Chapter Text
"You know," Nick said wearily, coming through the door and tossing his keys on the island, "If another building never comes down on me again, it will be too soon."
"Nick. It was a crate." Andy toed off her shoes as she shut the door behind them.
"Crate full of bricks," he sank down onto one corner of the couch, exhausted.
"Yes, Nick. If by 'bricks' you mean pottery," She rolled her eyes as she rummaged around in the freezer. She was trying to keep the frustration out of her voice but after a 12 hour shift, complete with a panic-filled half hour while they waited for ETF to secure the warehouse, followed by 2 hours in the emergency room, her patience was at a premium.
"Felt like a building," he grumbled, mostly to himself, as Andy padded down the hall to the bathroom. Two hours in the emergency room so some teenage doctor could tell him what he already knew – he had a serious concussion and his shoulder really fucking hurt, although "deeply bruised collarbone" was the official diagnosis. Whatever.
Andy handed him a bag of peas wrapped in a tea towel and set a glass of water and a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol on the end table within reach. They had given him something for pain at the hospital, so it was too soon to take anything else, but she knew once she sat down, she wasn't getting up again anytime soon if she could help it. "Thanks, babe."
"Can I make you something to eat?" She'd offered to make a quick stop on the way home but Nick had turned green at the suggestion so she just kept going.
"Not unless you want me to throw up again," he pouted.
"Really, Nick?” One eyebrow quirked in gentle reproach, “A simple 'no' would have sufficed."
"Sorry." He at least had the decency to look a little chagrined. Men. No matter how badass they seemed, they were all just one missing sock or a crate upside the head away from a whiny toddler. Not that a pouty Nick didn't have some appeal, but she was too busy being irritated to admit it right now. Because if she was irritated, she didn't have to acknowledge how terrified she had been during those moments of radio silence after the blast. Maybe later, with some time and distance she could process that, but for now, annoyed was working for her.
She grabbed her phone and a pair of earphones and settled herself on the couch, stretched out on her back with her head in his lap. She looked up at him, "This okay?"
"It's perfect," he turned on the TV and flipped through the channels until he settled on a soccer game, then, as was his habit, let his hand rest on her shoulder twirling his fingers in the ends of her hair.
So often after a long day, they ended up on the couch just like this, wanting, needing the reassurance that physical contact provided, while catching each other up, talking about their day. On other days, particularly after a tough call, words were scarce and the proximity was communication enough. Of course, sometimes they bypassed the couch entirely and headed straight for the bedroom to "not talk" about their day, but that option was officially off the table for the moment.
They relaxed in companionable silence for about half an hour, Andy absorbed in something on her phone and Nick trying to watch the soccer game. That is until he turned off the TV and tossed the remote on the end table in disgust.
Andy pulled one of her ear buds out, "What's the matter? Another scoreless tie?" she asked sarcastically. She loved hockey, enjoyed the odd football game, but she could not for the life of her understand his fascination with watching soccer. Playing? Yes. But watching? He was on his own there.
"No, it's making my head hurt," he sounded more 'annoyed grownup' than 'whiny toddler' so that was progress at least.
"Soccer always makes my head hurt," she grinned at him.
He half-laughed, "Yeah, you've made your feelings pretty clear on that subject." He tugged at the hem of her shirt so he could rest his hand on her bare stomach.
"Nick. Behave."
"Andy. This IS behaving," he teased. "Would you like me to show you the difference between this and misbehaving?"
"No, thanks." she replied quickly but he was apparently going to show her anyway as he started running his fingers across her stomach, making lazy shapes and tracing a path from hip bone to hip bone and back again.
She stilled his hand with her own, "Don't be starting something you're not allowed to finish."
"What does girl Doogie Howser M.D. know about anything anyway? Kid probably still has a curfew," he grumbled, "And nobody said anything about 'not allowed' she just said be careful."
"She said be careful not to exert yourself. You can't just pick and choose the parts of the sentence that work for you and forget the rest. You were out cold for half an hour Nick, you can't screw around with a concussion."
"Literally, apparently," he muttered.
"You know what I mean," she rolled her eyes in exasperation, “I should have let them keep you overnight like they wanted to.”
"Andy, I'm fine," now it was his turn to roll his eyes.
"So you're good to go then?" When he nodded, she continued, "Are you sure? You must be hungry. Can I make you a sandwich or something first –maybe egg salad? Tuna fish?"
Nick blanched and clamped his lips together.
"Yeah, you're feeling just fine. I can tell," having made her point she went back to what she was doing.
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," he grumbled and nodded toward her phone, "what are you doing there?"
"I'm searching for new ringtones," she flipped through her playlists, rejecting song after song.
"For…?"
"For everyone, but at the moment I'm looking for one for you."
"In that case," he said pulling the earphones out at the base, "I think I need to be a part of this process."
