Fic: House of Cards, Chapter Five, Part A
Title: House of Cards
Chapter: Five
Summary: Andy joins Sam undercover. Begins mid-2.10
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue. Obviously.
Here’s the thing - the moment Sam realized Andy was telling him that she’d been alone with Brennan, a lump of bile rose so violently in his throat that he had to take a second and consciously tamp it back down in order not to get sick right then and there.
When he was able speak again without worrying about throwing up, sheer terror took the form of anger - rational or not, he was pissed. In turn, Andy got pissed.
It just went downhill from there.
The storage locker was the turning point, the moment the upper hand shifted. The moment when his throat locked up and he physically couldn’t say another word.
He just… it’s too raw, that overwhelming guilt he felt when he heard Callaghan over the radio and then later when he saw the red marks around her mouth from where the tape had been and the handprint bruises around her neck. There’s still an ache in the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks about it, this gnawing sensation that dredges up old childhood feelings and memories he’s tried for decades to suppress.
He deserved to have it thrown in his face, somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he did, but, just. God. It sucked. Hearing all those things he’d secretly been afraid she thought, that she needed him, that he abandoned her, was like getting punched in the stomach.
And then she had to go and say that maybe it was all a mistake, leaving him to wonder what the hell was going on because as mad as he was - he doesn’t want it to be over. God, does he not want it to be over. They’ve barely even gotten started.
When Andy gets back, Sam’s on the couch - it’s just as uncomfortable as he remembers it being, cramped in the tiny little space, not even enough room to stretch his legs out. After pacing around for over an hour he finally gave up and took a shower, hoping she’d be home by the time he got out, sitting on the sofa and maybe even ready to make up. When she wasn’t there he snatched his pillow from the bed and threw a thin sheet over the fake leather, telling himself that he didn’t care and that he was just going to go to sleep.
Obviously that’s a lie; he does care and there’s no way he’s getting any sleep until she gets home so mostly he’s just been sitting there, trying not to imagine all the possible reasons why it could be taking her so long. When he hears the door opened he feels a surge of relief wash through his body, from the top of his head all the way though the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet, glad that she’s home and that she’s okay. That relief, however, is quickly replaced by anger. Anger and a swirl of other emotions that he knows he’s not in the right place to process; emotions like uncertainty, disappointment, guilt, fear, regret…
He cannot deal with all that, not right now, so it’s easier to let the anger take over. It’s not even anger from their earlier fight, even though that’s still simmering somewhere; it’s a fresh surge in his chest of irritation and disbelief that she would be so thoughtless. She was gone for two hours. Two hours in an area she doesn’t know, late at night, after they’d just had an argument about her putting herself in dangerous situations.
He thinks she stayed out so long just to mess with his head, to drive home the fact that he can’t tell her what to do or what not to do. For instance: even though it seems like common sense, he can’t tell her NOT to go out alone, in the dark, in a bad part of town. He can’t tell her not to do that because instead of her realizing that the idea of something happening to her makes him almost lose his mind, she chalks it up to him being an overprotective ass.
When Andy reaches the top of the steps she turns cautiously and faces him, wearing an absolutely inscrutable expression. She just stares for a long minute, not saying a word. Her cheeks are red and wind burned and the hair that’s peeking out from under her beanie is damp with melted snow. For the first time in a long time, Sam doesn’t feel the urge to try and warm her up.
Okay, he does, of course - he’s been mad at her half the time he’s known her, it’s not like it ever stopped him from wanting to take care of her before - but he stays put and doesn’t act on it.
He holds her gaze and sets his jaw, waiting for her to be the first one to speak.
They’re in this sort of stand off, glaring at each other; both silent and wanting the other to break first. Sam’s not gonna be the one to do it though. He knows Andy can’t possibly stay quiet for very long. It’s like a physical incapability for her; she’d just as easily stop breathing.
Finally she talks. “I am a good cop,” she states slowly and deliberately, leaving no room for argument. All the heat that ignited her words earlier has fizzled out, leaving only hollow resignation in its place.
Instinctively, he nods a little. “I know,” he replies, because she is.
It’s basically the smallest peace offering ever extended but she nods sharply and responds like they’ve reached an agreement, “Okay.” Still staring, as if she’s trying to figure something out, she starts pulling at her scarf and coat. “Don’t be stupid,” she tells him, finally breaking eye contact as she looks down and tugs off her mittens. He has no idea what she’s referring to, at this point it could be a whole myriad of things, but then she continues, “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
She disappears into the bathroom after that, leaving Sam alone once again. He’s frozen where he is and doesn’t make any attempt to get up from the couch, at least not yet.
