Author's Note: I know I've said this before, but you guys leave some of the most thoughtful, encouraging reviews. I apologize that I have not been able to respond to all of them personally- I start out with good intentions but then just run out of time. Please know that I truly appreciate each and every one of them. Thank you!
Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue.
It was late and dark by the time Andy finally made it home. Instead of climbing the stairs to her own house, she made her way up to Sam's front door and hesitantly knocked.
It took several minutes for him to answer and she assumed he inside debating whether or not to even open the door. She knew that ultimately he would; his sensibilities would never allow him to deny her and leave her out in the cold no matter how upset he was.
The seconds ticked by and Andy anxiously knocked again before stepping back and pulling her coat tighter around her, trying to block out the wind.
When the door finally swung open and Sam's frame filled the entryway she schooled her face into a neutral expression, trying not to show a reaction to his bloodshot, glassy eyes.
"What?" he asked, his hand forming a fist against the plane of the door.
Andy swallowed hard. "Can we talk?"
Even though his eyes were unfocused, his gaze was penetrating and he stared at her a long moment before moving in response to her request. He pushed the door open just enough for her to squeeze through and then turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the foyer.
"Perfect," Andy mumbled, her shoulders slumping as she closed the door and then followed him through the house.
She found him in the kitchen, pouring what looked like scotch into a small glass. "Oh, that was a great decision," she muttered sarcastically, taking off her gloves and tossing them on the counter. "Really good idea, switching from beer to liquor. You're going to feel wonderful in the morning."
He looked at her and then silently lifted the glass to his lips, pointedly drowning the entire thing in one gulp. The alcohol burned on the way down and settled like a heavy weight in his stomach, but when he finished he cleared his throat and set his glass back on the counter, ready to fill it again.
"Okay," Andy said, taking the scotch bottle from him. "How much of this have you had?"
She understood why he was doing it; everyone reached a breaking point at some time or another and Sam seemed like the type of person who just played like everything was fine and under control until he just… broke. She felt more than a little guilty that she had been the final push to get him there but didn't delude herself into thinking she was the only cause.
In a way, it would have been nice if her outburst at the bar had been the cause; it would have meant he wasn't dealing with all the other crap that he was dealing with.
He snatched the bottle back from her but didn't refill his glass. "Not enough."
"What was your plan?" Andy asked, crossing her arms in front of her. "Drink yourself into oblivion?"
"Considered it," he replied, his words remarkably clear.
Of course they were, Andy thought bitterly. It would take more than a little alcohol to make Sam lose his capacity of speech.
He leaned his hip against the counter and waved his hand, prompting her, "Let's hear it."
"What?"
"Whatever you came here to say," he replied. "I'm assuming it will be some self-righteous, indignant rant about women on the force and me ruining your career."
Maybe his speech was clear but his choice of words was undoubtedly affected. He could say hurtful things but he was never intentionally mean, at least not to her.
Andy pursed her lips, trying not to let him rile her up. "You're mad at me?" she asked. He shrugged in response. "Can I ask why?"
"Oh, I don't know Andy," Sam replied sarcastically, putting a bite on her name, "Has Boyd been better in the last few weeks?"
"Yes," she admitted.
"So, I took care of the situation," he maintained, his voice rising, "And I don't really appreciate getting yelled at in a bar because of it."
Andy flinched a little, recognizing that she may have overreacted. "What did you say to him?"
If he was surprised by her question or the change in direction, he didn't show it. "I told him to leave you alone," he responded simply, pouring more scotch into his glass.
"Or what?"
Sam shrugged and took a sip. "Or I would bring up things from the UC operation and put an end his career."
Her eyes flew up to meet his. "So you blackmailed him?"
"If that's what you want to call it," Sam replied unrepentantly.
Andy ground her teeth together, fighting to keep control of her temper. "How did you know he wouldn't report you? You could get into serious trouble for blackmailing a fellow officer."
Sam snorted. "Boyd's a pussy. He's not going to do anything. Look," he said, "You can't tell me that someone is messing with you and just expect me not to do something about it, okay?" He gestured to himself with both hands, "That's not who I am."
"I told you that I could handle it," Andy said quietly, tilting her chin up defiantly.
