Rookie Blue Exitium

_Its not that I don't have anything to say about this... It's that I don't really know _what_ to say about this..._

_My challenges for myself concerning this story were as follows: Write a story, but never use the main character's name and use no more than two lines of dialog._

_I also ask you, dear readers, to remember two very important things:__  
__1) I do not own Rookie Blue in any way, shape or form.__  
__2) I love you all, and I hope that after this you'll still love me._

**_Warning:_**_ Character Death_

* * *

**Exitium****  
**_Latin – n – Destruction; Ruin_

* * *

The first time Andy McNally sought solace in his bed was three nights after her father's funeral. Tommy, a _recovering_ alcoholic, had been dealt the worst hand fate could imagine and lost his life at the hands of a drunk driver. Her brave face at the service and in the days the followed might have fooled her friends... might have fooled her detective boyfriend... might have even fooled herself.

But it didn't fool him. And watching her self-destruct was tearing him apart.

It had been a particularly bad day at work. They'd been called in on an anonymous tip that a man was abusing his children, but what they found was more than anyone bargained for. Not only had Andrew Phillips been abusing his eight and twelve year old daughters, further investigation—and a little help from his live-in girlfriend who'd finally had enough—uncovered the shoddily hidden remains of at least five children.

It seemed that Phillips had liked to rape, mutilate and take pictures of his young victims before killing them. The entire property was one horror show after another.

McNally had thrown up three times that day, sneaking off so that no one would notice the sounds she made or the tears that streamed unchallenged down her face. But he noticed every time, and that's why her showing up on his front porch looking as if all the goodness was gone from the world didn't surprise him.

He knew the Callaghan had volunteered to take on the case. That meant 'golden boy' would be working extra long hours and probably staying in his old apartment. Even though they'd bought a house together, the detective insisted on keeping a place in the city. The young lovers both knew they were rushing things and having somewhere to escape would allow her to get away when needed and provide a place for him to crash a couple hours when a twenty minute commute didn't mesh with his busy schedule.

So Andy had been left alone, and now she was standing in front of him. Even though he should, he didn't have the heart to turn her away.

Truth was, he was just as unhappy as she; only he'd been this way far longer than a couple days.

That night there were no confessions; no hastily whispered declarations of love or caring. Just two people—two bodies—coming together in a desperate search for oblivion. He was rough with her, more so than necessary, but never once did she complain. Never once did she utter even a single word.

Afterwards, as she gathered her things and slipped silently out the door, neither felt a particularly strong need to say goodbye.

Andy spent a week at Callaghan's apartment. She'd told her boyfriend that the case was too much for her to bear after losing her father and she just needed some alone time to sort herself out. The detective wasn't happy about it, but he knew where pushing got you with the petite brunette and so he'd agreed to her plan without complaint.

She may have needed time to get over it all... But more than "mental cleansing," she needed the hand-print bruises on her hips to fade. Only when the angry purple splotches had dulled to indistinguishable shapes—which she could easily play off as injuries from catching her belt on a fence while chasing a suspect—did she return home.

On the job they barely spoke to each other. Best had partnered them together permanently and in a short amount of time they'd become as one cop. Each was able to predict the other's moves and anticipate nearly every action. They simply didn't speak unless it was absolutely necessary. Even then, each word was carefully calculated and never unrelated to the case at hand.

He'd still see her laughing and joking with Callaghan or one of her other friends and it would stir something deep within him. Her voice was intoxicating and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape. It was annoying, really, to hear the happiness in her voice as she talked to Diaz or Epstein and know it would never be reserved for him.

Nights when she would go to him, showing up without warning, their tradition of not talking continued. Greetings at the door were made in the form of heated kisses and discarded clothing, leaving them free to fall onto whichever surface was readily available.

The deed would get done and then she'd be gone again, disappearing from his world without a sound. He never tried to stop her, even though it was something he'd thought about more than just a few times. Instead he'd casually plaster a look of indifference to his face and roll away from her. He didn't accompany her to the door, trusting her to lock it on her way out.

The first time she broke it off was the night before her wedding.

