Chapter Text
"I wish you would have talked to me first."
Lena listens as Andrea sighs loudly on the other end of the line. She cradles her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder, typing curt responses to nosy questions and forwarding more complicated ones to her PR team. Her inbox won't fucking slow down, and she gets it, but she wishes everyone would give her five seconds to breathe before demanding a quote. Being the center of a controversy is nothing new, but pulling someone else -- someone as vulnerable and genuine as Sam -- into the dangerous tide of Luthor drama is a new kind of awful. Regardless of what Andrea seems to feel is appropriate to print, Sam's involvement doesn't feel right, and the responsibility weighs heavily on Lena's shoulders. This is nothing more than another attempt to tear her down, but Sam being caught in the crosshairs makes the temptation to rip into Andrea very appealing. She's the next best thing, an easy target, since her brother remains (not tragically, but inconveniently) out of reach. Andrea's not entirely innocent here either, which is why she's a viable option to lash out at. But Lena doesn't. She has to tread lightly or she knows Andrea will shut down. She'll play dirty and she'll hide information simply out of spite.
So Lena puts on her game face.
(But there are several choice words she'd like to say, several threats she'd like to make--)
"I couldn't," Andrea says tiredly. She sounds awful, and it shouldn't be satisfying, but Lena revels in the fact that she's at least suffering a little.
"You could have," Lena argues. "It's not just business, Andy. It's my life. It's our lives."
"I'm sorry, Lena. I didn't want to get you involved at all." There's a pause, and some rustling. "There is more..." Her voice drifts, and Lena waits, holding her breath. "Check your e-mail."
Lena obeys and clicks on the top of her inbox, opening the attachment. A video starts to play-- security footage, evidently, one that appears to show Sam at the now-defunct L-Corp facility in the Cayman Islands. She's wearing a hooded sweatshirt and looking over her shoulder as she enters a passcode into a security pad. She pauses before going into the building.
"That's not... possible," Lena says, squinting and pausing the video. "That warehouse isn't even in use."
The footage is grainy and poor, but as she zooms in, the side profile is very obvious. It's definitely Sam's face, her jaw clenched the way she always does when she's doing something that requires focus. It's the eyes that make Lena's heart break. They're there as sure as anything, deep and bright and honest, caught by the hidden camera so that Sam is staring directly at them. It's so shockingly out of place that Lena wants to cry. But the genuine expression, the remarkable sincerity -- that's the giveaway, and Lena shivers.
"I'm just telling you what I have," Andrea says, quietly bringing Lena back to the conversation. "I haven't gone to print with it yet, but I'm running out of time."
"You can stay here until this blows over."
Lena talks without looking at them, typing the code into the keypad and opening the door to her condo. She gestures for Sam to enter, Ruby traipsing in after. "It will be better here."
"Lena, I don't need--"
"You do," Lena insists. "Trust me on that."
Sam starts to argue, but she knows Lena is no stranger to scandal. If she's putting her up in her condo for security purposes, there's a good reason, and she better listen. She glances at Ruby who looks back at her, wide-eyed.
"Alright, Rubes," Sam says, trying to keep her voice even and cheerful, despite feeling the exact opposite. She bends down so they're eye level. "We're going to stay at Aunt Lena's for a bit."
"In the middle of the week?" Ruby asks, hands on her hips. She looks at Sam with the overly perceptive eyes of a pre-teen. "Why?"
"Because."
"Last time you acted this weird, we moved."
"We're not moving. Please, Ruby, just go put your stuff away, ok? I'll explain all this later."
Ruby crosses her arms and pouts, but upon a wink from Lena, she reconsiders. She grabs her backpack and skulks off to the guest room where Lena keeps all the video game systems. That's a conversation for another time, but for now, Sam is too exhausted to monitor the screen situation. Let Ruby rot her brain for awhile. It's a welcome distraction from reality.
"I've already alerted my security team to keep an extra close eye on things here," Lena explains as she places her bag down on the counter. She's texting furiously into her phone, probably also solving the climate crisis while saving Sam's life, so Sam doesn't interrupt. She follows her slowly, feeling like a dog who has just been kicked. "And I'll send a few others to keep an eye on things at your house. We need to make sure everything is secure while you're gone."
"I don't want to get you involved."
Lena chuckles, but the frown on her face gives it away. "I'm already involved," Lena says sadly, dismissively waving her hand. "It's because of me you're in this situation."
"No it's not."
"Sam."
Sam meets her gaze, serious but earnest, and her shoulders release the tension they've been holding. She doesn't want to argue so she simply sighs, "Thank you."
Sam spends the next week holed up in Lena's home office, gathering all the intel she can on where this story could have come from. She's bleary-eyed and tear-stained by the time she comes up for air. She has no idea what day it is, what time it is, or when she last ate a meal that wasn't Lean Cuisine. Which, by the way, does not count as food at all, and she really needs to tell Lena to go grocery shopping, Or, you know, get a personal chef, she's not picky. She also owes her neighbor Linda endless favors, mostly in the form of dog-sitting her horrendous schnauzer, Baby, since her own dog basically lives with her now. But these are all future Sam problems. Right now, all she can think is that any second, the FBI is going to burst into Lena's condo and take her away to prison. She can only imagine how that would look plastered all over the front page.
Disgraced CFO Dragged From Luthor Condo, more on page 7.
Her frantic mind turns to Ruby and oh, God, her daughter -- what will they do with her? How will she ever explain herself if it comes to that? Her mouth is dry, her throat covered in razorblades, but she simply chooses to ignore it. Nothing matters but uncovering the truth.
Lena comes in at some point in the late afternoon to help. She quietly takes a seat on the couch and opens her laptop. They don't speak. There's nothing to say, not even a passing comment about all the tissues strewn everywhere (she hasn't been crying, its allergies) or the fact that she's wearing the same sweatshirt since Monday. It's now Thursday. She's in a crisis, ok? There isn't fucking time for laundry.
Sam isn't sure if Lena believes she's innocent, or if she's searching for her own evidence, but she doesn't have the strength to ask. Things between them have been tenuous and quiet at best, but Sam is scared what might happen if Lena turns on her, too. So she keeps her head down and desperately continues her search.
Lena tells Jess to hold all their calls and forbids any discussions with the media. It's probably only a matter of time before Lena has her escorted from the premises herself.
"Have you seen this?"
Lena finally breaks the silence by flipping her laptop in Sam's direction. On the screen appears to be some security footage, taken from God knows where. Sam blinks stupidly as she stares at her own image looking back at them.
"That's not me, Lena!" she argues, a violent chill erupting through her. Her teeth chatter. Lena hits play, and she watches the way she -- not her! -- punches in a code and enters a building. She recognizes the logo on the warehouse, one of the abandoned facilities from Lex's time as chairman. The video fades to dark and she stares at Lena, who is still looking at the screen. Sam can tell she's disappointed and it's almost enough to destroy her.
"You have to believe me! When would I have even gone to the Cayman Islands? When is this video even supposed to be from?"
"I have my forensics team on it," Lena replies quietly.
Sam clenches her fists, the tears welling behind her eyes as she tries to swallow it down. But it's too much. How the fuck can she prove this is a hoax? The dam within her chest breaks and she crumbles, a loud sob escaping her lips.
"I won't be able to work again," she says through tears, although between her hiccups it's only partially understandable. Her shoulders rock with anguish. "Ruby--"
Lena stands and comes to her side. Her hand moves slowly over Sam's back as she continues to shake with the daunting severity of the situation. What is she going to do? And who sent this video?
"We'll figure it out Sam," Lena whispers and Sam only cries louder. Lena shouldn't be standing by her at all. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I'm going to make it better. I promise."
"I didn't do anything Lena," Sam sniffles. Her heart is pounding in her ears. "I would never do that to you."
There's a beat, and Lena squeezes her shoulder.
"I know."
Lena likes to limit her visits to CatCo since she is no longer the majority owner, and therefore, no longer in charge of the chaos that occurs between its walls. Even her lunches with Kara have been relocated, all in vain attempts to give their relationship some semblance of privacy. That's going swimmingly, with Kara recently winning a Pulitzer and chasing a new story on the multiverse theory, and Lena making headlines for all matters of sins from her fashion choices to her business practices (sometimes, it's good, most of the time, it's not, but she only made the Enquirer twice last month so, progress). But considering this latest...development, and the fact that she's still very much in the center of a controversy, she's paying Andrea Rojas a visit herself.
Sam didn't say much when she returned to L-Corp after the initial confrontation with Andrea, choosing instead to lock herself in her office and ignore everyone. But if the empty decanter of scotch was any indication, it was a lot. Lena wishes she could have been a fly on the wall to see all that unfold, because as tough as Andrea is, there's something terrifying about a pissed off Sam Arias. But she understands the silence. She isn't sure there's much else she can say to make Sam feel better, anyway. She believes in her innocence, but that only goes so far when everyone else is so hell bent on taking them down. She's frustrated and angry, and so very exhausted, but unlike Sam, she's in a position to be rational. There has got to be a reasonable explanation for all this, and she plans to lay the guilt on thick to get Andrea to give it to her. Her friend owes her that much.
Andrea runs her fingers through her now-limp hair as she hits 'play'. The cursed video starts playing for what feels like the hundredth time. It probably is. She has been up for days playing the video over and over on a loop, trying to figure out what the fuck Sam could have been doing going into that building. Is she truly part of an embezzlement scheme, running an operation right under Lena's nose? She would have the means and the opportunity, and Lord knows Lena probably doesn't pay her enough. Something in Andrea's gut tugs firmly, and she knows that's a long shot. Even if Sam is a liar, Andrea has a hard time believing she's really on that level of deception. Was she confronting someone on Lena's behalf? Maybe she knew there was something shady happening and wanted to charge in herself, always the knight in shining armor. That seems to fit a little better, her heart pumping heavily as she recalls the way Sam swiftly handled her busted tire with the greatest of ease. But there's something else. Something needling in the back of her mind that keeps pushing her to look closer, something that doesn't quite fit --
What are you up to, Sam? What aren't you telling me?
"Been awhile since we had a night cap."
Lena's voice startles her, and she glances up as her old friend strolls into her office with a bottle of scotch and somber expression, her face a dramatic silhouette thanks to the setting sun.
"I wish it was under better circumstances," Andrea replies tiredly.
Lena huffs in agreement as she makes herself at home in Andrea's office, procuring glasses and getting them strong pours of liquor. She hands a glass to Andrea and positions herself over her shoulder as they stare at the screen. Andrea goes to hit play again, when the string shimmers on her finger, reminding her of its existence. As if she could forget.
As if--
It hits her, then. She turns to Lena.
"Do you have any recent videos of Sam on your phone?"
"I don't know-- why are you asking me this?" Lena frowns, placing her glass on the desk.
"I just need to see something."
Lena studies her with a skeptical look but finally relents. She picks up her phone, scrolling through slowly. She finally finds a random video of Sam and Ruby from ages ago, when they were at the beach on a rare day off and Sam begged her to take a video to commemorate the occasion-- you're never in the sun and no one will ever believe you were here, Lena! There's Sam waving at the camera and making a face, which causes Lena's stomach to turn. That day was perfect. Sam and Ruby splashing in the waves, Lena being commissioned to build a very intense, mechanically sound sandcastle. It's one of her favorite memories.
She hates that they're in this situation. Sam would never do something to ruin them, to ruin her. She knows it. And yet--
Andrea studies the video on Lena's phone and notices the string, prominent and strong and proud on Sam's finger. She looks back at the Cayman facility video on her laptop.
"The Cayman video is fake," she says. "It's doctored somehow. That's not Sam."
"How do you know?"
"I just do."
Lena scoffs. "No offense, but after all this, I'm gonna need more than that."
Andrea huffs. She stares Lena down, the muscles in her jaw clenching to the point of pain. Lena's stare is harsh and more serious than Andrea can ever remember seeing it. She doesn't seem to have a choice if she wants to get to the bottom of this. She sighs audibly.
Checkmate.
"I can tell the same way you'd be able to tell a fake video of Kara."
Lena's eyebrows furrow. She pauses. "What do you--" Her eyes widen, a shocked expression on her face. Andrea, now beyond annoyed, flexes her left ring finger.
"Yeah," she says. "Surprise."
"Oh-- my God?! Oh my God? How long have you known?"
"Since your fundraiser."
"But-- that was ages ago!"
"Yeah."
"I'm going to kill Sam myself," Lena mutters, shaking her head in disbelief. She glances back at Andrea before the laughter takes over, small giggles erupting into a chaotic, loud production.
"It's not funny!"
"Of course," Lena says, practically gasping. "It's not."
There's a pause before she dissolves into more laughter. Andrea would laugh too if everything wasn't so incredibly fucked right now.
"I swear to God Lena--"
Before Andrea can swat her, Lena's phone chimes. She's immediately back to all business, her fingers flying a mile a minute as she explains it's L-Corp's digital forensics team.
"It's a fake," she confirms. She grabs her purse and heads for the door. "I've gotta go. But," she turns and points "we are not done talking about this."
"Yes we are!" Andrea calls out after her. "And if you tell anyone about this, you'll have worse things to worry about!"
"Lena!"
"The forensics team said--"
"It's fake!" They both say, together. Lena smiles wide, and Sam's cheeks hurt because maybe, maybe--
"Okay, okay, this is good, right? This is good," Sam says, talking frantically. She turns her laptop over and Lena races over to the desk. "And look at this--"
She managed to get into Edge's bank accounts (don't ask Lena, it's not important how, and we'll apologize for it later) but there are glaring inconsistencies, including large sums of money being moved from one corporate account to another. Upon further inspection, the receiving corporation is not a corporation at all, but a seemingly random location in the middle of the desert.
"Weird, right?" Sam says, gauging Lena's reaction.
Her eyes snap up, calculating. "Lex."
"But he's--"
"In prison yeah," Lena says, her lip curling. "In the Mojave desert."
"And look at this--"
She pulls the personnel files of the audit team from last year, all brand new employees who were not brand new employees at all, but former associates of Lex's.
"Their background checks are all fake," Sam explains, frowning. "Which is another problem for us to solve, but that at least explains how this whole thing came to be. Edge must be desperate if he's partnering with Lex."
Lena inhales sharply, nodding. "Or Lex is blackmailing him," she says, as if she's discussing the weather. "You never know."
"True."
"So at the end of the day, it's Lex, trying to take me down, and you just got caught in the crosshairs."
"Collateral damage," Sam scoffs. "Which, like, fuck you guys."
Lena barks out a laugh, and Sam joins her, both so relieved that they aren't going to be going to prison. At least not today. It's enough to make them absolutely giddy.