"Well, you were doing a piss poor job of it," Sam shot back, taking another swig and then setting his glass back on the counter so he could begin ticking off incidents off on his fingers, "Let's see, he yelled at you, he threatened your career, he didn't train you…"
"I know what he did, Sam," she said, rolling her eyes, "I was there."
He continued as if she hadn't said anything, "He grabbed you hard enough to bruise you, oh and let's not forget that he suggested you give him a blow job…"
"Why do you keep bringing that up?" She discreetly reached for his drink and poured the rest of the contents into the sink.
He didn't seem to notice. "Because it's wrong, Andy!" he yelled, throwing his arms out. "You run around trying to help anything that breathes but you're too damn stubborn to let anyone help you!"
His words slurred a little at the end and with the way he was waving his hands around, Andy thought that maybe he was little more drunk that he was letting on.
Her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm the stubborn one?"
Sam clamped his mouth shut, his jaw hardening. "I did the right thing. Maybe it colored outside of the lines in that little rule book you love so much, but I'm not going to apologize, so if that's what you came here looking for, you can just forget it."
"Wow," Andy said, blinking twice to give herself a chance to process what he was saying. Drunk or not, she was slightly taken back by the words he words hurling her way. "I think that's more than I've ever heard you say."
He was silent, his arsenal of justifications for his actions apparently empty.
"I'm not looking for an apology," she said firmly.
He turned his head slightly and leaned forward, "What?"
"I'm not looking for an apology," she repeated. "That's not what I came here for."
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes going even darker than they already were, and then blinked, confusion and bewilderment written all of his face. "Seriously, for Christ's sake McNally, what in the hell is going on?"
She bit back a grin because it shouldn't have been funny and he was clearly not amused. "I had a lot of time to think about it on the walk home…"
"You walked home?" he asked, interrupting her and noticing for the first time that the tip of her nose was red and that her cheeks were wind burned.
"Well," she huffed mildly, "You were supposed to be my ride."
"I thought you would take a cab or get a ride from someone else or… I don't know, not walk," he said, moving to stand in front of her. "It's freezing outside."
"Yeah, I realize now it may not have been the smartest choice," she admitted, pausing when he reached out to cup her face in his hands. It wasn't tender like his touch normally was, he was kind of pawing at her face and squishing her cheeks together in a way that she was certain made her look like a chipmunk. Very attractive. "What… what are you doing?" she asked, her words coming out marbled.
"Your face is like ice," he said, moving his hands through her hair and over her ears, closing over them like earmuffs. It was like he was transfixed, the conversation… argument…. they were in the middle of forgotten as his primary objective became to warm her up.
He took a step closer, the heat from his body seeping through her coat before she felt him right up against her.
Out of their own volition, her hands came up to his waist and she fisted his shirt in her fingers, drawing him to her. "Well," she said weakly, feeling is warm breath on her face, "It's cold outside."
Sam's eyes were open and his expression was unreadable as he touched his forehead to hers. She held his gaze until his eyes fluttered closed and he lifted his head, softly pressing his lips first along her hairline and then down across her cheeks, peppering the prickled flesh with feather light kisses.
His lips closed over the tip of her nose like a hot, wet blanket and she thought that it should have felt a lot more awkward than it did.
Andy could feel his ridiculously long eyelashes brushing her skin and her breath hitched as he added his teeth to the mix, nibbling along the line of her jaw, suddenly not so gentle and soft.
His quest to warm her up was definitely working.
Her mind was starting to go fuzzy, pleasantly blank except for the feel of his mouth against her skin. Everything she planned to say about Boyd and about Brennan and about how Sam shouldn't have done was he did but she understood why he did it and how she was secretly kind of pleased about it in a very girly, embarrassing way slipped from her mind when she felt his tongue peek out and soothe where he had nipped at her just a little to hard.
"Sam…" she breathed, not sure why. Noise was muffled because his hands where over her ears, but the sound of blood rushing through her veins was amplified, echoing in her brain.
He didn't stop what he was doing, just hummed against her skin, waiting for her to continue with whatever she was going to say.
"I'm warm."
"Okay," he replied, drawing the word out and still not stopping.
She nuzzled his nose in response, directing his attention to where she wanted him and his lips finally came down on hers, parting them and kissing thoroughly, as if in the twenty-four hours since he had last kissed her, he had forgotten what she tasted like and needed to reacquaint himself immediately.
There was a shift in him suddenly; anger turned into hunger, confusion into desire.
