A/N: While trying to keep myself awake during the world's most boring professional-development seminar, it occurred to me that I could attempt to write the food fight we sadly didn't get to see. I have no idea how this will come across to other people and I don't really think fluff/humor is my strong suit (tormenting our favorite characters is my bread and butter), but I sure had fun with it! Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Rookie Blue, though I'd totally become a shareholder if that were an option. Dialogue from 3x06 that appears somewhere in the middle originated from 3x06 and not my brain.
Andy heard a knock at the front door as she finished placing groceries into cabinets. Swinging around the corner to the foyer, she opened the door to find a rather weary-looking Sam standing on the other side, his head resting against the frame. "Hey," she greeted, stepping aside to allow him entry. "How was your day?"
He stooped slightly to kiss her before sliding his arms out of his jacket. "Long."
"I bet," she sympathized. "All that rain earlier – there must have been a lot of traffic accidents."
He nodded slowly. "And a lot of Diaz. You know he thinks he's a player now?"
"He may have mentioned something. I'm kind of wondering what led him to think you're the right person to talk to about that, but…"
"My ears work, and I was a captive audience," he shrugged. "You hungry?"
She nodded, walking backward toward the living room. "I just called in an order to Lemongrass for us. Should be here in half an hour."
"The new Thai place?" he asked. "Should've texted me. It's on my way from the station, I could've picked it up."
"Nah, it's no problem," she asserted. "Least I could do, really, after lounging around all day. Grab a beer if you want."
He grinned, making his way into the kitchen. "I want. So you didn't anything exciting?"
"Not unless you count grocery shopping, so it was pretty perfect. Not really looking forward to going in tomorrow when you're off, though. Do we actually have a free day together sometime this century?"
"Next Thursday, I think, but don't hold me to that."
"Wouldn't dream of it." She sprawled across the couch, turning on the television as Sam looked through the refrigerator.
"Andy?"
"Yeah?" she called back absently, flipping through channels.
"Any reason you decided to panic-buy butter?"
She laughed as she set the remote down. "It's for the housewarming. I'm baking tomorrow after work."
"Ah, right." He appeared in the doorway, glass bottle in hand. "Well, I don't have a lot planned, so let me know if you need me to…" He abruptly stopped speaking and let out a groan as he noticed what was playing on the TV. "No. Come on, not again."
She looked at him innocently. "There's nothing else on."
"Oh, I doubt that's true," he protested, his spare hand lifting her feet from the couch and settling them on his lap as he took a seat. "We can always find a baseball game. Or put on a movie. Or just turn off the damn TV altogether and discuss current events."
"Current events? Do you feel we're lacking in quality conversation, Sam?" Andy asked him, mock serious.
"I feel we're lacking in quality programming," he retorted. "This is the third night in a row you're made me sit through a Degrassi marathon."
She tilted her chin down, blinking deliberately as she kept his gaze. "Just this episode? Then we'll find something else, I promise." When it was clear he was wavering, she pressed on. "I'll make it worth your while later."
He rolled his eyes. "Who taught you to be this manipulative?"
It was as close to an assent as she was likely to get, and a triumphant smile crossed her face. "Thank you. This is a good one, you won't regret it."
"Really?" he asked reluctantly. "You've seen it enough times to recognize it within two minutes of turning it on, and we have to watch it again?"
"It's a good one," she repeated. She turned her attention back to the TV, which displayed a cafeteria in disarray as lunch items hastily flew about.
"You ever notice how on TV, someone has to actually say 'food fight' for one to start?" she mused. "Does that happen in reality?"
"I don't know." Sam balanced his now quarter-full beer on her upturned ankle. "I think there were a couple when I was in high school, but I didn't see them."
"Were you too busy pulling the fire alarm?" she teased. "Numbering pigs 'one', 'two', and 'four' and setting them loose in the hallway?"
"Please, McNally," he scoffed. "It's all about the mighty stink bomb. Now watch your show."
The next day was grueling for the entirety of 15 Division. Everyone on the beat was in pursuit of Devin Roscoe, a notorious figure with a lengthy record who had been ID'ed by three separate women for assault. Riding solo, Andy had come across Roscoe on a side street, and wound up chasing him on foot for nine blocks before tackling him with a flying leap. He didn't yield easily, as the sore spots on Andy's torso would later demonstrate, but it didn't take long for Oliver and Dov to arrive and help wrangle him into a squad car. As the sole arresting officer, Andy had the additional treat of completing multitudes of paperwork on her own once she'd arrived back at the station. Everyone had consequently left by the time she was finished in the locker room, which eliminated the possibility of asking somebody for a ride home. She was still weighing her stubborn reluctance to call a taxi against her total lack of desire to walk as she passed through the sally port, stopping in her tracks as she noticed a familiar truck in the parking lot.