"I knew it wasn't you," Lena says, moisture glistening at the corners of her eyes, both from laughter and the overwhelming emotion of it all.
"If I'm going to the Caymans, I'm working on my tan, not going all Black Ops into a Luthor Corp bunker," Sam says, wiping her own eyes. "No offense."
Lena hugs her, and Sam pulls her close, thankful.
"Thank you for believing in me," she says, and Lena squeezes a little tighter.
The next day, Sam marches directly into Andrea's office, a manila envelope clutched in her hands with enough evidence to get Lex Luthor several more years added to his life sentence. Morgan Edge should watch his ass, too. She glares at the secretary who simply presses a button under her desk, but even the threat of CatCo security can't detract from the fact that she's winning.
The folder lands on Andrea's desk with a slap.
"There's your fucking story."
Andrea glances up, a bored look on her face as she grits her teeth. With a smug smile, she eventually says, "I thought we were done."
Sam smiles, livid and free and relentless as the string pulses between them.
"Now we are."
Andrea spends the rest of the afternoon combing through the evidence, cross-checking and screaming at every single person within earshot to pull the current cover (high-waisted jeans, yes or no?) and change direction completely. They have a new cover story to get out urgently and it's major. The biggest one of the year. The biggest one of Andrea's life.
Innocent: L-Corp CFO Vindicated; Lex Luthor Plot Foiled
The headshot of Sam is powerful and stoic, her eyes staring through Andrea so sharply she feels like they're slicing her in half. Andrea wonders idly when it was taken, but quickly pushes the thought far from her mind. She doesn't have a right to wonder about those things anymore. The art department cleverly places the text across the muscles of Sam's forearms, "Innocent" flashing bright and proud, a personal affront to Andrea specifically. The red string is bold and intense around her finger, visible only to her, and it causes a lump in her throat that makes her eyes water. She pulls a copy for the archives and refuses to answer any questions about why.
(And if she takes several minutes alone behind locked doors to fucking breathe, to try to compose a professional, clipped, and even-keeled text message, then that's her own business.)
She stares at the thread of back and forth jabs and jokes shared between her and Sam, and starts to type.
I'm sorry...
How perfectly trite. She erases it.
I didn't mean to...
Of course she did. She erases it.
I knew you didn't do it.
Nope.
She sighs, staring at the silent screen for a few more agonizing seconds before tossing her phone aside. There's nothing she can say to make it better, and ultimately, Sam is better off. She's done enough interfering in that woman's life to last forever.
There is nothing Sam wants to say to Andrea after the whole debacle.
(And if she was on an episode of Maury the lie detector would absolutely confirm that is a fucking lie.)
She has entire diatribes planned, full-on ugly crying tirades she wants to go on, items she wants to throw, obscenities she wants to invent, but tragically, there's nowhere to conduct such a spectacle. The CatCo explosion notwithstanding (God, that felt amazing) she really can't make a habit of stalking Andrea at work and losing her temper or they really will drag her to jail. So all her feelings remain under lock and key, typed furiously into a word document boldly titled DO NOT READ, which she will eventually delete once she's exhausted.
But, rest assured, she has thoughts, and she's going to sit here and clench her jaw and swallow them down and convince herself she's finished with Andrea Rojas.
And she isn't surprised that Andrea doesn't reach out after the story drops, since she's proven herself to be a fucking coward. But she can't pretend she isn't disappointed. She idly checks her phone the hours after it goes live, half expecting a snarky text that isn't an apology but might be taken as one if she squints hard enough, but the line of communication remains depressingly silent. The hours change to days, bleeding into weeks, and then she blinks and it's been a month and the silence stretches like the string on her finger. And all Sam can think is: how fucking dare she? How dare Andrea try to ruin her life, then not even have the courtesy to apologize when it turned out she was wrong? Or, more aptly, how could she not even have the decency to say a simple 'thank you' to Sam for doing her job and handing her the real story on a silver platter?
Her huge shopping cart bumps into a pallet, shaking her back to the present, the wheel wedging itself in the wood. Sam stumbles, swearing under her breath. Stupid fucking Costco. Ruby glances up from her phone, her lips twisted in surprise.
"Why'd you hit that?"
"I didn't--" Sam starts, exasperated. Breathe. "I didn't do it on purpose. Go get me the Eggos. Please?"
Ruby glares at her, before shuffling away. Sam straightens her cart and checks her phone, scrolling slowly down her list to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything. When she looks up, her heart catches in her throat. The woman in front of her stands a few yards away, her side profile achingly familiar. She runs her fingers through her soft chestnut hair, her lips formed into a contemplative pout. Sam's heart pounds. The woman turns more fully toward her, her eyes blinking once before catching her own. She smiles, and Sam sees that they're the wrong color. Her face burns as her body tries to recover from the surprise rush of adrenaline. She waves sheepishly and turns away.
Not Andrea.
So this is a thing that keeps happening, too. She sees Andrea everywhere. It's not like she's dead, but she might as well be, the way she's haunting her. And Sam knows better -- it's not like Andrea would do her own shopping at Costco of all places, but her brain doesn't care. She sees her at the grocery store, at the bank, at the library. She sees her smug expression at the gym and her designer sunglasses in traffic and she even, for a heart-stopping second, thinks she sees her in Lena's office, which would be the only realistic scenario out of all of them. Except in the end, its only Lena's assistant with a new haircut.
Her phone remains painfully silent, a million words left unsaid.
(She's doing fine.)
The Outlook reminder on Andrea's calendar chimes, startling her from a very productive social media spiral. She isn't wondering about Sam, if that's what you're thinking, despite the fact that she feels like she can't get away from her. They still haven't spoken, and Andrea hasn't seen her since her last visit to the office, but that doesn't stop her mind from playing cruel tricks. It feels like wherever she goes, Sam is only right around the corner, casting an inordinately large shadow and watching her with disappointment. She can feel those deep, soulful eyes staring at her, lips pursed in some unsettling combination of anger and disgust. It's over the top and dramatic, she knows, but that doesn't seem to make it any less real. She sighs, pinching the bridge her nose in exasperation, trying to get it together, for fuck's sake. When she blinks again, her calendar reminder is still there, blinking cheerfully.
The Children's Hospital ice skating fundraiser. Of course.
It's an event they do every year to kick off the holiday season for some of the local elementary and middle school kids: a day of chaotic skating and hot chocolate and games, all in the name of charity. Andrea has taken it upon herself to match whatever they raise (usually doubling or tripling it without thinking twice). The whole fundraiser hardly makes a dent in her bank account, but it's worth it for the children's hospital. She does not skate, opting instead to help tie boots and drink hot chocolate (not spiked with rum from her own flask, what are you, a cop?), but it's still one of her favorite events of the year.
But this year -- she swallows heavily. This year, she wonders if a certain brunette will make an appearance, all gentle smiles and kind words and patience only a mother could have. Now that she knows Sam is involved with the hospital, it seems like the fated conclusion that this would be the year Andrea notices her at the event. And if Sam does show up, Andrea doesn't know what she'll do.
The arena is already bustling by the time she walks inside. Little kids drowning in hockey equipment at least two sizes too big go waddling down the hallway, their bags bigger than their bodies. One of them practically bowls her over as he races by, a scared "sorry, ma'am!" muttered as he trips over his skates. Andrea bites her lip, wondering when the fuck she became a 'ma'am'. She straightens her coat and continues on. Girls with tights and make up (make up?) stretch their legs lazily on the other side, preparing for their lessons. Andrea pauses, watching all the commotion, a strange feeling surging in her chest. It's easy for her to turn her nose up, to complain about the smell of popcorn, sweat and rubber and pretend she has a million other better things to do. But deep down, there's a longing -- a tug to do more, to have more. She watches as exasperated, exhausted parents carry duffle bags filled to the limit, adjusting all matters of helmets and skate blades and tights. She wonders if she were to have children, what they would be like. Would her kids want to play sports? Would she have to force them into activity?
Would she even be a good mom?
She swallows down the bitter thought, forcing it somewhere dark and unreachable.
"Why do we have to do this?" a child's voice whines. Andrea glances over where a girl about the age of 12 or 13 has plopped down on a bench. Something about her mannerisms are familiar, her body still awkward but on the verge of lanky growth. She doesn't see who the girl is talking to right away until---
"Because it's nice," Sam says, appearing suddenly from around the corner. Andrea freezes, her entire body numb with shock. "And it's fun! You used to love ice skating."
"When I was 5."
"Okay well, it's still fun even when you're older," Sam says, her jaw set. Andrea's heart flutters. "Can you please get your skates on? I'm going to go talk to Pam real quick and make sure everything is all set."
Andrea catches the way Ruby rolls her eyes -- exactly like her mother -- before quickly turning away. Her heart is pounding in her ears so violently that she can hardly see straight, but all she can think about is putting enough distance between them that Sam won't notice--
"Oh! Ms. Rojas! There you are!"
Dammit Pam.
Andrea plasters on an overly-nice fake smile and turns around. "Pam, hi."
"Oh and Sam, great timing, I was just going to look for you," Pam says, oblivious to the thick wave of tension that has crash landed over them. Pam points at Sam, then back to Andrea. Andrea tries to avoid Sam's eyes, but instead her attention lands on her dorky holiday sweater, a red and green monstrosity with a picture of Rudolph that says 'Make it Rein'. The string around their fingers mocks her. "I don't know if you two have met--"
"We have," Sam says quickly. She nods once at Andrea. "Too many times, actually."
Pam doesn't notice the jab and continues talking, "Fine, fine. Sam, you're okay to skate with the kids?" Sam nods, her gaze still pointedly avoiding Andrea. "And Andrea, I know you won't be skating, so if you wouldn't mind manning the hot chocolate table?"
"Sure," Andrea confirms, her voice cracking slightly.
"Not skating?" Sam turns to her with a frown. "Really?"
"Oh, she never skates," Pam explains.
"Interesting. Andrea was in the Ice Capades, you know," Sam says, crossing her arms. She tilts her head in Andrea's direction as she grins at Pam.
Andrea's eyes widen. She did not expect that. "I--"
"You were?!"
"Oh yes, but she's so modest," Sam gushes, putting a hand on Andrea's arm. Her touch is scalding, the heat radiating through her coat. "Maybe she'll show us her skills this year."
Andrea narrows her eyes, willing her anger to eviscerate Sam. But of course, it simply falls to the floor, leaving her unscathed as Sam smiles sweetly at her. "I'm very retired," Andrea stumbles, glancing sheepishly back at Pam. Then, pointing at her knee. "Erm-- bad knee."
"Too bad," Pam tuts, shaking her head. "That sure would be a sight."
"Wouldn't it though?" Sam teases, scrunching her nose. She's having way too much fun with this, and Andrea hates her. "Oh well," she shrugs, and Andrea's jaw clenches, hard.
Pam gives them a few more instructions, but Andrea is barely listening, focused instead on the way her cheeks are blazing and the fact that Sam seems so unbothered about the entire thing. She wonders if she's having as much of a meltdown internally, or if, like everything else, she simply finds a way to shrug it off.
Once Pam is distracted by another volunteer, Andrea leans over to Sam.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Oh, that was the bare minimum," Sam hisses back, her smile never leaving her face. She waves at another parent. "You're lucky we're in public."
An hour later, Andrea's hands are covered in sticky marshmallow and chocolate as she opens yet another box of powdered mix. The local morning news show has already tried to get her on TV twice despite numerous threats, so she's about ten seconds away from filing a restraining order. There's a dull headache throbbing behind her eyes, her temples pulsing as children howl and scream around her. She usually doesn't mind the loud chaos, finding the excitement of all the kids infectious. She prefers their sugar-rushed energy to her usual (boring, complicated, annoying) responsibilities. But today is a struggle. Sam has thrown her completely off her game, and now random parents are coming up to her asking about her experience performing for Disney on Ice, and all she want to do is curl up under blankets until this entire ordeal is over.
As the cocoa line starts to thin, and the National City morning news crew starts to circle, Andrea takes the opportunity to sneak away. She appoints someone's mother in charge (Susan? Sandra? It doesn't matter, the woman is now a saint) before scrambling up the stairs to the bleacher area where she can sit in peace and drink away her sorrows.
She grimaces as she swallows, her "special blend" cocoa a little heavy-handed with the rum. But she supposes it's for a good reason.
Sam Arias is enough to drive her to drink.
Almost by magic, or an endless fucking curse, her eyes find Sam down on the ice. Out of the throngs of people, it takes less than a second, and she doesn't even need the guidance of the string. So that's fucking perfect. But Sam is there, skating with ease, her long legs surprisingly elegant and stable as she glides around the rink. Andrea was sure Sam would be more bambi-like, her lanky limbs awkward and sharp, but she's the exact opposite: effortless and smooth, gracefully changing directions with a big dopey smile on her face that makes Andrea's stomach flip.
Somehow she's come to don a reindeer headpiece, the definition of gay apparel, which looks perfectly stupid and charming with her matching sweater. She watches the way Sam skates backward, coaxing a young girl to bend her knees and keep her balance. She claps enthusiastically when another girl tentatively pushes away from the wall and starts balancing on her own. Andrea watches the way she high-fives a group of boys, and the way she pauses to take pictures, like she's having the best time of her life. Other parents come up to her with thankful smiles, and Sam talks to each of them for long lengths of time, like they're actually significant. And they are, of course, but Sam has a way of making anyone feel like they matter. She narrows her eyes and takes another sip, the liquor warming her chest and swirling comfortably with her jealousy.
Andrea eventually finds Ruby in the corner with a small group of friends. She's no longer pouting, instead skating awkwardly with an honest-to-God smile, her laughter effervescent and loud. Sam beams at her across the rink, and Andrea finds that she can't hate herself more.
She'll never know how much Sam has had to endure in her life, but she thinks this is a good snapshot. She can't imagine being a single mom, a young single mom, and still managing to have a successful career, some semblance of sanity, and a happy, healthy kid. It seems so far fetched, like Sam must have secret super powers, to keep going day after day and never once becoming jaded and rough. Of course, fate had one more card to play in the game of Sam's life, forcing her to be tethered to someone like Andrea, and the thought tastes bitter in Andrea's mouth. She rests her chin in her hands, watching the playful scene below, wondering how she could ever hope to fit into something so perfect.
Before she realizes what's happening, Sam's eyes find hers, a steady, serious gaze emanating from down on the rink. Andrea freezes, like she's caught doing something she shouldn't. Sam doesn't move, her face stoic, and Andrea can't tell what she's thinking, though she assumes it's nothing flattering. All she can see is the vibrant string pulsing between them, and an uncharacteristic frown on Sam's face.
"Just don't make me sound too dorky, okay?" Sam teases, adjusting her cuff link nervously. Kara grins at her over her glasses.