Then he bit down on her lower lip, hard, and she thought that maybe he was still a little angry.
She made a noise in the back of her throat and her hands fell to his waist, slipping beneath the waffle weave of his shirt. He hissed when she touched his bared skin but instead of pushing her away he used the lapels of her pea coat to pull her impossibly closer and when that still wasn't enough he impatiently worked the buttons down the front, groaning petulantly when the task took too long.
"Let me do it," Andy said testily, pushing his hands away and finishing the buttons herself. No sooner had she gotten the last one undone than his hands slipped across her shoulders, pushing the coat off. It hit the floor with a muted thud and his arms circled around her waist, deepening the kiss and leaning into her so much she felt like she was doing a back bend in the middle of his kitchen.
When she couldn't arch any further, she brought her hands to his shoulders and pushed him back, righting herself into a standing position again. It didn't seem to make a difference to him, because as soon as she was upright she felt his hands travel down over her rear to the backs of her thighs and he hitched her legs up around him, lifting her onto the counter and pushing her knees apart so he could step in between them.
Andy's leg fell open and she wrapped them around him, digging her heels into the backs of his thighs, letting out a whimper when she felt him press against her.
"McNally," he ground out, closing his eyes and letting his head fall briefly to her shoulder. He took a second but then she felt him pulling the neckline of her sweater over and she entertained the brief, fleeting thought that she hoped he wouldn't stretch it out. When his lips locked on to the sensitive skin he had revealed and he suckled on it, tonguing it a little, and biting down just hard enough to let her know he was there, she wanted to tell him that he could just rip the sweater in half if he would keep doing that.
He was mumbling something against her skin, something she could quite make out, and she squeezed her eyes shut and let her head loll back against the upper cabinet. Her fingers blindly traced frenzied patterns up and down the lean plane of muscle in his back and she took a long second to appreciate how solid he felt beneath her hands.
Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind the thought that they shouldn't be doing this popped up.
She tried to ignore it, especially when his hands went to the hem of her sweater, lifting it and letting his fingers spread out around her narrow waist. No longer cold, his touch lit up her skin like fire, igniting the nerve endings beneath. His hands skated up her side, ghosting over her ribcage and the sides of her breasts and he gently pushed up on her arms. "Lift your arms," he said, his voice almost foreign and in a lower register than she had ever heard before.
Wordlessly, she obediently raised her arms over her head and he took a deep breath before slipping her sweater off, trailing his fingers down her arms as he ridded her of the garment, letting it fall to the ground. He stepped away from her and reached around to his back, gripping the material of his Henley in his hand and pulling it over his head in the way that boys do. Andy bit her lip, watching him through lowered lashes, and was strangely disappointed that he hadn't let her be the one to drag his shirt off of him, fingernails scraping up his back and over his broad shoulders.
No, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. She couldn't shut the nagging voice up. Worse, it was getting louder.
His shirt joined hers on the floor and he rejoined her at the counter, pulling her flush against him, chest to chest, skin to skin. Their lips met in a heated, frantic kiss, mouths open and tongues dueling. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her into his arms again and let her toes barely graze the floor as he walked her into the living room. As soon as she felt carpet beneath her feet his arm reached down to cradle her against him and he dropped to his knees, one and then the other, before gently stretching her out on the floor.
The sofa was too far away, apparently.
Ignoring the voice in her head that kept telling her to stop because dear god his body felt good against her, all muscly and strong and warm, she hiked one leg up and around his waist, letting his hips settle in between her thighs. He was kissing her everywhere now, hungry and needy; she couldn't keep track of his lips and his hands and all she knew was that whatever he was doing was making her feel like she had currents of electricity running through her veins. In a good way. In a very good way.
It was just that whenever he thrust against her, the carpet would rub the skin that covered her sharp shoulder blades a little raw and it stung just a tiny bit.
It was miniscule, really. She could barely feel it.
She didn't care, she told herself.
She didn't care. Carpet burns be damned, it didn't matter where or how because it was with him.
But then it happened again, the stinging, and she knew that he would care.
In the morning, when he woke up and remembered through foggy, blurry flashbacks what had happened, he would undoubtedly be pissed and blame himself for taking advantage of her even though she was the stone cold sober one.
Or, even worse, a little part of him might always fear that he had forced himself on her. She knew that despite her fiercest protests to the contrary, he'd never forgive himself.
