Fandom: Rookie Blue
Pairing: Nick/Andy
Category: Romance
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: I don't own Rookie Blue or its characters. Unfortunately.
Synopsis: Possible spoilers for all aired Rookie Blue episodes.
Author's Note: I wanted to do up a drabble series that may or may not be canon or episodic and just let my McCollins shipper imagination run wild. I do not have enough prompts to keep this series going, so would appreciate any and all prompts that come my way. PLEASE DO NOT PUT THEM IN THE REVIEW. Send them to me either via email, or PM or even through Tumblr.
Prompt: The one where a buddy commits suicide, part one. For technicolorkisses on Tumblr
. . . . . . .
She finds him, alone, sitting at The Black Penny with dozens of empty beer glasses in front of him. Exchanging a look with Joe, the bartender, she sidles up next to him.
"It's not September," she chastises gently. "What's your excuse?"
Nick looks at her, his eyes already sporting that slightly gazed look that makes her wonder if he comprehends anything she's just said.
"Andy!" He gives her that trademark goofy grin that she both loves and loathes; she loves how it makes his eyes light up and his face shine, yet it's the same cheeky grin he gives her when he's teasing her or has done something to annoy her and is trying to beg her forgiveness.
"Yes, Nick, it's Andy." Gently, she stops him from taking another swig of the next glass. "I think that's quite enough for the night, don't you agree?"
He shrugs her hand away, and in the process, beer splashes out of the mug. "I haven't finished."
"Yes, you have," she tells him firmly, taking the mug out of his hands and signaling to the bartender for some towels to clean up the spill.
Nick simply stares at her for a moment. "You have to let me, I'm not done yet." His voice is harsh, almost unforgiving, and Andy is taken aback at his tone.
"Nick, what's wrong?" she asks gently, sensing that there is more to this impromptu drinking session that just letting off post-shift stress.
"I don't want to talk about it," he tells her point-blank, his attention already shifting away from her to the numerous bottles lined up behind the bar. He studies them as if they were the most interesting things on earth, a pointed gesture telling Andy that he wanted to be alone.
"You can stare at those bottles all night long, Nick Collins," she tells him. "You know I'm not going anywhere til you tell me what's going on."
Nick sighs, and it's a long drawn out sound that infuses both annoyance and resignation into the air. "If I tell you, will you go away and let me be alone?"
"Maybe," Andy flashes him a grin, preparing to make herself comfortable on the bar stool.
Letting out another long sigh, Nick buries his face in his hands. "Jack called," he mumbles.
"What?" Andy leans forward, straining to hear his muffled reply. "Your commanding officer?"
"Yes, that Jack."
"What did he want?" Andy presses, sensing that Nick would have just stopped there if he kept quiet. He wasn't exactly the most talkative drunk.
"Oh, nothing much you know," Nick drawls, talking through his fingers. "Just wanted to find out how I was and hey, by the way am I going to the funeral this weekend?"
Alarmed, Andy sat up straighter. "Funeral? What funeral?"
"Nobody important, just David, that son of a bitch." Nick slumps onto the bar, his face all but plastered to the table.
"David? As in, your buddy David?"
"Yes, Andy. That David," Nick groans. "That same asshole who was my wingman, my point guard and probably saved me a dozen times from enemy gunfire. That David. The same bastard who went and took a shotgun and blew up his face, and didn't bother to write me a goodbye note. That David."
"Oh Nick, I'm so sorry." Her hand on his back, Andy doesn't know how to offer adequate comfort. Nick doesn't like to talk about the army buddies that he's lost; he just drinks them into oblivion. She hasn't lost anyone close to her before, except her mother, but being dead and being abandoned were two entirely different things altogether.
Nick turns slowly to her. "Would you go to the funeral with me?"
Andy meets his gaze steadily. "Of course." Her words are somber, sympathetic, with a little tinge of pity, and Nick picks up on it.
He leans forward, enveloping Andy into his arms and burying his face in her shoulder. She senses the desperation, the need for comfort and hugs him tight. "I'd go anywhere with you, Collins," she tells him honestly.
She feels her shirt getting wet, but doesn't mind. She knows how close Nick was to David, and she knows that it must be killing him right now; the pain at losing at friend, the guilt of not being able to see the signs and the anger that David had given up.
Running her hands up and down his back, she holds him while he sobs soundlessly. She spies Chris and Dov at the far end, watching them curiously, but just gives a slight shake of her head. She knows Nick would not want anyone privy to his misery, and she's determined to protect whatever small semblance of privacy he has in the bar.
After a while, Nick lifts his head from her shoulder, aghast at the mess he's made. "I'm sorry, Andy."
A hand on his face, Andy caresses the stubble that has begun to grow. "Don't be sorry. Everything's going to be okay."
Nick nods, and she takes his hand. "Let's go home."