A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the awesome feedback on the last chapter! This is the final part of Lexicon – this story's been really fun to write, and it's so great to know that you're reading and enjoying.

This one's set around a year after we left off; the rough timeline sketch in my head is that Plan happened sometime in April and they got married in September. (I somehow don't see them as wanting a really long engagement, although the two of them planning a wedding in a relatively short period of time might make for a cute outtake at some point if I can come up with it.) I'm fully expecting that a lot of you will figure out what's going on here well before Andy does, but taking the journey through her eyes is half the fun of it… and since it's already quite a long chapter, I'll stop rambling now. :) Thanks again for reading.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Rookie Blue. The song lyrics/references mentioned are from "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds, which I also do not own (but it's quite pretty and I recommend you give it a listen if you haven't).

Heartbeat.

Of all the difficulties she's faced on the job this week – a string of burglaries complete with mocking notes left for the cops; some truly impressive verbal abuse from people who didn't want speeding tickets; an agonizing death notification after a hit-and-run that made her briefly but seriously question why she got into this in the first place – Andy is convinced that the one she'll be most glad to put behind her is Gail Peck.

They're actually pretty friendly outside of work most of the time, which Andy now realizes is probably only possible because they're rarely assigned to patrol together. Forcing the two of them to spend ten hours in a squad car for five consecutive days has turned out to be a punishment too cruel and unusual for any transgression to justify. Something about the situation transforms them into oil and water, and stubborn pride is the only thing that's kept Andy from begging for desk duty since the second day.

Anyone else would have been better, she's certain. Dov wouldn't tell her how tired she looks with near-sadistic glee in his voice, Chris wouldn't care how often she requests a bathroom break, and Oliver sure as hell wouldn't slather himself in revolting gardenia lotion – that stuff is more or less akin to dousing the cruiser's interior with the cheapest perfume known to man. "'Just a little on my hands this morning,' my ass," Andy mutters to herself as she passes through the sally port, still unable to shake the cloying odor from her nostrils.

Of course, it's not like she can imagine Sam doing any of the above either, but riding with him hasn't been an option for the past seven months. Andy understands the rationale behind precluding spouses from partnering together in the field, really she does – but it doesn't make the reality suck any less. No one complements her out there the way he does, and she just plain misses working with him – their ability to bounce ideas off one another without needing to finish sentences and communicate volumes with a momentary look is a rare thing that serves to benefit the task at hand, and both of them know it.

At the same time, though, she can't deny it's worth the trade-off. For somebody who – not all that long ago, in the grand scheme of things – couldn't stomach the thought of spending an entire night with another person, she's taken to married life like a duck to water. She never imagined that a few legal documents and some jewelry could significantly alter the nature of a relationship, but the memory of waking up the day after the wedding, Sam's tranquil voice mumbling "Good morning, wife" in her ear still makes her smile whenever it crosses her mind. Since then, they've settled into a dimension of comfort with one another she didn't think existed. Rather than leading her to panic, the permanence both reassures and invigorates her. It's something she never knew she needed until shortly before realizing that she never again wants to live without it. (And while she doubts she'll ever admit it to anybody because it seems a little silly, it gives her a tiny thrill every time she sees the flash of white gold on his left hand.)

A grin finds its way across her face as she enters the locker room. They both have three days off after this, and she's looking forward to catching up on some much-needed sleep, laundry, and… well, whatever else comes up. (Knowing exactly how persuasive Sam can be when he's so inclined, she has a feeling the first two might end up on hold for a while.) She opens her locker and quickly trades her uniform for jeans and a loose sleeveless shirt, tossing the cardigan she wore this morning into her bag; it's still pretty warm out. As she's attempting to comb the ponytail bump out of her hair, Gail breezes past her. "It's been real," she says blithely.

Andy rolls her eyes. "Later." Much later, hopefully. Her hairbrush falls out of her hand and clatters to the floor, and as she leans down to retrieve it, a wave of dizziness rushes over her. "Whoa." She reaches forward to grasp the ledge of her open locker, trying not to allow her knees to buckle as she sinks to the bench.

Gail turns around. "Hey, you okay?"

There's an unexpected roaring in her ears, making Gail's voice sound like it's coming from underwater. "I just need to sit down," Andy says (or at least is fairly certain she says). There's a water bottle in her bag right next to her; she probably just needs to rest for a second and take a drink. Or maybe just close her eyes real quick. Yeah.

It's like she's sleeping all of a sudden, in that moment after her alarm clock has penetrated her dreams but before she really knows she's awake. Something is moving on her arm – a hand, maybe? – and the underwater voice is back, except now it's brought friends. "Holy crap, she's, like, gray," one of them says. When her eyes open, people are crowded around her – Gail, Traci, Kara Davis who just transferred from 27 Division – with unanimous expressions of concern. Gradually, Andy realizes she's still on the bench in the locker room. She moves to get up, only to feel several hands guiding her back to a seated position. "Just relax. Maybe lean your head forward," she hears Kara suggest.