The last thing she wanted to do was heap another source of guilt onto his already heavily burdened shoulders. He was practically walking around with a hunch as it was.
Plus, he was kissing her and moving above her like he wanted to get lost in her, like he just wanted to forget. Any other time she would be fine with that, encourage it even, but maybe not their first time. Maybe it was the impractical, naïve, hopeless romantic inside of her that thought that their first time should be about them, not about anything or anyone else.
She could be wrong, but Andy kind of thought that Sam might have a little hopeless romantic inside of him, too.
He was moving down her body, his lips were warm against her stomach and his tongue swirled around her tiny bellybutton, coiling tension right at her center and she told herself she was overthinking it.
But then one of his hands grasped at the hollow of her hip, arching her off the ground and she felt his other hand flick open the button of her jeans and start to slide the zipper down and that damn voice just got too loud to ignore. Summoning her strength, making herself focus through the dizzying haze of pleasure and desire he was expertly rousing in her body, she reached down to find something to grip.
"Sam…" Her fingers fisted in his dark hair and she tugged him up. "Sam," she said, brown eyes locking with brown eyes, "Is this really want you want?"
Confusion and about eight other emotions she didn't have time to process flickered across his chiseled face and then something snapped and he was off of her like he'd been electrocuted, falling to the ground beside her.
"Sam," she said, crawling over to him and up on him, "It's fine, I don't care…"
"No," he said, breathing hard, "You're right."
She let out a deep breath and fell half on top of him, pillowing her head on his chest and listening to the rapid thrumming of his heart.
"Andy," Sam said, fighting for control, "You need to get off of me."
Her brow furrowed and she propped her chin up, not understanding. "What? No, Sam, it's fine…"
"Andy," he repeated louder, grasping her shoulders and physically lifting her away from him, growling, "Get off."
She rolled to the side, unable to keep the hurt off of her face and suddenly very aware that she was half naked on his living room floor. She quickly zipped her jeans and redid the button before folding her arms in front of her, looking around self-consciously.
He groaned and threw his arm over his face, shielding his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, admitting hesitantly, "It's just been … well, a long time and you…" he shook his head and swallowed hard, "God, you feel so good."
She smiled a little at that. "Okay," she replied quietly, keeping her distance. She watched his chest rise and fall with every breath, each one getting shallower as the seconds ticked by.
It was too quiet. "I kicked in a door today."
His head fell to the side and he looked over at her, his expression blank.
She nodded and continued, "My first time. It was a crappy apartment door and it took a couple of tries and I think I may have pulled my hamstring a little, but…" she paused to breathe. "I did it."
Sam blinked. "What are you doing?"
"I'm rambling," she told him, talking fast. "It's what I do when I'm, you know, nervous. I've been told I'm pretty good at it. Paperwork, too. I've been told I'm very good at paperwork."
That got a little smile out of him, the corners of his mouth just barely curling up. "Epstein sucks at paperwork."
"That's cause his parents were hippies," Andy said, laughing lightly. "Didn't believe in structure or routine."
"His spelling is atrocious."
"He spells how he feels," Andy replied with mock wisdom. "He's not confined by a silly little thing like a dictionary."
Sam chuckled and Andy grinned widely, pleased that she was able to draw the sound out of him.
The laughter died down and he crooked his finger at her. Andy raised an eyebrow, not moving, teasing, "You gonna be able to control yourself?"
"Well, Epstein's better than a cold shower, so…" he shrugged.
Andy smiled and scooted over to him, snuggling up beneath the nook of his shoulder and throwing her arm over his chest.
The arm she was laying on curled around her, his fingers getting lost in her mess of hair, and he reached his free hand over to slowly rub his knuckles up and down the arm she had slung across his chest.
It was a nice change of pace. Almost peaceful.
He felt her shiver. At first he thought that maybe she was ticklish but then she did it again when he wasn't even touching her. "Cold?"
She nodded against him.
"All my hard work gone to waste…" he muttered, leaning up and stretching over so he could pull a blanket off the sofa. He covered them with it and then settled back down beside her.
She looked up at him and the angle she was at made the scar beneath his eye appear deeper than when she had noticed it before. Unable to stop herself, she reached up and brushed her thumb over it.
His muscles tensed beneath her but didn't tell her to stop, so she did it again.