"That's impossible, you're like, the coolest person I know," she says earnestly, and Sam's cheeks flush. It's a total lie, but Kara believes it, and somehow, that makes Sam believe it a little, too.
They're sitting in a locked office somewhere high and hidden in CatCo, just the two of them, far away from prying eyes. Apparently, everyone in the media is chomping at the bit, all clamoring for an exclusive on National City's newest darling. Almost overnight, Sam has gone from villain to hero, something Lena told her might happen.
"The public opinion will always be fickle, changing with the wind," Lena said, shaking her head. "But this is far better than the alternative."
Sam knows she's probably right, but she didn't expect it to get this crazy. Reporters hounding her when she's running errands, paparazzi sneaking photos of her getting a cup of coffee. She has gone from blocking numbers threatening her life to blocking numbers offering her all matters of gifts and bribes -- although, she'll admit, the all-inclusive resort packages are temping and she might hesitate for a few extra seconds before blocking those particular texts. Her name has been trending on social media for weeks, something she doesn't even understand, but knows on some level means she's still being talked about.
It's a whirlwind.
But mostly, she wants this all to be over. She wants to forget and move on, to go back to her normal, mundane life.
Which is how she ends up here, doing an interview at CatCo, the scene of the "crime" as it were. They broke the original story, and despite Sam's absolute distrust of their editor in chief, she doesn't want to chance taking it elsewhere.
"It'll be good for you," Lena said knowingly when the CatCo proposition came. They wanted a more detailed exposé on Sam, claiming they've given enough attention to Lex Luthor and want to change the focus. They want to profile someone good, someone who came out on top. "You can control the narrative."
Sam isn't sure about all that. She's not a PR person, just a single mom trying her best. But she eventually conceded -- on the condition that Kara do the interview herself. As far as journalists go, Kara Danvers is the only one Sam can believe would have her best interests at heart.
So here they are. Just two mugs of coffee, a notebook, and Kara's patient smile.
She places her little recording device on the table.
"Whenever you're ready."
It's a relatively painless process that feels more like a conversation between friends than anything official, which is exactly what Sam hoped it would be. She didn't want to feel stiff and awkward, or have a reporter putting words in her mouth with some sort of quick-quotes quill á la Rita Skeeter. But Kara is easy to talk to, and while Sam isn't completely sure of everything she told her, she's fairly confident it will read well. Kara is gracious and tells her she'll send her a copy of the draft before submission, which is another reason Sam wanted her to handle it.
They part ways a few hours later, and Sam heads for the elevator.
The thing about deadlines is they have a designated end point. It's practically in the fucking word, for Christ's sake. Andrea is seeing stars, typing into her a phone a mile a minute at the absolute audacity for these people to ask for extensions when--
"Hey, can you hold that door!?"
She hears a voice call out, and without thinking, she holds her hand out to stop the elevator from closing. She hits 'send' enthusiastically on her phone and looks up just in time to notice the bright red, ever-present string on her finger and the way it points straight through the open doors, landing directly on Sam Arias herself.
Another fucking dead line.
"Nevermind," Sam says as she slows to a stop. "I'll get the next one."
Andrea rolls her eyes, her arm still blocking the door.
"It's a good thing you're not dramatic," she says, ignoring the way her knees buckle slightly. She's too annoyed for this today, so of course Sam would be here. The string tethering them is like a homing beacon, pulling them together at the worst times. The doors open fully and Andrea pulls her arm back. "Here, I'll look in the opposite direction."
She turns around to face the back of the car, pretending she doesn't care at all what Sam chooses to do. But of course she does. She can't help it. Out of the corner of her eye she watches Sam check her watch, bite her lip, then make a decision. She steps in with authority and hits the 'G' for ground floor, the button slapping against her hand.
Andrea keeps her back turned and eyes trained on the ground, feeling only slightly pathetic. She ignores the familiar smell of Sam's cologne, something rustic and fresh that always reminds her of a log cabin on a lake -- a scent that should not be so fucking pleasant. She also purposely ignores the tailored lines in Sam's navy suit, crisp and sharp and endlessly flawless. Another fucking suit? Andrea curses internally.
But all of this is probably better than having to face Sam head on. At least with her back turned, she can pretend she's keeping her composure. She can pretend this is casual, instead of absolutely fucking awful. She feels the heat radiating off Sam and not in a good way. The tension is thick, the rage palpable, and all Andrea wants to do is wrench the doors open her damn self and wait for another car.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" Andrea asks the back wall, still keeping her eyes off Sam. She can't remember seeing anything about Sam coming to CatCo today, but then again, she can't expect to have eyes everywhere.
"Making you more money, despite knowing better," Sam says sharply. Then, "I had an interview with Kara for the follow-up story."
Ah, right. The aftermath of the Lex debacle. Andrea has so many questions, none of them even remotely appropriate, but they churn around in her mind anyway. How are you holding up? Sam will laugh in her face. What's the latest? Andrea should know, she runs the news. Do you hate me? Yes, she does, and she should.
After the longest seconds of her life she can't stand it anymore. She whirls around on her heel.
"I'm sorry, okay?" she mutters, still staring at the floor. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe she is a coward. She can't even look at her right now, even while apologizing. Way to go, Andrea.
"Wow, that only took--" Sam checks her watch. "3 months."
"Didn't know you were keeping tabs."
"You don't really forget a time like this."
Andrea exhales loudly. "Well I'm sorry."
"A lot of good that does me," Sam bites, and the anger looks out of place on her, like an outfit that doesn't quite fit. Andrea doesn't know what to do. Sam turns to face her more fully now. "You know, I was always so nice to you."
Andrea wants to retort, the 'I never asked you to be' on the tip of her tongue, but. But. She doesn't know what good it'll do. Why is she always fighting?
Instead, she simply sighs. "I know."
"And then you tried to ruin my life," Sam continues, crossing her arms. Andrea notices the way her forearms flex, and her mouth goes dry. "So, thanks for that."
The elevator chooses that precise moment to sputter and stall, throwing them both off balance. Andrea stumbles (fucking useless Manolo pumps) and bumps into Sam awkwardly. She tries to fight it, but she can't help but notice the way Sam catches her and keeps her from falling. It hurts more than it should.
Then the elevator stops completely.
Andrea pulls herself to standing, taking a step back and extricating herself from Sam's stupid clingy arms. The other woman looks at her, desperate and wide-eyed.
"What the fuck--"
"Well that didn't sound great," Andrea says, a sick feeling churning in her stomach.
"No, no no no--" Sam starts to chant as she turns. She's furiously pushing the 'G' button over and over but the elevator stays quiet. She punches it, hard. "You've got to be fucking kidding!"
"Hey, it's okay--" Andrea starts, but Sam continues to hit the button, her movements chaotic and wild.
"No, no it's not," Sam insists, as she pounds the button over and over with her closed fist. "No, no--" She tries to press the emergency button, but nothing happens. "Come on!"
Sam tries hitting every combination of buttons for several minutes, but to no avail. The elevator remains stubbornly frozen in place, the 'G' button the only one still uselessly lit.
Andrea saunters over and takes a quick look at the maintenance log, noting that the last entry is from two years ago. Great.
"Do you think we're going to free fall?" Sam asks suddenly, her voice strained. Andrea hadn't thought of that, but now of course it's all she can focus on. They're on the 30th floor and that's a lifetime in terms of falling. And if they do fall, she will vomit. She hates the Tower of Terror, still harboring a grudge with Lena for making her ride the cursed thing, but to actually live it?
She will burn this entire building to the ground.
"No," she snaps, defiant. "We won't."
Sam seems to take her word for it and continues pounding uselessly on the button panel.
"As soon as I get out of here, I'm going to fire every single one of those maintenance workers. Up to code my ass," Andrea says angrily as she pulls out her phone.
No bars.
Sam has pulled hers out too, and is pacing around the small space holding her phone above her head. Andrea supposes she has a chance to get a signal like that, considering she's practically a cell phone tower herself, all lanky limbs and endless height. But after a few seconds, Sam puts her arm down, dejected. She wanders slowly to the back of the elevator and sinks down slowly, her breaths ragged and sharp as she lands. She pulls her knees in close to her chest and puts her head between them.
Andrea copies, taking a seat next to her, ignoring Sam's cheerful holiday socks with little trees that clash horribly with her designer suit. She tucks her legs to the side, cursing her pencil skirt for being so tight. She's careful not to get too close to Sam, the act of sitting next to her already too intimate-- but it'd be awkward if she stood towering over her, so this is the lesser of two evils. She glances at Sam's heaving back and wonders for a horrifying minute if she is going to cry.
"Hey are you--" Andrea winces at the sound of her own voice. "Are you okay?"
"N-no--" Sam manages to choke out, her head still resting on her knees. Muffled, she says, "I don't do great with enclosed spaces."
"Okay," Andrea says softly. Something pulls in her chest, and for whatever reason, she feels sorry. "Just breathe, nice and slow. We won't be stuck here long."
"How do you know?"
She doesn't, but what else is she supposed to say? It's probably not a great time to tell Sam about the Dateline story she saw once where a lady was trapped in her apartment building's elevator for twelve days. She shivers at the thought. "People will notice that I'm missing," she replies smugly. She hears Sam scoff, and it's somewhat of a relief. "On the bright side, I can't run anymore damning stories on you from in here, so there's that."
Sam's head whips up, her mouth hanging open as if she's surprised.
"Too soon?"
"You're too fucking much," Sam says, rolling her eyes. "But I'm glad you find it so funny." After a beat, she puts her head back down between her knees and ignores Andrea entirely.
They sit in silence for awhile, Andrea counting the tiny little dots in the ceiling of the elevator and idly tapping her fingers on the floor in a slow, easy pattern. She heard somewhere that patterns and sounds help with panic attacks, but she really has no idea if it's working. All she knows is it's keeping her from losing her own mind, so, that's what she's going to stick with. She listens as Sam's breaths begin to even out. Eventually, around dot number 342, Sam pulls her head up and rests it along the wall. Her eyes are closed.
"We're still here," she mumbles, tapping her head against the wall slowly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you did this on purpose."
"I am not that good," Andrea dismisses. "I didn't even know you were here today."
"Sure," Sam says. Andrea knows she doesn't believe it, but her eyes stay stubbornly closed, her face impassive.
"Why would I want to be trapped here with you?"
Sam simply smiles, satisfied, a small dimple appearing in her left cheek. Andrea studies Sam's face, the smooth slope of her jaw, the long intricate rope of muscles in her neck. Her shirt is slightly unbuttoned, the way it always fucking is, and Andrea really needs to show her how to wear a dress shirt properly. She feels tiny beads of sweat prickling along her hairline. God, it's an inferno in here, and she needs to do something, anything to forget about Sam's insufferable attractiveness--
"Hey, do you know what's great about elevator jokes?" she blurts, before she can even stop herself. Sam is so startled that her eyes fly open. She studies Andrea with a frown. This is much more Sam's territory -- she of Dad joke prowess -- but desperate times and all that. And this absolutely qualifies as a desperate time. Andrea has to do something to get her thoughts away from all...this. Her eyes settle on Sam's fingers and that does exactly zero to help the situation.
"They work on every level," Andrea finishes lamely, keeping her face deadpan.
Sam stares at her, incredulous, before barking out a laugh. "Did you just--" she sputters, still chuckling. "That was... awful!"
"Well, you're no longer having a meltdown," Andrea says, shrugging. "You're welcome."
Before Sam can answer, Andrea busies herself with her purse, rummaging frantically before finding exactly what she was hoping for. She pulls the flask out and tosses it to Sam.
"Are you kidding?"
"It's a cheetah printed flask," Andrea says, only somewhat offended. "Of course I'm not kidding."
Sam stares at her, then back at the flask, before shrugging. She unscrews the top and takes a long sip. She winces as she swallows before tossing the flask back at Andrea. "I have to admit, this is not at all how I thought today was going to go."
"You and me both," Andrea says, before taking a long swallow. The rum is warm and pleasant. "Cheers."
"I can't believe you told everyone I was in the Ice Capades," Andrea says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She hands Sam the flask again, a dangerous gleam in her eye. Their hands touch for a second, then another, and it sends a jolt through Sam's core. "I literally don't even know how to skate."
"I know, that's what made it funny," Sam says, pulling her hand back and taking another large sip. She's starting to feel warm and calm, the liquor magically easing all her anxiety. She hands the flask back, careful to avoid Andrea's fingers. "When I spread rumors, I try to keep them lighthearted," she jabs. Even though the liquor has dulled the edges of her anger slightly, she still can't help but dig in a little.
It doesn't hurt that rum takes her filter and throws it out the window.
"Fair enough," Andrea says, copying her movements and taking an equally large sip herself. She swallows, and Sam tries not to focus on the way her throat moves. "You can skate though," Andrea says, swerving the conversation back to neutral. "You're weirdly coordinated."
"I took lessons," Sam says, shrugging. "When I was younger." She smiles then, remembering. "I got in trouble for ditching after like, a week. They were trying to teach me how to figure skate and I snuck over to the other rink for a pick up hockey game. I played hockey for awhile after that."
"You're such a jock," Andrea says, screwing her lips up in a way that shouldn't be so attractive. Sam sucks in a breath. "Anyway, now all those parents think I can get them tickets to Disney on Ice."
"Can't you?" Sam asks, ready to laugh. "You're rich."
"Yes I know," Andrea says, waving her off. She glares at her, and everything in Sam's chest lights on fire. "You're very annoying."
"So are you."
Andrea huffs out a laugh at that and half-nods in concession. She studies the floor, her finger tracing along the pattern of the tile. "Your daughter is beautiful," she says after a pause. Sam is sure she misheard but then Andrea glances up, her expression soft. "She's a lot like you."
"Thanks," Sam says, taken aback. She doesn't really know what to make of that, but before she can overanalyze, she remembers why she was in such a rush in the first place. Ruby. She checks her watch and, seeing the very late afternoon hour, starts to panic.
"Hot date?" Andrea teases, something strange laced in her voice, but Sam snorts.
"I'm late to pick up Ruby, actually."
"She'll understand," Andrea says easily. Her hand has somehow found Sam's on the floor, and she covers it with her own. Sam feels the warmth, and wants to pull back, but something -- the rum, most likely-- keeps her in place. "You're like, super mom. You're allowed to be late once a decade."
It shouldn't make her feel better at all, because it's so far from the truth, but strangely, it does. And it's because it comes from Andrea, as much as Sam doesn't want to admit it. Something warm blooms in her chest, and she wants to ignore how good it feels, but it's Andrea's fault for choosing this moment to be nice. Sam would probably be able to laugh off anyone else telling her she's a great mom, but Andrea paying her any kind of compliment is so outrageous that it must be true. She wouldn't say it unless she was daring to go there.
