[rookieblue] fan!gift exchange | "it's beginning to look a lot like christmas..."
For the A-PLUS fangirls participating in the Yuletide Hates Us Rookie Blue Fan!Gift Exchange, this is where you post your completed gifts. Once you've finished a gift, please post it as a reply (or several replies if necessary) to this entry.
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PROMPT: Andy/Nick, what if they didn't break up when Sam got shot
FIC: peeled the skin away so everyday,Andy/Nick, 1 of 2
They don't break up, she and Nick, after everything, after all.
He's still in the waiting room, hours later, eyes red and chin up. Sitting a bit apart from the others, alone in a room full of cops on vigil. The other rookies left to get an hour or two of sleep. Traci texted her right after Sam came out of surgery.
"Figured you'd need a ride," he says, and at her strange, wrung-out look: "We're friends first, yeah?" A pause. "I always thought we were friends first. If something happened, not that I thought anything was going to happen, but if something did--I didn't want you to be here alone."
Andy nods.
Slides into the passenger seat of the squad car, her hands closing and unclosing in her lap and her heart beat-beating hard in her chest. After five minutes, Nick reaches over, flicks on the radio. Bumps the volume up a few notches, shoots her a sideways half-smile. Andy closes her eyes and breathes.
---
She goes back to the hospital, back to Sam, the next day, and the day after that. He’s groggy, then in pain, then irritable. There are dark circles under his eyes, a layer of scruff along his jawline. He’s quiet, and Andy remembers what it was like for Luke, when he got shot, how desperately not-himself he was.
He looks at her like he doesn’t want her there, doesn’t want her with him. Clears his throat. Looks at his watch, looks at the clock, looks anywhere but her. Speaks in grunts and grimaces and then: says he understands, heat of the moment, how things get said.
Her heart folds in on itself, and she remembers. Remembers how he wanted to leave anyway, back at the station, even when she told him not to, even when she asked him to stay. Remembers that off-balance, heart-divey feeling from when they were together, how often he seemed to have one foot out the door. He doesn’t want her here, doesn't want her at all, maybe, not in the way she wants him to. She gets angry, gets tired. Gets over him.
She loves him, he's her story and she loves him, she loves him she loves him she loves him, but. He's never said it back, is the thing, not really, not when it counted, and she used to think it was true anyway, then told herself it was okay even if it wasn't.
It's not okay.
She's glad he's not dead, Sam; obviously she is super glad he's not dead, but. What they had was a long ago thing. Before the gunshots, before Marlo. Before Nick.
She goes home, alone.
---
The next day when Nick asks, carefully, if she needs a ride to the hospital, she shakes her head. Says: “How about the Penny?”
He starts, surprised, but nods. Takes her to the Penny.
“We’re friends first, right?” she asks, peeling the label off her sweating beer bottle. Side by side at the bar, their shoulders are almost close enough to touch. It's quiet, not many other cops around. Trace warned her the tenor of the barn, of the Penny, of everything has been pretty subdued; Ollie was just released yesterday. Chloe's still in a coma.
Nick takes a long swig of his beer. Nods. Says, “Andy--”
“Nick, just--”
She breathes. “Just let me say this, yeah? I’ve been a crappy friend. And an even crappier girlfriend, probably, these past few days. I’m sorry. I just want you to know, first of all Sam and I--we’re not together. We’re not going to be together, again.”
Some of the tension slips away from his skin. "You don't need to apologize, Andy. Not for anything. Even if, you and him, even if you were--". He takes a breath. "Even if you were. I'd understand."
Andy exhales, relieved, a million times more relieved than she thought she'd be, in fact. "Good, okay great, that's so--yeah. That's good." She pushes her hair behind her ear, swivels a bit, faces him. "So okay. Most importantly, how are you? With the shooting--are you doing okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." He tilts himself toward her, bumps their knees together in the process. Says, quieter: "Had my psych eval today; should be cleared within a week or so."
"Right, yeah of course." She nods, too quickly. "I'm glad. That you're doing alright. I'm really glad."
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