When the shower turns on he breathes out a sigh and brings his hands up to rub at his temples, letting his face fall forward. The pent up anger has dissipated a bit since the confrontation he expected to occur didn’t - he still feels worked up though, over what, exactly, he’s not sure. In less than three hours they’ve gone from Andy literally jumping him when he got home (which - that’s something he wouldn’t mind coming home to everyday, he can admit to that even in the state they’re in) to barely speaking and he just… he doesn’t even know.
He’s giving himself a headache trying to figure it all out.
What he does know is that he’s exhausted and that he really does NOT want to sleep on the couch. She told him he didn’t have to, so he pushes himself up, grabs his pillow and heads for the bed.
When Andy crawls under the covers a little while later she smells like soap and her body is warm from the shower - he can feel the heat bleeding across the space between them and he wants to reach out for her, tug her closer and curl around her, but he doesn’t.
It’s the uncertainty that’s paralyzing. If he thought she was just mad at him it would be different, but he honestly has no idea where they stand right now - whether she meant it when she said that maybe they were a mistake or if she was just spouting off in the heat of the moment. Until she tells him differently he’s going to assume (hope) it’s the latter - he doesn’t think he can deal with it if it’s not.
His side of the bed is freezing without her; the sheets are chilly and the back of his neck is cold. The night before they slept right up against each other, not cuddling exactly, but just sort of touching. It was nice.
And warm.
Andy refuses to even acknowledge his presence though, so he’s fairly certain there will be no touching tonight. She rolled onto her side as soon as she got into bed, facing away from him, and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Sam stares at the curve of her body for a minute, the dip of her waist and the roundness of her hip, and just when he’s about to give in and reach out for her, he stops himself and flips onto to his back, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes as he lets out a deep sigh. Even with how tired he is, he opens his eyes and counts the beams in the ceiling for a good long while, just listening to her breathe.
******
Turns out Andy’s a lot better at the whole silent treatment thing than he thought she would be.
He kind of hoped that after they slept on it everything would be sort of work itself out but that definitely isn’t what’s happening here. She’s completely ignored him ever since the alarm clock went off - not a single comment about how early it was or a fight about who had to shower first and who got to sleep a couple of minutes longer. She just got up and padded over to the bathroom. He even made coffee for her while she was in the shower but later found it sitting on the counter, untouched and lukewarm.
Andy ignoring coffee is almost as improbable as Andy not talking for long stretches of time - apparently he’s witnessing history in the making here.
It’s not like he’s completely over it either - he’s not, he’s still pissed to be honest, but a full night of sleep has given him a little perspective.
It’s possible he overreacted, not that he’s going to admit that to her.
She doesn’t say a word to him the almost the entire morning, not until she’s pulled up the warehouse and his hand’s on the door handle, getting ready to push it open.
“Find out where he goes to mass,” she tells him, eyes straight ahead.
It’s takes him a second to register what she said. He blinks a couple of times and then asks, “What makes you think he goes to mass?”
Andy snorts in response. “He’s Irish and he used to torture people,” she mutters disparagingly, like it should be obvious. “Of course he goes to mass.”
She has a point. “Fine,” he agrees.
“Fine,” she echoes back, voice full of attitude. She still isn’t looking at him, concentrating instead on the brick wall to her left inside, so he stares at her until she actually starts twitching in her seat. When she can’t take it anymore she finally glances over at him, eyes flashing, and snaps, “What?”
Sam just purses his lips and shrugs, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”
His response seems to irritate her even more. “You’re going to be late,” she tells him, tapping her nail against the digital clock on the dashboard.
He heaves out an exhale and opens then the door. “I’ll see you later,” he says, climbing out of his seat.
Andy doesn’t reply, just watches with dark eyes until he’s out of the car, mouth set in a hard line. This is normally the time she tells him to be careful and he must wait for her to say it for a half a second too long because she raises an eyebrow at him, annoyance clearly written all over her face.
“Goodbye,” he says pointedly, like he’s the one who’s mature enough to rise above.
Andy just rolls her eyes and throws the car into drive, barely giving Sam enough time to shut the door and get out of the way before taking off.
Well. It’s already shaping up to be a fun day.
Brennan makes rounds everyday around ten - usually he just drops by each of the workstations and observes what’s going on for a minute or so. Sam’s been advised to just ignore him and keep working until he moves along.