"That's--" she starts, unable to articulate anything coherent. Her heartbeat thumps hard in her ears, a reminder of everything all at once. "Thanks."
The other thing needling at her is the stubborn fact that she can't shake her feelings for Andrea, no matter what the other woman does. Apparently, that includes slander. She can only imagine what she'd do if Andrea committed murder.
Ask for her hand in marriage, most likely.
"She's all I have," Sam explains before she can stop herself. "I didn't have the greatest relationship with my mom and I just--" she feels strangely heavy all of a sudden, her shoulders slumping as if she can't keep them up any longer. "I want her to have all the things I didn't."
"Your mom was not quite a Pinterest and PTA mom, then?"
Sam chuckles sadly, avoiding Andrea's eyes. Something about them seems to pull these emotions from her without a second thought. "I was adopted. And my adopted mom tried, but. No, not quite Pinterest and PTA."
She hasn't talked about this in ages, to anyone, and the fact that it's coming out now, to Andrea of all people, is almost too much. She glances down at her finger, and she swears she can feel the string tightening. Andrea's hand has shifted back to the floor, her fingers inches away from Sam's. She already misses the contact.
"What about yours? Was your mom hosting cotillion balls and firing the help?"
Andrea grins, a soft huff escaping as she shakes her head. She looks up at the ceiling, swallowing quietly, and the silence stretches between them for so long that Sam isn't sure if she's going to answer at all.
"She left when I was 5," Andrea finally says, her voice a shaky whisper. "She was there one day, and then the next, she was gone. She told me she'd be back, but she never came."
It hits Sam in the chest with so much force that it physically aches. She inhales sharply to try to fight it. "Andrea, I'm--" she can't even fathom doing something like that to a child. To her child. "I'm so sorry."
Andrea brings her gaze to Sam's, and her eyes have lost all their steely coldness. Instead, they're watery and soft, almost pleading. Sam feels the lump form in the back of her throat. It makes so much sense, now. Andrea and all her walls, her thorny barbs and angry reactions. Deep down, she's still a scared little girl who doesn't know where things went wrong.
This is the version of Andrea she could find herself growing close to. Honest, and real, and a little bit broken. This is the version she could almost--
"I think I've been waiting for her to come back ever since."
Sam sucks in a breath, trying to keep herself from saying something ridiculous. She shakes her head. "I can't even imagine."
"It's fine," Andrea says, shrugging it off. "I managed," she sniffles, plastering a smile on her face. She gestures around them. "Obviously."
In an instant, her mask is back in place, stoic and bold and confident. There's almost no evidence of any pain, except for the slight tremor in her hands. Sam notices it as she stares at the ground, their fingers still inches apart.
"But," Andrea says, turning back to Sam, nodding once, "you can rest assured. Ruby will never feel that way. Even if you're a little late, you'll always show up for her. She knows that."
And that's the thing about Andrea Rojas. One minute, she's ruining your life, and the next, she's sewing together the pieces of your broken heart with the tenderness and attention of a practiced seamstress.
Sam is about to do something absurd, like hold Andrea's hand again, or tell her something she absolutely shouldn't, when the elevator lurches. Fate, and her incredible timing, strikes again. Andrea's eyes widen and before either of them can speak, the familiar hum of the gears start up, taking them toward their destination as if that was always the intention.
"Finally," Andrea breathes, like she's the one with somewhere urgent to be, like this has all been a colossal inconvenience for her personally.
Sam tries to compose herself. Her suit is rumpled and disheveled, her breath smells of rum, and her emotions are strewn haphazardly somewhere between the 30th and 25th floor of CatCo. Andrea, for her part, looks impeccable. She brings herself to standing with the grace of a fucking swan, her lips as soft and gentle as ever as they spread into a tentative smile. She places the flask back in her purse, concealing the evidence of their mid-afternoon happy hour. She reaches her hand out, the string glimmering purposefully between them.
"Up you go," Andrea says and Sam allows herself to be pulled to standing. Andrea eyes her with a skeptical tick of her eyebrow. "You need to fix ah-- this." She gestures at Sam's chest, and Sam's cheeks flare as she immediately tries to adjust the buttons on her shirt.
"Thanks," she replies sheepishly, and Andrea nods once, her cheeks flushing slightly as she looks away.
The elevator dings cheerfully, like it hasn't just wreaked havoc on everything, and Sam gratefully rushes through the doors. She turns back to face Andrea, to say something -- 'Thank you'? 'We should do this again sometime?' -- but finds her counterpart is already preoccupied with her phone.
Sam turns on her heel and leaves without another word.
In her car, as she's heading toward Ruby's school, she's still ruminating over what she should have said before she tells herself that it's for the best.
Leaving Andrea behind is absolutely for the best.
Apparently, Lex Luthor and all the people hell bent on trying to break Sam and Lena still have one last laugh at their expense.
Not really, Sam's being dramatic, but she's feeling moody and annoyed and exhausted as she boards a flight to Metropolis a few days before Christmas. The trip came up last minute, something about reviewing all the evidence with the lawyers who are building the (second? third?) case against Lex and the (second? third?) against Morgan Edge.
And it can't wait until after the holidays despite the fact that Lex is already in prison and not going anywhere anytime soon?
No, Sam was told. Emphatically and absolutely not.
"I still think this whole thing can wait," Sam grumbles again, shoving her bag in the overhead compartment and flopping down in the seat with a dramatic thud. She's glad they're taking the private jet, so she can be as loud and obnoxious as she wants. She'd rather the purpose was for something fun -- skiing in Aspen, gambling in Vegas or, you know, quite literally anything else -- but it's not.
"I know," Lena says gently. She places her bag over her own seat, delicately closing the compartment before sitting down with much less of a production. She's been quiet and patient, absorbing Sam's complaints without so much as an eye roll. And Sam knows she's being a petulant child but, after all this, she's a little entitled. Not to mention, she's probably -5% ready for Christmas and she's got a kid at home who deserves to be with her mother for the holiday.
"We'll be back in time, though. I promise."
Sam grunts at that. "I know this is important," she says, sighing. She runs her fingers through her hair. "I just -- the timing sucks."
"It does suck," Lena agrees, nodding.
Sam bites her lip and glares out the window. She tucks her right leg under her left, thankful for the extra leg room but still frustrated about everything else. The TV at the front is playing the news, and when she glances up, she's met with Andrea's smug face and insufferable smile. Exactly what I need, thank you, universe. It's some morning show, discussing something about Obsidian's sales numbers, where Andrea is cheerful and charming and "on" as she answers questions with wit and precision. It's enough that it makes Sam grind her teeth until her jaw hurts. She watches Andrea run her fingers through her hair, the red string offensive and loud around her finger. The entire thing is infuriating, and she spends the flight seething about Andrea's involvement in the Lex drama. It burns like a fresh wound, and Sam leans into the pain, very happy to have someone to blame. This trip wouldn't even be happening if it wasn't for Andrea, and she's pissed about it. While she gets to parade around on morning shows, Sam is stuck going to Metropolis of all places in the winter. Of course she's glad they got Lex, and she's thankful she isn't spending the holidays in actual prison, but she could have stayed home if it wasn't for Andrea Rojas printing articles that are blatantly false.
But then, inevitably and insufferably, her mind switches to the Andrea from the other day -- the one who sat in the elevator with her and told jokes (awful jokes, but jokes nonetheless) and drank rum and talked about her mom and told Sam she was great. It seems like the two people shouldn't coexist in one body and yet, somehow, they do. And it has her feelings all fucked up and her mind all distracted to the point she can't even fully hate her. Which is even more obnoxious than outright hating her to begin with.
As the plane touches down on the east coast, Sam doesn't know what to think anymore except one thought, loudly and emphatically:
Fuck Andrea Rojas.
"What do you mean she's sick?" Sam tucks around the corner, putting a finger in her free ear desperately trying to mute the city noise around her. Metropolis is so fucking loud, especially when you're trying to have a conversation. "Sick how?"
"She's got a temperature of 101," the school nurse says tiredly. "She needs to go home."
"I'm not--" Sam starts to say, before stopping herself. Ruby is stuck at school, sick, and she has no one to come and get her. And Sam didn't make any arrangements for this because she was so distracted by getting home in time for the holidays that she didn't even think about a contingency plan. Her neighbor was going to watch Ruby after her shift at the diner but that's hours from now. Some supermom she is. Fucking hell. "Let me call you back."
"What was that about?" Lena asks, frowning.
"Ruby is sick," Sam says, exasperated, her mind reeling. "I don't-- I don't know what to do. She has to be sent home from school and my neighbor can't get her. This stupid fucking trip--" she starts to pace frantically, mentally scrolling through a list of people she could beg to help. But there's no one she trusts, no one she thinks can take care of a sick child for an entire day.
"I have someone," Lena says softly, so softly that Sam almost doesn't hear her. "But I'm telling you right now you're not going to like it."
"Is it your mother? Because honestly, Lena, it's not the worst idea you've ever had."
Lena laughs at that. "I'm concerned for your mental well-being if you're even considering Lillian but no," she says, chuckling.
"Oh, Kara! Duh!"
"Erm-- Kara is also out of town," Lena winces and Sam wants to fucking scream. "I was going to suggest ah-- Andrea, actually."
"Well, that--" Sam huffs, too surprised to even form a rebuttal. Lena crosses her arms. "That is the worst idea you've ever had."
"Okay, but, before you say no--"
"No."
"--she's got the means, she can rearrange her schedule, and she knows what she's doing."
"Andrea Rojas is going to take care of my kid? Are you out of your mind? I think you've had one too many concussions Lena because this is crazy! No!"
"My mind is fully in tact, thank you," Lena scoffs, rolling her eyes. Sam swears Lena's gaze pauses on her left ring finger, but she's so stressed out and paranoid that she ignores it.
"Listen," Lena steps forward and grabs Sam by the shoulders and she immediately stops buzzing. "I wouldn't even suggest it if I didn't trust her. But I know her, and she's probably the only person we can get on such short notice. I promise you, she will handle it."
"Did you forget how she tried to have me arrested, Lena? She's the fucking reason we're even in Metropolis!"
"And I know she regrets it."
They stare at each other, a contentious silence forming between them, only interrupted by casual car honks and the occasional tourist bumping into them with a selfie stick. Sam's mind is whirling, but she can't think of an alternative and she needs to hurry up and make a decision. Maybe Andrea can get Ruby from class but Sam can find someone else to stay with her. That's the best she can do right now, stuck in this God forsaken city across the country.
But then she thinks about Andrea again, the nice side of her, the one that teased her over nachos and played board games with her for an entire afternoon and she softens slightly. Lena studies her with that knowing gleam in her eye and Sam finally relents.
"Fine, but I'm not happy."
Lena nods. "Understood," she says, already texting.
Sam calls the school, and through gritted teeth, tells them Andrea Rojas will pick Ruby up within the hour.
"How can you be so sure about this?"
They continue walking toward the offices, Sam's mind still processing everything going on around her. None of it is remotely focused on work. Next to her, Lena smiles. "When we were in boarding school I got the flu," Lena says, glancing at Sam with a gentle expression. "I couldn't go home because naturally Lillian and Lionel were unavailable, and so I was stuck there, miserable and alone. They said I had to quarantine, but Andrea snuck in anyway and took over. She took care of me for two whole weeks, barely going to her own classes. She made sure I had everything I needed, all my medicines, but also all the books I asked for and any trashy magazine she could find. She even bribed the cooks to make me chicken soup several times," Lena laughs at that, and the pressure in Sam's chest loosens slightly. She thinks about Andrea reading to the kids at the hospital, how soft her voice was, how gentle she seemed. "She can be wonderful," Lena shrugs. "She is wonderful. She's just gotten lost along the way, same as the rest of us. But I trust her, I do."
They arrive at the office and Sam pauses at the door.
"I trust you," Sam finally says, and she hopes by extension that it's enough.
"I'm not giving her the code to my house, Lena."
"You don't want Ruby going to her condo," Lena argues. "It's even more sparse than mine."
Sam glares at her hard enough that she assumes Lena can feel it. She knows she's right, but that doesn't mean it's fine. Lena purses her lips and Sam sighs before texting the passcode to her house to Andrea's phone.
Andrea replies with a thumbs up.
(Sam really fucking hates this).
Andrea is still staring at her phone as she waits for Ruby Arias to exit the middle school. She can't believe she's gotten roped into this, but Lena begged, and she assumes Sam is somewhere in Metropolis blowing a gasket, so she really has no choice. Not that she cares if Sam is upset, but she's not that horrible of a person that she'll make a child suffer. However, to be clear: she knows very little about taking care of children, so whatever Lena told Sam about her qualifications is a stretch of the truth at best. Reading to them occasionally is one thing, but being in charge of a small person is terrifying. Not to mention, she doesn't know the first thing about pre-teens. How often do they eat? Do they need sunlight? Do they need to be watered?
Okay, they're not plants, but it's kind of the same thing, right?
No idea.
The car door slams, jolting her from her thoughts. A rosy cheeked grouch of a human slumps into the back seat next to her.
"Tough day at the office?" Andrea asks, and she thinks it's funny and charming, but Ruby simply grunts a response. Off to a great start. "I'm Andrea. I'm ah--" she glances at her finger, the string smirking in its place. "I know your mom."
Ruby simply nods, uninterested, as she stares out the window. They ride that way, silent and awkward, for several blocks until Andrea gets the bright idea to speak again.
"You don't have any questions for me?" Andrea asks, genuinely curious. Ruby simply stares out the window. "Wow, you're making this really easy. You know, you should have some sort of code word to use that only you and your mom know before you get in a stranger's car. I could be a kidnapper."
Ruby rolls her eyes then glances in Andrea's direction. "Are you?"
"I don't know Ruby, am I?"
Ruby purses her lips like she's genuinely thinking about it before she shrugs. "You're not."
"How do you know?"
"Your face is on a bunch of billboards downtown. You're not being very sneaky if you are."
Well played, kid.
Then, Ruby's eyes widen. "Are you rich like Aunt Lena?"
"Wow, ok," Andrea replies, chuckling. "You've got tact just like your mother."
"My mom doesn't like you," Ruby says, matter-of-factly. Andrea can tell she wants to be snarky, but the illness is taking a lot out of her. "So I don't either."
"The feeling is mutual," Andrea says, crossing her arms. She's not shocked by this revelation, because it's old news, but hearing it come from a 12 year old's mouth is not the most pleasant.
Five minutes in and already at war. She's not exactly crushing this guardianship thing.
