Breakfast

Wherein Nick is adorably hard on himself for no reason and the McCollins feels are real.

When Nick wakes, it's to the faint sounds of the city held at bay outside the windows and an empty bed. As he surfaces from his dreams, he stretches out an arm, eyes still closed, reaching for the warm body of the woman he'd spent the night with.

His hand encounters nothing but cool sheets, evaporating the clinging dregs of sleep in an instant.

(For a long second, before his mind turns on and he remembers where they are, it feels as though the air is sucked from the room.)

(She couldn't have vanished, run off like some one night stand, but the fact she isn't here now and he can hear no sign of her out in the apartment is torturous.)

Sitting up cautiously, Nick scans the room, eyes taking in the scraps of clothing that had stubbornly followed them from the couch to the bedroom in their passionate dance the night before. His jeans and boxers are in a heap in one corner, Andy's twisted around the post at the end of the bed. He thinks that both their shirts and Andy's bra are still tangled on the floor of the living room.

There's no sign of McNally.

Something in Nick's chest sinks.

(He feels defeated, but not surprised.)

(Expect the best and be prepared for the worst.)

With a groan, Nick rolls from the cold bed and stumbles into his boxers and jeans, pointedly ignoring the sight of the bed which brings back nothing but flashes of memory.

He stumbles out into the hallway, already preparing his escape and exactly how he'll deal with Andy later on their shift that night.

(Avoidance. Avoidance is key.)

So he is utterly surprised when he finds Andy in the kitchen, dressed in his abandoned shirt from the night before, hers ignored on the floor, moving quietly around the kitchen. She hovers over her stove, hair up in a messy bun and Nick catches sight of the marks he'd made on her shoulder the night before as his shirt slips a little.

(There's a strange roll in his chest, a guilt for believing she had run, something so fond and warm at the sight of her in his shirt that for a second, it's hard to breathe.)

"Are you cooking breakfast?" he asks when he finds his voice, keeping it low as to not fully startle her.

She jumps anyway, whirling with a spatula raised.

Nick can't help but laugh, more of the fear fading away.

Sticking her tongue out at him, Andy turns back to the stove and turns off whatever she's cooking, using the spatula to spoon out something onto a nearby plate.

"I'm making eggs," she announces, back still turned, and the warmth in Nick's chest increases.

"Should I be worried? Are they going to attack me?" Nick quips, poking fun at McNally's cooking skills, which they had learned early on in Undercover were not the best.

"Shut up Nick," Andy fires back. "I can cook scrambled eggs and if you make another comment, I'm keeping your half."

"Wait. Did you cook me breakfast?" Nick asks, that fond feeling pooling in his throat.

Andy, still with her back turned, misses the play of emotion across Nick's face. "Yeah, figured you made me food enough times undercover, I owed you at least a few," she tells him. "So I made eggs and I have toast, but you might want to make that yourself; I haven't figured out my new toaster yet and I'll probably burn it."

Turning, she nudges a plate with a steaming pile of eggs on it in his direction down the counter, before retreating to the fridge to pull out some jams and ketchup and adding them to the array on the counter. Bread also makes an appearance, followed by some cutlery and butter.

As she moves about the kitchen area, Nick finds his feet shuffling forward, bare skin prickling against the cold of the floor. When he's finally close enough, he pulls her into a tight hug, ignoring the small oof she lets out in surprise. Burrowing his nose into her neck, he whispers a quiet 'thank you' against her neck.

When he finally pulls back, Andy is studying him with careful eyes. "Are you okay?" she asks softly, tangling one of her hands with his.

"Never better," he murmurs, emotion vibrating through his voice.

Andy watches him for a long moment before she smiles, something knowing in her eyes.

"Alright then, come eat your eggs," she says happily, drawing backwards and retreating to her own plate off breakfast.

(He feels lightheaded and giddy with joy.)

A/N: Another 4.09 post-ep; not my favourite, I recommend reading Haze or Daze because those are delightfully McCollins-esque, but this one just appeared. Please excuse the mild OOCness of Nick.

Hearts always, A.