Normally Sam’s so engrossed in whatever he’s doing that he doesn’t even notice the man. Today, however, Brennan pats him on the shoulder to get his attention.
Sam feels his muscles tense up under the hand but he forces himself to relax before turning around. “Something I can do for you, boss?”
Brennan just shakes his head and then says, “Met your wife yesterday.” His voice, as usual, is completely devoid of emotion.
“Yes sir, she mentioned that you dropped by,” Sam replies, faking a casual tone as he sets down the box he was carrying and swipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. “She was glad she got to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Brennan squints at him for a second and Sam realizes he still has no idea how to read the man. “She’s a sweet girl,” he proclaims after a minute.
Sweet was probably the last adjective Sam would use to describe Andy at the very moment. He huffs a laugh and replies truthfully, “Can be, when she wants to be.”
Brennan arches an eyebrow. “And when she doesn’t?”
Stubborn as a mule, reckless, temperamental and a whole host of other infuriating characteristics. Sam doesn’t say anything of that though. Instead, he grins good-naturedly, playing the long-suffering-but-wouldn’t-have-it-any-other-way husband, “She can give me hell when I deserve it.”
The edges of Brennan’s mouth twitch upwards at that, like maybe he can relate. “O’Connor and his wife and I are going out tonight. Alpine Inn, you know it?”
It’s the last thing he’s expecting to hear and Sam tries not to let surprise read on his face as he nods. “Out by the airport, yes sir.”
“You should met us there around eight,” Brennan says, starting to walk away. Over his shoulder, he calls back, “Bring Candace.”
Sam watches him walk away, a little dumbfounded and, if he’s being honest, a little impressed.
Okay, very impressed.
Brennan’s a notoriously private person; he’s been trying to get dirt on the man for a whole week and so far no one’s been talking and he certainly hasn’t managed to wrangle an invite to hang out outside of work hours from him.
There are two possibilities here: Andy either totally blew their cover and they’re going to show up at the Alpine Inn and get ambushed or she managed to crack some kind of wall - managed to get cold, callous, impersonal Brennan to like her.
He thinks back to when he first started working with her; how her wide-eyed enthusiasm and sincerity made him curious, made him want to get to know her better to find out if she was for real. No one could possibly be that childish - she stuck her tongue out at him the second day they worked together, right after he told her that she should’ve stuck to Oliver if she was hoping for a daily doughnut run - and that brave at the same time.
Maybe it’s her childishness that makes her brave, he doesn’t know. The point is: she’s endearing and he doesn’t think they’re going to be walking into an ambush.
He doesn’t expect her to be waiting for him at lunchtime but she’s in the same spot she always is so - that’s a good thing.
“When you talk to Boyd today, tell him we’re gonna need a couple of wires for tonight,” he says after finishing his sandwich. It’s the first thing they’ve said to each other since he lowered himself into the car.
Andy cuts her gaze over to him, skeptical. “Why?”
“Brennan wants us to meets him and the O’Connors at the Alpine Inn.” He says it like its not a big deal but Andy doesn’t buy it.
“Really?” she asks, brown eyes going big and round like clockwork. A grin plays on her lips and she does a terrible job of not looking smug.
“Yeah, really.” And really - he does not want to make a big deal about this, otherwise who knows what other stupid stunts she might try and pull.
She schools her expression after a second, suddenly somber. “Since you’re going to be there,” she asks seriously, “Is it okay if I go?”
So. She’s not quite over it yet.
Sam tries to ignore the pang of guilt he feels and lets out a frustrated sigh, “McNally…”
“I mean,” she continues with mock earnestness. “I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. It might be safer if I just say at home and you know, darn some socks or something. Do some knitting. Hey,” she says, excited like it’s the best idea she’s ever had, “Maybe I can even get knocked up so I can be one of those barefoot and pregnant wives that stay in the kitchen all day long.”
He rolls his eyes in response, not about to dignify her exaggerations with actual words.
“Except, no, wait. You actually have to have sex to get knocked so…” she trails off, shrugging her shoulders and wearing this fake, sweet smile. “Guess that’s not happening anytime soon.”
Subtlety has never been one of her strong points. “Hilarious,” Sam replies.
Andy just smirks in a way that makes her whole face pinch up and then cocks her head, marveling, “I guess it’s a good thing I made him coffee yesterday.”
It’s like she is absolutely itching for a fight. He pops a chip in his mouth and crunches down obnoxiously. “He probably would have invited us anyway.”