They ride the rest of the way in silence, and Andrea doesn't try to break it again with useless security tips or other commentary. As they pull into Sam's neighborhood, Andrea gets distracted by the holiday decorations on the front lawns of the houses. Each one is louder and tackier than the last, all blow up characters and icicle lights and even a giant sleigh. Sam would live on a street that is practically a snow globe. She glances over to where Ruby is sitting looking pale and miserable and before she can say anything---
It happens almost in slow motion. Ruby keels over and wretches the contents of her stomach all over Andrea's designer shoes.
"Oh FUCK--"
Ruby slowly lifts her head up, tears rolling down her face. But instead of apologizing, she simply glares at Andrea as she wipes her mouth. "You probably deserved that."
"Yeah, well, you're paying for these," Andrea says, and she's kidding, but also, what the fuck has she gotten into?
Andrea: The kid threw up on my shoes.
Lena: HA - I'll buy you a new pair, promise.
Andrea: I hate you.
Lena: <3
Andrea pockets her phone and quickly slips her driver several hundred dollar bills to get the car cleaned before ushering Ruby into the house. Her first mission is to get Ruby near a bathroom, and her second is to burn her shoes. She pauses, noting the decor of the property and rolling her eyes. The walkway is lined with plastic candy canes from driveway to door, while the front lawn looks like some kind of mascot massacre. Flattened characters of Snoopy, Charlie and Linus lay like pathetic puddles on the ground. A few light-up reindeer round out the display in the far corner of the yard.
Sam Arias, what on EARTH?
"Why are they all deflated?" Andrea asks, confused.
"They only inflate at night, obviously," Ruby mumbles, like Andrea is an idiot.
"Right."
She doesn't know what that means, but she simply pretends it makes sense. The front door is covered with an enormous wreath that scratches Andrea's hand as she fumbles with the lock, Ruby sighing loudly behind her. She's about ready to snap at her when the door magically opens and Andrea is punched in the face with holiday cheer. The entire scene from holly to jolly makes her want to throw up. A cheerful snowman doubling as a coat rack mocks her with a cheeky smile as she trips over a discarded boot left in the hallway. Ruby scoffs behind her as she shoves by, clamoring up the stairs with particular urgency. Andrea ignores the relentless buzzing of her phone and follows the garland up to the North Pole of Sam's second story.
Sam: are you home yet is she ok
Sam: she's allergic to penicillin
Sam: we have a thermometer in the cabinet by the hall closet and a bunch of medicine
Sam: the number for the doctor is on the side of the fridge
Sam: there's some soup in the cabinet by the stove
Sam: Andrea?
Sam: ???
Jesus Christ Sam, you're giving me heartburn. She gets it, but things are fine. It's a routine illness, not a crisis. Ruby is finally settled in her room with a bucket near her bed, Andrea's shoes are not on fire but wrapped in several plastic bags at the bottom of a dumpster, and she's just located the wine (which of course has a snow man bottle stopper, but beggars can't be choosers). All things considered, she's keeping them fairly on track, so Sam can stop having an aneurism.
She types a quick response.
Andrea: I have many faults, but I'm not incompetent. I promise I'm handling it. I'll text you later.
Andrea: Also - your house looks like Santa's workshop.
Sam: thank you?
Andrea: Not a compliment.
A few hours later, however, things are not ideal. Ruby is on fire, her fever higher than before and Andrea is admittedly slightly panicked. But she's got this. She's dealt with more impossible tasks, so what's a kid with a fever? The neighbor, Leah or Linda or someone, comes by at 3, but Andrea sends her home. She doesn't need another person involved in all this chaos. She also doesn't want Sam to worry any more than she already is, so after the neighbor is sent packing, they quietly go to the doctor where Ruby is tested for strep and sent home with antibiotics. Andrea swings by the drug store and, frazzled and exhausted, buys just about anything she can get her hands on.
Sam: you sent linda home??
Someone has a big mouth. Andrea scoffs.
Andrea: I told you, I'm handling it.
Sam: youre staying?
Andrea: Obviously.
She's just about to collapse into a comfortable looking recliner when she hears Ruby's voice calling for her.
Remind her to never have children.
"Hey," Andrea says quietly as she enters Ruby's room. "You doing okay?"
Ruby is a flushed, whimpering mess and she frowns at Andrea so pathetically that something in her heart stumbles.
"I have an idea," she says, and Ruby watches her with suspicion. "Why don't we get you set up in your mom's room, hm?"
Kids love being in their parents' room when they're sick. Andrea remembers curling up in the oversized comforter, sneaking on the big flatscreen TV when her dad thought she was asleep. It used to be the only good part about being sick. But as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she regrets the offer immediately. She's been able to avoid Sam's room this entire time, something she didn't know she was consciously doing until the idea of entering it becomes very real. For some reason, it startles her to her core. Now, due to her brilliant idea and the way Ruby almost smiles at it, she's going to have to go into Sam's room and see her bed and be around all her things, and, and, and.
Mistakes all around.
"Okay," Ruby rasps, and Andrea fakes a smile.
They walk slowly and quietly down the hall. Ruby opens the door, leaving it open for Andrea as she barrels on ahead. Andrea sucks in a breath and enters, immediately regretting every single decision that has led her to this moment.
Sam's room is gorgeous and cozy and warm, and something about it reminds Andrea of a spread from HGTV. There's a high exposed beam ceiling, and a beautiful stone fireplace that sits across from the king sized bed which is piled with accent pillows and throws. It's like stepping into a lodge, all tucked away and hidden from the outside world, decorated for Christmas with accents of red, green and gold. It smells faintly of firewood and pine and Sam's cologne, and Andrea's entire body seems to erupt with a ravenous feeling of need. She hates it entirely, pushing it down as far as she can until the thought is inaccessible. She focuses on Ruby who is already throwing pillows haphazardly and making herself comfortable. Andrea wonders idly (and for no particular reason) which side Sam likes to sleep on. The matching wood nightstands sit conspicuously empty. As she approaches, however, she notices a book on the left side, and she smiles.
"Alright Ruby," she says, scanning the room again and ignoring the way her heart pounds heavily. She locates the remote. "Here's the remote for the TV."
Ruby grins and burrows under the covers, turning the TV on and getting settled. Andrea goes to gather the rest of her things -- drinks, cough drops, medicine -- and returns quickly to deposit them on Ruby's side of the bed.
"I think that about does it," Andrea says, taking one more look around. "Better?"
Ruby nods groggily, staring at her with deep, pleading eyes. They're the same color as Sam's, a rich, dark brown that tugs at Andrea's soul. She knows what she's going to ask and she wants to get away before--
"Will you--" Ruby starts, clenching her fists and balling up the comforter like it's killing her to ask. Andrea tries to smile, ignoring the fact that it's too late to leave. She's caught. "Will you stay with me?"
Andrea eyes the bed, then Ruby's pouting face. "Scoot over."
Ruby smiles and shifts over as Andrea slides under the covers, immediately commandeering control of the remote. She blatantly ignores the smell of the sheets, a mix of lavender fabric softener and Sam's shampoo that she refuses to deal with as she sharply flicks through the channels. She notices the way Ruby leans forward slightly when they stop on Real Housewives.
"Do not tell your mother," Andrea warns and Ruby leans in with a conspiratorial smile.
"Deal."
"You're kind of like them," Ruby says after watching several of the women argue. One of them throws a drink in someone's face. Andrea turns to her, unsure whether to feel complimented or insulted. Ruby glances at her with a teasing grin. "Rich and kinda mean."
"Watch your mouth kid, I am not mean," Andrea snaps, but she can't hide the smile on her lips. Ruby looks at her with doubt. "And anyway, I make my own money."
They continue to watch in companionable silence, and Andrea is almost enjoying herself despite the circumstances. But after awhile, Andrea can feel Ruby's eyes on her again.
"You really are pretty," she says, sniffling. She reaches for a tissue.
"You sound surprised."
"My mom has questionable taste," Ruby says, her voice muffled as she blows her nose. Andrea can't help the laugh that sneaks up on her at Ruby's blunt honesty. Sam does have questionable taste, and Andrea isn't afraid to include herself in that conversation. But that also means--
"She told you I was pretty?"
"Not to me but she's really loud on the phone," Ruby says, grinning like she's on to something. Andrea isn't sure if this is all an exaggeration, but the way her stomach flips over itself is not. "She also says you're trouble."
Andrea turns back to the TV, quiet for a few seconds. It doesn't hurt her feelings, not really. In fact, it lights her up inside to know Sam talks about her. She turns back to Ruby who is still looking at her like she's trying to put together a puzzle.
"She's right."
They must doze off because the next thing Andrea knows, she's waking up in the middle of the night to Ruby shivering next to her, her teeth chattering in her sleep. Instead of leaving, she holds her close and quietly hums a song she hasn't thought about in years, one of the few happy memories left from her mother. Ruby eventually relaxes and keeps a grip on Andrea's hand, and for once, Andrea doesn't try to let it go.
She wakes in the morning to a barrage of text messages, her phone under assault with rapid-fire questions. She opens her eyes and realizes she's covered in tissues (gross) and that Ruby's knee is pressed against her back. Please, please remind her to never have children. She turns over, wincing, the crick in her neck screaming in protest. How could a bed this comfortable leave her feeling so horrendous? Oh, right, because she spent the entire night with a gremlin tucked around her shoulder. She glances at Ruby who is still knocked out, her fever seemingly broken. Instead of feeling annoyed, though, she's grateful that Ruby seems to be on the mend. Small victories. She pulls her phone from the end table and reads through Sam's apparent panic attack. The questions come, in order:
Ruby has strep?
Does she have medicine?
You remembered she's allergic to penicillin, right?
Did she sleep?
Is she eating?
Is she okay?
After answering a simple 'Yes' to all of the above, Andrea flips to Lena.
Andrea: Can you please give Sam a tranquilizer?
Lena: Be nice.
After disposing of the tissues (still gross), Andrea rummages through Sam's drawers for something easy to wear. She pretends this is normal and fine even though every piece of clothing is either a) tacky b) contains a food related pun or c) a combination of both. She can picture Sam's dopey smile wearing her graphic t-shirts with pride, her eyebrows waggling as if it could possibly be seductive. The entire thing shouldn't be endearing but something about it forces Andrea to smile. She picks a harmless National City University sweatshirt and ignores Sam's signature scent as she throws it over her head.
(There's also the small drawer on the top right that Andrea opens purely out of curiosity and immediately closes with a furious blush burning itself on her cheeks.
Boxer briefs, goodness fuck. She doesn't need a reminder of the way the fabric hangs low on Sam's waist, her abs tight and toned, the spot above her left hip a haven for Andrea's tongue...).
The kitchen is a marginally safer place to be (less underwear), and once Andrea's heart rate stabilizes, she manages to scrape together an almost-satisfactory breakfast of eggs and toast. As she works, she mentally creates a grocery list for later. There's no way she's leaving this house with a refrigerator this sparse and a freezer that only contains Eggo waffles and ice cream.
She's not the nicest person but she's not a barbarian.
She brings up the tray of food, knocking on the door softly before realizing the TV is already on. When she enters, she places the tray at the foot of the bed while Ruby greets her with red cheeks and a frown.
"What's wrong?" Andrea asks, studying her surly expression. She wonders if the fever is back, but Ruby seems more alert than yesterday. She presses the back of her hand to Ruby's forehead but it feels normal. "Still feeling awful?"
"You're the one who tried to get my mom to lose her job," Ruby declares abruptly. Andrea wonders why her mood seems to be as hot and cold as her fever, but Ruby quickly continues, "I googled it."
Ah, the wonders of the internet.
Ruby crosses her arms like she's ready for a battle and Andrea simply waits. "So why are you helping me?"
Andrea purses her lips. It's a delicate situation, and even though she knows everything is entirely her fault, she doesn't know where to start. The string on her finger is so bright it almost burns. Carefully, she takes a seat on the bed, turning to face Ruby. She places a hand on the covers over where Ruby's leg is.
"Have you ever done something you wish you could take back but you know you can't?"
Ruby frowns before nodding slowly. "Yeah."
"It's like that."
"So you're sorry?" She raises her eyebrows as if to say, don't screw this up.
"More than I've ever been, ever," Andrea says, and she finds she means it with everything in her heart. "Your mom is awesome, and she deserves that job. I never should have let that story run in the news." Ruby seems fairly appeased by the answer, but Andrea continues, "and your Aunt Lena is a very close friend of mine. She wouldn't be thrilled if I left you to fend for yourself."
Andrea slides the tray over toward Ruby and hands her a fork, a peace-offering of sorts. She knows Ruby won't be able to resist, but she watches the way she hesitates before accepting.
"I didn't mean what I said in the car," Ruby says as she takes a small bite of toast. She avoids Andrea's eyes. "My mom actually likes you."
"She does?"
"Yeah," Ruby nods, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. "She still thinks you're trouble, though. You really hurt her feelings."
Andrea's stomach flips. "I know."
"I've never seen my mom cry before," Ruby says, placing the toast back on the plate. She frowns at it. "It's awful."
Andrea inhales a shaky breath. "I bet it is. I'm-- sorry."
Ruby glares at her, her face a mirror of Sam's own serious expression. It's unnerving how similar they look. Andrea shivers. "Don't do it again."
"Yes ma'am," Andrea says, placing her hand on her heart. It seems like a very serious albeit unexpected shovel talk, and she has to keep it lighthearted or she will overthink it. Ruby accepts it with an eye roll, before digging into her eggs.
"And what about you?" Andrea asks, nudging her slightly.
"Me?"
"Well you've already told me what your mom thinks about me," Andrea says. "What do you think?"
Ruby looks at her eggs, takes another bite and shrugs. "Jury's still out."
"Fair enough."
Their conversation is interrupted by a whimper from under the bed that sends Andrea practically to the ceiling. What the--
Ruby looks at her, bored and unamused. She leans over and reaches down, scratching the ears of a disheveled looking terrier. Has he been there the whole time?!
"That's Kevin," Ruby says, as if it should be obvious. "He probably needs to eat."
"Right..." Andrea says. No one told her about a dog. Why didn't anyone tell her about a dog? She's terrified of dogs. Ruby eyes her with judgement.
"Aren't you going to say hi?"
Andrea knows Ruby can tell she's scared, and wonders if all children can smell fear. She reaches out a trembling hand.
"Hello...Kevin," she says, feeling awkward and overly formal as she pats the dog's head. Her heart is in her throat just waiting for the mutt to bite off her hand but he simply stares at her with a vacant expression. Finally, he licks her fingers and Andrea can't help but chuckle. "Nice to meet you, too."