It takes a minute for Andy to remember how to formulate words and then deliver them. "What happened?"

"I think you passed out for a second," Traci says gently. "I was heading out on a dinner run and I heard Gail yelling in here. How are you feeling now?"

Andy wants to crack a joke about how Traci's official promotion to detective must have come with a stipulation that makes her the default takeout retriever for the D's office, but she doubts the statement will emerge coherently, much less with any discernible humor. "Still kind of dizzy," she instead admits.

Traci stands up and reaches for her own combination lock a few feet away. "Hold on, I think I have something."

"You don't know if Swarek and Collins are back yet, do you?" Gail asks Kara.

"They're in interrogation," Traci interjects as she swings open her locker door. "They nabbed a couple of guys this morning for the Parkdale robberies. We've been switching off on them all day – can't get anything out of them."

Gail nods. "I'll go get him."

"No, it's okay, don't…" Andy calls futilely after Gail's retreating form. "Great."

Kara gives her a small smile. "Sorry to do this, but if my ride leaves without me, it's two buses and an hour home. Feel better, Andy." She follows Gail toward the exit.

Andy lets her head rest against the cool metal doors behind her. "Trace, he's gonna flip his lid."

"No, no, he'll be fine," she replies absently, rummaging in her bag. "Yes! I knew I had one of these in here." She holds up a box of apple juice in triumph and sets to work pushing the plastic straw through the foil perforation at the top before handing it to Andy. "Drink. You might have low blood sugar."

"Is there anything you don't carry around?" Andy asks, obediently taking a sip.

Traci shrugs. "Welcome to motherhood." She pauses for a second, appearing to consider the words, before her eyes widen. "Um, Andy, you know it's not out of the norm to pass out if you're…" she motions to her own midsection.

Andy looks at her, uncomprehending for a moment; when Traci's implication dawns on her, she shakes her head as vehemently as she thinks she can without making it spin even more. "Oh, no, no, no. No. I can't be." She tries to envision a calendar; she just had her period last… okay, maybe two… uh-oh.

Traci sighs. "By 'can't be', do you mean you don't want to be, or are we talking immaculate conception? Because unless things have done a 180 with you two since our last girls' night…"

Andy feels her cheeks color slightly, remembering her wine-induced assurances that newlywed stereotypes have nothing on the reality; she has a vague recollection of the phrase 'like bunnies' being thrown around amid peals of laughter. "I guess it's possible," she concedes. "I was just banking on being in the 99 percent of Pill users, you know?"

As Traci nods, footsteps approach from outside. "Andy?" she hears Sam call from the doorway.

"Yeah, come on in," Traci responds on her behalf. "I'll be outside if you need anything," she tells Andy as she heads toward the door.

Sam enters the locker room and leans forward to brush his lips over her temple before taking a seat beside her. "What's going on?" he asks, confusion evident on his face.

Andy hesitates. "Um, what did Gail tell you?"

He rolls his eyes. "That my presence was requested in here, and to try not to be a caveman this time if I can help it."

Okay, maybe Gail's not evil after all. Andy knows the caveman remark refers to a day about a month after their honeymoon, when all available units from 15 were called to the scene of a particularly brutal homicide; a man had shot and killed his entire family before turning the gun on himself. While clearing the house, Andy had had the misfortune of finding the youngest child, a four-year-old girl still wearing a princess nightgown. Sam took one look at Andy's ashen face and tried to get her to go back outside, where Chris was beginning to take statements from the neighbors. She refused, telling him she was fine. When he pressed the issue, she snapped that he wouldn't do that for any other cop. He responded without thinking that she wasn't any other cop; she stiffened at his words and despite the immediate regret he expressed, she told him exactly where he could shove his apology and stormed outside. They nearly came to blows back at the barn that afternoon, everyone around them uncomfortably aware of their escalating anger despite the hushed tones they managed to maintain. She walked home that night, and he spent close to an hour with the heavy bag in the mat room before leaving. It was nearly midnight when they had both calmed down enough to talk, but he eventually agreed to do his best to keep his protectiveness in check, on the condition that she only tell him she was fine if she actually was. (She admitted she hadn't been, not really.)

They've both held up their respective ends of the bargain ever since, but Andy wonders if he'll actually take this in stride. Coupled with the fact that he's probably already wound up from spending hours with tight-lipped suspects in vain, she has visions of being thrown over his shoulder and carted off to the nearest emergency room.