“Hmm, maybe,” she agrees flippantly. Then - “Probably not though.”
*****
Andy’s got the wires when he gets home.
She’s standing in the middle of the living room, shirt off, fiddling with the little microphone that’s clipped to the cup of her bra.
Sam freezes when he sees her and does a very obvious double take, eyes glued to her tanned skin. It’s not like he’s never seen her like this before - he has, in less even - it’s just that he gets a sudden flashback of where they got cut off the night before, her shirt pushed up over her breasts and how soft she was under his hand - he swallows thickly, not even meaning to, and mentally kicks himself. Hard.
When she notices him staring at her she screws up her face and tsks a bit, like she’s offended or something, but then she doesn’t even try and cover up so it must not bother her too much. Instead, she lifts the cell phone and says, “Alright, see if you can hear this.” Lowering the phone, she speaks into the mic, “Testing, one… two… three…”.
It’s remarkably boring and mundane for Andy. Once, when he was fitting her for a wire, she sang Secret Agent Man to him to test the mic and then proceeded to hum it anytime things got slow. He had the damn song stuck in his head for a week.
She brings the phone to her ear again; asking, “Got it?” Whoever is on the other line, he’s assuming it’s Boyd, must have said yes because a second later she’s tugging her shirt back on and going through the process again. When she says his name he realizes he’s still staring, despite the lack of exposed skin.
“Yeah, Sam just got back,” she says, waving him over to join her in the living room. He shrugs off his coat first and then takes his time getting over there so it doesn’t feel quite so jump and how high. “Yeah, we’ll call you in a sec.” Andy presses the button to end the call and then spins to face him. “Your turn,” she states, plucking a second mic up off the coffee table. Raising an eyebrow, she asks, “Where do you want it?”
Well, apparently they’re talking again.
“You uh…” Sam suddenly feels like he’s got sand in his throat so he pauses for a second to cough. Better, he tells her, “You can just tape it to me.” No one’s going to be searching him so there’s no need to be creative. The line of buttons down the front of his Henley will hide the tiny wire.
“Fine,” she says, hands on her hips and all business. Nodding over at him, she instructs, “Take off your shirt.” Sam grins automatically, tension aside he likes the way that pink blooms across her cheeks whenever he teases her, and she just rolls her eyes. “Not even like that, come on.”
He does what she asks, reaching for the back of his shirt and yanking it and his undershirt over his head. Disappointingly, Andy doesn’t even sneak a glance before look before jabbing the microphone to his sternum and telling him to hold it in place while she grabs the tape.
She’s back in no time, cold fingers working quickly as she smoothes a short length of tape down on either side of the mic. “That good?”
Sam drops his chin so he can see. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
She frowns for a moment and grabs his shirt off of the coffee table and holds it up to him. “It’s too far down,” she decides, “The buttons won’t cover it.” Before he can protest she rips it off, taking a decent amount of hair along with it.
Sam hisses at the sting. “Shit, McNally,” he says, rubbing at his chest. There’s a red mark already forming. “That actually hurts, you know.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” she replies, completely unsympathetic. She swipes her thumb over the mark a couple times though, ruffling the hair that’s left, like she feels guilty.
Sam narrows his eyes accusingly. “You did that on purpose.”
“Whatever,” she scoffs, wrinkling her nose. She doesn’t deny it.
He sighs. “You’re gonna have to be nice to me tonight, you know,” he tells her. “Candace actually likes JD.”
“Yeah, well,” she argues, poking the tape back down with a little more force than is strictly necessary to get it to stick. “JD doesn’t try to tell Candace how to do her job.”
So that’s the crux of the issue; the fact that she thinks he thinks she doesn’t know how to do her job. “Well, Candace is a waitress,” Sam shoots back. “Not exactly a life threatening profession.” Unlike yours, he wants to say but doesn’t. It’s implied though and he hopes that just this once she’ll overthink it and realize what’s he’s actually saying - he just doesn’t want her to die.
Really, that’s why this whole stupid fight got started.
Andy snorts. “Shows how much you know,” she mutters. Sam looks down, puzzled, and when she catches his eye she huffs, “What? Hungry people can get cranky.” Covering the whole contraption with her hand, she presses down. “There,” she declares, slapping his chest once. “Done. Call Boyd and make sure it works. I’m gonna go put some makeup on.”
He watches her bounce off towards the bathroom and realizes that she’s excited; practically buzzing with energy. He feels it too - their first big break. It’s always a rush no matter how many times he’s done it.
