#birdstrike

The thing is that Sam is a handsome and charming man and you are not completely immune to his flirtations. So it’s natural that you nurse this crater sized crush on him. But you also know that’s just how he talks to people. That doesn’t stop you from flirting and ribbing with him, much to your tender heart’s dismay.

“You sure didn’t specifically request for me?”

“If they let us do that, you’d see a lot more of me,” Sam leans over the work bench.

You spend next few minutes catching up and trading light banter.

“Let’s see what you have for me,” you say, putting on your business voice. “You said it was damaged on the ticket.”

“Yeah it got a little dinged up.”

“You didn’t mention what parts you needed on the ticket?” you say double checking the issue.

Most field agents preferred to drop of their damaged tech, happy to have to fix or replace them. But Sam often requested parts and fixed it up himself. In recent months, he’s taken to sharing your workbench when working on his drone. In case he had any questions, he had said but he rarely asked any. He only offered easy conversation, raucous and sometimes flirtatious banter. Although it has leaned towards respectfully suggestive off late, a combination you’d hadn’t known was possible.

“I was thinking you could fix it this time.” Sam says, emptying the contents of the tote bag on your workbench.

You stare at the heap of circuitry, plastic and wires for a long moment before sifting through the debris. Some of it is just ground to a fine dust, and you’re not even sure what they were before. The larger pieces, what you assume was the shell have oddly shaped chunks ripped out of them. What the hell happened to this drone?

“This isn’t a little dinged up.” You gesture emphatically to the pile of what you could only call trash on the table. “This is utterly decimated.”

“But you can fix it,” Sam flashes his best smile.

“I don’t think even divine intervention can put this back together,” you say prodding the mass in front of you. “How did you get it destroyed this bad?”

“Birdstrike.”

“Birdstrike?” You raise your eyebrows. “You gonna say more?”

“I don’t know how to be clearer than birdstrike.” Sam says. “So can it be salvaged?” He tries to redirect.

That is suspicious. Sam never used one word when he could use ten.

“‘Maybe. If you tell me what really happened to Redwing,” you bargain.

You’ve stumbled upon a real juicy story, you can practically smell it. You’ve been waiting for something, anything since the trick he pulled with the hard-boiled eggs which unfortunately led you be covered in raw egg in front of Ms. Potts. Ms.Potts!

He had been quite apologetic after, helping you wipe off the egg. He knelt in front of you cleaning the offending liquid off your lap with a napkin. Thank God you’d worn slacks that day. Just when you’d thought your sweet torture was over, he reached to swipe off the spatter under your jaw. His thumb sparked a new kind of heat under your skin, throwing gasoline on the embers of your infatuation.

When you mustered the courage to catch his eye, he offered you a smile, causally wiping off his hand on the tissue. Something crackled between you in that moment that made you resolved to ask him out and soon. If you had only imagined it, it is better for your heart to find out sooner rather than later.

“It was a birdstrike,” He is insistent.

“Oh Sam! I’m gonna find out,” you say, flashing him a shit eating grin.

Sam just shrugs. You narrow your eyes. Fine if that’s how he wants to play it.

“Anyway, this pile of circuits is a write-off,” you say. “I’m gonna have to replace it. There should be some spares but I’ll have to add in the modifications. I’ll have the spare sent to you. Try it out and send me a list of additions. I know we don’t have all of them on file. I’ll let you know when it’s ready. Unless you want to do them yourself?”

“No, I’ll leave it in your capable hands,” he smiles.

Sam flies the new Redwing around testing the modifications. It only needs some minor tweaks. If Sam is willing to hangout by your workbench for a short while, you can have it ready for him.

He looks good today, well rested. A week free of missions has banished the bags from under his eyes and sharpened the twinkle in his eyes. Dressed in a deep purple tee and sweats, he gives an air of someone basking in the late afternoon sun.

“It works perfectly!” He says bringing back down, ready to power the drone off. “Just like the old one. Thank you.”

“Wait, I made one more change.” You take the control from him. “The old panic button feature was bit too quiet. Here’s the new one.”

You hit the panic button. Horrendous bird screeches followed by Sam’s panicked yelp about geese blares out. Sam jumps back and meets your eyes with a mix of disbelief and shock as audio of the viscous birdstrike continues . The look on Sam’s face is priceless. You try to keep a straight face but you quickly collapse into giggles. Soon his hearty laugh joins yours, his arm slung around your shoulders. He knows to recognize a good prank when he sees one. It’s only later you wish you had the presence of mind to snap a photo.

“How did you find out?” he asks as you are walking back to the lab.

“People like to gossip, Sam.” You grin.

“You’re terrible at gossiping. What’d you really do?” his eyes narrowing.

“I made deal with the analyst who handled that mission.” You relent. “I might low key be in a Girl Scout cookie MLM scheme now. But lucky for me I know a guy with a pretty big sweet tooth.” You bump his shoulder.

“And what makes you think I’ll want to buy any from you?” he smirks

“You’d rather buy from your analyst who ratted you out over some cookies?”

“I won’t get any this time.” Sam says, but you know it’s all lies. You watched him demolish two entire packs of caramel delites in an afternoon as he tinkered with his wings.

“I’m gonna put you down for three of each,” you wink. “Some extra to share with your friends.”

“You’re a goddamn menace,” he grumbles pulling into his side, arm casually slung around your shoulders blissfully unaware of the somersaults your heart is doing.

Once back at the lab you ask him if he wants to wait while you make the minor changes. Yes, including the panic alarm sound. You’re cutting out his voice but keeping the horrid goose honks.

You steal a glance over the rim of your monitor to see Sam standing on the other side of your workbench concentrated on one of your other projects. It’s adorable. You’ve pulled the pigtails, now it’s time for you to be a big girl and ask him out for a drink. You even have the perfect segue. Just ask him for drink to make up for the afternoon’s prank.

Once you are done, you place the drone on table next to Sam. The soft tap of metal on wood startles him out of his reverie.

“It’s good to go,” you offer him a smile.

He runs his hand over the smooth shell of the drone, face pinched as if considering some difficult thought. Silence stretches between you but it is not awkward. Okay now. Ask him now.

Before you can get the words out he’s thanking you with a warm smile. Pinned under his gaze, you forget your words. Wait, is he closer to you now?

“I’d like to take you dinner,” he says. “You know, to thank you properly for the new Redwing.”

“Oh,” you pause. Sam wilts a little. “I was going to ask if I could buy a drink to make up for the snooping.”

“We can do both. Dinner and drinks.” Sam’s face brightens.

You don’t want a thank you dinner and apology drinks! You cleave into his space, not yet touching. Sam tilts his head with a grin that says he’s very interested in this new development.

“You know, if you take me dancing after, it counts as a date,” you say looking up at him.

“Is that so?” he leans forward, his eyes twinkling.

“Mm-mmh.”

“You free Saturday at 7?”

“For you, yes,” you grin, grazing your hand across his chest.

“I’ll text you the details. Wear your good dancing shoes.” He presses a chaste kiss on your cheek.

Before you know it, he’s walking towards the door, drone tucked under his arm. As the door closes behind him, he turns around and gives you wink. Suddenly Saturday cannot come sooner. Shame it’s still Tuesday.

A/N: Whoop here it is my second Fuck it up friday prompt fill. Comments and reblogs appreciated 💙❤️💙❤️