Wow! The response in 24 hours has been overwhelming. Thank you so much to all who set alerts and favorites, and a special thank you to the reviewers. Because I already had Chapter 2 written, I decided to post it early. Consider it my token of gratitude.
With regard to the setting: I have created an unofficial timeline for Sam/Andy's relationship, beginning with Sam's undercover stint in mid-October. To my knowledge, we are not given a month on the show, but I'm choosing to invoke an early winter because of the snow fall in the finale. This means that their first date was after the first week of December, and this chapter begins in mid-January. I will not be posting 'firsts' in chronological order, but I will indicate what month the story takes place (by my timeline, anyway).
Warning: You could slap this chapter on a peanut butter sandwich, and you'd have a nice Fluffernutter.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue.
First dance.
It was the silhouette of a couple dancing that caught her eye.
She had passed the community bulletin board in pursuit of a decent cup of coffee when the image jumped out at her. Best had mentioned a few weeks back that the mayor was hosting a gala in February, celebrating the service of police, firemen, and rescue personnel in the city of Toronto. While it wasn't "mandatory," the staff sergeant had made it clear that he wanted a good showing from 15 Division. Grabbing the flyer from the board in the front lobby, Andy scanned the text.
She repeated the information to herself softly, before pinning the notice back on the board. Making a mental note to talk to Sam, she scurried away.
Returning to the station fifteen minutes later, two cups of coffee in hand, she resolved to break the news to Sam, erring on the side of "soon." Over coffee seemed as good a time as any; if she had learned one thing, it was that he was easier to deal with when he'd had a cup (or three). They had been dating for over a month now, and while neither she nor Sam were "night on the town" kind of people, she cheered at the thought of a night together, dressed to the nines, dining and dancing in the company of friends. It could be fun, really. She just had to convince Sam.
He didn't look up from his desk as Andy approached.
"Before you get some crazy idea in your head, stop. Don't even think about it."
She halted, surprised that he realized she was standing there. "What? I didn't say anything."
"I can hear the wheels and cogs turning in your head as we speak. I saw the flyer too. Forget it, McNally. I don't dance."
She rolled her eyes, annoyed that he dismissed the idea before giving it any consideration. He didn't even have the decency to wait until she brought it up. Switching tactics, she slid a coffee cup toward him and used her most persuasive voice. "There's not a small part of you that wants to give it a shot?"
Raising his head from a mountain of paperwork, he met her gaze steadily. "Not even a little bit."
Crinkling her nose, she brushed off his words. "I always had this idea that dancing would be one of your hidden talents, buried underneath that gruff and mysterious exterior."
He raised his eyebrows, his voice unapologetic. "Well, you had the wrong idea."
She could sense this was spiraling out of her control, fast. She settled for repeating the facts, hoping to pull more information from him. "So you don't dance."
"Correct. Or, to be more candid, I can't dance."
At that, she lifted her hands in mock-protest. "What? Everybody can dance."
He shook his head forcefully. "Not this guy, McNally."
"I bet you could if you tried," she countered.
Exhaling harshly, he set his pen down and folded his hands on top of the pile of paperwork. "McNally, listen. I'd love to spin you a charming tale of my mother sending me to dance classes as a kid, that growing up, I learned to waltz and sway because I was forced to accompany my sister to lessons, but it's just not true. At most, I can move my feet in a one-two shuffle, and trust me, even that doesn't look good."
Oliver chose that exact moment to pass by. "I'd have to agree, McNally. If you value the good will of the people, you won't subject the masses to that atrocity. Spare us, please."
Andy leveled her gaze, fixing Oliver with a glare that clearly read, You're not helping. Oliver returned her look unabashedly. Shrugging, unrepentant, he ambled to his desk. Andy turned to Sam again, this time lowering her voice.
"At the risk of inflating your ego, I'd say that there are very few things you 'don't look good' doing."
A tiny smile appeared on Sam's lips. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Andy sighed, but she knew when she had been beaten. "So, no dancing?"
"No dancing."
She tried again a week later.
Sitting across from him in the diner, she attempted to casually broach the subject over lunch.
She took a sip of water, setting her fork aside before she began. "I saw this really gorgeous dress when I was out shopping with Traci."
To his credit, Sam didn't comment on her painfully nonchalant tone. "Is that so?"
