Rookie Blue - AU beginnings fic teaser
Sep. 3rd, 2018 10:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doranwenLooking for an alpha/beta reader for this - someone who can chat with me, read what I have written and give me fdk on if it's in character or not, someone I can bounce ideas off and finish plotting things with, etc. I've got a lot of energy in writing this and think I would definitely get to finishing it - possibly the longest thing I've ever written. But a lot depends on me having someone to talk to when I hit a snag. (My hard drive's full of WIPs I got stalled on and had no one to talk to to get past them.) I don't post WIPs anywhere else until they are completed, so this is all that will be publicly visible of this one until it's actually done.
So here's a first chapter/sampler of what I have so far, unedited (at this point, it's over 5k and growing, and I have a rough outline almost all the way to the happy ending):
Story premise:
In the show, Andy has a strong relationship with her father, despite his addiction to alcohol. This acts as a mitigating factor to the abandonment she feels from her mother's actions, leaving her "messed up" (see her words to Noah in 1x05 Broad Daylight) but relatively "normal". Tweak a few variables, though, and everything might change significantly. In this case, our story starts years before she ever arrives at 15 Division…
May 1998
"Can you believe it's been a year?" Oliver asked. "We made it a whole year."
"We're still rookies, though," Jerry pointed out.
"We've been cut loose," Frank said.
Jerry shook his head. "They still treat us like rookies."
"Ahh, that's just 'cause they haven't had any fresh meat lately," said Noelle with a grin. "Wait till we get some new faces."
Her eyes met Sam's across the table; he grinned back at her but said nothing.
Jerry drained his glass. "Time for another round," he said. "Who's up for it?"
Oliver pointed his finger at Sam. "Sammy, your turn."
Sam decided not to argue—Oliver was right, after all—and headed towards the bar. His attention was caught by the sight of a teenager making her way to Detective McNally. She was young, probably no more than thirteen or fourteen, but her face showed determination rather than any hesitation or uncertainty at her location. His curiosity piqued, he changed his path so he would walk right by them.
"Dad, c'mon," she urged, tugging at McNally's coat.
"Wher—where we goin'?" he slurred, swaying a little.
"We're going home. You've had enough tonight," she declared.
Sam decided the next round of drinks could wait, and kept a surreptitious eye on the pair as the girl gradually got McNally moving and out the door. He followed them outside and cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. "Do you want a ride home?" he asked.
She shook her head firmly. "We're fine, thanks." Her tone was decisive, though she didn't meet his eyes. "The cab will be here soon."
"I could drive you both; I've got a truck here." He pointed at it.
"No, thank you, I've got this." An edge crept into her voice.
Sam sighed, but decided to wait and be sure she was telling the truth. A few minutes later, a cab pulled up and she expertly maneuvered her father into one of the seats before going to the other side to hop in. Sam watched it go, slightly intrigued.
He ducked back inside and belatedly collected the drinks for his friends. Jerry snagged his almost before he set the tray down.
"What took you so long?" Jerry asked.
Sam hesitated for a minute, then decided to ask. "Who was that girl who came to get McNally?"
"Oh, Andy? That's McNally's daughter. He used to talk about her all the time when I rode with him," Oliver informed him. When Sam didn't respond, Oliver added, "She's fourteen, Sammy. Jailbait."
Sam shook his head. "I wasn't planning on dating her; I just wondered about her." He wasn't about to tell them about his own dad, how he understood Andy's situation all too well.
Noelle raised an eyebrow slightly but didn't speak. Frank sipped his drink silently.
"Yeah, McNally's having a rough time of it," said Oliver with a shake of his head. "If he's not careful soon he'll end up out of a job, according to Rowland."
"Enough depressing talk," Jerry proclaimed. "We're here to celebrate a year of being coppers!" He raised a glass. "To many more years together."
"To many more years together," the others echoed, joining the toast.
*****
June 2000
Andy switched the grocery sack to her other hand, eyes alert for movement in the darkness as she strode swiftly down the sidewalk. She hated shopping at this hour of night and usually planned her shopping trips for early Saturday morning, but somehow she'd underestimated the groceries needed for the week. She tried not to think of how tired she was, of the homework waiting for her… of what state her dad might be in.
She was jolted out of her thoughts by a moan from the alley she was passing. She abruptly stopped walking, peering into the gloom to make out a human-shaped lump on the ground. When it didn't move, she came a few steps closer, close enough to recognize the lump as the body of a man. He had clearly been beaten, with bruises all over his face and arms. She winced, imagining what the rest of him looked like. He had made a sound just a few seconds before, so he wasn't dead.
"Hey, you OK?" she asked. It was a stupid question, but she didn't have a better one. She set the groceries down on the ground out of the way, and leaned down to roll him over onto his back. He let out another groan, so she kept tugging. "You can't stay here," she told him. "Come on, get up." The sack of groceries went back on one of her arms as soon as he was in a sitting position. He seemed to be fairly out of it, eyes so swollen that he could barely open them and head lolling about. At last she got his arm over her shoulders, and his legs supporting him instinctively.
