The clock on the microwave reads 4:47 and Monica is just beginning to catch her breath while Andrew is swallowing his second bottle of water. He eyes her, leaning against the counter, head tilted back, fingers curled around the edge, diaphragm heaving with the effort of gulping oxygen.
"I don't think we can do that, again." there's a twinge of dejection in his tone, regret. "I mean - we can, obviously, we just did, and it was amazing, don't get me wrong but I don't think we should do that, again."
Monica exhales slowly and lifts her head to look at him, pupils still blown wide from their previous activities, giving her a haunted look. "You're right. We were just becoming friends and then we - well, I mean -"
"Mon," Andrew interrupts her with a laugh. "Just say it."
"Sex has to be off the table until we figure out how to be friends." Monica finally breathes, making her way back to the table. "We barely liked each other to, well…"
"Rabbits." Andrew smirks, buttoning up what was left of his shirt, green eyes bright with amusement.
Monica just rolls her eyes at his comment. Okay, fine. So, they'd had sex. Multiple times in multiple ways, but it hardly qualified as anything resembling whatever he meant to imply with that statement. It was nothing akin to the adage of humping like bunnies, if she were to be as crude as he, in the comparison. Actually, it felt more like, well, she's not really sure, but she's almost certain, it'd been a multitude of sins. Nothing that felt that good could be consecrated as a righteous act.
"We shouldn't do it, again." Monica finally tells him plainly. "We should be friends first and see where we go from there."
"You could start by giving me more than just Monica or Fireball to work with." Andrew offers a crooked grin, hoping by some miracle, it would get her to open up.
Monica can't help but sigh in exasperation, though it is exaggerated and all play. "My last name is Clarke."
"Mine is Dawson." Andrew returns. "My middle name is Azrael."
"Azrael?" Monica's face twists in confusion - rightfully so, it isn't a common middle name.
"Uh, Angel of Death. My Mom - she has this bizarre fascination with death." he laughs a little. "Mom has Spanish roots."
"Oh."
"I'm, uh, I'm not sure how far back it goes but her family immigrated from Spain." he explains casually but his eyes look everywhere but at Monica. It makes her wonder how good his relationship with his family is. He seems casual, dismissive, even, but knowledgeable about his roots. "They originally settled in Texas but followed the railroad to Mississippi. Mom met Dad and didn't move back when her parents did."
"I'm a Derry girl." Monica confesses so quietly, Andrew wonders if she said anything at all. "Northern Ireland. My parents - they, uh, tried to give me a Catholic upbringing but I sort of lapsed when I moved here."
"Why?" Andrew's head tilt comes with a soft, inquisitive gaze.
One that weakens Monica just enough to get part of her story out of her. "I - well, when I moved here, I met Tess and she isn't Catholic and I went to her church, and I liked the looser structure of non-Catholic worship."
"Methodist." he offers her in return. "I was raised Methodist. When I got here and I took Tess' religious studies class, I discovered other sects, or denominations of Christianity and I explored as many of them as I could find churches for. Utah is mostly Mormon but I found a few."
"And?"
"And, I like all of them. I find a little bit of my personal belief system in all of them." Andrew explains, tossing his empty water bottle into the trash can across the room. "So, I decided that I would be non-denominational and when I find a church that's right for me, that's where I'll go."
Monica looks down at the kitchen table, focusing heavily on the scratches, names etched with knives and swirling patterns of Zoe's drunken doodling. She's so deep in thought, it takes Andrew a full five minutes to get her attention.
"Mon?" Andrew raises an eyebrow at the little redhead across from him.
"How do you know what church is right?" she finally poses her question.
Another head tilt, eyes staring at the rising sun outside of the window, composing his thoughts. The words that finally leave his mouth are reassuring and unnerving all at once; "When you find the one that feels like home."
That could be difficult.
Monica's not sure she remembers what home feels like. It's been so long since she had a real home, she doesn't know what home is to her, anymore. "I'm - I don't think I remember what home feels like." she finally confesses shyly.
