Author's Note: Thank you all for the comments and reviews on the last chapter! I'm sorry that I've been so slack about responding to reviews - I promise that I'm trying to be better. That said - I am so grateful for the feedback this story's been getting and I really enjoy reading all of your responses. Thank you, again!

Rookiebluefan89 and margie311 have, as always, been a huge help!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue.

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 dealwith 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 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.

Thirty minutes and two outfit changes for Andy later, they're on their way. The bar's only a few minutes away, a shitty dump that Sam's been to before undercover with three-dollar beers and all the fried food you can eat.

Andy's probably going to love it.

She's quiet until they turn off the highway, fidgeting in her seat and fussing with the vents. "This car is a piece of crap," she tells him.

"Better than the squad car," he responds, bored.

"Yeah, but like – your truck has seat warmers," she says in this kind of wistful tone. Suddenly, Sam's not so bored. "I sorta miss it."

He cuts his eyes over to her and she's not even looking at him. "You miss my truck?" he asks, slow and not exactly a question.

"Yeah, it was nice. Kept my butt all warm and toasty," she answers, then looks over at him and makes a face. "What?"

He blinks a couple of times in response and then shifts his eyes back to the road. It's just – that's an oddly familiar thing to say to a person if you have no intention of actually riding in their truck again. Maybe she does – maybe this whole "it was a mistake" thing is her way of asking him to disregard whatever happened between them and go back to the way things were before, he doesn't know.

It was easier when she wasn't talking to him because at least he knew, at that moment, where they stood. Now that she's talking, and not clearing anything up, he's… confused. He's confused. If they weren't on their way somewhere this would be the moment that he would yank the car onto the shoulder and have a very serious conversation, as in: what in the actual hell is going on here?

As it is, there's no time for that and Andy seems supremely unconcerned with the mixed messages she's tossing out. "Anyway, so, quick recap," she says, briskly rubbing her hands together before jamming them under her thighs again. "The O'Connors…"

Sam shakes his head a little to clear all the thoughts that are running through his mind, like a fog lifting. "Mike and Cindy," he cuts in, because after spending an entire day in this state of unawareness it's nice to finally know something.

"Mike and Cindy," she repeats. "Right, so, they're Brennan's best friends. Cindy was Brennan's wife's cousin."

"Yep."

"Late thirties," she says, reciting what she's learned. "No kids."

He nods. "Uh huh."

"And Mike did time with Brennan."

"Yeah, he wasn't in as long though," Sam tells her, pulling into the small parking lot outside the motel. It snowed a couple of days ago, thick and wet, and water splashes out under the tires. "Only two years."

"Got it, right," Andy nods and her eyes are kind of darting side to side like she's reading off a piece of paper.

She's been keeping a ridiculous amount of notes; writes down everything he tells her in her loopy, girly handwriting, just like when she was fresh out of the academy. He got her to let him look through her little notepad once, a couple months after they started working together, telling her that as her training officer he needed to check. His coffee order was on the first page, starred and circled.

Sam throws the car into park but sits there for a second, letting it idle. Andy goes to open her door but when she realizes he's making not any attempt to leave just yet she glances over at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Listen, Andy…" he starts, not really knowing what he wants to say.

"It's fine," she assures him immediately, like she thinks she can read his mind. "It's gonna be fine."

"Okay – " that's not exactly where he was going – he feels like they need to sort something out here, get on the same page.

"And I'm going to be nice to you," she promises, reaching across the console and stroking her hands from his shoulders down to the front of his chest, making fists in the lapels of his jacket.

Whether or not she's nice to him really isn't his main concern. He needs to know that her head's in the game and that in a second they're going to be able to get out of the car and be JD and Candace. "That's not – "

She tugs on his coat, interrupting him. "You know why?"

From her smartass grin, Sam bets he's not going to like the reason. Still, he takes a deep breath and humors her. "Why?"

