Chapter Text
The phone rings sharply-- a blaring, ghastly sound that jolts Andrea so far out of sleep that she's convinced she's run an entire marathon and collapsed, right back into her king sized bed. Her heart pounds as she glares at the clock.
11:05.
It isn't even that late, but it's a holiday, and she's trying to forget about the fact that she's already in bed, alone. The phone continues to wail. Apparently, in her wine drunken stupor she left the volume all the way up after watching an embarrassing number of TikTok videos. Past Andrea is a fucking idiot, and she curses herself swiftly. She doesn't bother sitting up as she pulls the phone to her face in a sloppy, sideways angle.
"Hello?" she answers, muffled.
"Andrea, hi," a painfully familiar voice croons on the other end. There's a pause, and Andrea frowns, sure that she's making things up. It would be a fitting end to a shit year, the ghosts of missed opportunities calling her in the middle of the night on New Year's Eve just to taunt her. But as if the woman on the other end can read her thoughts, she quietly exhales a soft, "it's Sam," and Andrea is sent reeling.
"What do you want?"
Andrea grimaces. It comes out so much sharper than she intends, but she can't very well say "what are you doing?" or "how are you?" because that would be normal, and they're not normal. They've never been, and Andrea knows she's partially to blame for that.
Okay, maybe she's fully to blame, but they aren't keeping score and she isn't about to open her heart and allow Sam Arias of all people to make herself at home.
She won't.
"I don't really know," Sam says, a teasing laugh in her voice. Andrea's stomach flips. "I just thought -- well I guess you're probably at some swanky New Year's Eve party or something, I don't know why I'm bothering you--"
"I'm not," Andrea interrupts. "I'm not anywhere."
"Oh," Sam says quickly. "Oh, okay."
There's another awkward pause that seems to stretch to infinity. Andrea listens to the soft sounds of Sam's shallow breaths and the muffled voices in the background. Ryan Seacrest is babbling about some pop group that Andrea assumes is far out of her demographic, but then it hits her that Sam doesn't sound like she has any plans, either.
The last time they spoke was at Lena's holiday party, if you could count it as speaking. Mostly, Andrea hid behind veiled insults and sarcasm until the gin in her martinis loosened her tongue enough to find Sam's mouth charming. She doesn't know how they ended up huddled together during a game of charades of all things, with Sam's hand ghosting over the small of her back and her own fingers tracing patterns on Sam's thigh, and she'd rather not dwell on the fact that she let her guard slip enough to pull Sam under the mistletoe, but--
Sam kissed her back. That much she knows. And, beyond that, it was searing hot and something she hasn't been able to remove from her mind since, which is its own brand of infuriating.
(That, and the fact that she actually doesn't find Sam as insufferable as she acts, and in fact finds her annoyingly attractive, all grates against her patience as she waits for Sam to say something.)
"I should have called earlier," Sam says, still toeing the line of actually getting to the point.
"You should also get an award for the gymnastics you're doing," Andrea bites back. "What do you want, Sam?"
"Nothing, I'm sorry," Sam apologizes, unnecessarily. "I guess... I just wanted to say happy new year. I hope you have a good night, Andrea."
She hangs up before Andrea can respond, which is just as well. She's not about to get snuggly on the phone and whisper pleasantries until the ball drops. That's not the kind of girl she is.
She tosses her phone aside and curls back up on her side, angrily pulling the covers up high over her shoulders. Stupid Sam with her stupid voice and her stupid face, calling before midnight on stupid New Year's Eve--
Well, now she's awake. Dammit all to hell. She throws the covers back in exasperation. She's also out of wine, and out of patience, and God, why did Sam have to go and ruin everything?
The address stares back at her, teasing, from the application on her phone. She knows it because there isn't anything she can't access -- thank God for data privacy and her company's penchant for exploiting it. It's something she'll ask forgiveness for later, probably. Until then--
Her car pulls up to a modest brownstone only several minutes from her own condo. The fact that she sleeps only a few miles from Sam's house isn't lost on her, but they can spend the rest of the new year unpacking all that.
It's 11:45 by the time she knocks on the door.
Sam answers after a minute, and she has no right to look that fucking good, but. That's just how this is going to go, apparently. Sam curls a strand of hair behind her ear, her oversized NCU sweatshirt looking so warm and inviting--
Andrea huffs at the sight. She's still in yoga pants and a crew neck sweatshirt, her hair under a Metropolis Monarchs baseball cap because she's not trying to look like she's trying, which means she didn't try at all. Seeing Sam in front of her now, though, makes her wish she did. She purses her lips.