Andy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, she was trying something on for the gala – Jerry is taking her, you know – and we saw this incredible number that was my size. And on sale! Can you believe it?"
A slight gleam in his eye was the only indication that he was withholding a more candid remark. "Funny how something like that happens."
"So…" she began, drawing out the word.
"So?" he responded, his tone indifferent.
"So, I bought it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"That's great." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "I bet you'll look stunning in it. Let me know when the next invitation to a ball arrives, and I'll have my fairy godmother call you a coach."
"Sam!" she groaned, smacking him in the chest for effect.
His voice brokered no discussion. "I said no, McNally."
She tried again, albeit unsuccessfully. "But what if that store has a very strict return policy on sale items?"
He chewed very slowly, wiping his mouth with a napkin before answering. "Well, I'd say that unless you decide to become a debutante, it's gonna be sitting in your closet for a while."
"You're impossible," she huffed.
He took a deliberate bite of his sandwich. "Yeah, that's what they tell me."
Three days later, she made another attempt. Andy McNally was nothing if not persistent.
Taking Frank's decision to pair them together as a sign that they were meant to talk, she whipped out all the ammunition in her arsenal while on patrol.
"Oliver is taking Zoe."
He didn't take his eyes off the road. "What's that to me?"
She paused, grateful that he didn't try to dodge the topic of discussion; he knew exactly what she was referring to. "Well, Oliver is your friend. If you decided to go, you'd have a buddy to commiserate with."
He chuckled lightly. "That's true. Or, I could sit at home, drinking a beer and laughing at the poor, whipped soul who has to walk around in a penguin suit for the evening."
But Andy wasn't willing to concede. "Think about it. Oliver, Jerry, Frank…They're all going to be there. Noelle can't even utilize the open bar, and she's going! Don't you want to celebrate the years of hard work you've given to this force and this city?"
He glanced at her briefly before slowing down and pulling to the side of the road. "I celebrate each time I put on the uniform, Andy. I don't need to get gussied up and have people pat me on the back for it."
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "It's not like that, Sam, and you know it." Adopting a coaxing tone, as if she were talking to a small child, she added, "Give it a chance."
"Andy…" he began, his shoulders sagging.
"Sam…" she mimicked his inflection. "Please?"
He scrubbed his face with his hand wearily.
"I'll think about it."
She squealed, clapping her hands. "I have to call Traci after shift!"
"Hey!" His gruff voice broke through her mental catalogue of 'To-Dos.' "That wasn't a yes!"
No, she thought. But it was progress.
A few days later, her final plan of action formulated, she walked into the living room. Sam was stretched out on her sofa, languidly flipping channels on TV. She smirked to herself, mentally preparing for the resistance to come. Now to implement the plan…
"Hey, you know that necklace my dad bought me for my birthday?"
Sam turned, lowering the volume on the TV as he faced her. "No, I don't know that I've seen you wear anything other than your watch. Or your earrings." He paused, his brow wrinkling in confusion. "Wait, I thought you said you weren't a jewelry girl?"
She laughed, moving toward the couch. Raising his legs so she could slide underneath them, she hazarded a glance at his features. Satisfied with what she saw, she opened her mouth and began solemnly. "Sam. I don't know what rock you've been living under, but I am about to impart some serious wisdom. Let me break it down for you: One, every girl is a jewelry girl, regardless of what she says. If a guy goes to the trouble of picking something out, she's not going to complain. Two, you're right. You've never seen me wear it. I haven't had an occasion to wear it... It's a little fancier than my standard fare. But, you know, there is this thing coming up…" she trailed off, not daring to meet his eyes.
He shifted, his knowing glance reading her body language. "This thing?" he repeated slowly.
Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it lightly. "A gala."
He was quiet, running his hand through his hair and clicking his tongue impatiently.
She looked at him expectantly, silently pleading. Afraid her private mantra of please, please, please would break through, she bit her lip until he responded.
He sighed heavily. "Would it make you happy?"
Her face lit up. "Only the happiest woman on the planet," she vowed earnestly.
His mouth tugged slightly at the corners with her admission, threatening to let a smile break loose. "And if, hypothetically, I said yes, what would be in it for me?"
She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand, locking her eyes with his. "I'd say something very tiny and lacy underneath aforementioned dress."
His expression perked up slightly before the realization of his own attire came to mind.
"So this means I would have to rent a tux? "
She offered a sympathetic smile. "Unless you're hiding one under your t-shirt/jean combo, yes, you would."