Go to Part 2
Chapter: Five
Summary: Andy joins Sam undercover. Begins mid-2.10
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue. Obviously.
Here’s the thing - the moment Sam realized Andy was telling him that she’d been alone with Brennan, a lump of bile rose so violently in his throat that he had to take a second and consciously tamp it back down in order not to get sick right then and there.
When he was able speak again without worrying about throwing up, sheer terror took the form of anger - rational or not, he was pissed. In turn, Andy got pissed.
It just went downhill from there.
The storage locker was the turning point, the moment the upper hand shifted. The moment when his throat locked up and he physically couldn’t say another word.
He just… it’s too raw, that overwhelming guilt he felt when he heard Callaghan over the radio and then later when he saw the red marks around her mouth from where the tape had been and the handprint bruises around her neck. There’s still an ache in the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks about it, this gnawing sensation that dredges up old childhood feelings and memories he’s tried for decades to suppress.
He deserved to have it thrown in his face, somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he did, but, just. God. It sucked. Hearing all those things he’d secretly been afraid she thought, that she needed him, that he abandoned her, was like getting punched in the stomach.
And then she had to go and say that maybe it was all a mistake, leaving him to wonder what the hell was going on because as mad as he was - he doesn’t want it to be over. God, does he not want it to be over. They’ve barely even gotten started.
When Andy gets back, Sam’s on the couch - it’s just as uncomfortable as he remembers it being, cramped in the tiny little space, not even enough room to stretch his legs out. After pacing around for over an hour he finally gave up and took a shower, hoping she’d be home by the time he got out, sitting on the sofa and maybe even ready to make up. When she wasn’t there he snatched his pillow from the bed and threw a thin sheet over the fake leather, telling himself that he didn’t care and that he was just going to go to sleep.
Obviously that’s a lie; he does care and there’s no way he’s getting any sleep until she gets home so mostly he’s just been sitting there, trying not to imagine all the possible reasons why it could be taking her so long. When he hears the door opened he feels a surge of relief wash through his body, from the top of his head all the way though the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet, glad that she’s home and that she’s okay. That relief, however, is quickly replaced by anger. Anger and a swirl of other emotions that he knows he’s not in the right place to process; emotions like uncertainty, disappointment, guilt, fear, regret…
He cannot deal with all that, not right now, so it’s easier to let the anger take over. It’s not even anger from their earlier fight, even though that’s still simmering somewhere; it’s a fresh surge in his chest of irritation and disbelief that she would be so thoughtless. She was gone for two hours. Two hours in an area she doesn’t know, late at night, after they’d just had an argument about her putting herself in dangerous situations.
He thinks she stayed out so long just to mess with his head, to drive home the fact that he can’t tell her what to do or what not to do. For instance: even though it seems like common sense, he can’t tell her NOT to go out alone, in the dark, in a bad part of town. He can’t tell her not to do that because instead of her realizing that the idea of something happening to her makes him almost lose his mind, she chalks it up to him being an overprotective ass.
When Andy reaches the top of the steps she turns cautiously and faces him, wearing an absolutely inscrutable expression. She just stares for a long minute, not saying a word. Her cheeks are red and wind burned and the hair that’s peeking out from under her beanie is damp with melted snow. For the first time in a long time, Sam doesn’t feel the urge to try and warm her up.
Okay, he does, of course - he’s been mad at her half the time he’s known her, it’s not like it ever stopped him from wanting to take care of her before - but he stays put and doesn’t act on it.
He holds her gaze and sets his jaw, waiting for her to be the first one to speak.
They’re in this sort of stand off, glaring at each other; both silent and wanting the other to break first. Sam’s not gonna be the one to do it though. He knows Andy can’t possibly stay quiet for very long. It’s like a physical incapability for her; she’d just as easily stop breathing.
Finally she talks. “I am a good cop,” she states slowly and deliberately, leaving no room for argument. All the heat that ignited her words earlier has fizzled out, leaving only hollow resignation in its place.
Instinctively, he nods a little. “I know,” he replies, because she is.
It’s basically the smallest peace offering ever extended but she nods sharply and responds like they’ve reached an agreement, “Okay.” Still staring, as if she’s trying to figure something out, she starts pulling at her scarf and coat. “Don’t be stupid,” she tells him, finally breaking eye contact as she looks down and tugs off her mittens. He has no idea what she’s referring to, at this point it could be a whole myriad of things, but then she continues, “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
She disappears into the bathroom after that, leaving Sam alone once again. He’s frozen where he is and doesn’t make any attempt to get up from the couch, at least not yet.