"Oliver showed me Brennan's case file," she said quietly, flipping herself over onto her stomach so she could look at him.
"Ah," he said simply, understanding her sudden change in attitude.
She glanced down, watching the shapes that her fingers were drawing through the hair that sprinkled his chest. "I didn't know."
He was silent, waiting for her to continue.
"I shouldn't have yelled at you like that," she said finally. "In the bar." She took a deep breath and then exhaled shakily, looking up at him. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "S'okay."
Deep in concentration, formulating what she was trying to say, her mouth twisted to the side. "I don't like when I feel like other people have to fight my battles for me," she said, careful not to place any blame on him.
He looked down at her and his forehead creased. "It wasn't a fair fight, Andy. Boyd had the upper hand. He was doing that crap because he knew he could get away with it. Look," he licked his lips and then gestured between them, "You and me? Whatever this is?" she nodded. "It's like we're partners, okay?" he said, using a example he understood. "You've got my back and I've got yours. Someone messes with you, they mess with me."
"Partners?" She questioned, arching an eyebrow and smirking a little. "So we're work buddies, just without the work?"
"I'm not functioning on all cylinders right now," he grumbled. "It's the best I could come up with."
"No," Andy said, gently laughing. She doubted he'd be much better at putting their relationship into words even if he was, as he put it, functioning on all cylinders. "I get it. But we weren't partners when you went to his house."
"It was inevitable," Sam replied confidently.
Andy laughed skeptically. "Oh it was?"
Sam nodded and grinned smugly at her. "I'm very charming."
"I hadn't noticed," Andy said with a wide smile, spreading her hand out over his chest and then resting her head against him. His hand came up to her back, warm and comforting. "So why'd you punch him?"
"He pissed me off."
"I figured that," she replied. "Why?"
His hand stilled on her back. "I don't remember."
She lifted her head. "Yes you do," she claimed, narrowing her eyes. "What'd he say?"
Sam sighed and pushed the heel of his palm against his eyes. "I guess he figured there was something going on between us."
Andy's eyes widened. "Oh. So you punched him?"
"He called you mouthy, made some filthy comment about that," Sam muttered, "And asked if I was getting… shit, what did he call it?" he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the specifics of the conversation. "It was some stupid rhyming thing, what was it?… Rookie nookie."
She let out a burst of laughter. "Rookie nookie? That's clever."
Sam stared at her. "It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"Okay," Andy said, humoring him. "Well, I don't necessarily like what you did," she told him, "But it did help." She met his gaze and held it. "Thank you. For caring."
His hand tangled in her hair, cupping the back of her head, and he pulled her towards him so he could brush his lips against hers. "You're welcome."
Andy smiled and kissed him again before settling back down. "You hungry?"
"Not really," he replied, shifting around beneath her to a more comfortable position. "There are some takeout menus in the kitchen though, if you want order something."
"I thought you were Mr. Anti-Takeout," Andy teased.
"Why?"
"You cook almost every night," She replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"That's just cause of Lindsey," he said, yawning. "Sarah cooked all the time so, I don't know, I guess figured it would help her make the transition or something."
Andy looked up at him and smiled.
"What?" he asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," she replied, scooting closer against his side. "Nothing. I'm not hungry. Let's just stay here."
As she suspected, it didn't take long for Sam to fall asleep, arms spread out and mouth gaping open slightly. When she was certain he was asleep, she laughed lightly and then pushed herself up, making her way to his room. She grabbed the two pillows off of his bed and, as an afterthought, pulled a sweatshirt out of his closet and tugged it over her head.
Back in the living room, she gently lifted his head to slide the pillow under it and then grabbed the television remote before making herself comfortable beside him.
Flipping through the channels, she ended up on some Lifetime movie that she watched until her eyelids got too heavy to hold open anymore.
Sam was squirming underneath her when she woke up the next morning. "Good morning," She said, yawning and blinking against the morning sun that was filtering in through the windows.
"Hey," he replied groggily.
She propped her chin up on his chest, taking in his still-bleary eyes. "Have you been awake long?"
"'Bout half an hour," he said, glancing at the clock on the DVD player.
"Why didn't you get up?" She grinned at him, teasing, "Were you watching me sleep?"
"No," he grumbled, "I just couldn't move without my back seizing up. I think I'm getting too old for this shit."