He contemplated that idea for a moment before raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine," he acquiesced. "Fine." Tugging Andy toward his chest, he leaned back against the sofa cushions. "I guess this was one battle I was never going to win, huh?"
"Oh, Sam. Don't sell yourself short." She paused. "But yeah. You were never going to win."
"You're lucky I like you, McNally."
"I know." She smiled at him, settling comfortably into his side. "I am lucky."
"Andy? We're going to be late if we don't get a move on," he called up the stairs. How is it that he was the one worrying about punctuality? He didn't even want to go to this damn thing in the first place.
"I'm coming! Sorry, my curling iron was acting up, and I realized I didn't bring the hairspray that I wanted. I knew I should have gotten ready at my place, but I didn't want to spoil the big reveal! There's something dramatic about sweeping down the steps in a long dress. Shoulda thought of that before buying the condo, I suppose." She paused, and he heard her rustling in the upstairs bathroom. "Hey Sam? Remind me that stairs are a factor next time I sign a lease." Closing the door, and reaching for her clutch, she muttered softly, "Just one of many things to take into account."
"Stairs, I got it. Can we go now?"
"One sec. Close your eyes."
"Andy, this is stupid; we're wasting time."
"HEY!" Her no-nonsense cop voice took him by surprise; it was a tone usually reserved for unruly criminals. "Close your eyes."
He sighed, but closed his eyes obediently.
"I'm coming down."
"You can open them now."
Blinking rapidly, he raised his eyes to the steps, and at that moment…
He was pretty sure his heart stopped.
Mumbling incoherently for the first ten seconds, he managed to choke out. "Stairs. Yeah, we should definitely take stairs into account."
She beamed at him graciously and struck a pose, showcasing the dress to the best of her ability.
She was beautiful.
Her hair was in an elegant up-do, and tiny teardrop earrings hung from her ear. Her dress – a deep burgundy color – fit her like a glove; two thin straps and a modest sweetheart neckline gave way to a slim column gown. Her "birthday" necklace nestled in the hollow below her throat, and from his vantage point, he could see silver heels peaking from underneath the hem of her dress.
He returned her smile with a brilliant one of his own, and all anxiety about "being on time" flew out the window.
She began her descent down the steps slowly, being careful to hold on to the banister with one hand while holding the skirt of her dress in the other. Nearing the bottom, she called to Sam –
"Would you mind grabbing my arm? I feel like any moment now I'm going to eat pavement – or carpet, I guess – and I'd rather not do it on the last four steps."
He grinned. There was the McNally he knew. You could dress her up in a gorgeous gown, but she was the same girl underneath it all.
Reaching toward her, he looped an arm around her back, and for the second time that evening, his heart stopped.
"Andy."
"What?"
"Are you trying to kill me?"
She stepped off the final stair, adjusting her dress as she gained her bearings. "What?"
"Well for starters, that wasn't the silky material of a dress that my hand was touching. Turn around," he commanded.
A devilish grin lit up her features. "Only because you asked so nicely, Officer," she replied.
Twirling slowly, she revealed the back of her dress – or rather, the lack of back. Aside from those two thin straps that held her dress up at the top, her entire upper back was bare, along with a good portion of her lower back. The material dipped almost indecently low, and trailing his eyes over her form, Sam swallowed hard.
Brushing some invisible lint off his shoulder, she spoke. "I'll take that speechlessness as a compliment. Now step back, because I want to get a good look at you, sir."
And take a good look she did. She loved "casual" Sam, but this – this was a whole different ball game.
He stood, hands thrust in his pockets and head cocked to the side. Andy's gaze roved over the broad expanse of his shoulders, his black jacket sculpting clean lines and highlighting the dark hue of his eyes. The cut accentuated his trim waist, and Andy giggled to herself, snapping a mental picture of the bow tie that threatened to jump ship from his collar. Leaning in, she adjusted the tie with both hands and gave him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "You look mighty dapper, Officer Swarek."
Grumbling lightly, he answered. "Soak up the sight, McNally, because you're never going to see it again."
She pouted playfully, "I have a hard time believing that will be the case. You know, I would have gotten you a tie that matched the color of my dress if you wanted."
"Well, there's a short answer for that – 'No, I did not want.' " In a rare concession to emotion, he added, "But you look beautiful."