They stumbled into the dingy building, door creaking behind them. The walk up the flight of stairs seemed longer than ever, as she paused on each step to muster the energy to shove him upwards. When she staggered into the apartment, half-dragging the man, she barely noticed the empty bottles on the floor, kicking them out of the way subconsciously. She released the man onto an empty spot on the couch, shoving another bottle off onto the floor.
The groceries were unceremoniously deposited on the only counter space she could find, and she left her backpack leaning against a table leg, freeing her hands to inspect the stranger she had almost literally dragged home. His hair was dark and greasy, and he smelled little better than the alley she'd found him in. His clothes were dirty and stained—with blood and who knows what else. She made a mental note to wipe down the couch before she sat on it again. She took his face in her hands to see if she could see his pupils, but his eyes were too swollen; she doubted he'd be able to see at all. She bit her lip in indecision for a moment, dropping her hands.
The man groaned again. His head turned towards her, and he tried to crack an eye open, unsuccessfully.
"You conscious now?" she asked.
He touched his tongue to his split upper lip, then croaked out, "Yeah. Where am I?"
"My apartment. I found you in the alley. Looks like someone didn't like you too well."
"More like several someones," he said. His voice was still a bit gravelly.
"You want some water?" she offered. "Your throat sounds dry."
"Sure."
She grabbed a clean glass and let the sink fill it halfway, keeping an eye on him. He didn't seem inclined to move, and had given up on trying to open his eyes.
"You got it pretty bad," she told him as she handed him the glass. "You should go to the hospital; you probably have a concussion."
He shook his head carefully. "Not a chance." He sipped the water slowly.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Then you at least ought to get some ice on your eyes." She got up and started rummaging in the freezer. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Tony. You?"
"I'm Andy." The noise of the bedroom door opening had Tony on alert, until Andy spoke. "Relax, it's just my dad. Probably heading to the bathroom." She wrapped the bag of frozen peas she found in a towel and pressed it into Tony's hand. "There, hold that across your eyes." With eyes covered, he wouldn't be able to see her father's staggering. She'd learned to be thankful for small favors.
"Oh, we got a vizh—a vizh-i-tor," slurred her father. He stood at the doorway, swaying slightly. "Hi, I'm Tommy."
Tony didn't answer for a moment, but finally said, "Hi, Tommy."
"Heh, it's Sam Swarek," Tommy said, squinting as he stumbled over. "How'd you get beat up, Sammy?"
"Sammy?" she whispered, staring at the battered man on her couch.
If you're interested, you can PM me here, leave a comment, or find me on IRC in the #yuletide channel on Slashnet.
EDIT: Fic is up to 11k now and stalled for lack of beta help… :(
So here's a first chapter/sampler of what I have so far, unedited (at this point, it's over 5k and growing, and I have a rough outline almost all the way to the happy ending):
Story premise:
In the show, Andy has a strong relationship with her father, despite his addiction to alcohol. This acts as a mitigating factor to the abandonment she feels from her mother's actions, leaving her "messed up" (see her words to Noah in 1x05 Broad Daylight) but relatively "normal". Tweak a few variables, though, and everything might change significantly. In this case, our story starts years before she ever arrives at 15 Division…
May 1998
"Can you believe it's been a year?" Oliver asked. "We made it a whole year."
"We're still rookies, though," Jerry pointed out.
"We've been cut loose," Frank said.
Jerry shook his head. "They still treat us like rookies."
"Ahh, that's just 'cause they haven't had any fresh meat lately," said Noelle with a grin. "Wait till we get some new faces."
Her eyes met Sam's across the table; he grinned back at her but said nothing.
Jerry drained his glass. "Time for another round," he said. "Who's up for it?"
Oliver pointed his finger at Sam. "Sammy, your turn."
Sam decided not to argue—Oliver was right, after all—and headed towards the bar. His attention was caught by the sight of a teenager making her way to Detective McNally. She was young, probably no more than thirteen or fourteen, but her face showed determination rather than any hesitation or uncertainty at her location. His curiosity piqued, he changed his path so he would walk right by them.
"Dad, c'mon," she urged, tugging at McNally's coat.
"Wher—where we goin'?" he slurred, swaying a little.
"We're going home. You've had enough tonight," she declared.
Sam decided the next round of drinks could wait, and kept a surreptitious eye on the pair as the girl gradually got McNally moving and out the door. He followed them outside and cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. "Do you want a ride home?" he asked.
She shook her head firmly. "We're fine, thanks." Her tone was decisive, though she didn't meet his eyes. "The cab will be here soon."
"I could drive you both; I've got a truck here." He pointed at it.
"No, thank you, I've got this." An edge crept into her voice.
Sam sighed, but decided to wait and be sure she was telling the truth. A few minutes later, a cab pulled up and she expertly maneuvered her father into one of the seats before going to the other side to hop in. Sam watched it go, slightly intrigued.
