"There can't be very many storage units around here. I mean why can't we go around and do some door knocking? You know? No harm. No foul," Andy followed Sam down the sidewalk from the hot dog stand, spitting out reasons to support her theory.

Ray Nixon was gone on tours for months at a time. He had to have a storage unit for all of his stuff. Sure, Sam had argued back saying that there were no storage units under his name, but people use aliases. Don't they?

"Luke says he's definitely hiding trophies. We just need to find out where."

The dark haired training officer continued to walk down the wet sidewalk, ignoring his rookie.

"Come on," she pleaded, "It'll be fun!"

"Okay. We're doing this. You're not driving."

"Okay? Why? You were gonna let me drive last night."

"Why are you doing this?" He answered. He was evidently annoyed, Andy noted. "We're wasting our time trying to pin this on someone who didn't do it, for what? A guy who put a ring on your finger, and then cheated on you?"

"What? How do you- how do you know that?"

Sam looked down at the ground.

"You can spin the story any way you want. Anybody who cares about you is gonna figure it out pretty fast."

Anyone like me, he thought, knowing it was better off unsaid at the moment.

"Oh and you do. Is that how you supposedly figured it out?"

"I," he started, desperately searching for the right way to finish his sentence, "I'm not getting into this with you right now, McNally."

"Fine, then. Don't, but you know what? The fact that he cheated on me doesn't change what he knows about this case, okay? I believe him."

"Alright. Well, believe whatever you want then. I'm gonna walk back to the station. You want to drive? Drive. I could use a little space."

He leaned against one of the blue lockers, replaying the argument over and over in his hand.

If he hadn't been such a dick, maybe Ray Nixon would not have had his hands around her neck. Her mouth would not have been taped shut. Her eyes would not have been covered. Her hands would not have been bound by the silver duct tape.

His hands rested in his pant pockets; his eyes rested on her as she zipped up her gray hoodie.

"Uh, I'm sorry I left you."

"It's okay."

"Someone taking you home?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna get a ride with Traci," she answered, still avoiding eye contact.

He knew she was still mad at him about that argument. Frankly, he was mad at himself too.

"Andy, you can't stay at your dad's. I've been to your dad's."

"Fine, then I'll stay at Traci's," she said walking past him.

He reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Andy, let me give you a ride."

"Sam," she interjected. She looked up at him, failing her plan to avoid eye contact when she heard the plea and regret in his voice.

"Please."

"Fine. I'll meet you at your truck. Let me go tell Traci."

"Okay."

Sam pulled the truck up to a brick home, and Andy looked over at him.

"What is this place?"

"You'll see, McNally."

He threw his truck into park and cut the engine off. Together, they walked silently into the home.

"You gonna tell me or what?"

"When my mom died, she left this place to Sarah and me."

"What about your dad?"

"He's, uh, not in our lives anymore. Hasn't been for a while," he answered giving only a half truth. She watched him walk over to the old fridge and pull out two beers. He walked back, placing one in her hand.

"Did he leave?"

"Something like that," they stood in silence. Andy could tell there was more to the story, but she wasn't about to pry. They weren't in a relationship. She knew this was a lot for Sam Swarek.

"Sarah and I have too many ghosts in this house, and her husband is a contractor- likes flips houses. We both figured it was time to say goodbye to this place. He's flipping it, and we're selling it."

"That's not a bad plan."

"No, McNally, it isn't."

"So why did you bring me here?"

"To apologize."

"Sam, you didn't have to bring me all this way. I told you. It's okay."

"No, it's not. I let my feelings get crossed with the line of duty today, and you were hurt. You could have been killed."

"Sam."

"Please just let me say this because I tend to avoid things like I did earlier today, and I don't want to avoid them any longer. I care. Okay? For some unforeseen reason, I started to care about you, and I know. You've got things going on with Callaghan and Rosatti, but I do care, Andy. We can deal with that when you're ready. But for now, you're gonna take this," he handed her a sledge hammer.

"You're gonna take this and put all the feelings you have towards Nixon and Luke and Rosatti into knocking out these cabinets."

"Sam, I'm not gonna tear this wall down. This is your childhood home."

"This is an order, McNally."

"An order?"

She threw her head back with a laugh, causing him to smile.

"Yes. Now," he placed a hard hat on her head and glasses on her face, "do it."

"Fine, but you have to too."

"This is about you, not me."

"I'm not tearing these walls down unless you do it too. You said it yourself—you and your sister have ghosts here. I don't know what they are, and I'm not gonna pry. But you're allowed to feel, Sam."

"I know," he said, looking into her eyes.

Andy inhaled deeply, before quickly looking away. She reached for the second helmet on the counter and handed it to him.

"Please?"

"Alright, McNally. Let's do this."