"Control freak much?" she grinned as she pulled the other ear bud out.
"I was standing next to you the last time Dov called. Clearly, you can't be trusted."
"So no One Direction for you then?" she asked innocently.
He just looked at her, eyebrows raised.
"Fine. I'm sure I can find something appropriate," she smiled, her brown eyes twinkling, "I have an excellent selection of boy bands to choose from."
"Hilarious,” he deadpanned.
“Or maybe a little something from my Disney princess collection? Oh!” she began scrolling madly, “I just thought of one for Gail!”
Attuned to her as always, he knew immediately what she was going to do. “That is a really bad idea, Andy,” he cautioned even as the familiar strains of Let It Go reached his ears.
“Relax,” Andy brushed off his concern, “It’s practically a private joke – she never calls me anyway.”
“I hope so. Because I can personally vouch for the ice queen’s wicked right hook. And we both know she is not one to ‘let it go’,” he winced as he shifted position a little trying to get comfortable, “Let’s do this. What have you got for me?”
Perhaps because she was still feeling a little cranky and irritable, Andy’s perverse side took over. "At the moment, I am kind of leaning toward this one," she clicked on a song. It only took a second for the beginning chords of the Stones' "Satisfaction" to play and only a second longer for Nick to recognize it.
"Really, McNally? You're going to go there?" he shot her a playful, smug smile, "Just because I'm SOL doesn't mean you are. I can think of at least two, no wait, three ways to prove you and your little song wrong and I won't even have to break any of Dr. Bossypants' rules to do it. In fact, I probably don't even need to get up off this couch. So, unless you would like a demonstration…" he toyed with the tie on her yoga pants to make his point.
She was sorely tempted to green light that demonstration. She knew from experience that he absolutely had the skills to back up the cocky bravado. That was precisely how he got away with it. He could also put an end to cranky and irritable in a hurry. However, she also knew that, bravado aside, he really did feel like shit and that he was destined to be frustrated for a while yet until his follow up appointment with girl wonder. So, in the interest of solidarity, she picked another song instead.
Seconds later, the cheeky pep of "Let's Hear it For the Boy!" rang out, earning a laugh from Nick.
"You're a brat.”
Andy shrugged, “You’re the one that loaded up my phone with all your 80s pop and hair bands.”
Nick rolled his eyes, “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” he said sarcastically, “but it's not exactly the manliest song around. Let's keep trying."
A couple of clicks and Bruno Mars filled the space between them. "I'd catch a grenade for ya…"
"Andy," Nick winced.
"Too on the nose?" she scrunched up her face.
"Given our jobs, maybe just a smidge. Clearly I have to take matters into my own hands," he grinned as he plucked the phone out of her hands and started flipping through the list himself. This time it was Andy’s turn to cringe as the soulful voice of Marvin Gaye purred "Let's get it on."
"Your singular devotion to one subject is truly impressive. And absolutely not." She snatched her phone back.
"Why not?" He asked, all boyish innocence. "And also? You totally started it," he gave her a little poke in the ribs.
"Because sometimes my phone rings in public, that's why, you perv," she continued scrolling, "And, let’s be clear here, you started it."
"Frankly, I'm surprised a nice girl like you even has that song in her collection." He grinned at her, eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Just because I don't choose to act on ALL my basest instincts doesn't mean I can't appreciate a classic when I hear one," she paused, "Of course, if you like, there's always the sanitized version." She loaded up 'I'll Make Love to You' by the Backstreet Boys.
"Nope!" Nick took the phone back. "I thought we agreed no boy bands."
"I made no such agreement," she laughed.
"Besides, as you said, your phone rings in public sometimes and we don't want anyone thinking you actually listen to that shit." He grinned. "How about this?" Pharrell filled the air.
“Definitely not.”
“What? I don’t make you happy?” he asked in mock offense, “That’s kind of harsh.”
“Dork. You make me incredibly happy,” she flashed him one of her million dollar smiles as if to prove it, “but that song makes me crazy. Total earworm.”
“Fair point,” he conceded, “Oh here’s a good one.”
"I'm Too Sexy? Accurate. You are definitely too sexy for your own good, but no. I don't want anyone to think that I think that I’m too sexy when my phone rings."
"But you are too sexy," he trailed his fingers up to lavish attention on the smooth, taut skin across her ribs. Absently tracing the scripty words of her tattoo, he was making it nearly impossible for her to think about anything else.
She brushed his hand away and tugged her shirt back down, "Seriously Nick, a girl can only take so much," linking her fingers with his so as to keep them from causing trouble, she continued scrolling with her other hand. "How about this one?" The quick and catchy 'Lucky' played.
"Love the words…" He was absolutely in love with his best friend. However.
"I sense a but…"
"But it's Jason Mraz." He said emphatically as if that explained everything.
"And your problem with Jason Mraz is…?"
