Drabble Word : Trash
Set : A handful of months after 3.13. Because, while I truly believe this won't happen, I really needed the fluffyness.
Words : 200
Disclaimer : Own the words, but not the world. Nor a dog named Boo. Unfortunately.
When Sam staggered from his bed (the very empty bed) that morning, he believed it would be exactly the same as many other mornings in a long line of mornings wherein nothing eventful happened and Andy still hadn't returned from her UC operation.
With Collins.
(But he wasn't thinking about that. Thinking about that and her absence would only lead to more dates with Scotch.)
On autopilot, he started up his coffee maker (their coffee maker) and pulled the trash bag from beneath the sink.
It was time for it to go to the street.
Clad in a pair of loose sweat pants and flip flops, he headed outside with bleary eyes.
And stopped dead at the foot of the stairs.
Because there she was.
(He was pretty sure he was dreaming; mildly hoping he was.)
She stood, hands in pockets, hovering next to his trash bin.
She watched him with hopeful, sparkling doe brown eyes that melted him.
After a long moment, where her expression slowly went from hopeful to crestfallen as he continued to hold silent, he finally moved forward.
She met him halfway down the path with a fiery kiss that spoke of only apology and love.