Andy's grin falls and her face hardens. "Because I am a professional, Sam," she says, enunciating every word and staring him dead in the eye.

So. Her head's in the game.

And he's got no idea how she does it, but suddenly he's entertaining the idea of hauling her into the back seat, prissy smirk and all.

After she lets that sink in a minute, she zips his jacket up a little more; high enough that it makes him feel a little claustrophobic, like when the top button of a dress shirt is buttoned. "Now," she says, smoothing her hands out to his shoulders again, "Can we go?"

Sam smirks at her, jerks the zipper down so he can breathe again. "After you, sweetheart," he tells her, motioning to the door. A look flashes through Andy's eyes, a flare of annoyance, but then she's scowling back at him and pushing the door open.

He turns the ignition off and climbs out of the car, meeting her at the trunk. Looping her arm through his, she smiles up at him and all of a sudden they're JD and Candace, happily married couple.

When they get inside he glances around, looking for Brennan. It's Andy who spots the group first. "Over here", she says, pulling him in the direction of their table.

Sam gets his hand on the small of her back and lets her lead the way, weaving between tables and stools and people. Introductions are made and drinks are ordered and ten minutes later Sam's watching Andy tip back her beer and laugh with Cindy about something on Ellen the other day.

"A sloth," Andy says when she can catch her breath. "At a birthday party!"

Cindy just cracks up again, dark auburn hair falling forward as her shoulders shake. Sam's seen her up at the office a couple of times but it's the first time he's actually met her. She's pretty much the exact opposite of what he expected - talkative, loud, funny.

Mike, one of the most humorless people he's ever met, looks on, bored.

In a way he guesses it makes sense, opposites attracting and what not.

Brennan's been eyeing the whole thing curiously. "Do you have any idea what they're talking about?" he asks quietly, leaning over to Sam.

Sadly, he does. Andy pulled the video up on her phone a week or so ago and made him watch it half a dozen times while they were sitting on a house, waiting for a suspect who never showed up. Finally he got so sick of it he casually mentioned that the blonde girl looked a little like Monica.

"Not a clue, boss," he lies, smiling and taking a long pull of his own beer. He's got his hand on the back of Andy's chair, fingers threading through silky strands of hair. Every once and a while she'll look back at him and smile. He can't tell if it's a Candace thing of if Andy's just checking in with him, making sure she's doing it right.

Either way, he returns the smile, rubs her back.

"I heard this guy showed up at your apartment yesterday," Cindy says, gesturing across the table to Brennan. "Sorry, I've been trying to get him to stop doing that. It's weird."

Sam tries not to have a reaction to that but under his hand he can feel the muscles in Andy's back stiffen for just a moment, and then relax. He pushes some of her hair out of the way, strokes his thumb along her neck.

"It's not weird," Brennan protests, laughing a little – and he seems far more relaxed than Sam's ever seen him. He's actually smiling and cracking jokes, wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of his normal business clothes. He doesn't appear to be particularly bothered by Cindy giving him a hard time.

"Yeah," Cindy insists, nodding vigorously. "It is. Wasn't it weird, Candace?"

Andy's cheeks flush when she's put on the spot but she just waves her hand. "Oh, no," she says, "It was fine."

"See," Brennan says, arching at eyebrow at Cindy and then tipping his head towards Andy, "Some people have manners."

"Right," Cindy snorts, "I swear to God, if some man were to show up on my doorstep claiming to be my husband's boss, I'd deadbolt the door and call the police."

Mike, speaking up for the first time, scoffs at his wife, "Cindy…"

"What?" she asks sharply. Taking a bite out of a french fry, she waves the rest of it around to make her point, "I would! You never know with people these days."

"Well, I mean… " Andy says, a little defensive – Sam kind of likes watching her squirm since someone else has pointed out her poor decision making. She looks back at him for help but he just raises an eyebrow, totally innocent and useless. Andy narrows her eyes just a smidge and then turns back around. "I've seen him up at the warehouse so I knew he wasn't a crazy psycho killer or anything."