"Bearing in mind please that I have already been smacked upside the head once today…it's chick music. Next?" he decided to let her keep her phone because it hurt too much to reach with his left and his right hand was in jail.
"Chick music?" she raised one eyebrow in question.
He smirked. "Chick music. As in pertaining to, listened to exclusively by. See also Buble, Michael and Caillat, Colbie."
"Neanderthal." She rolled her eyes even as she giggled at his quick wit. "How do you feel about country? Is that manly enough for you?"
"Depends on the song," He had an idea. "May I?"
"I don't know." She held her phone out of reach looking at him skeptically.
"Come on, one more. Let me prove I'm not a Neanderthal." He wheedled, grinning widely.
"I suppose," Curiosity won out so she grudgingly handed the phone back to him.
He flipped through her list but the song he was thinking of wasn't there so he went online to find it, a couple of clicks and send ringtone to cell. Done. "What's your iTunes password? I want you to be able to listen to the whole song before you pass judgment."
"Here let me," she made a grab for her phone but he held it out of reach, grimacing as he did, "Nick be careful."
"Well, don't make me stretch so far," he whined.
"Then give me my phone."
"So, what? You trust me with your life but not your iTunes password? Really?"
"I trust you. It's just …" she hedged.
"You're blushing." Understanding dawned. "You don't want to tell me. That's okay. I'll figure it out. Let's see…" he pretended to think about it.
"Nick! You're going to get us both locked out of the account. Just let me do it."
"Relax. You get three tries. If I can't get it in two, I'll give it back and you can do it."
"So, you really don't want to tell me and you're all pink and embarrassed, so that means it's about me…" he typed in a private nickname she had for him, "And you gotta have some numbers too because really who wants to invite a lecture from Dov? " Here he stopped for a minute to think about two choices. Eventually he settled on 9957. "And…I'm in!"
"Could've been your birthday," she grumbled making a mental note to change her password first chance she got. Sometimes, having someone who knew you so well was a real pain in the ass.
"Nah, badge number is more badass." He winked at her.
"Apparently we've been wasting your skills at 15. Maybe you should be working with cybercrimes division, cracking codes and such."
"Your code is the only one I'm interested in cracking, Andy," he flipped through iTunes and quickly downloaded the song. "Okay. You listen to it but I think we may have a winner." He tapped the play button and Paul Brandt's 'Last First Kiss' began.
Nick knew you really only got one actual "first" kiss with someone but he felt like when your first kiss was fake, well mostly anyway, you were entitled to fudge the rules on these things. So their real first kiss had been at her door at the end of an otherwise awful day – no undercover pretense, no walls, just them, Nick and Andy – best friends taking a chance, a giant step toward something more and it had been, well, magical. But to him, their most meaningful first, the one he cherished above all others, had happened several weeks later. When, after an agonizing few days, she had decided he was worth it – that they were worth it – and she had gone all in and chosen him, once and for all. And, in just 36 days, not that he was counting or anything, they would stand in front of their friends and family and, eyes and hearts wide open, they would choose each other again. And that, he knew deep down, would be the last ‘first’ kiss for either of them.
As, the song finished, he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it softly. "So…?"
She nodded, her eyes soft. "We have a winner. And your "sweet" status has been restored." She swung her legs around and sat up, leaning into him for a kiss. "What have you got for me on your phone?”
"Well, I may have to change it now. Maybe I like this one better."
"What is it now? Dare I even ask? It's not Marvin Gaye is it?" she was skeptical.
He flipped through her library to see if he could find it. "You don't have it either. Hang on." He found it and downloaded it.
"Will I approve?" she asked, more than a little concerned.
"It's a great song. And it’s always made me think of you. You'll see why right away." He played 'Canadian Girls' by Dean Brody for her.
"Well," she said when it was finished, "I really never did watch Degrassi, but I can absolutely make a toque look sexy."
"I've seen you do it," he smirked.
"In fact, if I am not mistaken, a toque and a hockey jersey are what pass for lingerie in some provinces," she laughed, brown eyes sparkling.
"Copy that." He laughed, "And frankly, I could give a damn about the toque, but the idea of you in nothing but a hockey jersey has crossed my mind. You know. A time or two. I didn’t completely hate it,” he favoured her with a cheeky grin.
"I’m sure.” She just shook her head. "But I will keep your wishes in mind for when you're feeling better. It's not like I don't own a hockey jersey or two. Or six."
"I'm a simple man, Andy," He grinned, "But when the time comes, I think it's gonna need to be MY jersey."
"Careful. Your Neanderthal is showing again." she tucked her feet up under her and settled in, resting her head gently on his good shoulder and linking her fingers with his. He turned the TV back on, found an old rerun of Friends, and rested his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes.
"Andy?"
"Yeah, Nick?"
"Think I might be kinda hungry."