wake up at 7 in the morning, and not be completely bogged all day. I was just discussing this with my mother, who went to bed at 8:30 pm, and she asked me how I do it. How I stay up all night and all day, and am not tired throughout the day. The obvious answer was that I’m thirty years younger than her. I’m a pretty big night owl, it is rare for me to go to bed before midnight. I love that. Wish I could do it for the rest of my life.
The ability to blare my music in my headphones: yes, this will probably result in some hearing loss when I’m older, but I absolutely hate quiet music. I don’t like straining my ears to hear something, I enjoy being surrounded by the sound. So, I blare my music. I love it. It sounds good to me. But, I’m sure that when I get older, I’ll be telling those young punks to turn down their ‘noise’. Sigh …
Writing: With all the writing, typing and cracking of my knuckles that I do, I just know that I'm going to get arthritis when I'm older. Not looking forward to that. I love typing fast. It's fun. I especially love the look on my brother's face when I stare at him while typing, 'cause he can't figure out how I can do it so fast without looking. Typing is fun. Yeah ... arthritis is gonna suck.
The list could go on forever … my endless supply of energy when playing with kids, my ability to down a case of pop in two days without intestinal complaint, etc. I enjoy being young. It’s fun.
I’m sure that when I’m all white-haired and wrinkled, and looking back on this, I’ll have a good chuckle. Maybe even a snort. I really hope that I still snort when I laugh when I’m old …
But there’s quite a few things that I enjoy about being young. To start with, there’s my eyesight: perfect vision in one eye, beyond perfect vision in the other eye. Not sure how that happens, but it’s pretty awesome. I’ve been told by family members that my eyes will probably get worse as I get older, as every member of my immediate family wears glasses. As it is right now, I stare at a computer and television screen virtually all day long, I read and write in the dark, and I don’t really exercise my eyes at all. So for now, I’m twenty years old, and I have perfect/beyond perfect eyesight. It would really suck to grow out of that.
Another thing that I love about being young, is my ability to stay up until 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning, wake up at 7 in the morning, and not be completely bogged all day. I was just discussing this with my mother, who went to bed at 8:30 pm, and she asked me how I do it. How I stay up all night and all day, and am not tired throughout the day. The obvious answer was that I’m thirty years younger than her. I’m a pretty big night owl, it is rare for me to go to bed before midnight. I love that. Wish I could do it for the rest of my life.
The ability to blare my music in my headphones: yes, this will probably result in some hearing loss when I’m older, but I absolutely hate quiet music. I don’t like straining my ears to hear something, I enjoy being surrounded by the sound. So, I blare my music. I love it. It sounds good to me. But, I’m sure that when I get older, I’ll be telling those young punks to turn down their ‘noise’. Sigh …
Writing: With all the writing, typing and cracking of my knuckles that I do, I just know that I'm going to get arthritis when I'm older. Not looking forward to that. I love typing fast. It's fun. I especially love the look on my brother's face when I stare at him while typing, 'cause he can't figure out how I can do it so fast without looking. Typing is fun. Yeah ... arthritis is gonna suck.
The list could go on forever … my endless supply of energy when playing with kids, my ability to down a case of pop in two days without intestinal complaint, etc. I enjoy being young. It’s fun.
I’m sure that when I’m all white-haired and wrinkled, and looking back on this, I’ll have a good chuckle. Maybe even a snort. I really hope that I still snort when I laugh when I’m old …
I Don't Date Cops
One of my sillier Rookie Blue fics. I usually don't write things from first-person narrative, but I couldn't resist for this one.
Here's the thing, I don't date cops. It's an actual rule that I have.
My mother married a cop, and while I wouldn't have been born otherwise, I saw how that relationship turned out … not good. I've also seen what happens to cops when they can't be cops anymore. I don't want that to be a part of my life.
So, I don't date cops. Now, it's not as though I've had the best track record with men in general, but there are moments of weakness, and then there are bad decisions. Moments of weakness I can deal with ... I have dealt with it. Life goes on.
Where was I? Oh, right ... I don't date cops.
This thing with Sam? It's not dating. It's just - it's two coworkers going out for drinks every other night. If we sometimes make a full meal out of it, that's just 'cause we're hungry. People gotta eat, right? We're not dating. I don't know why Traci thinks we are. We're not. Cops are supposed to get to know each other outside of work ... it helps build trust, and respect, and companionship ... all that. That's what we're doing. Trust, respect, companionship ... okay, maybe this isn't the right way to be explaining this.
See, Sam and me, we have an understanding. Okay, so neither one of us is dating anyone else, and we spend almost all of our time together. He's my training officer, and I respect him. I value his opinion. He's one of the strongest people that I know - that's why I asked him to help me move. 'Cause he's got good, strong muscles. Is it my fault that he decided to parade around without a shirt the whole day? Okay, well, yeah ... the sun was pretty hot. I stripped down a few layers myself.