His expression is beginning to turn to one of worry, and she takes a deep breath. "I just got kind of dizzy for a second." He raises an eyebrow, and she continues in a rapid mumble. "And… maybe blacked out a little bit, don't freak out."

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone controlled. "Do you want to go to the doctor, or…"

She waves her hand at him. "No, I'm just a little shaky. And I'd rather just go home."

He looks as if he wants to protest, but nods after a moment. "I'll let Jerry know and go change," he says. "You want something to drink?"

She holds up the juice box. "Traci's got it covered, thanks."

He smirks a little. "What's the thing on the side supposed to be?"

She turns the cardboard container in her hand, focusing on the furry purple creature printed on the label. "I don't know. A juice monster, I guess?"

"Thought those were a myth, like unicorns and good romantic comedies." He smiles despite the fragment of concern that remains in his eyes. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Traci sits with her until he returns; despite the calm demeanor he projects, his rumpled hair and the disheveled sleeves of his T-shirt indicate that he's changed in record time. "Ready?" he asks, throwing her bag over his shoulder with his own and placing a hand on her back as she slowly stands.

She nods. "We, uh… we need to make a stop first."

To his credit, Sam doesn't say anything when he sees the package in her hand, even if his eyebrows nearly leap off his face and hit the ceiling. He just places a bottle of Gatorade beside it at the register, which he then makes her drink during the ride home. As a result, she bolts for the house before he's turned off the engine, barely making it to the downstairs bathroom in the front hall.

The results are supposed to take three minutes to show up, but the second line darkens before she's finished washing her hands. She picks the test up in disbelief, shaking it vigorously as if it's an Etch-a-Sketch, and she can simply reset an image she doesn't like. No dice; it's still positive when she relaxes her hand. "Oh shit," she breathes. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit."

Her voice must have been louder than she thought, because Sam gently raps on the door. "Andy."

She braces herself on the edge of the sink for a minute, attempting the deep cleansing breaths she's learned at yoga, then opens the door, test in hand. She holds it up, her eyes nervously searching his face.

He stares at it for a second, then nods slowly. "Okay," he says. "It's… yeah, okay."

She puts the test down on the counter. "Okay? That's it?"

They find their way to the living room and settle on the couch, Sam's arm around her as she folds her legs underneath her body and rests her head on his shoulder.

She speaks first. "It actually explains a lot, I think. My mood being all over the place, having to pee all the time…"

"Not wanting to eat anything but mashed potatoes…" he supplies.

"Mm-hmm," she says. "It makes sense. Increased fatigue and sense of smell…"

She feels a short chuckle rumble through him. "Among other increases." When she looks up quizzically, his eyes are on her chest. She swats him; he shrugs. "You can't expect me not to notice something I'm pretty well invested in."

"I can't tell if you're a dirty old man or a twelve-year-old."

"Twelve, huh? Whatever you say, Mrs. Robinson," he shoots back with a smirk.

They sit in silence for a moment, Andy's mind a veritable storm, until he speaks again. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"

She sighs, not knowing where to begin or how – so she starts with the lamest argument she can think of. "We haven't been married that long."

He snorts. "Is that a requirement now? You have to be married for a certain length of time before you can have kids?"

"No," she says, rolling her eyes. "But… most people don't really start thinking about it until they've been married for at least a year, right?"

"We've never been most people, McNally," he points out. (She considers reminding him that she's no longer McNally when she's out of uniform, but based on experience, she knows that'll lead to a completely tangential discussion having to do with him getting her out of uniform, and much as she'd love to drag this out even longer…)

"Hey, come on," he suddenly says, a little more gently. "This whole 'open communication' thing was your idea, remember?"

She groans softly against him. "It's overwhelming. There are just so many ways to screw it up, you know? Like, if you pick the wrong car seat, it automatically makes you a terrible person. And Noelle and Frank taught Maya sign language before she started talking. I don't know sign language. What if I don't want to learn it? Does that mean I don't care enough, or…" She gasps suddenly. "Oh my God, Gail and I had sushi for lunch on Wednesday. I didn't have much, I haven't actually been hungry in forever, but I know there's a million things you can't have and sushi's definitely one of them. I already made a mistake, and I only found out fifteen minutes ago."

"Okay, okay. Relax." He pulls her closer to him. "Oliver's youngest, Julia – he affectionately refers to her as their 'planned surprise.' They wanted another one at some point, just not right that second. So Zoe wasn't exactly in the pregnancy mindset, and… I guess by the time she realized, Julia was pretty decently acquainted with Cabernet and medium-rare steak." He strokes her shoulder. "She's six now, totally fine. A little off-the-wall sometimes, but I think that has more to do with being six than anything else. Point is, it's usually okay if you have something you're not supposed to before you find out."