For a second, Sam can't breathe and he thinks his heart might pound right out of his chest, blood thrumming in his ears so loudly that the noise of the bar is drowned out.

The entire table goes silent, three pairs of eyes just blinking back at them, and then Brennan, with this genuine smile, blue gaze twinkling as if Candace is just the most amusing girl he's ever met, says to Cindy. "Right. She knew who I was. Not weird."

Sam's not too sure how he feels about that – the fact that it's pretty obvious Brennan has a soft spot for Candace.

"Whatever," Cindy mutters, sipping her beer again.

Thankfully another topic's brought up and Sam feels like he can breathe again, gets his heart beat back down to normal like he's not running a marathon anymore.

Andy wiggles her neck a bit, not enough that anyone else would notice, but he realizes his grasp is pretty tight; thumb at her nape and fingers pressed into her shoulder. He relaxes his hand and trails his palm down the line of her back, letting his fingers fit into the patch of bare skin where her shirt's ridden up.

A minute later he feels her hand on his thigh and the scratch of short nails through the denim. The next time she looks back at him, he winks.

Eventually someone brings up pool and they wait for the next available table. Andy starts whining about how bad she is – and she is, she's terrible, Sam always tries to find some excuse to get out of being her partner at the Penny whenever money's on the line (it never really works, he's lost a decent chunk of change thanks to her) – but Cindy assures her there's no way she can be worse than she is.

Turns out – she is. Worse than Cindy, that is. And it's not even a bit she's doing for Candace; Sam can tell how frustrated she's getting because of how badly she's doing. They're playing couples, Brennan's watching on the sidelines. Andy volunteered to sit out so he could partner up with Sam, but he assured her it was fine and called winner.

After Andy scratches going after a six in the corner pocket, Brennan jokes, "JD, teach your wife how to play some pool so I don't lose all my money." He put a twenty down on JD and Candace before the game even started.

"Told you I wasn't good," Andy grumbles quietly, fitting herself in under Sam's arm as they wait for Mike to take his turn.

Sam presses a kiss to her temple and murmurs, "You're doin' great." From his vantage point he can see her cheeks twitch with a smile and then she leans into him more, sliding her hand all the way across his back and settling it at his waist. Sam kisses the top of her head again before turning back to the game.

The next time it's her turn, Sam takes a chance and leans right over her, helping her line up her shot. No one's paying too much attention to them at that moment, hockey into overtime on the TV in the corner and Kessel with the puck. She's pressed against him from her shoulder all the way down to her hip, like a hot brand down the front of his chest, and when she wiggles even closer into him he's about eighty percent certain it's on purpose.

His lips are right at her ear as he tells her what to do, vanilla and honey shampoo smell making it a little difficult to think. The shirt she's wearing is ridiculous, it's got this row of buttons down the back and with how close they are together the plastic digs into him. Andy sinks a four and when she asks, "That good?" he's not sure if she's talking about the game or the fact that she just pushed her ass right back against him.

Sam chokes out an answer and watches her miss her next shot.

Mike's up again and Sam pulls her away from the table with an arm around her waist, keeping her in front of him until his back hits the wall behind them. Andy giggles a little as her body melts into his, warm and loose and heavy. "What're you doing?" he mutters, settling his chin on her shoulder.

Andy glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'm being nice," she replies – this innocent voice that totally belies the look in her eye. "What do you think I'm doing?"

He thinks she's doing a whole lot of other things but the wire's still on and that look in her eye isn't exactly sarcasm or scorn; he can't put his finger on it but it's not the way she's been looking at him for the past twenty-four hours.

Instead of answering he tilts his head and nips a bit at the curve of her jaw, teeth and then softer, just lips, until he hears her stifle a noise that rises in her throat. When her fingers dig into his arm and she hisses out her next breath he smiles against her neck, quickly pecks her cheeks, and then pulls away. "Nice, huh?" he whispers, hitching his arm up higher so she's flush against him as he leans back to the wall.