"What shit is that?"
"The getting drunk, passing out on the floor and waking up with a half naked woman on top of me shit."
"Ah," Andy said, pushing herself up so she could sit beside him, "Well, to be fair, we passed out well before midnight and I'm fully dressed, so it wasn't quite the night of debauchery you're imagining."
He looked at her. "You weren't wearing this the last time I saw you," he said, tugging on her sweatshirt sleeve.
"I borrowed it," she told him, tucking her cold toes beneath his back.
He blinked. "You just went into my closet and got it?"
She nodded. "Is that okay?"
He ignored her question. "And then you came back here and laid down with me?" She nodded again. "Even though you could have gone home and slept in your own bed?"
"Yes."
"The floor is hard and really uncomfortable."
"Well I wasn't just going to leave you alone," she said, rolling her eyes and picking at a loose thread on her pants. "And, you know," she smiled and shrugged, "We were supposed to spend the night together."
He sighed heavily and let his head fall to the side. "I'm sorry last night didn't work out like it was supposed to."
"How was it supposed to work out?" She asked, tilting her head to the side and looking at him with big, innocent doe eyes.
Sam smirked. "You know what I mean."
"You mean we were supposed to have hot and sweaty sex all night long?" She grinned when a look of shock widened his features.
He let out a strangled laugh. "Yeah, something like that."
"Yeah, I'm sorry too," Andy commiserated. She laced her fingers between his and winked, "But there will be other nights."
Sam squeezed her hand. "I can't believe you just went into my closet."
"Well, I can't believe you hang up your t-shirts," Andy said, laughing. "And organize them by color. I'd say you could go into mine but I think you'd probably have a heart attack."
"Why would I want to go into your closet in the first place?"
Andy grinned and wiggled her eyebrows, "You never know what goodies you might find in there."
Sam laughed and then grimaced, putting a hand to his head and squeezing his eyes closed.
"Headache?" Andy asked sympathetically. When he nodded her expression hardened and she replied mercilessly, "Well that's what happens when you drink full glasses of scotch like they're shots of tequila." Under her breath, but plenty loud enough for him to hear, she added, "Idiot."
"Hey," he said, tugging on her arm. "I have an idea."
She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
"How about you not yell at me, because your voice is about five hundred times louder than it normally is, and go make us some coffee."
"Fine, fine, fine," she said, standing up. "But only because I'm your partner." She put an emphasis on the last word and grinned a little, obviously teasing him for his choice of words from the night before.
He picked up the pillow beside him and hurled it at her as she squealed and jumped out of the way. "Don't you worry sweetie," Andy said playfully, "If someone messes with you, they mess with me."
Sam just groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. "Partner, my ass," he mumbled.
Andy returned a few minutes with two full cups of coffee. Sam sat up enough so he could drink it without choking and then laid back down, grunting as his muscles protested the movement. "I wish I didn't have to get up."
"You don't have to get up," Andy told him, stretching out beside him. "We could just stay here, watch movies all day. Look at the ceiling."
"I've got to get up," he said, even though he made no move to do so. "I've got to go get Lindsey."
"How about you let me go get her," Andy suggested. "We can spend the day together and you can…" she waved her hand around, "I don't know, have some alone time. Get off the floor. Sleep in a real bed. Take a hot shower." She wrinkled her nose. "Seriously, please take a shower."
His eyebrows drew together, "I don't know…"
"We can get lunch and maybe go to a movie or go shopping or something. It'll be fine," Andy assured him. She grinned up at him. "Just let me have your keys."
When Andy showed up at Oliver's house a couple of hours later, he answered the door and looked at her first in surprise and then in panic. "Did you kill him?"
"What?" Andy asked, her brow scrunching. "No, I didn't kill him. He's fine."
He glanced over her shoulder. "So he knows you're driving his truck? "
"Yeah," Andy glanced back at the truck. "I don't have a car and I'm picking Lindsey up, so…" she trailed off, shrugging.
"And you're sure he's not dead?"
Andy laughed, "I'm sure. He's fine." She paused and then added, "Everything's fine."
Oliver looked at her skeptically and looked back to the truck.
"Can I get Lindsey now, please?" Andy asked, sounding impatient.
Oliver blinked. "I'll go get her." Andy took a step forward and started to follow him into the house, but he raised a hand. "You just wait here."