When the shower turns on he breathes out a sigh and brings his hands up to rub at his temples, letting his face fall forward. The pent up anger has dissipated a bit since the confrontation he expected to occur didn’t - he still feels worked up though, over what, exactly, he’s not sure. In less than three hours they’ve gone from Andy literally jumping him when he got home (which - that’s something he wouldn’t mind coming home to everyday, he can admit to that even in the state they’re in) to barely speaking and he just… he doesn’t even know.
He’s giving himself a headache trying to figure it all out.
What he does know is that he’s exhausted and that he really does NOT want to sleep on the couch. She told him he didn’t have to, so he pushes himself up, grabs his pillow and heads for the bed.
When Andy crawls under the covers a little while later she smells like soap and her body is warm from the shower - he can feel the heat bleeding across the space between them and he wants to reach out for her, tug her closer and curl around her, but he doesn’t.
It’s the uncertainty that’s paralyzing. If he thought she was just mad at him it would be different, but he honestly has no idea where they stand right now - whether she meant it when she said that maybe they were a mistake or if she was just spouting off in the heat of the moment. Until she tells him differently he’s going to assume (hope) it’s the latter - he doesn’t think he can deal with it if it’s not.
His side of the bed is freezing without her; the sheets are chilly and the back of his neck is cold. The night before they slept right up against each other, not cuddling exactly, but just sort of touching. It was nice.
And warm.
Andy refuses to even acknowledge his presence though, so he’s fairly certain there will be no touching tonight. She rolled onto her side as soon as she got into bed, facing away from him, and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Sam stares at the curve of her body for a minute, the dip of her waist and the roundness of her hip, and just when he’s about to give in and reach out for her, he stops himself and flips onto to his back, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes as he lets out a deep sigh. Even with how tired he is, he opens his eyes and counts the beams in the ceiling for a good long while, just listening to her breathe.
******
Turns out Andy’s a lot better at the whole silent treatment thing than he thought she would be.
He kind of hoped that after they slept on it everything would be sort of work itself out but that definitely isn’t what’s happening here. She’s completely ignored him ever since the alarm clock went off - not a single comment about how early it was or a fight about who had to shower first and who got to sleep a couple of minutes longer. She just got up and padded over to the bathroom. He even made coffee for her while she was in the shower but later found it sitting on the counter, untouched and lukewarm.
Andy ignoring coffee is almost as improbable as Andy not talking for long stretches of time - apparently he’s witnessing history in the making here.
It’s not like he’s completely over it either - he’s not, he’s still pissed to be honest, but a full night of sleep has given him a little perspective.
It’s possible he overreacted, not that he’s going to admit that to her.
She doesn’t say a word to him the almost the entire morning, not until she’s pulled up the warehouse and his hand’s on the door handle, getting ready to push it open.
“Find out where he goes to mass,” she tells him, eyes straight ahead.
It’s takes him a second to register what she said. He blinks a couple of times and then asks, “What makes you think he goes to mass?”
Andy snorts in response. “He’s Irish and he used to torture people,” she mutters disparagingly, like it should be obvious. “Of course he goes to mass.”
She has a point. “Fine,” he agrees.
“Fine,” she echoes back, voice full of attitude. She still isn’t looking at him, concentrating instead on the brick wall to her left inside, so he stares at her until she actually starts twitching in her seat. When she can’t take it anymore she finally glances over at him, eyes flashing, and snaps, “What?”
Sam just purses his lips and shrugs, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”
His response seems to irritate her even more. “You’re going to be late,” she tells him, tapping her nail against the digital clock on the dashboard.
He heaves out an exhale and opens then the door. “I’ll see you later,” he says, climbing out of his seat.
Andy doesn’t reply, just watches with dark eyes until he’s out of the car, mouth set in a hard line. This is normally the time she tells him to be careful and he must wait for her to say it for a half a second too long because she raises an eyebrow at him, annoyance clearly written all over her face.
“Goodbye,” he says pointedly, like he’s the one who’s mature enough to rise above.
Andy just rolls her eyes and throws the car into drive, barely giving Sam enough time to shut the door and get out of the way before taking off.
Well. It’s already shaping up to be a fun day.
Brennan makes rounds everyday around ten - usually he just drops by each of the workstations and observes what’s going on for a minute or so. Sam’s been advised to just ignore him and keep working until he moves along.