Andy doesn't say anything, just relaxes against him as they watch Mike clear the table. All in all Sam's not too disappointed with the loss; his thumb's absently stroking against her ribs and every once and while when he misses and grazes the underside of her breast, he can feel a shiver run through her whole body.

He does it again a couple of times on purpose.

Brennan takes over and Cindy begs out of the next round, comes to stand right beside them, chattering away about… something, Sam doesn't know. He behaves then, loosens his grip and keeps his hand planted at Andy's hip, beer bottle in the other.

Andy does all of the talking, thank God. He hears something about her needing a job as she groans and slumps dramatically against him.

Cindy perks up at that; eyes round and brow arched. "What kind of experience do you have?"

"Not much," Andy admits, frowning. "I waitressed back in St. Catherine's and before that I worked as a temp in a couple of offices…" Sam keeps his grin to himself. There was an ad online the day before; Brennan's company needs an office assistant. "Paperwork and filing and all that," she finishes. "I'm pretty good on the computer."

"Hmm… let me talk to Mike," Cindy tells her. "He may have something for you."

Andy grins, wide and bright. "Oh wow, thank you," she says. "That… that would be great."

"Yeah, of course," Cindy replies, "I mean, I can't promise anything but…" she trails off, shrugging.

"No, I totally understand," Andy assures her. "Really, I appreciate all the help I can get at this point."

"No problem," Cindy says, moving right along to the next subject. A couple of minutes later Sam excuses himself to the men's room – Andy squeezes his hand before he leaves.

Andy's waiting for him when he comes out – chewing on her nail and glancing out of the little hallway into the bar, completely distracted by something so she doesn't even notice Sam until he calls her name.

Well, Candace's name.

Her head whips around, brown hair swirling, and when she meets his eye she looks a little sheepish. "Oh hey," she says quietly. "I just…" she checks to make sure they're alone again and then grabs hold of his wrist, pulling him back into the dark corner so they're partially hidden by one of those old telephone banks, cheap laminate peeling away from the wood.

Sam follows willingly – he's more than a little interested in what's about to happen here.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she says, looping her fingers through his belt loops and tugging him closer.

His brow furrows. "'Bout what?"

Andy hesitates for just a second, nervously biting on her bottom lip, hard enough to leave a perfect imprint of her front teeth, but then surprises him by reaching out sneaking her hand up under the front of his shirt.

"What're you…?" he starts to ask, but realization dawns as her fingernail hits the tiny mic, switching it off.

Well.

That was pretty much the last thing he was expecting her to do.

Honestly stunned, Sam licks his very dry lips and a slow grin begins to spread across his face s she pulls her hand back out, warm palm open all the way down to the buckle of his belt, fingers dipping quickly into his waistband. "Oookay," he breathes out in a laugh, brain finally starting to catch up.

Andy smiles back at him, a shred less nervous now, and motions in the general direction of her chest. "You gonna…?"

And there are a thousand different reasons why he shouldn't, why he should turn his mic back on and pull her back out to the pool tables, rejoin whatever's going on out there, but –

He doesn't do that.

He doesn't even try and hide his grin as he pushes her back a little, gets her flat against the wall with one arm braced up by her head. He stares at her for another beat, making sure he knows what she's asking. She's looking at him with these big brown eyes, clear and trusting and just a hint of a dare; like she's wondering if he's actually gonna do it.

And this is stupid. This is really, incredibly stupid, but –

Her stomach muscles contract as he slides his hand over her belly, fluttering lightly under his fingertips. He goes slowly deliberately and when he reaches her bra her breathing's changed and her lip's caught between her teeth again, waiting for his next move.