Andy's eyes widened indignantly, but she did what he asked.
Oliver walked back through the house to his daughter's bedroom. "Hey Lindsey," he called, "Andy's here to get you."
"Oh, okay," she said, popping up from her spot on the floor. Her voice held just a hint of surprise but not as much as Oliver was expecting. "Just let me grab my bag."
"I'll help you," he told her, following her into the living room. While she was stuffing a sweatshirt and a pair of headphones into her bag, Oliver asked curiously, "So… your uncle and Andy?"
"What about 'em?"
"They seem to spend a lot of time together."
"Uh huh," Lindsey said, hoisting her packed back onto her shoulder and starting to walk towards the door.
"Are they…" He trailed off, not sure what he was asking. "Together?"
Lindsey stopped and turned around to face him. She grinned and raised a knowing eyebrow. "Oh yeah," she confirmed, nodding. "Totally."
Andy and Lindsey grabbed a bite to eat – "My first cheeseburger in months," Lindsey moaned happily – and then went to see a dance movie that was out in the theatres, one they knew they'd never convince Sam to go and see with them. When it was over, Andy asked Lindsey is she wanted to get some hot chocolate before they headed home and soon they were walking around a park, both clutching steaming paper cups in their hands.
"So, is my uncle mad at me?"
Andy whipped her head around to look at Lindsey, "No, why would you ask that?"
"Well, no offense, I mean… I've had fun, but it's kind of weird that you're the one that picked me up from Hannah's."
Andy shrugged, "I asked him if I could. I thought we could, you know, do some girly stuff."
They passed by a bench and Lindsey sat down, taking a sip of her hot chocolate before admitting, "I said some really mean things to him."
Andy sat down beside her. "Oh."
"Did he tell you what I said?" Lindsey asked timidly.
Andy decided to be honest.. "Yeah, he told me."
"I didn't mean it," Lindsey said, picking at the cardboard sleeve around her cup. "I was just… really mad."
"Deep down, he's know that," Andy replied. "But I think it still hurt to hear."
"Is that what he told you?"
Andy shook her head. "No, he never said that but your uncle…" she tilted her head from side to side, "He just wants to protect people, you know?" Andy couldn't help but think about the situation with Boyd. "It's his job but it's also kind of part of who his is."
"Yeah," Lindsey muttered, "I know, he's always been like that."
Andy was quiet for a moment, thinking. "He couldn't protect your mom," she finally said. When Lindsey looked over at her, she continued, "And I know he feels very guilty about that."
"It wasn't his fault."
"He's knows that, too," Andy said. "But it's still hard. It's not your fault either, sweetie," she said reassuringly, reaching out to rest her hand on the girl's back. "There was nothing that you could have done. You know that right?"
Lindsey ducked her head so that her hair fell in front of her face like a curtain and then nodded. "I know."
They were both quiet as they watched as a runner jog past them, footsteps heavy on the ground and breathing heavily.
Andy sighed. "You know how I told you about my mom?"
"Yeah," Lindsey weakly responded.
"Well, when she left, I was really sad, of course, but I was also really angry. I was so, so mad at her. I couldn't even think about her without getting angry. I still get angry sometimes," Andy admitted honestly. "But I think one of the reasons I was so angry was because I just missed her so much."
Lindsey finally looked up and Andy could see the tears that were beginning to pool in the girl's eyes. "I miss my mom."
"I know you do sweetie," Andy said, pulling the girl to her, careful not to spill their hot chocolate. "Your uncle misses her, too. That's why you guys have to stick together. You can't take your anger out on each other."
Lindsey just nodded, not wanting to speak. Andy could hear her breathing steadily and knew she was trying not to cry.
"You know, your uncle's a pretty strong guy, but he's kind of a big softie sometimes."
Lindsey drew in a shaky breath and laughed. "I know."
"He doesn't like it when you're upset with him."
"I know," Lindsey replied, nodding. "I should probably apologize."
"I think he would appreciate that," Andy said, giving Lindsey a half smile.
Lindsey sat up and sniffled, wiping beneath her eyes. Then, in typical Swarek fashion, she tried to change the subject. "So are you guys together now or what?" she asked bluntly.
Andy's eyebrows sprung up. "How did you…?"