But it wasn't a problem. Since we're not dating, we can be around each other half-naked without jumping each other's bones. Not that we would want to ... I mean, okay, so sometimes we have these inside jokes, and they verge on the border of inappropriate. So we make innuendos and such ... it's just joking. Nothing serious about it. Lots of partners do stuff like that to pass the time.
I mean, we do other stuff to pass the time as well. We talk about our families, and growing up, and our parents. We've played "what's your favorite", "would you rather", and "I never", and all those things. Sometimes we even have thumb wars. Maybe those games are a bit childish, but when you're stuck on surveillance duty, or waiting in traffic, there's not much else to do. And, yeah ... so the last time we had a thumb war, are thumbs weren't exactly going after each other ... but sometimes you get distracted, you know? We were not holding hands ... we were just ... resting.
You know, this job takes a lot out of you. You don't always have time to make plans, and get all gussied up. You don't always have time to set up dates, and keep them. That's what's great about Sam ... I don't have to slather my face with makeup and find the perfect outfit to hang out with him. Usually we just go straight from the division to wherever it is that we're going. ... Not that he takes me out, or anything. I mean, yeah, he does the driving, but that's just because I don't have a car.
I mean, if I ever were going to date a cop, Sam would probably be at the top of the list. Not that I'm saying I am dating him ... I'm not. I don't date cops ... haven't we gone over this? But, from a logical standpoint, Sam would be a good boyfriend. He's caring, respectful, funny, intelligent, brave, strong ... where were we?
Oh, right ... okay, I'm done explaining this. You can believe me, or not. But I know the truth. Sam and me, not a couple. We're a partnership. That's all. Seriously.
I don't date cops!
Here's the thing, I don't date cops. It's an actual rule that I have.
My mother married a cop, and while I wouldn't have been born otherwise, I saw how that relationship turned out … not good. I've also seen what happens to cops when they can't be cops anymore. I don't want that to be a part of my life.
So, I don't date cops. Now, it's not as though I've had the best track record with men in general, but there are moments of weakness, and then there are bad decisions. Moments of weakness I can deal with ... I have dealt with it. Life goes on.
Where was I? Oh, right ... I don't date cops.
This thing with Sam? It's not dating. It's just - it's two coworkers going out for drinks every other night. If we sometimes make a full meal out of it, that's just 'cause we're hungry. People gotta eat, right? We're not dating. I don't know why Traci thinks we are. We're not. Cops are supposed to get to know each other outside of work ... it helps build trust, and respect, and companionship ... all that. That's what we're doing. Trust, respect, companionship ... okay, maybe this isn't the right way to be explaining this.
See, Sam and me, we have an understanding. Okay, so neither one of us is dating anyone else, and we spend almost all of our time together. He's my training officer, and I respect him. I value his opinion. He's one of the strongest people that I know - that's why I asked him to help me move. 'Cause he's got good, strong muscles. Is it my fault that he decided to parade around without a shirt the whole day? Okay, well, yeah ... the sun was pretty hot. I stripped down a few layers myself.
But it wasn't a problem. Since we're not dating, we can be around each other half-naked without jumping each other's bones. Not that we would want to ... I mean, okay, so sometimes we have these inside jokes, and they verge on the border of inappropriate. So we make innuendos and such ... it's just joking. Nothing serious about it. Lots of partners do stuff like that to pass the time.
I mean, we do other stuff to pass the time as well. We talk about our families, and growing up, and our parents. We've played "what's your favorite", "would you rather", and "I never", and all those things. Sometimes we even have thumb wars. Maybe those games are a bit childish, but when you're stuck on surveillance duty, or waiting in traffic, there's not much else to do. And, yeah ... so the last time we had a thumb war, are thumbs weren't exactly going after each other ... but sometimes you get distracted, you know? We were not holding hands ... we were just ... resting.
You know, this job takes a lot out of you. You don't always have time to make plans, and get all gussied up. You don't always have time to set up dates, and keep them. That's what's great about Sam ... I don't have to slather my face with makeup and find the perfect outfit to hang out with him. Usually we just go straight from the division to wherever it is that we're going. ... Not that he takes me out, or anything. I mean, yeah, he does the driving, but that's just because I don't have a car.
I mean, if I ever were going to date a cop, Sam would probably be at the top of the list. Not that I'm saying I am dating him ... I'm not. I don't date cops ... haven't we gone over this? But, from a logical standpoint, Sam would be a good boyfriend. He's caring, respectful, funny, intelligent, brave, strong ... where were we?
Oh, right ... okay, I'm done explaining this. You can believe me, or not. But I know the truth. Sam and me, not a couple. We're a partnership. That's all. Seriously.
I don't date cops!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
She's My Purpose
One of my Rookie Blue fics, written last month. Tweaked a little bit, but didn't change too much.