She felt herself break into a stupidly large grin, shaking her head as she opened the passenger side door and pulled herself up into the cab. "You didn't have to do this," she said by way of salutation.
Sam raised his hands in defense. "Blame Oliver, he mentioned you might want a ride. Devin Roscoe, huh? Not bad for a day's work."
Andy let her head fall against the backrest with a huff. "Nine blocks, on foot, in this humidity. And he tried to kick me in the spleen while I was cuffing him."
His impressed amusement faded to the expression of thinly masked concern that he likely should have patented upon meeting her. "You all right?"
"Yeah, I'm good. You know his track record, he rarely succeeds at anything he tries." She sniffed the air. "Why does it smell like…"
Wordlessly, Sam handed her a Styrofoam takeout container. She pushed the tab through and flipped the lid back, her eyes lighting up upon spying the contents.
"Did Oliver also tell you to stop at the Penny for pizza bites?"
"Nope," Sam said, reaching into the container and popping a small pouch of fried dough into his mouth. "All me."
"You're nice," she informed him matter-of-factly just before biting into a sauce-and-cheese-filled square.
He smirked. "Don't spread it around."
There was more than enough leftover Thai to provide a substantial dinner for both of them (Andy's tendency to grossly over-order having proven itself beneficial), and they began her ambitious baking endeavor promptly after eating. A couple successful batches of cupcakes emerged without incident; once a cake prepared from the same batter was rising in the oven, Andy turned her attention to brownies.
"One and a quarter cup, right?" Andy said as she leveled off a measuring cup. "Has to be exact."
Sam glanced up from the cookbook he was perusing to peer into the oven. "Cake's on fire," he remarked casually.
"What? No!" Andy temporarily abandoned Project Measurement and rushed to open the oven door. "No, no, no, no, no." She attempted to wave away the flames in which the cake was engulfed, but succeeded only in encouraging their progress as she added additional oxygen to the mix. "It's okay," she said a bit too brightly. "I can salvage it. It's good, it's good."
She didn't notice Sam approaching on her left, holding the fire extinguisher that had been his housewarming present to her (at least the only one she was able to mention in polite company). Within a few seconds, the flames – as well as any hope Andy had had of recovering the burnt cake – had disappeared completely.
A small noise of protest emerged from the back of her throat. "I would've used it," she insisted fruitlessly.
"Well, that was close," Sam pronounced as he began to circle the completed cupcakes, missing her eye roll. "Why are you having this thing again? You've been here, what, six months?"
"Yeah, and I never had a housewarming," Andy responded, having resumed ingredient preparation. "And I think now is the time to say 'I'm finally home.'"
He nodded vigorously in apparent understanding while tossing a pinch of chopped nuts into his mouth; convinced she was sufficiently distracted, he reached for a cooled and frosted cupcake.
"Put that back, it's for tomorrow," she said without missing a beat.
He held the cupcake slightly out of her reach, pulling it slightly further away each time she tried to grasp it. "You want this?"
Andy glared at him. "Yes, I do want that. Put that back, it's for – " His hand suddenly swooped in toward her face, leaving tufts of frosting on her nose.
Of all the things she could reasonably expect from Sam… She suddenly found herself determined to wipe the impish grin from his face. "You wanna play?" Her hand found the dry-ingredient bowl, lobbing a rather overzealous handful of flour in his direction.
Well, that did the trick. Shocked, he blinked flour out of his eyes as Andy broke into peals of unbridled laughter. He took a couple of steps toward her, the cupcake raised threateningly.
Andy's mirth turned slightly nervous. "Sam…" she beseeched through a residual giggle as he advanced. "Come on, don't."
"Don't what?" he asked nonchalantly with a brief grin, placing the cupcake back on the counter and reaching for a dishcloth. "I'm gonna go wash this off."
He stepped past her as he brushed the cloth over his face, and Andy felt herself begin to relax. She was redirecting her focus to the components of her brownie mix when Sam straightened in the doorway and snapped his fingers.
"Hey, McNally? Just one thing."
"Hmm?" She looked up to find Sam standing inches from her, having crossed the kitchen in a few long steps.
He leaned closer, speaking directly into her ear. "Food fight."
Her eyes widened; she was too distracted by the danger that had crept into his tone to notice him grasping something outside her line of vision. His hand came around to the back of her head before she could react, pressing something rather squishy into the demarcation between her hairline and neck.
Aghast, Andy reached toward the mystery substance, her fingers coming away covered in the butter that had been softening on the counter for close to an hour. She brought her hand forward and swiped it across Sam's jaw. "Oh, it's on."
