Fic: House of Cards, Chapter Five, Part B
Title: House of Cards
Chapter: Five
Summary: Andy joins Sam undercover.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue.
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.”