She was obviously still tipsy from her bachelorette party and he was equally distracted, trying to figure out why he'd been invited to Callaghan's party in the first place. But the thoughts were pushed away and replaced with a sense of dread when she didn't immediately disentangle herself from him and go in search of her clothes.

They lay together for a few moments, her head on his chest, before her eyes came up to meet his and she whispered that they couldn't do this anymore. He already knew that, and told her as much, but still her small body didn't move from his. The next words to leave her lips, a long-awaited and hastily made admission of love, were enough to snap something inside him and they'd spent the next hour arguing; him begging her not to marry the detective and her refusing.

She'd already resigned herself to the path she was on. In less than twelve hours time, before God and all their friends, she'd would pledge herself—heart, body, and soul—to a man that she loved... Even if that love wasn't quite as strong for Luke Callaghan as it was for the man whose arms she'd spend every day missing.

When she left that night, begging him to reconsider coming to the wedding, he escorted her out. It took the last of his carefully reserved strength for him to tell her not to come back and shut the door.

* * *

It was nearly two months after Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan returned from their honeymoon that they got into their first big fight. He wanted to start trying for kids and she wasn't ready. They yelled and screamed at each other for hours before Andy decided to leave.

After packing a bag she'd diplomatically told him that she would stay in a hotel for the night; they were too angry to be around each other and some time apart would do them good. She'd be back the next day and they could calmly sort out their differences like adults. He was a detective and she was a cop... surely they'd be able to figure something out.

She'd called a cab to take her into the city, finding a hotel room not too far from work so that she could walk in the morning. She'd have Luke take her home the next day and things would go back to normal.

But two hours and a short text message conversation later was the first time that he came to her. She was the rough one in this instance, pouring her anger into their lovemaking and then throwing him out immediately afterwards. He didn't protest because he knew it was what she needed; and even if it killed him, he'd promised himself a long time ago that her needs would always come before his own.

This time, however, it began effecting their work. Their silence and impeccable police work was soon replaced by nearly constant bickering and inappropriate touching in the interrogation rooms. The more often they fought, the more often they found themselves tangled beneath the sheets of whatever bed they could find; be it at his house, a hotel room, or even once when he'd come to their house on the ravine while Luke was away at a conference.

Both parties were acutely aware that the situation was tearing them apart, but neither could hold still long enough to care. They were locked together on this downward spiral and the only thing to do was sit back and accept whatever fate befell them. The lovers were self-destructing together and, in an odd way, that knowledge brought them both comfort.

The second time she broke it off, she'd just discovered she was four weeks pregnant.

When he opened his door that night to find her crying, his heart had broken. Clothes remained firmly in place as he carried her trembling form to his bed, content to hold her until the sobbing dissipated. When she finally spoke, explaining her news, the words hit him like a ton of bricks and for the first time in a very long time, he lost control.

The resulting fight was catastrophic. They screamed at each other, saying the most hurtful things imaginable. He called her countless names, likening her to nothing more than the trash they picked up off the streets on almost a nightly basis. She was a married woman and she'd let him taint that. They were both damned for what they'd done, so how could she think any child of hers would walk in the sunlight.

She hadn't slapped him. A slap would have been much preferable to the vicious right hook that connected with the side of his face seconds after the words left his lips. Even through the pain he could clearly understand the sincerity in her voice when she told him, in no uncertain terms, that she never wanted to see him again and then stormed out of his apartment.

* * *

Five days later he obliged her request—disappearing virtually overnight. In parade, Best skillfully dodged any questions about his whereabouts and Andy idly wondered if anyone knew he was gone because of her. But at the time, it was what she wanted; she'd survive.

A month down the road, her survival instincts were failing her. Not that she didn't like being partnered with Shaw, but every day only grew worse. She was drowning and everyone, even Luke, could tell. Perhaps that's why he'd put his feelers out, trying to get any hint of where his wife's former training officer had disappeared to.

Nobody could say where Fifteenth Division's bad boy had gone, but it was an unspoken consensus that it wouldn't be hard to find out. Someone would just have to get access to the Guns and Gangs undercover personnel files; surely they'd find him there. Trouble was that no one dared to look... It was too big of a risk.