There wasn't a single day that went by, that Sam didn't think about his big sister. She was - after all - the reason he'd become a cop.
He had struggled with what had happened to her for most of his adult life. He often wondered if there had been something he could have done to stop it from happening. He'd been so young then ... there wasn't really anything he could have done. Maybe if he’d been just a little bit older. He hadn't even really understood what it meant then. To him, it just meant that his sister was sad all the time, and he didn't know how to make it better.
But, he'd figured it out eventually. For the longest time, he'd wanted nothing more than to beat the living hell out of every single one of the guys who'd done such things to her.
After he left the angst and anger of his teenage life behind, he'd been faced with a choice. The only thing he'd ever wanted to do was stop those horrible things from ever happening to his sister, or other girls like her. For the briefest of moments, he'd considered becoming a vigilante, and dealing out his own justice to the vermin that roamed the streets. But, eventually, his sister had changed his mind. She'd made him realize that what he really wanted - the only thing that kept him going - was just to protect her.
So, he became a cop. He became a protector of all the young women on the streets of the dangerous city, pledging to himself that he would do whatever it took to make the world a safer place for them.
He'd often wished that he'd been the older one. He wished that he'd been bigger and stronger, and could have done something to save her that night. He wished that their roles could have been reversed, because if they had, she never would have been walking home alone, and he never would have let those scumbags near her.
Some days were easier than others, some were harder. He smiled when he talked to her on the phone, and she told him something good that she'd done that day. Those days made him happy. But he also cried when he had to hang up the phone, because she was too distraught to talk to her little brother.
She used to be so full of life, she used to be such a happy child. Now, she was barely a shell of the carefree girl he used to know. He wanted her back ... he'd been wanting her back for most of his life.
He knew that he couldn't fix her with a snap of his fingers, he knew that he couldn't take away the scars and pain from that dreadful night so long ago. So, he did the only thing he could do. He put on that badge, he holstered that gun, and he roamed those streets every day, constantly praying that another innocent girl didn't get traumatized on his watch.
He was a cop, through and through. It was his life ... but more than that, it was his mission. His purpose. It was the only thing that he knew made a different in people's lives. It was who he was.
There wasn't a single day that went by, that Sam didn't think about his big sister. She was - after all - the reason he'd become a cop.
He had struggled with what had happened to her for most of his adult life. He often wondered if there had been something he could have done to stop it from happening. He'd been so young then ... there wasn't really anything he could have done. Maybe if he’d been just a little bit older. He hadn't even really understood what it meant then. To him, it just meant that his sister was sad all the time, and he didn't know how to make it better.
But, he'd figured it out eventually. For the longest time, he'd wanted nothing more than to beat the living hell out of every single one of the guys who'd done such things to her.
After he left the angst and anger of his teenage life behind, he'd been faced with a choice. The only thing he'd ever wanted to do was stop those horrible things from ever happening to his sister, or other girls like her. For the briefest of moments, he'd considered becoming a vigilante, and dealing out his own justice to the vermin that roamed the streets. But, eventually, his sister had changed his mind. She'd made him realize that what he really wanted - the only thing that kept him going - was just to protect her.
So, he became a cop. He became a protector of all the young women on the streets of the dangerous city, pledging to himself that he would do whatever it took to make the world a safer place for them.
He'd often wished that he'd been the older one. He wished that he'd been bigger and stronger, and could have done something to save her that night. He wished that their roles could have been reversed, because if they had, she never would have been walking home alone, and he never would have let those scumbags near her.
Some days were easier than others, some were harder. He smiled when he talked to her on the phone, and she told him something good that she'd done that day. Those days made him happy. But he also cried when he had to hang up the phone, because she was too distraught to talk to her little brother.
She used to be so full of life, she used to be such a happy child. Now, she was barely a shell of the carefree girl he used to know. He wanted her back ... he'd been wanting her back for most of his life.
He knew that he couldn't fix her with a snap of his fingers, he knew that he couldn't take away the scars and pain from that dreadful night so long ago. So, he did the only thing he could do. He put on that badge, he holstered that gun, and he roamed those streets every day, constantly praying that another innocent girl didn't get traumatized on his watch.
He was a cop, through and through. It was his life ... but more than that, it was his mission. His purpose. It was the only thing that he knew made a different in people's lives. It was who he was.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Lessons In Hugging
This is one of my old Supernatural fanfics, previously posted on fanfiction.net. It's been tweaked a bit, after I decided to post it here.
When Sam Winchester walked into the small motel room, and saw his big brother’s arms around the slightly-shorter angel’s body, he didn’t know what to think. Many scenarios ran through his reeling mind. The foremost, of course, being that Dean and Castiel had a relationship that not even Sam understood. They seemed to get each other on a level that no one else did, and often had entire conversations without speaking a word. Sam thought about all the too-long looks that the two shared, and all the times that Castiel invaded Dean’s personal space. He thought back to when they’d first become aware of the angel, and how he would only appear when Sam wasn’t around; would only communicate with Dean.