Who the fuck names a dog 'Kevin'? God, why does her soulmate have to be the weirdest woman on the planet? She's sure there's a story here somewhere, but at this point, she's afraid to ask. Kevin starts to whine, and just like that, Andrea is back on duty.
Andrea: There's a dog.
Lena: shit... I forgot about Kevin.
Andrea: Why is he named after an accountant?
Lena: the wonder years
Andrea: Naturally.
Kevin turns out to be a perfect gentleman in his red and green holiday sweater, much to Andrea's amusement. She feeds him his breakfast and that seems to be all it takes to earn his never-ending loyalty. He spends the rest of the morning following after her dutifully until he passes out on the couch, yipping and snoring away without a care in the world. What a life, Andrea thinks. With everyone asleep again, she takes advantage of the down time to get acquainted with the rest of Sam's house, which is either a fantastic idea or a catastrophic mistake. She's not sure which.
(She's absolutely sure which, but she does it anyway).
The whole downstairs of the house is recently renovated, an open concept with the same rustic lodge vibe that is going on in Sam's bedroom, with high ceilings and wood beams and stone fireplaces. There's a huge floor to ceiling window on one entire side, showing a spectacular view of the mountains in the distance. Andrea loves the way it feels -- warm and inviting, like a cozy cable knit sweater on a snowy afternoon -- and without hesitation, her mind thinks, I could absolutely get used to this. She pictures the fire blazing, and Sam sitting lazily on the leather couch, her long legs stretched out over Andrea's lap while she's reading a book or doing a crossword, her lips moving slowly over the words. Andrea catches herself smiling and immediately shakes her head, jolting herself back to reality. What the fuck was that about? Sam isn't here, and this is not some domestic fantasy. Andrea is only here as a favor, much to the utter dismay of the owner of the house, and she needs to be on her best behavior.
This is all temporary.
She passes by the bookshelf, decorated with ruby red ribbons and evergreen garland, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes and instead enjoying the slightly more mature decor decision. She notes the self-help parenting books with worn spines (cute, and not surprising) and the pristine collection of Harry Potter 1-7 (of course) all bundled together. The rest of the books are various other YA fiction, presumably compliments of Ruby. She moves on to the wall, studying the photographs Sam has placed over most of the free space, a new one appearing everywhere she seems to turn. Sam would be one of those "a photograph for every occasion" types, her house a scrapbook of cheerful and fond memories. Andrea wonders what, if any, pictures she'd hang in her own place if she were the type to do such a thing. It's a depressing thought, though, gone before she has time to wallow.
The pictures are fairly predictable, but adorable: Ruby and Sam at various ages, on vacations and at school functions and most recently at one of Ruby's soccer games. Andrea can't help but marvel at the resemblance they share -- the same easy smile, the same crinkles near their eyes, the same tilt of their heads as they laugh. Andrea's heart aches for something she can't even put into words as she quickly moves through them, pausing at the last one that is partially hidden behind a tall standing bush. Carefully, she moves the plant aside. It's a framed picture of a younger looking Sam with a crooked graduation cap, her smile bright and determined. Her eyes have the same endless pull, staring out at Andrea like she can read every thought she's ever had. She swallows heavily, wondering how it must have felt for Sam to get to that point despite all the obstacles in her way. Her hands clutch a diploma holder, and Andrea notices the string, an omnipresent reminder of their connection. A surge of pride swirls in her chest, and even though Sam's success is nothing Andrea can claim, she feels endlessly impressed by her accomplishments.
(And it's not like she can do something crazy like tell her that, but right here, privately, between her and this photo, she looks Sam in the eye and wills her to know she's incredible.)
The rest of the afternoon passes quickly. Andrea places a grocery delivery and sets about finding Sam's record player (and surprisingly decent collection of vinyls). Once the groceries arrive, she queues up the music and starts cooking enough meals to feed an army. It's not much, but it's really the only way she knows how to express herself. She usually can't find the words to say how she's feeling, or explain her intentions, but the food allows her the freedom to get it right. She doesn't know if Sam will even like it, but at least she's trying.
"What do you think Kev?" Andrea asks as Kevin saunters in, wagging his tail and looking up at her with his big sad eyes. "Can I call you Kev?"
He barks in displeasure.
"Kevin it is."
With Carole King singing soulfully in the background, and the food on the stove starting to meld together to create a delicious aroma of familiar spices from her childhood, Andrea allows herself to wonder something crazy. She wonders if somehow, some of this could be hers. Maybe, just maybe, there could be a place for her here. Not a big one, that's fine. Lord knows she doesn't deserve it. But a tiny space she could call her own in the corner of this perfect piece of life. It's far-fetched and ridiculous and she doesn't want to want it, but it feels really good to pretend for a second that Sam is upstairs, waiting for her--
"It smells so good in here!"
Andrea almost drops her spoon but recovers swiftly, pretending to stir. The happy little fantasy bubble is popped as she recalls her true mission here:
Make sure the kid survives while her mom is away. On it.
"Wow, she lives!" Andrea announces. She turns around to see Ruby, upright in the land of the living with a timid smile on her face. She grabs a ladle and puts some locro in a bowl. "You're just in time for a taste test."
Ruby's eyes light up as she takes a bite. "That's amazing," she croons, already going in for another spoonful. "What's in the oven?"
"Alfajores," Andrea says. "They're my favorite dessert."
"Our kitchen doesn't get a ton of use," Ruby says casually as she plops down on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. "Mom makes pancakes but--" she grins, catching Andrea's eye. "She's gonna freak when she sees all this."
"In a good way?"
"Definitely a good way," Ruby nods enthusiastically.
Ruby isn't exactly helpful in the cooking department, but she spends the rest of the day in the kitchen chatting as Andrea finishes spooning the stew into containers and working the finishing touches on her cookies. She learns about every girl in Ruby's class, and who has a crush on who, and which teacher gives the most homework.
It's exhausting.
"Your mom tells me you play soccer?" Andrea asks, carefully switching the topic to something she can at least have an opinion on.
"Yeah," Ruby nods, watching her assemble the cookies. "Sweeper."
"Tough position."
"You know it?"
"Of course," Andrea grins, catching her eye. Ruby is watching her with fascination, which is a marked improvement from yesterday's disgust. "Fútbol is the best sport there is." Ruby's head tilts at her accent and Andrea smiles. "That's what they call it where I'm from."
"Fútbol," Ruby mimics, the accent awkward but adorable. "Cool."
When everything in the kitchen is wrapped up, and Andrea gets Ruby to choke down her medicine (apple sauce works every time), Ruby shows her how to play XBox. Unbeknownst to the kid, Andrea has been playing video games since she could sit up straight, but she pretends she has no idea how the controller works while Ruby explains the concept. She lets her think she's winning for awhile until it becomes almost unbearable and Andrea takes over.
"How did you do that?" Ruby asks, wide-eyed, as Andrea gets to a point in the game Ruby has never seen.
"Oh, honey, you have years to go before you get to my level."
"Not fair."
Later that night, Ruby shows her how to work the fireplace (a light switch, something even Andrea can't fuck up) and she sits on the floor while Andrea braids her hair. The Santa Clause plays on the TV, and Ruby happily quotes it back to her while only slightly wincing from Andrea's heavy handed tugs.
"It would be okay if you wanted to come back sometime," Ruby eventually says quietly. Her fingers trace a pattern into the rug. It's so startling that Andrea pauses, a clump of Ruby's hair in her hand. She leans forward to catch her eye.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," Ruby confirms, a smile on her face that's almost as bright as Sam's.
Andrea's heart feels like it's going to burst out of her chest. She didn't realize she was aching for the approval for a 12 year old, but now that she has it, she feels like she's in possession of something sacred.
"I appreciate that."
"Ruby!?"
The front door slams, rattling the entire house. Andrea startles herself awake, grimacing as a result of yet another crick in her neck. She's going to need an entire week at the chiropractor after all this shit. The couch is comfortable, but once again, she's fallen asleep at a weird angle while Ruby has taken over the entire space.
A woman blows in the room like a fucking hurricane and Andrea's stomach drops twenty stories.
"Ruby!"
Sam races toward the couch, frantic, her eyes wide and moving at a speed that shouldn't be possible. Andrea swiftly moves herself to standing to give Sam and Ruby room.
"Oh my God, are you okay? I was so worried," Sam says, holding Ruby close and pressing a kiss to her temple. The back of her hand goes directly to Ruby's forehead as she frowns seriously. "How's the fever?"
"I'm fine mom," Ruby says, stiffening, her eyes rolling. "It wasn't a big deal."
"It's a very big deal, you have strep," Sam says, still studying her flushed cheeks. She pauses, her fingers trailing from her face to her hair. "Who did that?"
Ruby points and Sam follows her gaze, locking eyes with Andrea for the first time since she flew into the house. Andrea swallows heavily, her face hot as both of them stare at her.
"Andrea did," Ruby says smiling. "And she made alfajores and locres and--"
Sam pats her leg, interrupting quickly like she has no interest in hearing about what Andrea has been up to. Which is fine, because Andrea is sure she's about to have a really awesome and pleasant conversation when Ruby leaves the room.
"Ok, ok. Why don't you go upstairs and take a shower and I'll be up there in a bit?"
Ruby's shoulders slump and she resists for a second, but with a sharp glare from Sam, she eventually gets up and stalks off.
Sam remains on the couch, looking after Ruby's retreating form and pointedly ignoring everything else. Andrea watches the way her shoulders clench, her breath heavier and more intense. She's still in her work clothes and her winter coat, a sharp black peacoat that frames her body perfectly. Andrea wants to do something crazy, like pull her by the lapels of the coat and hold her close and welcome her home, to try to wipe away everything awful between them, but that's not something they do.
They don't do anything. They're not anything.
"How was the trip?" Andrea finally dares to ask, her voice slightly cracking. Her throat is dry from sleep, and she's sure she looks like a fucking disaster, but she really had no warning about Sam's return. She braces herself as Sam turns toward her with absolute fire in her eyes.
"Oh, fine, fine, it was perfect, because my only daughter was here sick while I was thousands of miles away," Sam says, the intensity in her voice picking up with each word. She slaps her thighs as she pulls herself to standing.
"She's fine, Sam," Andrea says gently. "I told you I'd take care of her--"
"I wouldn't have been out of town if it wasn't for you--" Sam snarls, suddenly very close and looking very angry. Andrea takes a step back, holding her hands up. She doesn't want to fucking surrender, but Sam has been through it, first with the news story, and now with the trial, and Andrea really doesn't want to push her any closer to the edge.
She knows her blissful domestic daydreams were nothing more than pretend, but it hurts so fucking bad to see the hatred in Sam's eyes, to know that things between them are irreparable. Even if she succeeded in helping Ruby, there's no way she's ever going to get Sam to forgive her fully.
And maybe that's exactly what she deserves.
"I know," Andrea says, feeling defeated. "I'm just saying...it's okay."
"This isn't some game, Andrea, this is my life--" Sam says, stepping into her space again. Andrea can feel her chin quivering, and she hates the way the tears prickle behind her eyes. Sam's finger jabs into her sternum. "I will not let you ruin it."
Andrea is quiet, her eyes watery, and Sam realizes she's being a little more aggressive than necessary. It's almost like someone has shaken her awake from a nightmare and she immediately walks herself back several feet.
"S-sorry," she stumbles. "I'm just-- I've been worried sick."
"I get it."
"You're in my sweatshirt," Sam says unnecessarily, noticing the familiar gray hoodie from her alma mater. It feels ten kinds of confusing to see Andrea drowning in her clothing and she wishes she could hate it, but she doesn't. Not in the least. Something tugs in her chest, and she goes to cross her arms to keep it from expanding, but all that does is remind her of the string, constant and infinite, as always.
"Oh I--" Andrea pulls on the sleeves, frowning. "I didn't have any clothes."
Sam swallows heavily, her anger already starting to morph into something much more dangerous. Andrea looks.... Ugh. She looks exhausted, but somehow still perfect, her face soft and sleepy without her make up, her eyes icy blue and endless. Sam hates that this worked out. She hates that she was desperate, and Andrea came through and played the hero. She also hates that she doesn't hate it. Something about this entire saga feels right, like Andrea should be in her house, cozying up on the couch in her clothes and falling asleep waiting for her to return.
Andrea runs her fingers through her hair, exposing her neck slightly, and Sam bites her lip to prevent herself from launching across the room. She hates that she knows that exact spot on Andrea's neck intimately, that if she nips at it and runs her tongue over it, she knows exactly what sound Andrea will make.
She hates that she wants to test her knowledge, that she wants to push Andrea back on to the couch and take all her frustration out---
"Right," Sam says, forcing herself to abandon that particular thought. "Okay."
"Here is the uh--" Andrea fumbles, pushing past Sam and into the kitchen. She picks up a small paper bag from the table. "The prescription for the antibiotic. She's got 5 more days."
"You got her to take it?"
Andrea shrugs. "Apple sauce," she says, still staring at the bottle and pointedly not at Sam, "and cinnamon."
Sam's heart flutters. Ruby is a notorious pain when it comes to taking medicine, and the fact that it didn't turn into a knock down, drag out fight is a miracle.
Andrea moves around the kitchen pulling together an obnoxious tote bag of various items. She hands it over with a timid smile.
"What's all this?" Sam takes a look in the bag and sees the entire contents of Walgreens.
"I didn't know what she would need."
"So you bought a drug store?"
Andrea shrugs. She's more nervous than Sam has ever seen her, almost like she's afraid to be in the same room together. Sam feels slightly guilty, but she's more exhausted than anything. She hasn't slept in days, and she's been so anxious that her muscles are only now starting to unclench. She can't feel sorry for Andrea right now.
Except, of course she can. Andrea will always find a way to weasel into Sam's deepest feelings.
"There's uh--" Andrea gestures vaguely toward the refrigerator. "Some food in the freezer."
Sam is still trying to process that bit of information as she watches Andrea bend down and scratch Kevin between the ears. "Good boy," she whispers. "I'll see ya buddy." She pulls herself to standing and hesitates. "I didn't get a chance to feed him yet, but he had dinner last night."
"Okay." Sam blinks at her, awkwardly trying to figure out what else to say.
"Tell Ruby I hope she feels better."
And before Sam can say thank you, or do something even more wild like ask her to stay, she's gone.
Sam wanders through the kitchen as if she's sleep-walking, startled by the way it's practically sparkling. The last time her house looked like this, so spotless and inviting, was the day she went to tour it before making an offer. Not to say she's a horrible homemaker, but she's insanely busy and sometimes things just fall to the wayside. But this -- this is immaculate. Her plants are standing proudly, their soil damp from recent watering. She opens the fridge and takes note of all the fresh groceries, somehow all exactly right, down to the % milk. The freezer is the same, stocked with individually labeled containers with directions on how to heat. She studies Andrea's looping handwriting and her chest constricts immediately. This is so unexpected that she can't even move, staring at the open freezer until the sensor starts to buzz angrily at her to close the damn door.
