Disclaimer: They're not mine; I'm just playing.

A/N: Sincere apologies to anyone expecting the next chapter of my Eureka fic. It is coming, but Eureka is not my happy place at the moment.

Normal Is the Watchword

"I don't know. I have no idea." He's grinning. He almost died, they've both been suspended, and he's grinning like a freaking moron.

But Andy's smiling back, is the thing, so how can he not?

"Maybe we should go slow," she says. And that? That hits him like a punch in his already bruised ribs, and he feels the grin slide right off his face. "Y'know, ease ourselves into it," she continues, and okay, she's still smiling, so maybe... "You could offer me a ride home."

"You always say no." And, just like that, he's grinning again.

"I don't always say no," she huffs, and looks a little like a surly teenager. Like she honestly thinks he's not going to offer her a ride.

She's quiet, which is weird, and she's staring. She's not even being subtle about it, body angled towards him across the passenger seat, and it's... It's distracting, is what it is. Maybe that's why he puts a bit too much strain on his left hand while turning a corner, and winces. She notices. Of course she does, because she's staring.

"Pull over."

He flashes another grin at her. "Is that an order, officer?" Except no, no smiling back this time. Apparently, it is an order. Crap.

"What happened to your hand, Sam?" she asks, once he's parked. And shit, her voice is really quiet and it sounds like she's about to cry, and he wants to tell her–needs to tell her–but not tonight, and certainly not in his truck.

"Andy," he reaches out with his good hand, brushes the hair out of her eyes. "Just for tonight, can we pretend I don't look like I've had the crap kicked out of me?"

She looks at him–for long enough that he starts to wonder if the answer is no, but eventually she nods. "Okay, but I'm driving."

"Figures it would take getting your hand broken before you'd let me drive." Now she's grinning, wide and toothy, and maybe he should let her drive more often. "You know, J.D. would've let me drive–I wouldn't have had to ask. He knew how to treat a woman."

"Jeez, Andy, am I going to have to compete against J.D. for long?" For my whole life? he almost says, but stops himself. Don't frighten the horses. He doesn't bother pointing out that she didn't exactly ask.

"Well, I don't know. He's going to be a tough act to follow. I'm not saying he's ruined me for other men, but..."

"You knew him for a week!" And this just makes no sense–the exasperation he's feeling, and shit, he's tired. He does not have the energy to figure this out.

"Yeah, well, sometimes you just know."

She's an untidy sleeper; this is a thing he's just now finding out. There wasn't a lot of sleeping going on the other times they shared a bed, but tonight it's all "No sex, Sam. We both need sleep," and Andy sprawled like a starfish, face-down with her head under the pillow and the comforter sideways on the bed. It's an elbow in the ribs that wakes him, and looking down at her he wonders how he didn't wake up earlier, since she's almost pushed him off the edge.

We're going to need a bigger bed, he thinks, and hears the Jaws theme in his head.

He wakes again, just as it's starting to get light, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. By now Andy's got an arm draped across his chest, and one of her legs under his, and just...how is that even possible? He slides out from under her, his ribs and back and knee and arm all screaming at him, and heads to the kitchen for a drink.

The second that the water hits the back of his throat he's choking. Gasping for air and Brennan offering him a refill and where the hell is Candace and black spots in front of his eyes.

He's filled with this weird restless energy now, like he has to be doing something. He settles for making coffee, but the bag's been open since before he went under so it's going to taste like crap, and he doesn't have any milk so she's going to hate it.

She vetoed a trip to the store last night, because "We can order a huge pizza, and then there'll be some left for breakfast," and he was about to tell her that no one does that after their twenties, but he stopped himself.

So it's crappy coffee and leftover pizza for breakfast and in all the times he imagined waking up with Andy in his bed, he never pictured this.

His phone battery's dead. Of course it is. He sets it to charge, glad of the excuse to put off checking his messages a bit longer. He only had time to leave Sarah a message before he went under, so there's bound to be at least one pissy message from her.

Except the coffee machine's taking forever, and he's still antsy, and he needs to do something, so.

Thirty seconds later and the grin is plastered on his face again.

He realizes he's never fully appreciated the importance of having two working hands as he's struggling to get to the bedroom with two cups of coffee and the pizza box. Andy's curled up on her side, still asleep. Of course she is. A tight ball of McNally who'd never dream of taking up the whole bed.

He sets breakfast on the bedside table and lies down next to her, pulling her in to his chest. And, wow, okay, he probably shouldn't have done that. He closes his eyes against the pain, and when he opens them again she's looking right at him, with this expression like they are going to talk about his injuries and they are going to do it now.

"Did you bring me juice?"

Or not.

"No. I brought you crappy coffee and leftover pizza."

She takes a swig of coffee and makes a face. "J.D. brought me juice."

"J.D. brought you grapefruit juice, which you don't even like." He leans over and kisses her softly. She tastes like bad coffee. "Besides, I'm done competing with that guy. I have it on very good authority that I'm the good candy."