Sam thought about the other angels sending Castiel back to heaven to “re-indoctrinate” him, because of his growing affection for Dean. He thought about Castiel telling Dean in the hospital that he had killed two of his ‘brothers’, rebelled from heaven … all for him.
Sam stood frozen in the doorway, watching Castiel slowly raise his hands up to hold onto Dean’s back, and his mind went over all the more-intimate interaction the two had shared - the ones that he was aware of.
Really, he supposed, I shouldn’t be that surprised. After all the people who assumed Dean and I were gay … and how I mentioned that they probably thought he was overcompensating for something? Maybe he was. I hope he’s not worried about me freaking out about it. I wasn’t supposed to be back for another fifteen minutes, anyway. Oh, man, he probably thinks he has to hide it from me. Dammit, we’re brothers … he should know he can tell me anything, and I would accept him just the way he was. And falling for an angel? A completely holy, and pure being …? I mean, it gives a whole new meaning to opposites attract. But Cas would be good for him … bring him back from everything that happened to him in hell.
Sam sighed internally, looking at the two with fond eyes. They really did look good together. He opened his mouth to speak, to let them know that he was there, and that they didn’t have to stop on his account. He could watch TV, or listen to some music … maybe even leave the room for a bit, if they wanted some alone time. Before he got the chance, however, the two broke apart, and Dean spoke.
“Okay, so that’s a hug,” he told the angel. “Simple, short … you don’t have to do it to everyone you meet. But, it’s a little more personal than a handshake. Does that help you understand it more?”
Castiel nodded, dropping his own hands away from the hunter, and taking a half-step backwards. “Yes, it does. Thank you for assisting me with that. I was merely curious.”
Dean shrugged, turning back to his forgotten sandwich as he flopped down on the bed again. “No sweat.”
Sam blinked, surprise settling within him as he gained a new perspective of the scene before him.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean greeted, when he noticed his little brother. “Did you get the pie?”
Sam held up the bag after a moment, speechless. Well … okay then. So, I may have misjudged that a little bit.
When Sam Winchester walked into the small motel room, and saw his big brother’s arms around the slightly-shorter angel’s body, he didn’t know what to think. Many scenarios ran through his reeling mind. The foremost, of course, being that Dean and Castiel had a relationship that not even Sam understood. They seemed to get each other on a level that no one else did, and often had entire conversations without speaking a word. Sam thought about all the too-long looks that the two shared, and all the times that Castiel invaded Dean’s personal space. He thought back to when they’d first become aware of the angel, and how he would only appear when Sam wasn’t around; would only communicate with Dean.
Sam thought about the other angels sending Castiel back to heaven to “re-indoctrinate” him, because of his growing affection for Dean. He thought about Castiel telling Dean in the hospital that he had killed two of his ‘brothers’, rebelled from heaven … all for him.
Sam stood frozen in the doorway, watching Castiel slowly raise his hands up to hold onto Dean’s back, and his mind went over all the more-intimate interaction the two had shared - the ones that he was aware of.
Really, he supposed, I shouldn’t be that surprised. After all the people who assumed Dean and I were gay … and how I mentioned that they probably thought he was overcompensating for something? Maybe he was. I hope he’s not worried about me freaking out about it. I wasn’t supposed to be back for another fifteen minutes, anyway. Oh, man, he probably thinks he has to hide it from me. Dammit, we’re brothers … he should know he can tell me anything, and I would accept him just the way he was. And falling for an angel? A completely holy, and pure being …? I mean, it gives a whole new meaning to opposites attract. But Cas would be good for him … bring him back from everything that happened to him in hell.
Sam sighed internally, looking at the two with fond eyes. They really did look good together. He opened his mouth to speak, to let them know that he was there, and that they didn’t have to stop on his account. He could watch TV, or listen to some music … maybe even leave the room for a bit, if they wanted some alone time. Before he got the chance, however, the two broke apart, and Dean spoke.
“Okay, so that’s a hug,” he told the angel. “Simple, short … you don’t have to do it to everyone you meet. But, it’s a little more personal than a handshake. Does that help you understand it more?”
Castiel nodded, dropping his own hands away from the hunter, and taking a half-step backwards. “Yes, it does. Thank you for assisting me with that. I was merely curious.”
Dean shrugged, turning back to his forgotten sandwich as he flopped down on the bed again. “No sweat.”
Sam blinked, surprise settling within him as he gained a new perspective of the scene before him.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean greeted, when he noticed his little brother. “Did you get the pie?”
Sam held up the bag after a moment, speechless. Well … okay then. So, I may have misjudged that a little bit.
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