"My uncle's been really weird lately, like, happy weird. Whistling and stuff." Lindsey squinted into the sun, wrinkling her nose, "So it's either you or he's going through some strange mid-life crisis thing." She paused. "That and I totally know you guys were kissing in the foyer the other day. It's really dumb that you think I can't hear you when you're one room away."
Andy just laughed, unsurprised that Lindsey had figured it out. "Are you okay with it? Me and your uncle?"
"Do you promise not to dump him like stupid Monica did?"
"Well, I can't promise that we'll never break up," Andy replied. Lindsey's face fell. "But I can promise I'll do my best not to hurt him."
As Lindsey thought over what she said, the corners of her mouth began to tug outwards until she was smiling fully. "Okay," she said. "I guess that will have to do."
"Good." Andy grinned. "You ready to go home?"
"Yeah," Lindsey said, looking down at her cup, "My hot chocolate is cold."
Andy scrunched her nose as they stood up and began walking towards the truck. "Cold hot chocolate is gross."
"Totally disgusting." Lindsey agreed, throwing her cup into the closest bin. "I can't believe my uncle let you drive his truck. He must really like you."
They made it home and when they stepped inside, Sam greeted them in the foyer. "Hey," he said, taking their coats and hanging them in the closet, "Did you guys have a good day?"
They both nodded and then, out of nowhere, Lindsey stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her uncle's waist.
Sam eyes widened in surprise but he just hugged her in return, patting her back lightly. They stayed like that a minute, Lindsey's scrawny arms tight around him, and then she coughed and stepped back. "Okay," she said. "I'm just going to go put my stuff up and change."
"Dinner's almost ready," Sam told her, watching her head up the stairs.
"Okay!" Lindsey called back down.
Sam looked over at Andy and raised an eyebrow. "That was weird."
Andy just shrugged, giggling as he hooked a finger through her belt loops and pulled her against him, circling his arms around her. "You look a lot better than the last time I saw you," she letting her arms twine around his neck.
"Well," he said, grinning at her widely before kissing her forehead, "I'm sober," and her right cheek, "and I slept in a bed," and her left cheek, "and I showered," and her chin, "and I had a little, uh … what was it you called it?" he waggled his eyebrows, "Sam's happy time?"
Andy let out a snort of laughter that was cut off when he finally kissed her on the lips. She smiled against him and when he pulled away she teased, "No one wants to think about that."
"But you are," he claimed, brushing her hair off her neck and nuzzling the hollow between her collarbone and throat.
Andy rolled her eyes. "Oh, am I?"
"Mmmhmm," he murmured, slipping his hand into the back pocket of her jeans and pulling her closer, her hips bumping into his.
The stubble on his jaw was tickling her neck and she giggled while asking, "And how do you know that?"
Sam looked pointedly down to her chest and she cursed her body for betraying her.
"Maybe I'm just cold," she said defensively, arching her back so she could cross her arms in front of her. "It's drafty in here."
"Why are your cheeks so red then?" He asked, brushing the rough pad of his thumb against the flushed skin.
"Maybe… I just…" she broke off with a frustrated groan, slapping his arm. "Shut up."
He grinned and dipped his head, hovering just over her lips, waiting for her to rise up to her tiptoes and meet him. "Come on," he whispered, "Don't be upset. I'm kidding."
Because she wasn't upset and didn't want him to think that she was, she rolled up on her toes and closed the distance between them, kissing him and tangling her fingers through the downy soft strands of his hair.
"Hey," he said, abruptly lifting his head and then chuckling at her half closed eyes and still puckered lips. He widened his stance a little, sinking down so he was eye level with her. "I'm fairly certain I remember most of last night, but just in case…" he paused, narrowing his eyes seriously, "We're good, right?"
Andy composed herself and then nodded, smiling. "Yeah," she promised, "We're good."
"Good," he said, leaning in and lightly nipping at her bottom lip before mumbling, "That's good."
He kissed her again, light little pecks against her lips that gradually deepened, soft and slow, until he felt something hard hit his back and then drop to the floor. "What in the…?" he turned around to see a sneaker lying on the ground.
"I'm coming down," Lindsey called, having obviously chucked the shoe at him from the top of the stairs. "So you guys can stop kissing now."
Sam looked back at Andy, "Did you tell her?"
Andy shook her head innocently. "She knew."
"How?"
"I'm twelve Uncle Sam," Lindsey said, coming up behind him. "Not stupid."