Ruby prances in a few seconds later, stopping short.
"Where's Andrea?"
Sam turns around slowly. "She had to leave."
"She didn't say goodbye?"
"She's very busy, Ruby," Sam tries to explain, but she notices the disappointment on Ruby's face. "She told me to tell you she hopes you feel better."
Ruby stares grumpily at the floor before nodding once. She glances back at Sam. "She cooked for you, did you see?"
"I saw," Sam says, unsure why her heart is pounding at the 'for you' part.
"She sang to me and we played video games and she made us cookies, too," Ruby says, parking herself on a stool in the kitchen. She pauses, eyeing the kitchen island. "Are you sure she's as bad as you said she was?"
"I--" Sam starts, her mouth opening and closing awkwardly. She notices Kevin, laying by the front door, whimpering pathetically. He never seems to notice when she leaves the house, but he seems devastated by Andrea's recent departure. "I'll be right back."
Sam sits on her bed, overcome with the emotion of the past few days and something deeper -- a hole she can't quite seem to fill no matter how hard she tries. She rests her head in her hands, leaning her elbows against her thighs. She wishes everything was different, and she's so tired she doesn't even try to stop the tears from falling down her face.
Andrea's condo is cold, dark and lonely. She supposes it's always been depressing as fuck, but after the bright cheerful warmth of Sam's, she can't believe she manages to live here. There's no dog nipping at her heels, no kid to chatter endlessly in her ear. No Sam to--
No Sam to barge in unannounced and look about an inch away from committing murder.
If you asked her a week ago, all those things would have been her personal nightmare (Sam's attempt at murder notwithstanding) but now, well. Now she simply feels hollow and empty as she sits on her white leather couch that doesn't have so much as a dent in it, staring at her empty walls as she opens a bottle of scotch.
She knew Sam was frazzled and upset, but to see her chaotic intensity, to feel the rage behind her eyes and have it directed at her specifically -- Andrea shivers. That's not the Same she knows. The Sam she knows is endlessly patient and friendly to everyone she meets and so kind she'd offer her entire house if someone said please enough times. And Andrea isn't delusional. She knows she doesn't deserve any of those graces anymore, but to be Sam's enemy is a level of horrible that Andrea doesn't want to ever feel again. And it's not like she wants to be friends, or needs Sam to start making flirtatious remarks at her again-- she hates the way they make her feel, out of control and jittery and stupid -- but going back to cordial would be nice. She hates the lead feeling in her stomach anytime they are in the same room now, the way she has to brace herself for a battle she knows she started.
Her phone lays dormant on the counter, and she knows she shouldn't, but it feels awful to walk out of that house without saying something.
She types several attempts -- "are you okay?" "how's the food?" "tell ruby that..." But they're all overly intimate and sappy. Instead she keeps it clipped and professional.
Andrea: How's she feeling?
The typing bubble appears then disappears and Andrea frowns. But finally Sam replies.
Sam: better
Andrea waits, and after several minutes, she realizes that no more response is going to come.
It's a horrible idea.
To her credit, she did almost pull over several times on the way, but something kept her in the driver's seat heading east. That something has beautiful chestnut eyes and a killer smile and a string around her finger that seems to pull Andrea closer and closer against her will.
It's Christmas Eve, and she has no business standing in front of Sam's house, staring at a now-inflated Snoopy display (it somehow looks worse when it's actually lit up), and contemplating actually knocking. But, she's here, and it's too late to go back, so on with the show. She adjusts her coat and tries to give herself a pep talk as she rings the doorbell.
This is fine. It's Christmas. She's not going to kick you out on Christmas.
She hears Kevin bark (now he chooses to announce himself) followed by a scurry of feet and a muffled 'no, I'll get it' before the door opens.
And there she is.
Sam's in another dorky holiday sweater (this one is green with a white outline of a Christmas tree and lights that says 'lets get lit') and Andrea wants so badly to make so many comments, but all she can do is smile. Her black leggings make her legs look even more endless and Andrea's mouth feels as dry as the desert. Sam tilts her head curiously, staring at Andrea like she has three heads, and leaning against the door frame like she's unsure she wants to move any closer.
"What are you doing here?" she finally asks, and Andrea's heart starts to pound.
"I--"
"Andrea!"
Ruby appears from behind Sam, practically pushing her aside. Despite Sam's mumbled protests, Andrea finds herself pulled by the wrist as Ruby excitedly chatters in her ear. She hears something about a soccer tournament in Carson and an upcoming science fair that she has a million ideas for and a video game her mom says she might get to have if her grades are good enough.
"How did all this happen in the span of a day?" Andrea asks her, still trying to process Sam's outfit and nervous smile and half of what Ruby just told her.
"It didn't, but you left without saying goodbye!" Ruby says, pouting.
"I know, I'm sorry," Andrea says. She reaches into her bag. "But, I got this for you."
Andrea hands her the package (A Lionel Messi national team jersey. The kid needs to be taught) and Ruby throws her arms around her so suddenly that Andrea almost falls over. She feels Sam's hand hovering over the small of her back to keep her upright, and everything in her body turns to lava.
"Ruby, would you excuse us for just a minute?" She hears Sam say over her shoulder. Her scowl must be intense, because Ruby immediately shuts down and sulks away. When she's out of earshot, Sam positions herself in front of Andrea.
"You can't do this."
"I don't--"
"You can't be here, you can't get close to my kid," Sam hisses. She glances over her shoulder, to make sure Ruby isn't listening. "It's not fair. It's not fair to her."
It hits like a punch to the stomach and Andrea exhales slowly. "Why?"
"Because you're not staying! You don't want us! You don't want this! And I can't--" Sam's voice lowers, and Andrea can see the way her jaw clenches tightly. She pauses, staring down at the ground like she wants to damage it with her eyes. She finally meets Andrea's gaze again, her lips turned down. "I can't allow her to go through it. I won't."
"We're only talking about Ruby?" Andrea tries, taking a step closer.
"Andrea," Sam warns, holding her hand out. Andrea sees the way it trembles.
"Sam," she replies strongly, surprised at her own voice. "I never said I didn't want this."
"You didn't have to, it was sort of implied when you tried to ruin me," Sam says, her voice a little louder than she intends. She glances over her shoulder again, wincing. She whips back around with an accusing stare. "Why are you here, Andrea?"
"I didn't think you'd return my call."
"Yeah, well, you're damn right about that."
Andrea sighs. It's overwhelming, this back and forth. Normally she'd find pleasure from the constant battle, the thrill of trying to win. But this is something else entirely. She's losing, and she doesn't know how to stop. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the other gift, her real excuse for coming here.
"This is..." she starts, unsure and embarrassed at this entire situation. Sam eyes her critically. "Well, you don't have to keep it. But I just wanted to come by and drop it off."
Sam takes the package, almost wanting to laugh at how comical the whole thing is. Andrea Rojas, fucking witch that she is, is standing on her doorstep on Christmas Eve with a perfectly wrapped gift and a golden bow, looking at Sam like she's sorry. And Sam almost believes her, which is the funny part. People don't take care of your child and clean your house and cook you food if they completely hate you. But then again, this is Andrea they're talking about. She is fucking impossible to read, like War and Peace or some other endless novel that Sam can't wrap her brain around.
"Thanks," Sam manages to say, taking the package.
Andrea looks up towards Ruby's room, and says the only thing that could break Sam's resolve even more. "She's a great kid. You did an incredible job."
Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and willing herself not to scream. Instead, she shakes her head. "I really don't understand you."
"I know," Andrea says, and Sam feels like maybe she really means it. "You don't have to."
"I'm going to regret this, but," Sam gestures toward the door. "Do you want a drink?"
Andrea purses her lips and nods.
They sit on the bench outside on the porch, and Sam knows it's rude, but she has to keep her distance. If she invites Andrea inside, she might as well give her a key to the house. Andrea doesn't comment, and instead simply rolls her wrist and slowly turns the liquor over.
"I've dreamed about meeting my soulmate my entire life," Sam starts, the rum warm in her belly. She doesn't know why she's going into this, but under the stars with the Christmas lights around them, it feels like she can say anything. "I don't care how that makes me sound. I wanted it, so badly. I believed in it so much." She pauses, sniffling, surprised by the sudden emotion but too exhausted to try to fight it. "And then you came along. And the worst part is, before you completely brushed me aside, there was a split second where I still felt like my dreams came true. It was you, and it was all going to be okay."
She hears the way Andrea inhales a breath, and Sam tries to avoid looking at her but she fails. Andrea is so mind-numbingly pretty, sitting there with her sad eyes, that Sam wants to just pull her in and hold her close. She hates that she can't, and she hates that she wants so many things, all of them somehow out of reach. The string is loose and calm between them, and Sam hates it, too.
"I'm... sorry, Sam," Andrea whispers finally. "Truly. For all of it. I'm just--I'm sorry I can't be someone better."
She looks like she wants to say more, but instead she takes a long sip of her drink. Sam doesn't know what to do with that, but it doesn't sound like a promising declaration of change, or any kind of indication of a future. She copies her movements, downing the rest of her rum and wincing at the slight burn.
She stands up and tries to ignore the ache in her chest. "Merry Christmas, Andrea."
Andrea's smile doesn't meet her eyes as she returns the sentiment. Sam doesn't stay outside long enough to notice when she leaves.
Sam waits until much later to open the gift Andrea left for her. It's after midnight, after movies with Ruby and a dinner she tried to make from scratch, and a half-hearted attempt at gingerbread. It's after she fakes her way through with wider-than-normal smiles, and laughter that sounds tinny to her ears as she pretends everything is fine. She opens it violently, taking small pleasure in thinking about how carefully Andrea probably wrapped it. She opens the box and there's an ornament, with the photograph of them from the bar, the label announcing her as Connect 4 Champion, 2021.
The card falls out and Sam reaches for it with trembling fingers.
"Looking forward to the rematch. Merry Christmas, Sam."
It's even later when she finally stops crying and cursing into her pillow about everything in her stupid fucking life. Andrea can't just do things like this. She can't just walk around stepping on everyone and then somehow making up for it by being actually perfect. Sam doesn't care what time it is, she snatches her phone and starts to type.
Sam: thanks for the gift
The bubble appears instantly, and Sam's heart begins to race.
Andrea: You're welcome
That should be the end of it. Just be done. Be. Done.
Her fingers ignore her brain.
Sam: can i ask you one thing
Andrea: Of course you can
Sam: was this always the plan?
Andrea: I'm not following
Sam pauses. Once it's out there, it's out there. Then--
Sam: was it always the plan to make me fall for you and then break my heart?
Sam: why do you hate me so much?
Andrea: That's two questions.
Sam: and both deserve an answer andrea.
Andrea sits back against her couch, her eyes bleary from the alcohol and the tears she absolutely wasn't allowing to fall (she was). Sam's words hit her so hard she almost can't breathe. With trembling fingers she types.
Andrea: I didn't hate you. I don't hate you. It's so far the opposite...
Andrea: But I knew it would end this way eventually
Andrea: You always deserved more than me
Sam stares at the words, wondering how it could be the opposite. Does Andrea feel like her soul is splitting in half every time they do this? Does she sit at home aching with loneliness knowing the one person out there that's supposed to hold her refuses to do so?
Sam: i dont know how many times i can tell you - i wanted it to be you
Sam: i hate that you ruined it
Sam tosses her phone aside, completely spent from the entire interaction. She puts on a movie (It's a Wonderful Life, because she hates herself) and opens the bag of cookies she grabbed from downstairs not realizing which ones they are. She takes a bite, groaning at the heavenly taste of dulce de léche before she notices they're not the ones she made.
Of course they're Andrea's.
Of course they're incredible.
She throws the bag across the room and tries to pretend she isn't crying.
Andrea types a response she knows she won't send and falls asleep, once again, surrounded by tissues.
I wanted it to be you, too...
Sam manages to avoid Andrea (physically, but not Ruby's incessant questions and commentary) for an entire month. She's not counting the days, or even counting it as a success, but it's a fact she's very acutely aware of. She might spend a lot of extra time curating her instagram for potential prying eyes, or typing text messages she wishes she could be bold enough to send, but other than that, it's been still and silent. Her life is mostly back to normal, her name only vaguely mentioned on Twitter by desperate publications.
No drama, no nonsense.
No Andrea.
So when Kara's sister's wedding date arrives, a mild SoCal February day, she doesn't think much of it beyond what she's going to wear and if she should even go. She isn't sure why Alex agreed to the invitation, although she's sure Kara has something to do with it, chirping in her sister's ear about celebrating with everyone. Kara has always been inclusive, even to the point of unnecessary, but it's part of her charm. Sam ignores the fact that she was an inch from dating Alex herself a few years ago, but it's something they'll all professionally sweep under the rug. So, she's fairly sure it won't be too terrible. Or at least, she plans to congratulate the couple quickly and spend the rest of the evening at the open bar, deflecting questions from Lena and trying to make an easy exit. Sounds fun.
The only saving grace to the whole affair is that she's fairly confident Andrea Rojas will be nowhere in sight, so at least she can breathe easy knowing she doesn't have to have her heart ripped out in front of everyone. She loves a silver lining.
The venue is simple and charming, an old hotel in downtown National City with a back patio that looks very Greco-Roman with stone walls and columns and trickling fountains. The cocktail hour is already in full swing as Sam enters through the lobby. She shakes hands with a few people she recognizes from various events around town -- the city feeling suffocatingly small as she does. She finally spots Lena standing by the bar, who greets her with a tentative smile and a glance to the corner.
Sam follows her gaze and stops dead in her tracks, her eyes landing on who else?
Andrea Rojas.
Are you fucking kidding?
Andrea doesn't notice her, thankfully, as she stands in the corner preoccupied with a small crowd. The conversation is probably business related, the way she seems poised and controlled, her smile fake and corporate. Her dress is beautiful -- designer and elegant, navy, with another plunging neckline that has Sam seeing stars. Her lips are painted bright red, and Sam can't help but think what kind of marks they'd leave all over her collar.
Fuck.
She remembers the string on her finger, and curses herself for ignoring it. If she had simply looked down, she would have noticed the way the line was pulled taut, a clear indicator that Andrea was somewhere close.
All of a sudden, she really needs a fucking drink.
"I didn't think she'd be here," Sam says to Lena as she approaches the bar, immediately getting the bartender's attention. A double, please. Make it fast. "Did you know?"