Normally Sam’s so engrossed in whatever he’s doing that he doesn’t even notice the man. Today, however, Brennan pats him on the shoulder to get his attention.
Sam feels his muscles tense up under the hand but he forces himself to relax before turning around. “Something I can do for you, boss?”
Brennan just shakes his head and then says, “Met your wife yesterday.” His voice, as usual, is completely devoid of emotion.
“Yes sir, she mentioned that you dropped by,” Sam replies, faking a casual tone as he sets down the box he was carrying and swipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. “She was glad she got to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Brennan squints at him for a second and Sam realizes he still has no idea how to read the man. “She’s a sweet girl,” he proclaims after a minute.
Sweet was probably the last adjective Sam would use to describe Andy at the very moment. He huffs a laugh and replies truthfully, “Can be, when she wants to be.”
Brennan arches an eyebrow. “And when she doesn’t?”
Stubborn as a mule, reckless, temperamental and a whole host of other infuriating characteristics. Sam doesn’t say anything of that though. Instead, he grins good-naturedly, playing the long-suffering-but-wouldn’t-have-it-any-other-way husband, “She can give me hell when I deserve it.”
The edges of Brennan’s mouth twitch upwards at that, like maybe he can relate. “O’Connor and his wife and I are going out tonight. Alpine Inn, you know it?”
It’s the last thing he’s expecting to hear and Sam tries not to let surprise read on his face as he nods. “Out by the airport, yes sir.”
“You should met us there around eight,” Brennan says, starting to walk away. Over his shoulder, he calls back, “Bring Candace.”
Sam watches him walk away, a little dumbfounded and, if he’s being honest, a little impressed.
Okay, very impressed.
Brennan’s a notoriously private person; he’s been trying to get dirt on the man for a whole week and so far no one’s been talking and he certainly hasn’t managed to wrangle an invite to hang out outside of work hours from him.
There are two possibilities here: Andy either totally blew their cover and they’re going to show up at the Alpine Inn and get ambushed or she managed to crack some kind of wall - managed to get cold, callous, impersonal Brennan to like her.
He thinks back to when he first started working with her; how her wide-eyed enthusiasm and sincerity made him curious, made him want to get to know her better to find out if she was for real. No one could possibly be that childish - she stuck her tongue out at him the second day they worked together, right after he told her that she should’ve stuck to Oliver if she was hoping for a daily doughnut run - and that brave at the same time.
Maybe it’s her childishness that makes her brave, he doesn’t know. The point is: she’s endearing and he doesn’t think they’re going to be walking into an ambush.
He doesn’t expect her to be waiting for him at lunchtime but she’s in the same spot she always is so - that’s a good thing.
“When you talk to Boyd today, tell him we’re gonna need a couple of wires for tonight,” he says after finishing his sandwich. It’s the first thing they’ve said to each other since he lowered himself into the car.
Andy cuts her gaze over to him, skeptical. “Why?”
“Brennan wants us to meets him and the O’Connors at the Alpine Inn.” He says it like its not a big deal but Andy doesn’t buy it.
“Really?” she asks, brown eyes going big and round like clockwork. A grin plays on her lips and she does a terrible job of not looking smug.
“Yeah, really.” And really - he does not want to make a big deal about this, otherwise who knows what other stupid stunts she might try and pull.
She schools her expression after a second, suddenly somber. “Since you’re going to be there,” she asks seriously, “Is it okay if I go?”
So. She’s not quite over it yet.
Sam tries to ignore the pang of guilt he feels and lets out a frustrated sigh, “McNally…”
“I mean,” she continues with mock earnestness. “I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. It might be safer if I just say at home and you know, darn some socks or something. Do some knitting. Hey,” she says, excited like it’s the best idea she’s ever had, “Maybe I can even get knocked up so I can be one of those barefoot and pregnant wives that stay in the kitchen all day long.”
He rolls his eyes in response, not about to dignify her exaggerations with actual words.
“Except, no, wait. You actually have to have sex to get knocked so…” she trails off, shrugging her shoulders and wearing this fake, sweet smile. “Guess that’s not happening anytime soon.”
Subtlety has never been one of her strong points. “Hilarious,” Sam replies.
Andy just smirks in a way that makes her whole face pinch up and then cocks her head, marveling, “I guess it’s a good thing I made him coffee yesterday.”
It’s like she is absolutely itching for a fight. He pops a chip in his mouth and crunches down obnoxiously. “He probably would have invited us anyway.”