Lucas Callaghan II had just celebrated his first birthday when he magically reappeared at Fifteen. Everyone was glad to have him back, but there was no mistaking that the man they'd once known was gone. The fire had left his eyes and a year of hard undercover work hadn't been kind.

He made it a priority that first day to exchange pleasantries with everyone he came across, including Luke. Everyone, that is, except her. There was nothing for them to say to each other, so that night when they'd both ended up at the Penny, they hadn't even gotten out so much as "hello" to each other.

When she'd cornered him later in the Penny's parking lot, he could tell she was itching for a fight. Accusation after accusation was hurled in his direction even though she'd been the one to tell him to go. The fight wasn't in him anymore, so he let her continue; waiting patiently for her to finish before pointing out that he'd only done what she wanted him to in the first place. He'd only ever done what she wanted him to do, regardless of what it entailed or how much he knew it would hurt in the end.

His words had struck a chord and he knew it, because she simply walked away. He watched her retreating form as it disappeared down the street—not back into the Penny—before climbing into his truck and setting off for home.

It was not even a block later that, as he slowed to stop at a street light, his truck door opened and she appeared in the passenger's seat. Her expression had softened and the unshed tears sparkling at the corners of her eyes were enough to soften the wall he'd spent a year building around his heart.

Their trip was made in silence, and three hours later Andy arrived home, bawling as she fell into her husband's arms. The only thing that Luke could do when she finally admitted that Sam would never be her friend again was hold her until the tears stopped.

* * *

The third time their—_whatever_ it was—got called off it was because he made a mistake. One simple lapse in judgment and before he could react, an armed suspect had put two bullets into his partner.

The first bullet she would have survived—it lodged itself in the left shoulder of her vest. It was the second bullet, more carefully aimed, that did her in as it ripped effortlessly through her neck and subsequently her spinal cord. Andy McNally was dead before she even hit the ground.

Her funeral was simple and elegant, everything that Andy had been in life and everything she deserved in death. Best made a speech, naming her as a hero killed in the line of duty. She'd brought something unique to the ranks of Fifteenth Division and her time with them would never be forgotten... just like every cop who had gone before.

Her friends took turns speaking next; each one recounting their days at the academy and sharing personal stories of how she'd touched their lives. Even Gail Diaz shed a tear as she counted Andy amongst the finest cops she's ever known. They call her a dedicated wife, a wonderful mother, and one of the best friends anyone could ask for.

For the entire service he stood silently next to Callaghan; two men who'd never gotten along finally united through loss. His hands rested protectively atop the shoulders of young Lucas Callaghan, now five years old. He hadn't offered to help with the kids, but upon seeing that the detective was having a hard time managing his twin two-year-olds Tommy and Elizabeth, he'd stepped in as a temporary guardian for the older boy.

Neither man was able to speak during the ceremony—not trusting themselves to keep it together. There were children to think about. Children who still did not quite understand that mommy wasn't coming home again. The last thing they needed was to see their father, or their mother's unfailingly stoic partner, break down.

Staring down at the young boy in front of him nearly finished off his already shattered heart. The children were innocents—they never did anything to deserve losing her.

He, on the other hand...

When the service concluded, everyone felt obligated to pay their respects. They lamented that Callaghan has lost a wonderful wife, he'd lost an amazing partner, and the world has lost an extraordinary woman. In truth, he didn't want to hear any of it; every word of condolence was just one more reminder that Andy McNally was gone.

He couldn't help but be thankful when Noelle Williams took a different approach, instead focusing her attention on Andy's children. She talked to them, doing everything in her power to draw even a smile from their grim faces. The kids might not have known exactly what was going on, but to everyone present it was clear that they understood at least the very basic fact that _something _was wrong.

Something Noelle said finally hit it's mark and Lucas began to laugh. The sound was comforting and he couldn't help but crack a smile for the first time in days. It was wiped away quickly, however, as Noelle took it upon herself to comment that the boy had the most adorable dimples she'd ever seen.

As the older officer finally walked away he chanced a quick look at the detective, only to be met by Callaghan's hard stare.

"I've always known," the detective ground out, looking briefly at his son and then back to the man standing by his side. There was no trace of hatred in his voice—only resigned acceptance—as he spoke again. "It was always better to have half her heart than none at all."

* * *

_Fin_


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