"She's good friends with Kelly," Lena says, sipping her martini slowly. She grins. "Well, Kelly gives her good, sound advice and Andrea mostly twists it into something she thinks is better, and then comes to Kelly to figure out the problems she created."
Yeah, that sounds right, Sam thinks. It shouldn't be remotely charming but of course, it hits her square in the chest all the same.
"It's ... Infuriating," Lena finishes, chuckling. "Kelly has the patience of a saint."
Sam takes her drink and sips it slowly. Her left ring finger is twitching, and she watches the crowd while her thumb absentmindedly rubs circles around the string.
Lena eyes her.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks softly. It's gentle, not accusatory, and Sam can't hold it together any longer.
"I didn't--" she starts, her mind whirling like a slideshow, all images of their interactions. Andrea at the gala, snarky and mean when she found out the truth about them. Andrea at the conference, dominant and bossy. And then, Andrea after the walls came down, soft and kind and horrible at connect 4. Andrea with her cheetah printed flask and bad jokes, her family recipes and heart of gold. Andrea, funny and smart and charming and impossible. "I still can't believe it," Sam mutters, unsure how else to explain. Then, "Hang on - how did you know?"
Lena twists her lips, and Sam can tell she feels bad about prying.
"When everything happened with the article, I went over there to try to get information out of her. But she was just as distraught, weirdly so. She felt terrible about running the story, and she spent days trying to figure out the truth about that video. She's the one who ultimately figured out it was fake."
"She did? But-- how?"
"She couldn't see the string on the fake," Lena explains. "She knew it wasn't you. And she had to tell me, so that I'd know she wasn't lying."
Sam glances over Lena's shoulder, watching Andrea nod intently at something someone is saying. Her eyes stay patiently focused on the speaker, and she looks so good that Sam wishes she could just go back in time and undo everything that's torn them apart.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she mumbles to Lena. "It's been--" she gestures vaguely, because how can she really hope to summarize her entire life up to this point? "A lot."
"It was yours to tell, I get it," Lena assures her. She pats her shoulder. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. But you should know that this doesn't have to be a bad thing. Fate works in exactly the right ways, you know?"
Sam nods, numbly. Does it? She used to think there was no way in hell she could be the person for Andrea. But maybe there's a reason they keep ending up together. Maybe there's a reason Andrea can't shut her out entirely.
"Andrea is... complicated. I know that," Lena continues. "And with her back against the wall, she's going to lash out. She's going to do things without thinking. She's brash and impulsive and a little dramatic. She's gotten better, if you can believe it. But underneath it all, she's just a scared kid trying to make her father proud. She-- it hasn't always been easy. I'm not saying you have to forgive her, but she's not a monster."
"I know she's not," Sam says quickly. "That's what makes it so hard. She's--" Sam shakes it off, because she can't even find the words to describe her. She's run out of adjectives to properly sum up Andrea Rojas. Instead she says, softly, "She told me about her mom."
Sam tells Lena about her interview with Kara, and how afterwards, they got caught in the elevator. She smiles as she talks about the flask, and the way Andrea was surprisingly gentle when she was on the verge of a meltdown. And then she talks about how Andrea opened up about her mom.
"Wait, she did?"
Sam nods, shrugging. "So I get it, kind of. That's a lot for anyone to take."
Lena grabs her wrist and squeezes. "I know this might not matter but, I-- I didn't even really know that about her," she explains, her eyes serious. "She doesn't talk about that. Not to me, not to anyone. Ever."
The one thing Andrea is great at is faking a blasé attitude. It isn't always a good thing, but for situations like this, where she needs to pretend her fucking soulmate didn't just waltz into the room looking hotter than she has any business looking, it comes in handy. She notices Sam as soon as she crosses the threshold, her three piece suit so sharp and handsome that Andrea almost breaks the glass in her hand.
The things she would do to take that off, layer by satisfying layer--
She bites the inside of her cheek and forces herself to focus on whatever Alan or Alex or whoever it is she's talking to is saying. It's beyond boring, and the drone of his voice immediately helps her pretend she isn't exploding. She smiles at the appropriate parts and swirls her drink and asks the right questions, and soon she's back to feeling comfortably numb and detached.
But she notices Sam, and she knows Sam has noticed her, too.
She knew Sam would be here, because she pestered Lena so much that she finally relented and told her. But she promised herself she would avoid her at all costs. She doesn't want to make a scene at Kelly's wedding, stealing the spotlight for something that isn't even hers. Her friend doesn't deserve that, and she doesn't deserve a happy ending, so it's all even as far as Andrea's concerned.
They've come this far in silence. What's another few hours?
After the ceremony, which is beautiful, with Kelly positively glowing in her dress and Alex sobbing during their vows, Andrea needs a fucking break. She steps outside, finding a secluded corner to gather her thoughts before the reception.
She hears footsteps and braces herself, relaxing only when she realizes it's Lena.
"I suppose this is a reckoning," Andrea says by way of greeting, crossing her arms over her chest like Lena is going to shove her. She knows that's not the case, but she feels so fucking on edge right now that she can't even stand up straight.
"I think we're beyond that, don't you?" Lena teases. She scrunches her nose and smiles, and Andrea instantly relaxes. At least she still has one person in her corner. "Come, have a drink with me."
Lena leads her back inside, squeezing her hand the way she always used to when Andrea was particularly anxious. Somehow, Lena still knows when she really, really needs a friend. They find a quiet table and Lena flags down a server, grabbing them both flutes of champagne.
"Cheers," she says, and Andrea mimics her smile as their glasses clink together.
Lena looks at her with an appraising stare. "So, how's life?"
Andrea practically snorts into her drink. "Fuck you Lena."
Lena laughs at that, and it feels good to joke about everything going up in flames. Sometimes, that's the only thing you can do. But then Lena looks at her again with a more somber expression. "You know I forgive you, right?"
Andrea frowns at this, because why should she? Why should anyone forgive her? She's been horrible. She's been a bitch to everyone for no real reason other than her own insecurity, and even though she really didn't want to hurt Lena, she still managed to do damage. Why does she even bother? Everything she touches turns to ash.
"You shouldn't," she says, scoffing.
"I'll always forgive you," Lena says, stronger this time. "I know you, probably better than you know yourself. And you need to give yourself permission to be forgiven. You need to give yourself permission to be loved."
"You sound like my therapist."
"You always deserved it, Andy," Lena says, ignoring her callous attempts at a joke. "Stop trying to sabotage everything that's good."
Andrea steals a glance at Sam. Her heart flutters violently as she watches her, standing by the bar, chatting with Kara. Her smile is wide, her laugh genuine.
Andrea swallows. "I think it's too late for that."
"I wouldn't be so sure."
Sam spends most of the reception watching the way Andrea purposefully avoids her. She's sure Andrea's noticed her by now, because they've been within each other's line of sight a few times, but they're both carefully giving each other space. For Sam's part, it's because Andrea looks so fucking hot she doesn't know how she's supposed to have a conversation with her that won't lead to something catastrophic, like an empty room upstairs or something with consequences. But she doesn't know how much longer she can stand being in this room without saying something, especially with her feelings being a massive jumble of chaos. Lena in her ear telling her how good Andrea is also isn't helping things, but she's sure her friend is very aware of that.
And she sees it. That's always been the problem. She doesn't even need Lena's justifications for Andrea's personality. She always felt strongly about her, even from the beginning, even before the string. Granted, she chalked it up to jealousy and hatred, but now that she knows, she can admit it was always something stronger. She feels warm and safe and a little buzzed whenever Andrea is around, a feeling she's never been able to have with anyone else.
It's powerful and intoxicating and she knows why: it's fucking fate.
So the question is, how long can she really hope to outrun it?
As if Andrea can read her thoughts (she really can't, right? This seems to happen a lot...) they make eye contact from across the room. Everything feels like it's frozen, and before Andrea can look away, Sam points in her direction. She curls her finger, beckoning her forward.
Andrea glances around before realizing Sam is talking to her. She slowly makes her way over.
"Hey you," Sam says, her heart racing faster and faster as Andrea approaches.
"Hi," Andrea says, giving her a once-over that should be embarrassing. Instead, Sam lets her body sizzle as Andrea smirks. "You look great."
"Thanks," Sam manages. She gestures toward a table and Andrea follows.
It's quiet as they both pretend to study the room, feigning interest in the random groups of people forming in various corners. Andrea idly comments on the food, and Sam pretends she cares about the song selection. Finally, they're silent again and Sam feels herself begin to break.
"I haven't been fair to you," she starts, placing her palms on the table. The string between them looks so short that it's wild to think it could stretch as far as it has.
"I think you're entitled," Andrea supplies, her lips twisting slightly. "I've been awful."
"I just..." Sam sighs, shaking her head. She studies the pout on Andrea's mouth, her heart hammering in her ears at how badly she wants to kiss it off. "How?"
Andrea shifts.
"How can you be both?"
Andrea frowns, shaking her head like she doesn't understand when Sam continues.
"How can you be ruthless and cruel and in the same breath... take care of my kid? Cook me enough food to last a month? My dog is still waiting at the door for you to come back." Sam feels like her heart is going to beat out of her chest. Andrea is looking at her with such intensity that she can barely breathe. "How can you be so mean and then spend your free time reading to sick children?"
Andrea takes a shaky breath. Sam thinks she's going to get defensive but she simply crumbles, her shoulders slumping. She smiles a small, lopsided self-deprecating smile as she shrugs.
"I have to atone for it some way, right?"
"You don't have to be that way at all," Sam replies quickly. "I know you are a good person, Andrea. I see it in all the little ways. You're kind, and you're thoughtful. Somehow, you're actually the sweetest person I've ever met, when you aren't trying to tear people apart." Andrea's cheeks flush, and she's so attractive that the fury churns in Sam's chest. "You're so--" she gestures wildly. "Infuriating! The good parts of you are aching to come out. Why do you hide them?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Because people expect it from me. You expect to be hurt by me, so when I inevitably let you down, you can't say it wasn't coming."
"That is such a cop out--" Sam exclaims, her palms slapping the table.
"It's the truth, Sam. I'm always going to fuck up. It's who I am." Andrea's voice is eerily calm and Sam tries to hide the chill running through her body. "Besides, it's easier than being hurt."
Sam takes a long sip of her drink. She watches the happy couples around them, talking and laughing and dancing, all content to try. Some of them, she presumes, have strings tethering them together. Others probably don't, but are still willing to put themselves out there anyway.
The string between them glows brighter than ever.
"Is it?"
Andrea blinks at her.
"So it's easier to be feared than to be loved?" Sam asks. "You really think fighting against me, against this, against everything you are, is better than being honest with yourself?" Andrea's lips tremble, and Sam keeps going. "You've got it wrong, Andrea. I never expected you to fuck up. I only expected you to be you. And who you are -- who you really are -- is so much stronger than this." Andrea's jaw clenches but she remains stubbornly silent. Sam sniffs. "Anyway, I never thanked you properly for everything." She reaches across the table and takes Andrea's hands. "So thank you."
Andrea shrugs. "It's no big deal."
Sam squeezes her hands and they make eye contact. It feels like a lightning bolt through her heart. "No. That's just it. It's the biggest deal. You screwed up but you made it right by telling Lena the video was fake. And everything with my daughter--" Sam hiccups, trying desperately to keep her emotions from overrunning. "Ruby is my entire world, and when I couldn't be there, you were. I don't know why but I--" she pauses, her breaths shaky. The tears threaten to spill from her eyes, but she blinks them furiously away. "Thank you."
Andrea nods once, swallowing heavily. "Of course."
"And against my better judgement," Sam eyes her with a smile, "I forgive you, you know."
Andrea shakes her head as if she isn't hearing correctly. Her eyes narrow in suspicion and Sam wants to laugh. "Why?"
"That's what you do when you really care about someone."
Andrea's eyebrow juts skyward, like she can't quite fathom what Sam is saying, but before she can challenge--
Sam pulls her hands back and holds up her left one, the string as evidence. The defense rests, your honor. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
Andrea's eyes are watery as she tries to respond. "I--"
"Just promise me one thing, okay?"
Andrea nods.
"You'll try to let me in. You'll think before you do things like print gossipy stories about me in the news," Sam says with a chuckle, and Andrea's smile breaks through as she nods. "We're a team now," she says, wiggling her finger and watching the string sway between them. "You don't have to be alone."
Andrea frowns, but then glances at their hands and seems to make a decision.
"Yeah," she says finally. "Yeah, I can do that."
It's terrifying. Andrea feels like she's free-falling off a cliff, and she has no idea where she's going to land until Sam stands up, reaching out her hand with an easy smile. Andrea's entire body is trembling, but as she places her hand in Sam's, and watches the way the string comes together, she feels everything go still. Quiet.
It's warm and safe and home, and if this is what falling is like, then she can't imagine doing it with anyone else.
"Wanna dance?" Sam asks, already pulling her toward the floor. She could probably ask her to rob a bank or steal from the hotel and Andrea wouldn't even think twice about it.
"Yeah," she breathes and Sam's eyes sparkle with such radiance that Andrea feels like she's dreaming.
Sam pulls her in close, her hands firmly on her hips as they sway to the music. Andrea never really noticed their height difference much before, but as she looks up into Sam's (absurdly perfect) face, she feels the attraction grow even more out of control than before.
"Ruby is obsessed with you, you know," Sam says, her nose crinkling as she smiles. "It's a little annoying, actually."
"She's a great kid," Andrea says, the pride swirling in her chest. She looks up at Sam again with a grin. "Her mom must be alright."
Sam pulls her impossibly close, and Andrea can feel both their pulses racing. She rests her head on Sam's shoulder, finally feeling safe for the first time in her life. As the song starts to fade, Sam clears her throat and Andrea looks up at her again.
"I'm going to kiss you now, in front of everyone," Sam says seriously, her eyes searching Andrea's for permission.
Andrea glances nervously around. People aren't exactly staring, but there's really no turning back if they do this.
And God, does she want to do this.
"Are you sure you want people to know?"
Sam smiles, bright and cheerful and perfect. "Yeah," she nods, leaning in closer. "I want everyone to know."
Andrea feels like she's soaring, and as Sam's lips finally land on hers, it feels inevitable, the perfect ending to the perfect story she didn't even know she was writing. Sam pulls her closer, and Andrea wraps her arms around her neck, and for several blissful seconds, she forgets everything except for Sam.
So this is what it's supposed to feel like, to find the person fate has picked for you. To finally stop running. To be brave enough to stay.
They break apart and Sam's cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from Andrea's mouth.
Ignoring the chuckles and cheers from their friends, Sam offers her arm, and with a grin says, "Wanna get out of here?"
The string between their hands answers for her, and as they get into the car, Sam tells the driver to take them home.