She nods. "All the rest of it, though, I…"

"I hear people like to express opinions about other people's kids," he says, his hand drifting up to tangle in her hair. "Someone's always gonna think what you're doing is wrong. You just try to make the best decisions you can, and if people don't like it, screw 'em – it's not their kid. And you not caring enough… I don't think that's possible, Andy."

She doesn't say anything in response, just shifts her body so she can look across the room. Sam follows her gaze to a framed photo on the wall. It's fairly obvious that he knows her concerns go well beyond car seats and baby sign language, but he doesn't seem to have a problem with her taking a break.

"I think that one's my favorite of all two thousand, or however many they took," she says.

He nods in agreement. "Yeah." It's from the first dance at their wedding. In the picture, she's extended out from his body in mid-twirl, her head tossed back in laughter, and he's sporting an enormous grin. "I still think that song was weird, though."

"Oh, okay," she retorts with a smile. "This coming from the man who wanted our first dance as a married couple to be to Styx."

He shook his head. "All I said was that 'Lady' is a classic. And that part in the song we went with, about not getting many things right the first time – I can't say it was all that accurate."

She rolls her eyes. "Right, because you're perfect."

"Your words."

She snorts. "You liked that line in the middle, though."

"Which one?" He leans his head closer to hers so that his voice echoes in her ear. "'I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you'? Yeah, wasn't bad."

Her smile grows; the words serve as a subtle encouragement to continue, that he's ready to hear whatever she needs to say. She takes a deep breath. "We kind of skipped over the part where we talked about it. Wanting kids and all that. I mean… do you?"

It takes him a second to respond. "It's not something that was ever a goal in life, if that's what you're asking. I guess I always figured I would if the right person to have them with came along. Of course, it wasn't so much that she just came along – she actually tackled me…"

"Tried to kiss you, yeah, yeah," Andy supplies with a laugh, having heard the speech enough times to be able to recite it verbatim in her sleep.

"So you finally admit it, huh?" he says, a lazy grin crossing his face.

She elbows him. "Shut up." Her expression gradually grows more somber. "I've always been kind of on the fence about it. I mean, I thought the same thing – I liked the idea of having a family with the right person – but it still really scares me. The whole idea of literally growing another human being and then being responsible for it for the next two decades, it's… I don't even know how to wrap my head around that. And you and me… we didn't exactly have the best role models."

He absorbs this silently, and she knows there's no need to elaborate. Abandonment and alcoholism on her side, incarceration and involuntary commitment on his – it's a pretty dubious pedigree. In a way, it's miraculous that they've managed to pull off this solid a relationship.

"I'll give you that. But we also both know a thing or two about breaking cycles," he points out after a minute. "And, you know, Traci seems to be doing a pretty good job, and Oliver's a great dad. Your role models for raising kids don't necessarily have to be your parents."

She nods against his shoulder.

"I remember something Ollie said once before Izzie was born," he continues softly. "How it's terrifying to think about giving up that much of yourself, and you get wrapped up in all the things that can go wrong… but when you hear that heartbeat for the first time, it's like all that disappears. Like it's something you were waiting for your whole life, but didn't know it."

Like you were to me. She curls up closer to him, and images flash through her mind. A sonogram filling a computer screen. Her growing belly jumping a little as a kick reverberates from within it. A newborn with dark hair and big brown eyes and maybe dimples. First smiles and steps and words – and she sees Sam throughout all of it. Reaching for her hand as they watch grainy images of a tiny body moving inside of her; brushing matted hair off her forehead during labor and telling her firmly that yes, she can and will do this; gazing down in fascination at the infant he's holding securely against his chest.

She trusts him with her heart, her life; she suddenly can't wait to trust him with her future.

He gently nudges her shoulder with his. "You okay?"

"I'm good." She smiles and lets her eyes drift to her abdomen. "There might be a heartbeat in there right now."

His free hand comes across and settles just below her navel. "Pretty awesome."

She feels like she'd be happy to remain there with him for the rest of time (or at least until the next time she needs a bathroom break) when she feels an involuntary giggle rising in her throat.

"What is it?"

She chuckles again. "Just wondering how you're supposed to find me attractive when I look like a beached whale."

He shakes his head. "Andy, if I find you attractive with morning breath and bed head, I think it's pretty safe to say I don't know how not to."

"Really."

"Mm-hmm." He runs his thumb back and forth over her stomach. "What I'm really worried about is when your appetite comes back. You eat pretty strange things as it is, so once the cravings kick in…"

"I do not eat strange things."

"You put teriyaki sauce on French fries."

"It's good," she protests. "It's… fusion."

He laughs. "Freak."

"I'm your freak."

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "That you are."

She smiles against his shoulder. "I think this could be really great, you know? You, me, and…" She reaches her hand down to her torso and laces her fingers through his.

He grins down at her. "That's what I've been telling you since the beginning."