Sam takes a deep breath and then cups his hand up over her bra, thumb flicking off the mic. Half a second later she's gasping against his lips as he kisses his way into her mouth, arms tight around his neck and hips arching up against him.

"We're actually gonna have to talk about this, ya know," he tells her between kisses. Some of it comes out muffled, words bitten off halfway through and somewhere in the back of his mind Sam remembers that it's only been a day, that neither of them should be this desperate – all over each other in a dark, dingy bar; drug deals going on right above their heads and actual killers waiting for them to buy the next round of drinks.

It's not ideal but Andy nods in his arms anyway. "I know," she promises, fingers digging into his back and lips slicking along his jaw. One of her legs is curled around his, crook of her knee at his thigh and holding him tight against her. Sam smoothes his hand up her leg, hitches it a little higher. "I know, I just… I didn't mean it."

He knows what's she's talking about, of course he does, he's been running the words through his mind ever since she said them, but he needs to hear her say it so – "Didn't mean what?" he asks, nipping at the soft skin behind her ear.

Andy whimpers a little in response and lets her head thump back against the wall, not answering him.

Sam pinches her through the material of her bra – dumb, this is so dumb – not that hard but hard enough to make her gasp. "Didn't mean what?" he repeats, just barely stopping himself from calling her McNally.

Andy squeezes her eyes shut and swallows, he can feel her throat working under his lips, but when he pinches her again she inhales sharply and answers, words coming out in a rush, "That this was a mistake, I didn't mean it."

Tearing his lips away from her neck, Sam touches his forehead to hers, noses bumping, and stares at her for a long minute. She holds his gaze, not even blinking or showing any sign of regret. Finally he lets out a sigh. "Yeah?" he asks, already feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"Yeah," she nods, voice quiet and soft. Her hands have relaxed against his back, making slow, sweeping patterns up and down and when he kisses her again it's unhurried and gentle, both of them smiling against each other and little light-headed.

They need to stop, they do, get things turned back on and straightened back out but –

It's not until the cellphone rings a couple of minutes later that they actually break apart.

Sam groans and untangles his hand from her hair to reach into his pocket. "This is JD," he answers, even though only one person has the number.

"Oh, good," Boyd says on the other line, tone pitched up and feigning surprise. "You're alive."

"Yeah, we're here," Sam says, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

Andy's looking at him anxiously, like maybe something's wrong, so he rolls his eyes and winks at her, letting her know it's not a big deal. She lets out a breath and visibly relaxes, smiling. Sam tweaks her hair, still grinning way too hard.

"Crazy coincidence," Boyd rambles on, clearly not buying the coincidence angle, "Somehow both your wires got shut off at the same damn time."

Sam tsks. "That is crazy," he agrees. "I don't know how that happened."

The other man snorts. "Right. Just turn 'em back on. Now."

"Will do," Sam promises, ending the call.

"Busted," Andy sing-songs, grinning.

Sam wants to bite at her pretty smile but refrains. "Hey, you're the one that pulled me back here," he reminds her, feeling about hundred times lighter than he did thirty minutes earlier. He tips his chin to her mic, "You want me to, uh…" he trails off, raising an eyebrow.

At first she looks confused and glances down to see if something's on her shirt, but after a second she gets it. "Oh," she says, cheeks flushing like she's embarrassed. "I got it," she tells him, turning her shoulder into him so her back's to the entrance of the hallway.

Sam grins and leans against the phone bank, shielding her from anyone that might walk in as she messes around under her shirt. Without even bothering to ask she slips her hand up to his mic and turns it back on, smoothing his shirt out when she's finished.

"We'll talk later, yeah?" she asks, suddenly shy and looking up at him from under thick lashes with those wide, bambi eyes.

"Yeah, later," he promises, kissing her one last time before taking her hand and tugging her back into the bar. "Let's see if anyone's up for a rematch."

AN2: If you haven't seen the sloth video on Ellen, google "Kristen Bell sloth" and prepare to be entertained!