The near-scientific preciseness of measurement and timing that had governed the kitchen for most of the evening was unceremoniously shoved aside to make room for chaos. A measuring cup filled nearly to the brim with milk was upended over Sam's head. Egg yolks, having been painstakingly separated into a mixing bowl, were splattered across Andy's chin and upper body. A fine dusting of cocoa powder coursed through the air and settled over them both. When Andy grabbed the open bag of granulated sugar and drew it back as if to heave its contents at him, Sam was prepared with a cupcake in each hand. "No, wait, not the…" Andy yelped, only to find them stuck to her temples via frosting like antennae. She glowered at him as the cakes slowly slid down the sides of her face and fell to the floor. "Those were for the party, you know."
Sam, who'd been failing miserably at suppressing his laughter since his initial declaration of war, managed to quirk a skeptical eyebrow at her. "Take another look. I don't know if anyone's going to eat those."
Andy followed his gaze to the tray of finished cupcakes, letting out a moan as she brought crusty-flour hands to her forehead. The once-pristine treats now looked like victims of an angry culinary Jackson Pollock, having taken as much if not more damage than the two of them. "What am I supposed to do with these now?"
"Hey, hey." Sam placed a hand on her arm. "Don't worry about it. You can still use them."
"But they're covered in crap, and I can't just…" She trailed off as she noticed the corners of his mouth tugging upward once again. "Don't even think about it, Sam," she managed to get out before yet another cupcake collided with her nose.
That was all it took; the cupcakes rapidly transitioned from party desserts into weapons in a frenzied game of pastry dodgeball. As she jumped in the air, ducked behind the kitchen island, and fired at will, Andy couldn't help but think that this would be a pretty ingenious (if not incredibly messy) idea for retraining. Of course, she was laughing a bit too hard to breathe properly, which wasn't all that conducive to the display of athleticism on which they were judged, but that didn't seem as much of a priority at the moment as making Sam literally eat his words.
They both dove for the last cupcake, Sam pulling it away a nanosecond before her hand closed around the paper liner.
"Okay," Andy gasped, backing away from him. "Truce. Truce!" Her foot found a puddle of unknown origin on the floor as she retreated, and she lost her balance, arms flailing wildly like twin windmills as she attempted to right herself. Sam's reflexes were only slightly better; the cupcake forgotten on the counter, he caught her just in time to lower them both to the ground. They rested with their backs pressed against the wooden island, attempting to catch their breath.
"I can't believe you," Andy eventually said with a sigh.
He turned to look at her, brows knit. "You were a pretty active participant there, McNally."
"Yeah, but you started it," she contended.
"I could make the argument that you did, by insisting we bake all this."
Andy sat bolt upright. "God… this place is a mess, I have nothing to feed people with. How is this party going to happen?"
"It'll be fine," Sam said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the island. "Just order a lot of stuff from that bakery you like in the morning and we'll pick it up when we get off shift."
"That works, I guess," she said hesitantly. "I just figured having homemade food made the whole thing seem more… I don't know. Homey."
It took Sam a moment to respond. "So…the origin of the food at your housewarming party determines whether or not this feels like home to you?"
"No," Andy admitted. "And honestly, Sweetness Follows makes a way better cupcake than I ever could. Maybe I just like the idea of being domestic sometimes, okay?"
He tilted his head, contemplative. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, you did just work up a sweat in the kitchen."
"Shut up." She elbowed him.
He smirked briefly before his expression turned somber. "Andy, I need to tell you something."
She looked at him, attempting to conceal her confusion at his sudden change in demeanor. "Okay…"
"It's just…" He took a deep breath as if steeling himself. "You have something on your face."
She considered her likely appearance, and watched him bite his lower lip in an attempt to maintain his manufactured solemnity. "Has anyone ever told you how infuriating you can be?"
He grinned. "It's okay, it's just a little icing… don't worry, I got it." He moved in toward her, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
"Sam…" she said in as much of a warning tone as she could muster before his lips were on hers. She forgot relatively quickly about the mess (and just about everything else), only to remember as his mouth began its descent over her jaw and toward her neck. "Hold on, just wait." She didn't feel his lips quite as well through the thick semi-edible layer on her skin, the frosting and flour and… "Sam, I think that's raw egg."
He looked up momentarily. "All the better to challenge the immune system." He bent down to continue, but she scooted away.
"We need to get this cleaned up before it turns into glue," she told him.
He nodded. "Probably should."
"Although… I think we should get cleaned up first. You know, so we don't just keep making it worse," she smiled.
He shrugged. "It might just be easier to shower at this point."
"Mm-hmm," she agreed, getting to her feet and glancing down at him. "You coming or what?"
The smirk was back as he pulled himself to a standing position. "Might as well."
As she started out of the kitchen, Andy looked back at the debris covering the counter and found herself unable to resist one final round. "Hey, Sam?"
As he turned to her, she smashed the sole remaining cupcake into his forehead, darting past him and scurrying toward the bathroom. "I win!" she yelled as she disappeared around the corner.
"Oh, you are going down, McNally," he growled, tossing the ruined pastry to the floor and chasing after her. "Show you what a good housewarming looks like."
(The end.)