"You'll know it when you feel it. Trust me, Monica." Andrew reassures her gently. The clock on the microwave is edging closer to six. "I - I should probably call Adam. I have work tonight and I'd like to get some sleep."
"Oh." Monica looks around for the phone. "There's a phone around here, somewhere."
"The phone's here, Mon." Zoe drops the cordless phone on the table between them and prances over to the coffee maker. She pauses mid-reach for the coffee grounds and spins on her heel to look at them. "Did either of you get any sleep, last night?"
"What are you doing up so early, Zoe?" Monica's quick to change the subject before Zoe catches onto anything.
"Well, I thought since you caught a cab home, I'd take you to get your car on the way to work." Zoe smiles, grabbing the coffee from the cabinet. "Mom and Pop want me to come in early to take inventory and do orders before we open this afternoon."
Monica says nothing, just fidgets uncomfortably while Andrew grabs the phone and dials Adam's number. Zoe narrows her eyes at both of them. Neither of them look rested, exactly. Actually, they look rather disheveled, like they'd done anything but sleep. But, Monica's shy and unlikely to say anything in front of Andrew so asking her anything before he leaves is out of the question.
" - No, you jackass, she can't. Are you forgetting we took the same cab?" Andrew sighs to his best friend over the phone. "You're the one who called the damn cab. Which, you're never doing again. The driver was a sleaze. Made some vile comments about Monica. That would be great. Thanks."
He ends the call with a roll of his eyes and a deep sigh. "Adam will be here in about fifteen minutes. Ten of which will probably be spent wondering why Monica can't take me to my truck because I don't think I convinced him he called us a cab."
Monica and Zoe both giggle at Andrew's exasperation. Truth be told - Adam could be a bit of a handful, at times and the aftermath of a frat party is usually when it was worse. That said, Monica's pretty sure Zoe's already figured it out - the narrow eyes when Andrew can't quite meet Monica's gave her away - so, she's certain Adam will figure it out and they might be in trouble if he does.
…
"So, I take it you didn't sleep it off?" Adam's wry grin is not what Andrew needed to see, this early in the morning. But, it appears to be what he's getting. The taller man steps just over the threshold and tips his head, blue eyes already bright and observant. Not to mention - oh yeah, only a shower could hide the fact that, "You stink like sex."
"Shut up, Adam." Andrew growls, dropping down on the couch to tug his boots on. When he stands back up, Adam eyes him suspiciously. "What?!"
"Why is your shirt torn?"
Andrew's eyes widen a fraction, memories of the night before flooding back. Feeling zero attachment to a shirt that'd once meant something to him, when Monica's hands were frantic on his chest, asking to tear it off of him.
"Andrew got a little temperamental with the cab driver." Monica saves his ass, again, with a roll of her eyes. But, it's all for show, this time. "He was crass but threatening him seemed a little unnecessary."
"He'd still be propositioning you." Andrew reminds her, folding his arms across his chest.
Monica just rolls her eyes, again, and leans up to kiss Adam's cheek. "Zoe's bringing me to get my car before she goes to work. I need to shower."
Adam just nods and gives her an affectionate squeeze. "Mon, did you ever find a job?"
"Haven't really looked, Adam." Monica shrugs but the downcast eyes and the heat flushing her cheeks says otherwise. She has looked but nobody's willing to give a foreign college student a chance.
Andrew looks between Adam and Monica, very obviously taking the hint that the other man was not so subtly dropping, before finally settling on the redhead. "You know, there's an opening at the bar where I work. It's not much, just a waitress position, but I can get you an interview, if you want."
"Really?" Monica's eyes brighten considerably.
"Yeah. Owner's a nice guy - Jack Evans, loves everyone." Andrew offers her a reassuring smile. It's soft and comforting and they both feel like they're finally making progress. "I have to go get some sleep before my shift starts at one. Come in anytime after three, when Jack usually gets there, and I'll get you an interview."
"That would be amazing!" Monica practically squeals, tilting up on her tiptoes to kiss Andrew's cheek. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Andrew breathes, ignoring Adam's arrogant grin. "I'll see you, this afternoon, then."
"I'll see you then."