“Hmm, maybe,” she agrees flippantly. Then - “Probably not though.”
*****
Andy’s got the wires when he gets home.
She’s standing in the middle of the living room, shirt off, fiddling with the little microphone that’s clipped to the cup of her bra.
Sam freezes when he sees her and does a very obvious double take, eyes glued to her tanned skin. It’s not like he’s never seen her like this before - he has, in less even - it’s just that he gets a sudden flashback of where they got cut off the night before, her shirt pushed up over her breasts and how soft she was under his hand - he swallows thickly, not even meaning to, and mentally kicks himself. Hard.
When she notices him staring at her she screws up her face and tsks a bit, like she’s offended or something, but then she doesn’t even try and cover up so it must not bother her too much. Instead, she lifts the cell phone and says, “Alright, see if you can hear this.” Lowering the phone, she speaks into the mic, “Testing, one… two… three…”.
It’s remarkably boring and mundane for Andy. Once, when he was fitting her for a wire, she sang Secret Agent Man to him to test the mic and then proceeded to hum it anytime things got slow. He had the damn song stuck in his head for a week.
She brings the phone to her ear again; asking, “Got it?” Whoever is on the other line, he’s assuming it’s Boyd, must have said yes because a second later she’s tugging her shirt back on and going through the process again. When she says his name he realizes he’s still staring, despite the lack of exposed skin.
“Yeah, Sam just got back,” she says, waving him over to join her in the living room. He shrugs off his coat first and then takes his time getting over there so it doesn’t feel quite so jump and how high. “Yeah, we’ll call you in a sec.” Andy presses the button to end the call and then spins to face him. “Your turn,” she states, plucking a second mic up off the coffee table. Raising an eyebrow, she asks, “Where do you want it?”
Well, apparently they’re talking again.
“You uh…” Sam suddenly feels like he’s got sand in his throat so he pauses for a second to cough. Better, he tells her, “You can just tape it to me.” No one’s going to be searching him so there’s no need to be creative. The line of buttons down the front of his Henley will hide the tiny wire.
“Fine,” she says, hands on her hips and all business. Nodding over at him, she instructs, “Take off your shirt.” Sam grins automatically, tension aside he likes the way that pink blooms across her cheeks whenever he teases her, and she just rolls her eyes. “Not even like that, come on.”
He does what she asks, reaching for the back of his shirt and yanking it and his undershirt over his head. Disappointingly, Andy doesn’t even sneak a glance before look before jabbing the microphone to his sternum and telling him to hold it in place while she grabs the tape.
She’s back in no time, cold fingers working quickly as she smoothes a short length of tape down on either side of the mic. “That good?”
Sam drops his chin so he can see. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
She frowns for a moment and grabs his shirt off of the coffee table and holds it up to him. “It’s too far down,” she decides, “The buttons won’t cover it.” Before he can protest she rips it off, taking a decent amount of hair along with it.
Sam hisses at the sting. “Shit, McNally,” he says, rubbing at his chest. There’s a red mark already forming. “That actually hurts, you know.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” she replies, completely unsympathetic. She swipes her thumb over the mark a couple times though, ruffling the hair that’s left, like she feels guilty.
Sam narrows his eyes accusingly. “You did that on purpose.”
“Whatever,” she scoffs, wrinkling her nose. She doesn’t deny it.
He sighs. “You’re gonna have to be nice to me tonight, you know,” he tells her. “Candace actually likes JD.”
“Yeah, well,” she argues, poking the tape back down with a little more force than is strictly necessary to get it to stick. “JD doesn’t try to tell Candace how to do her job.”
So that’s the crux of the issue; the fact that she thinks he thinks she doesn’t know how to do her job. “Well, Candace is a waitress,” Sam shoots back. “Not exactly a life threatening profession.” Unlike yours, he wants to say but doesn’t. It’s implied though and he hopes that just this once she’ll overthink it and realize what’s he’s actually saying - he just doesn’t want her to die.
Really, that’s why this whole stupid fight got started.
Andy snorts. “Shows how much you know,” she mutters. Sam looks down, puzzled, and when she catches his eye she huffs, “What? Hungry people can get cranky.” Covering the whole contraption with her hand, she presses down. “There,” she declares, slapping his chest once. “Done. Call Boyd and make sure it works. I’m gonna go put some makeup on.”
He watches her bounce off towards the bathroom and realizes that she’s excited; practically buzzing with energy. He feels it too - their first big break. It’s always a rush no matter how many times he’s done it.
Go to Part 2