He ducked back inside and belatedly collected the drinks for his friends. Jerry snagged his almost before he set the tray down.
"What took you so long?" Jerry asked.
Sam hesitated for a minute, then decided to ask. "Who was that girl who came to get McNally?"
"Oh, Andy? That's McNally's daughter. He used to talk about her all the time when I rode with him," Oliver informed him. When Sam didn't respond, Oliver added, "She's fourteen, Sammy. Jailbait."
Sam shook his head. "I wasn't planning on dating her; I just wondered about her." He wasn't about to tell them about his own dad, how he understood Andy's situation all too well.
Noelle raised an eyebrow slightly but didn't speak. Frank sipped his drink silently.
"Yeah, McNally's having a rough time of it," said Oliver with a shake of his head. "If he's not careful soon he'll end up out of a job, according to Rowland."
"Enough depressing talk," Jerry proclaimed. "We're here to celebrate a year of being coppers!" He raised a glass. "To many more years together."
"To many more years together," the others echoed, joining the toast.
*****
June 2000
Andy switched the grocery sack to her other hand, eyes alert for movement in the darkness as she strode swiftly down the sidewalk. She hated shopping at this hour of night and usually planned her shopping trips for early Saturday morning, but somehow she'd underestimated the groceries needed for the week. She tried not to think of how tired she was, of the homework waiting for her… of what state her dad might be in.
She was jolted out of her thoughts by a moan from the alley she was passing. She abruptly stopped walking, peering into the gloom to make out a human-shaped lump on the ground. When it didn't move, she came a few steps closer, close enough to recognize the lump as the body of a man. He had clearly been beaten, with bruises all over his face and arms. She winced, imagining what the rest of him looked like. He had made a sound just a few seconds before, so he wasn't dead.
"Hey, you OK?" she asked. It was a stupid question, but she didn't have a better one. She set the groceries down on the ground out of the way, and leaned down to roll him over onto his back. He let out another groan, so she kept tugging. "You can't stay here," she told him. "Come on, get up." The sack of groceries went back on one of her arms as soon as he was in a sitting position. He seemed to be fairly out of it, eyes so swollen that he could barely open them and head lolling about. At last she got his arm over her shoulders, and his legs supporting him instinctively.
They stumbled into the dingy building, door creaking behind them. The walk up the flight of stairs seemed longer than ever, as she paused on each step to muster the energy to shove him upwards. When she staggered into the apartment, half-dragging the man, she barely noticed the empty bottles on the floor, kicking them out of the way subconsciously. She released the man onto an empty spot on the couch, shoving another bottle off onto the floor.
The groceries were unceremoniously deposited on the only counter space she could find, and she left her backpack leaning against a table leg, freeing her hands to inspect the stranger she had almost literally dragged home. His hair was dark and greasy, and he smelled little better than the alley she'd found him in. His clothes were dirty and stained—with blood and who knows what else. She made a mental note to wipe down the couch before she sat on it again. She took his face in her hands to see if she could see his pupils, but his eyes were too swollen; she doubted he'd be able to see at all. She bit her lip in indecision for a moment, dropping her hands.
The man groaned again. His head turned towards her, and he tried to crack an eye open, unsuccessfully.
"You conscious now?" she asked.
He touched his tongue to his split upper lip, then croaked out, "Yeah. Where am I?"
"My apartment. I found you in the alley. Looks like someone didn't like you too well."
"More like several someones," he said. His voice was still a bit gravelly.
"You want some water?" she offered. "Your throat sounds dry."
"Sure."
She grabbed a clean glass and let the sink fill it halfway, keeping an eye on him. He didn't seem inclined to move, and had given up on trying to open his eyes.
"You got it pretty bad," she told him as she handed him the glass. "You should go to the hospital; you probably have a concussion."
He shook his head carefully. "Not a chance." He sipped the water slowly.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Then you at least ought to get some ice on your eyes." She got up and started rummaging in the freezer. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Tony. You?"
"I'm Andy." The noise of the bedroom door opening had Tony on alert, until Andy spoke. "Relax, it's just my dad. Probably heading to the bathroom." She wrapped the bag of frozen peas she found in a towel and pressed it into Tony's hand. "There, hold that across your eyes." With eyes covered, he wouldn't be able to see her father's staggering. She'd learned to be thankful for small favors.
"Oh, we got a vizh—a vizh-i-tor," slurred her father. He stood at the doorway, swaying slightly. "Hi, I'm Tommy."
Tony didn't answer for a moment, but finally said, "Hi, Tommy."
"Heh, it's Sam Swarek," Tommy said, squinting as he stumbled over. "How'd you get beat up, Sammy?"
"Sammy?" she whispered, staring at the battered man on her couch.
If you're interested, you can PM me here, leave a comment, or find me on IRC in the #yuletide channel on Slashnet.
EDIT: Fic is up to 11k now and stalled for lack of beta help… :(