He moved forward, sweeping his hands across her back. "You know, we could just hang out here for a while." Leaning in, he began to nip at her earlobe.
"I don't think so," she stated firmly, placing a hand on his chest to give them some much-needed space. She pushed the sleeve of his jacket up, twisting his wrist to get a closer look at his watch. "It's time to go." Starting for the door, she finished, "I'm probably going to be doing that for the better part of the evening. I feel naked without my watch."
"If we stayed here, you could…"
"Nice try, Sam. Let's go."
Greeting their friends and colleagues, Andy and Sam made their way into the ballroom of the MTCC. A cocktail hour was followed by dinner and speeches from various dignitaries, recognizing veteran members of public service. After a moving tribute from the mayor, dessert was served and the dancing began.
Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair as he nursed a beer. It hadn't been all bad. Good food, an open bar, and a gorgeous woman next to him? He ventured a quick glance at Andy, who was humming softly along with the brass band. He wrapped one arm behind the back of her chair, secretly pleased that she was enjoying herself. He would never admit it, but he was almost glad she forced his hand on this. It was nice to see her so carefree, practically glowing with enthusiasm.
"Hey, look at Zoe and Oliver!" Andy exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts. Together, they watched the Shaws kick off a rousing dance number with the gusto of a couple half their age.
Sam just shook his head. "Yeah, Ollie's a regular Kevin Bacon out there."
The Shaws chose that moment to twirl by, laughing openly. Zoe was pushing Oliver away from her neck, using her free hand to catch his chin and motioning toward their 'audience.' Catching Andy's eye, Oliver called over his shoulder.
"The key is confidence, McNally. You don't have to look good, you just have to pretend that you know you look good, and others will buy it. Right, Sammy?"
"Something like that, buddy."
"Hey, I'm just saying, you have a PYT right there, brother. It would be a shame to let this opportunity go to waste."
"If you don't ask her, someone else will, Sammy," Zoe offered lightly. They spun away, shimmying forward and backward as they swept across the floor.
Fighting back laughter, Andy attempted to regain her composure before squeezing Sam's hand. "I wouldn't say yes to anybody else," she reassured him. "Well, maybe Dov." She pointed to the dance floor, where Epstein was swinging Traci in circles. "But he's harmless."
She angled her body closer to Sam, her fingers drumming on the table to the beat of the music. Sam, for his part, took note of it all: Her amusement at observing the couples on the floor, her steady hand in his, even her reassurance that she didn't need to participate in the dancing, despite the wistfulness he could read in her eyes. She had made it clear she was just happy to be here, with him. And that was the worst part. He really couldn't refuse her anything, especially when she was being considerate. Mentally kicking himself for what he was about to do, he consoled himself with the knowledge that he was not the first of men to fall prey to the proverbial "whip."
Sam released a deep breath, before relaxing his shoulders and pushing his chair back. "So what do I have to do, exactly?"
Andy looked up in astonishment and beamed, hopping to her feet almost immediately. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him to the dance floor in a remarkable show of swiftness and agility. He followed her lead, waiting for instruction as she found a spot on the floor. As the tempo of the music changed, and the band settled into a soft, slow song, Andy answered. "All you have to do is hold me close and whisper nice things in my ear."
Linking the fingers of her right hand through his left, she brought her other hand to rest at the nape of his neck. They settled for a quiet rhythm, slowly swaying back and forth in a circle. After a few moments, Sam drew Andy closer, lightly stroking the exposed skin of her back. Immensely pleased, Andy laid her head on his shoulder as her lips curved upward.
The muffled sound of her voice hit Sam's ears. "You have to admit, this is pretty nice, right?"
An unsanctioned smile crept onto his face. "Yeah, it's not bad."
"This is our first dance as a couple, you know."
"I know," he replied softly, before adding somewhat begrudgingly, "Just don't expect me to dip you when this is over."
She lifted her head from his chest, giving him a quick wink. "I wouldn't dream of it." She paused, before continuing in a quiet voice, her words sincere. "You've been a really good sport so far. Thank you."
He nodded silently and lowered his lips to her bare shoulder. "You're welcome."
And though he would deny it if questioned, there was a small part of him that hoped for a second dance in a similar venue, he in a tuxedo and she in a beautiful dress.
Please, if you have a moment – Review! I'm always happy to hear what readers liked, didn't like, what they want to see more of, etc.
As always, thank you for reading!