"Andrea?" Sam frowns, crossing her arms tentatively. "What are you--"
"Don't read into it," Andrea scolds, feeling suddenly very bold and very presumptuous. Sam didn't even really ask her to do anything, and yet here she is, with fucking bells on. "You sounded desperate."
"Yeah, I guess I did," Sam agrees, shrugging. She's so unbothered by the whole idea of asking for what she wants, that Andrea is bewildered. Can it really just be like that? "You want to come in?"
Andrea bites back every sarcastic comment she can think to make -- 'no, I want to stand on your porch for the rest of time' or 'no, I'm not here to see you--" and instead she simply nods and follows.
Sam leads her to a warm family room with a blazing fire, a good sized TV and a modestly full bottle of champagne. It needles at her that Sam is here, alone, throwing her own little celebration, without falling apart at the seams like Andrea was. It's baffling.
"I don't want to intrude," Andrea jokes, nodding at the small singular plate of snacks.
"Yeah, I was throwing a rager, but I guess I have room for one more," Sam teases, and it's light and easy and Andrea's stomach catapults into space. "Drink?"
Andrea bites her lip and nods, and before she can stop it, they're sitting on the couch, thighs touching, watching everyone in downtown Metropolis huddle together in preparation for the ball to drop.
"Is this what you normally do?" Andrea asks, curious. She doesn't look at Sam, instead gluing her eyes to the TV where Anderson Cooper is trying desperately to look like he wants to be there instead of his cozy, posh mansion. Andrea can't imagine.
"My daughter is usually here, but she's at that age now where friends are much cooler than mom," Sam sighs, almost wistful. "So I guess this is the new normal."
Ah right, the daughter. Sam has a child, and Andrea knows it, but also conveniently forgets about it until it's staring her in the face. Or being dropped casually into the conversation, like right now. She wonders what it'll be like, to have to navigate that, but it's so far beyond comprehension that she lets it slide in silence.
The fact that her mind inevitably went there, however, presses firmly in her chest.
"I'm glad you came over," Sam says softly as the giant ticker starts to count down from 1 minute. "I wanted you to--"
Andrea turns and is immediately lost in the look on Sam's face -- like she means what she's saying, and God, isn't that just everything Andrea has been looking to avoid?
Before she has to come up with a response, everyone starts counting down from 10 and she's saved by the hokey tradition of watching a glistening crystal ball drop in the middle of a crowd.
"Happy new year!" Sam exclaims, turning to her with a hundred watt smile. It's ridiculously adorable, how excited she is about something so simple, and part of Andrea simply melts. "Cheers!"
Their glasses clink together, and they're sipping champagne, and then their glasses are put aside and Sam is still staring at her with that look....
Andrea wants it, desperately, and she watches the way Sam's eyes glance from her lips to her eyes and back, a question burning in the silence between them.
Sam leans forward and Andrea lets her, and before she can fully process, their lips are slotted together, soft, and warm and hungry. Everything seems to break apart fully, her impenetrable wall reduced to dust. Why she was ever trying to deny this is beyond her, as Sam's lips push every last thought from her brain. Her hands trail along Sam's toned sides and up into her hair, satisfied at the whimper it elicits from Sam's mouth.
She gives and takes in a comfortable back and forth, all the while thinking that maybe this could be something worth getting used to.
"Do you think what they say is true?" Sam asks, breathless as they pull apart. Auld Lang Syne plays softly in the background, the melody profound and sad and nostalgic. Andrea is pretty sure she'll never hear it the same way again, not after tonight. "That whatever you're doing at midnight is how you'll spend the year?" She has a goofy smile teasing across her lips and her cheeks are flushed and Andrea just wants to kiss her over and over and over.
"That's absurd--" Andrea scoffs, her heart squeezing slightly. "Why?"
"I kind of hope it is," Sam says, shrugging, her hand still resting on Andrea's knee.
Something about the way she says it -- soft, vulnerable, honest -- makes Andrea break. She pulls her forward by the collar of her sweatshirt, breaking her momentum with her lips. She kisses her with everything she has, pleading it's enough without having to explain. Sam smiles against her mouth, and it causes Andrea to follow, and soon they're grinning and kissing and kissing and kissing... And oh, this is what it's supposed to feel like.
"I hope so too," Andrea eventually whispers in the space between them as they try to catch their breath. Sam looks at her, eyes wide and sparkling and Andrea can't help but chuckle. "Happy new year, Sam."